#kitchen sink faucet head

[thoughtssvt]

adventures of sugardaddy nanami kento and his frugal sugarbaby [pt. 1]

nanami kento x reader ; domestic fluff ; suggestive | [ pt. 2 ]

MDNI — 18+ interactions only

you were probably the most frugal sugar baby nanami had ever met. given you were the only sugar baby he'd met.

he heaved a heavy sigh as his quiet footsteps came to a stop several feet behind you. you were clad in nothing but a shirt two sizes too big, a thin layer of sweat on your skin shining in the yellow light that seeped into his kitchen, steam swirling through the air as you scrubbed away.

"you know i have a dishwasher, right?" he huffed almost disappointedly.

you squeaked a sound of confusion. "why would i use that when i could just wash them?" you tutted as if it was the obvious answer.

he draped his body over yours, melting into you. "because the dishwasher came with the place," he chuckled, wrapping his arms around your waist, softly grumbling at the feeling of the small wet spots against your tummy. "i pay you to sit pretty, i didn't pay you to be a maid," he mumbled into your shoulder. "have you even bought anything for yourself with your allowance?"

a wide smile spread across your face, your posture perking against his weight. "yes!" you say proudly, "this dish rack and this scrub daddy!" you chime, holding up the yellow smiley face for kento to see.

your brows quirked into confusion as kento sucked in a slow, deep breath through his nose. "so... you bought me something?" he pointed out trying his hardest not to pinch the bridge of his nose.

you hummed in thought, "well technically i bought us something."

he seemed to slump heavier against you, "seriously, what am i to do with you?"

"praise me for my sound financial decisions and clean dishes?" you giggled, turning your head to plant a soft kiss against his cheek.

the grip around your midsection tightened, kento's body rapidly heating, "if it's praise you want, it's praise you'll get," his voice rumbled deep in his chest as he slowly pulled you away from the sink, uncaring that you weren't done yet. not even the running faucet was enough to keep him from pulling you back to bed so you can sit pretty exactly how he wanted.

A/N : idk if i'll make this a series tbh i just wanted to get this out. it got me through washing a mountain of dishes lol ahhh I was also itching to post bc I missed you guys

part 2 | nanami x reader masterlist | sugar daddy kento masterlist

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[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Preggers

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: fluff, smut!

a/n: sequel to Racing Simulator, enjoy!!!

"Fuck.." You sighed closing your eyes. Your palms were sweating and resting on the sink as you waited for the results of the pregnancy test you just took without Lando knowing.

Your mouth went dry and your legs wobbled when you opened your eyes to see another line appear on the test. Positive.

Your body felt as if a heat wave just hit you. You were overwhelmed by a wide range of emotions as you put your hand over you belly trying to make yourself aware that a new life will grow in you in the coming months.

You decided to take the test secretly without anyone knowing because you didn't want anyone to put any kind of pressure on you. You've been feeling weird for the past two weeks and as a woman you knew something was happening to your body something you've never felt before.

The possibility of being pregnant immediately crossed your mind especially after coming onto Lando like a horny teenager that day in his racing chair. You were well aware that there was a great chance you were gonna get pregnant because you were ovulating and that very day you just had to spice it up.

You wisely tried to hide symptoms like nausea, inexplicable feeling of fatigue and headache. You even tried to fool yourself by attributing it all to stress at work, but it was only when you missed your period you decided to stop denying the possibility that you are pregnant. And now that you are standing over the sink looking at two clear lines, you have convinced yourself that a woman's intuition is never wrong.

You didn't even realize that a few tears ran down your cheeks until you looked yourself up in the mirror and blinked a couple of times. Taking a deep breath in you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water over your face to come to your senses before going to look for Lando.

When you finally managed to get yourself together, you went to the kitchen, leaving the test behind in the bathroom. You poured yourself a glass of water looking over the kitchen island at Lando who was lying on the couch in the living room.

"Baby?" He asked looking at you from the couch, but you just kept staring at him without blinking. "Is everything okay?" He asked again, but there was no answer from you which instantly made him get up and walk over to you.

"Y/n, what's wrong? Talk to me." His gaze was full of concern as he cupped your face between his hands making you look up at him.

"I-I.." You stuttered, struggling to get the sentence out. "I have to tell you something." You put your hands over his tightening your grip around them.

"What? Tell me."

"Uh..I.." Nervousness washed over you, words didn't have the courage to leave your mouth because you didn't know what his reaction would be. you didn't often touch on the topic of children even though you had been together for 4 years. You loved each other more than anything, but you wanted to enjoy your youth as long as you could.

"Y/n, please, tell me what's going on. You're all pale and I'm getting really-"

"I'm pregnant." You cut him off making his jaw drop and eyes widen. It took him a second to process what you just said before he chuckled and let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Baby..are you really?" His eyes sparkled. You didn't know at that moment, in fact, you were even confused by his reaction, but it was as if he had been dying to hear those words all this time.

"Yeah..I just took the test in the bathroom" You nodded your head smiling with teary eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours and laughed sweetly before tightly wrapping his arms around yours shoulders.

"You're freaking me out a little with how happy you are" You admit pulling back from the hug to look at him.

"Of course I'm happy. My woman is having my baby. How could I not be?" He couldn't hide his excitement and that was definitely a relief and an encouragement, but you were still kind of terrified of the new unfamiliar situation you found yourself in. "Are you not?"

"I mean..I'm a little scared. I wasn't expecting this now" He raised his eyebrows giving you a doubtful look tilting his head to the side making both of you laugh as he remembered that day he finished inside you without you complaining. "Oh stop it!" You laughed, softly punching his chest before he pulled you to himself again and you leaned your head against him.

"You have nothing to be scared of okay? I'll take care of you, of us. " His words and his hug were enough to erase every fear, every uncertainty and question mark above your head. His embrace was your safe haven, your refuge and your home where you felt the best. "We're in this together. It was going to happen sooner or later."

"You've thought about us starting a family?" You ask looking up at the blue eyes.

"For quite some time now"

"Really?" You asked visibly taken aback, but positively surprised.

"There was one particular moment when I started fantasizing about us having a kid. It was when you met Mila for the first time. When we came for a family dinner at my parents' house and then after a while you disappeared from the table and I found you two in the playroom having a tea party." Both of you smiled as he tucked your hair behind your ear reminiscing the heart warming moment.

"The way you played with her, the way you talked to her..It was so natural for you and she was delighted with you. I was just standing there at the door admiring the two of you and then my mom saw me and it was like she could read my mind right at that moment. She was like "don't wait for too long Lando". And that's when I knew, I knew you'd be the one to carry my baby one day. Nobody else but you."

"Baby, that's so sweet.." It looked like the pregnancy hormones had already kicked in because his words made you a whimpering mess beneath him. You were sobbing as you listened to the man you loved more than anything talk about everything a woman could wish for.

"Just think about us lying in bed in the morning, our baby between us. We're looking at her, kissing her, cuddling her..I can't wait to protect both of you for the rest of my life you know?"

The scene that you pictured in your head was heaven itself just like he described it and now the excitement and joy prevailed in you and the color returned to your face when you realized that everything would be fine. Everything would be just like you've always dreamed of and more.

"Now I can't wait to meet baby Norris." You said quietly giving a soft long kiss to his lips.

"Yeah, baby Norris." He proudly repeated after you loving the way it sounded. "And when are you going to let me make you mrs Norris?" He asked and you smiled shyly looking down.

If it only had been up to Lando, he would probably have married you that day when you met Mila. He knew you were the one for him. You were the one thing he was completely sure of without a single doubt in his mind. You felt the same way about him as well, but you always thought that you should wait a little longer, that you are too young, that you are not in a hurry. There was also a constant pressure from the public that you were not ready to deal with so Lando waited patiently for you to be ready.

"Now is the perfect time to take my last name." He said.

"No, people will think that you're marrying me only because you got me pregnant and I don't want that."

"I don't care what others will think. You and I both know that's not true. C'mon, baby, be my wife." He kissed you and you wrapped your arms around his neck giggling into the kiss as he seemed to propose you right then and there.

"Maybe I should accept it now that you're offering because maybe you won't want to marry me later when I'm all fat and swollen."

"Me not wanting to marry you? That is unlikely to ever happen. Besides," He says between kisses, gripping your ass he pulled you to him pressing you against his already semi hard crotch. "I can't wait to have you walking around with round belly and full breasts. Fuck, it's turning me on so much." His hands moved to your belly gently rubbing it then up to your tits underneath your cropped wide t shirt giving them a tight squeeze.

"Is that so?" You smirk deciding to go along with what he just started. "You gonna help me out with sore breasts?"

"Fuck yes baby. Gonna take such a good care of you. " The soft kisses quickly turned into more passionate and deep ones pushing tongue into each others mouth. "Turn around for me" You do as he pleases bending over the kitchen island as he grinds himself against your butt.

"I'm so hard, can you feel it?" He whispers into your ear making you shiver. Pulling your legging just below your butt, his hand slips inside your panties. His fingers quickly trace over your wet folds before attaching them to your sensitive bud. "So wet for me, fuuuck. You're my good girl, aren't you?" You nod closing your eyes and throwing your head back on his shoulder.

"Arch your back for me" He gently takes your hips in his hands pushing you onto the hard cold surface and collecting your hair into a ponytail. Teasing you with his tip at your entrance you push yourself back against him until you have him deep inside you.

"Ahh, feels so good"

"I wish you could see my point of view right now, so fucking hot." His eyes were glued on his cock disappearing into your pussy, drenching him in your wetness. "I'm not pulling out anymore, I'm gonna cum in you every time you let me fuck you"

"Oh Lando..yess, please"

"Everyone will know that I'm the one who put a baby in you. That I fucked you so good, filled you up so deep, yeah? Shit, baby.." His hands were desperately clutching at your hair while he was slamming hard into your hole. The slapping of your skin against his echoing through the kitchen.

"Yes, you fuck me so good Lando. Keep going, I'm so close." A couple more thrusts later, his hot breath against your skin and soon you were reaching your highs panting out his name.

"Fuck baby, look how much you came" His eyebrows furrowed and lips parted groaning when he saw that you left white ring around his cock taking him again and again. "Gonna play with your pussy every day. Shit, I'm gonna cum, oh shit" The sight drove him crazy, you could feel him pulsating before he spilled his cum inside you pushing his cock as deep as it went.

"You did so good, so so good." His arms pulled you to him trapping you in a tight embrace as he left small kisses on your cheek and your shoulder.

You wince as you feel him pull out of you, your juices dripping down your thighs making him curse under his breath. Unable to resist the urge, his hand slips down to your thighs collecting the dripping cum with his fingers and rubbing it all over your pussy again.

"My beautiful, most beautiful pregnant girl."

[classyrbf]

CALL HIM DADDY! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...when you jokingly call the jjk men ‘daddy’ just to see how they’d react

INFO...jjk men (toji, nanami, geto, gojo) x fem!reader, suggestive, fluff, crack fic kinda, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

TOJI

You were washing the dishes, finally scrubbing the last plate as Toji at his snack on the couch. You turned the faucet off, shaking the excess water into the sink before you turned to Toji, a smirk forming on your face. The entire time you were washing dishes, you remember seeing a video where a girl pranked her boyfriend by calling him ‘daddy’ in the most casual way possible.

You cleared your throat, leaning against the sink. “Hey, daddy, can you pass a napkin to dry my hands?” You stared at him, waiting to see his reaction.

“Yeah, of course, ba—wait what the hell did you just say?” His brows pinched together as he stood from his spot on the couch. He slowly walked over to you, placing his snack on the countertop.

“I asked if you could pass me a napkin,” you repeat.

“Nah, nah,” he shook his head, “you said something else before that.” He narrowed his eyes at you, slowly closing the gap between the two of you.

It was getting hard to keep a poker face, finding it difficult to stare into his eyes. “What are you talking about, Toji?” You sighed. “You’re hearing things, old man,” you scoffed, turning away from him with a smirk on your face.

“Oh, so now I’m old man, huh? Not daddy? Hm? Hm?” He grabbed at your waist, pulling you closer to him to the point you couldn’t hold back your laughter.

“It was a prank!” You laughed, tears in your eyes.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman. I swear.” He pecked your lips, smiling at you. “Though, I think we should try that in the bedroom.”

“Toji Fushiguro!” You yell as he lifts you over his shoulder and carries you to the room.

GOJO

You and Gojo were so casually getting ready to watch a movie before he asked if you wanted any snacks from the kitchen. “Yes, please, some chips and soda.” You gave him a tender smile. A few minutes went by as he came back with a bunch of snacks you didn’t even ask for, but you knew they were most likely for him.

“Your chips and soda.” He placed the bowl in your lap and the cup in your hand. “Want any candy?” He asked, pointing to the sour strips he was munching on.

“I’m okay, thank you, daddy,” You causally said before placing a chip in your mouth.

His eyes shot up in surprise before he began choking on the sour strip. “O-oh, my god.” He began coughing, hunching over.

“Satoru, are you okay?” You rubbed his back before he turned to look at your with the most shocked expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“Am I okay? Baby, you literally just called me daddy! Damn near lost my life!” His voice was still rough from all the coughing.

“What?” You asked, pretending to be confused.

“You….just…called…me…daddy.” He leaned closer towards you with each word spoken.

“Toru, I love you, but never in a million years would I call you that. Play the movie.” You shake your head in disbelief, looking towards the the tv.

“Say it again.” Toru grabbed at your hands, holding them to his chest. “Say it again, please!” He begged while you ignored him, continuing to eat your chips. “You think I’m daddy? Am I? Come on, baby. I can be so daddy!”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter at how serious he was taking the whole situation. Your eyes landed upon his expression, an offended look in his eye. “I’m sorry, Toru!” You cackled.

“You’re not funny,” he mumbled, turning away from you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Awe, baby,” you coo, cupping his face and kissing his cheek, “you’re so daddy, okay?”

He huffs, rolling his eyes. “Promise?”

“Yes,” you giggle, “promise.”

NANAMI

You were getting ready for bed as Nanami read his book in the living room with the light dimmed. He had his reading glasses on, so focused on the words on the page before you walked over to him. “Going to bed?” He looked up from his book.

“Yeah,” you yawned, nodding your head.

“Well, alright. Goodnight, I love you.” He returns your kiss when you lean down to peck his lips.

“I love you too, daddy.” You smile, walking towards the bedroom. He goes back to reading his book, adjusting his glasses as he reads the next few lines on the page. Suddenly, he places the book on his lap and looks around the room. Nanami quickly gets up and follows you to the room, seeing that you’re already under the blankets.

“Honey?” He whispers.

“Yes, Kento?” You open your eyes to find him standing in the doorway.

“What did you say in the living room a few seconds ago?” He clears his throat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I love you?” You say, raising a brow.

“Yeah, that’s what, uh, I thought.” He bites the inside of his cheek, adjusting his glasses once more. “You sure that was all?” He furrows his brows.

“Yes, Kento, I’m sure.” You let out a tired sigh before turning over in the bed, pulling the covers over your face. “Goodnight, daddy.” You cover your mouth with your hand in attempts to hide your laughter.

You feel the bed sink beneath you, his hand coming up to pull the blanket from your face. “I don’t mind you calling me daddy, but please, don’t try and hide it. If you’d like to try something new just let me—”

“Ken, baby, it was a prank!” You sit up in bed, laughing. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You hug him, kissing his cheek. “You thought I was being serious?”

“Well…yeah.” He blinks, cheeks flushed a light pink. “I…kinda like it,” he admits.

“Oh!” You say, slightly shocked. “I’ll keep that noted.”

GETO

You were getting ready to leave to the mall, grabbing your keys and slipping your shoes on at the front door. Geto walked over to say goodbye, grabbing at your hand. You kissed him quickly before saying, “bye, daddy.” You tried to rush out the door.

“Bye, mommy.” You quickly turned your head with a look of shock. Geto returned your expression, still holding your hand. “What?”

“What’d you just call me?” You shut the door, locking it.

“I didn’t say a word.” He shook his head at you. “You’re the one who said something.”

“No, no, don’t turn this around on me, Suguru Geto!” Your jaw dropped.

“You’re the one who called me daddy!” He retorted.

“Not even!” You quickly snap back.

“Yes, huh! Mommy!” He yelled, laughing at you.

“Not, uh! Daddy!” You shouted back at him before both you began laughing with each other. “You’re no fun, I was trying to prank you.” You pout.

“Can’t prank me, love.” He kissed the top of your head, slightly chuckling. “Have fun at the mall, m’kay?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I love you.”

“I love you too, mommy!” He joking says as you shut the door his face.

[clawsdevour]

tipsy touch

wc: 1.6k content warning: post-time skip, established relationship, tsukishima x reader, smut, tsukki is almost sober, vulnerable tsukki, oral sex f!receiving, cream pie, not proofread

note: tsukki would so be more needy n vulnerable n genuine w u instead of his stubborn sarcastic personaaaa #CUTE

𐙚᭄.

“Shit..” a low groan enters your house followed by the shutter of the front door clicking. The sound of shoes being taken off before creaking entering the hallway with a subtle clank. You hear the heavy figure slowly stumble down towards the kitchen, stopping when you hear the kitchen sink squeak. The sound of water trailing out from the faucet with a drip.

That sounded like Kei. He must’ve come back home from his little volleyball celebration with his team, you thought to yourself wondering why he came home a bit earlier than you thought but it was nothing really. Work was work, and you knew that due to his busy schedule.

Footsteps echoed along the thin walls and came to a halt at your bedroom door. A quiet knocking at your door, asking for your permission to walk in.

“It’s open,” Tilting your head from behind your book to see if you were correct. Tsukishima’s golden brown eyes behind his dark black frames peeked in through a small sliver of the cracked door. The lighting showed that his expressions were more relaxed than usual, his complex a shade of pink that you don’t see often. 

No wonder why he came home earlier. He was tipsy and knew better than to stay, acknowledging that he’s a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. His heavy body inches closer to your fluffy sheets and plops itself by your closed legs.

“It’s so hot..” Tsukishima muffily complains while trying to shuffle out of his jacket lying on his stomach. Successful, he threw it on the ground while he turnt to lay stomach up to the ceiling trying to catch the whiff of cool air. His chest rising slowly, eyes drooping as the blood in his veins continued to rush towards his face, deepening his already pink complexion.

“How much did you drink this time, Kei?” questioning your husband with a playful huff at the end of your sentence. He’s rarely drunk but whenever he is, he’s really cute and needy. His head tilts in the covers to mutter back at you, “Like.. not much.. I don’t know, but we really need to get a fan in here.” 

You carry on reading your book with a sly smile due to his half drunken state. His hand on his forehead trying to shield his eyes from the lit up light from the corner of your bedroom. Tsukishima’s averting his glossy eyes to the novel in your grasp. Tsukishima slowly rolls back onto his stomach, positioning himself at your closed knees, your eyes peering at him from the top in curiosity.

“What’re you reading?” His vision narrowed, trying to read the title through his slightly blurred eyes in complete focus. A large hand caressing your knee in gentle circles. 

“It’s one of Akaashi’s new works, I think you’d like it a lot.” You gently close the book shut, placing it on your side before reaching to brush through your husband's messy blonde locks of hair. Tsukishima’s hands continue to graze your skin, sending you small shivers from the tips of his warm fingers.

“Hmm.. read it later” mumbling as his lips press against your skin. His other hand places itself under your knee, parting the line that kept your legs close together. 

“Missed you so much today, didn’t get a chance to even kiss you before I left…” he’s pressing sloppy wet kisses onto your inner thighs, sending you small sparks that ignited in your core. His slender fingers continued to roam on your legs as he continued to leisurely separate them off to the side. 

Parted enough for his stature, his hand cups under your knee to lock you in place while his other hand reaches under your silky nightgown. His finger prodding at your panties which had a damp spot, causing you to quietly gasp under your breath. 

His drunken eyes meet with yours asking for your permission, to which you allow his advances. You quickly slip from his grasp to slide down your undergarments and throw them off towards the edge of the bed. His tight clutch is back on your thighs while his face buried itself in between your legs, staring right back at your heat emitting cunt. 

Swirling around your sensitive bud with his hot tongue you can’t help but moan. His sleepy eyes fixated on you with each stroke he makes on your slippery clit. Flicking it up and down, then circling around it before he moved further down towards your entrance. The foreign sensation entering your slick hole while the grasp you held onto the sheets loosens to move onto the back of your husband’s head. Your grip on Tsukishima’s head increased as you pushed him further onto you while you called out for him. 

His tongue’s attacking you aggressively while he’s watching you squirm right in front of him, growing more erect with each whine and whimper that escapes from your mouth. Tsukishima’s lapping up all of your essence when he removes himself from your dripping cunt to insert a finger or two in. You watched as he’s working his long fingers, glossy and sparkling with your juices, in and back out multiple times as you near your high.

The hands wrapped behind your knees increased in strength when he folded them further, pushing you onto your back as he continued to rip out an orgasm out of you. You’re at a breathless mindless state when he does, painting a vision of white as you cum on his digits. His face, red with a smug look and slightly wet from your release.

“Kei..” reaching out your arms for him while his body towered over you for your embrace. His flustered face closes the gap between you, hands still lingering under your silk dress.

Planting a kiss on your lips, you pull back to gaze at him for a moment while his hot alcohol-smelling breath tickles the surface of your cheek. His erection, painfully hard, slightly rubbing onto your radiating core. Sharing an intimate kiss once more before he unbuckles his restraining belt that laid on his waist, letting comfort ease over him when he unclasps the button on his pants. Tsukishima frees his cock, it recoils out and hits the bottom of your stomach causing you to flinch. 

“..Can I?” Nodding out your final answer before tenderly dragging his tip against your soaking wet pussy up and down to collect your fluids. The friction makes you quiver while biting your bottom lip. 

One thrust was all it took for him to shove all of him inside you while you yelped out of shock. He let you adjust to his size for a moment before he further started to rock his hips into you. You're absorbing the feeling of him while he started off at a slow consistent pace, watching his eyes flutter with pleasure from being in your overbearing cunt. 

Tsukishima’s lowering himself onto you, inches away from your body while you wrap your arms around his neck. You could smell the alcohol off his shirt that radiated heat from his overall figure. He’s peppering you with kisses in between grunts as his pace started to grow sloppier but faster. Your ragged gasps mix with the echoing of skin on skin slapping. 

Your pussy’s stretching from all the gradually building up pleasure to accommodate his length, squeezing down when you felt his dick twitch inside you. His cock is plunging back in and out covered in your glistening fluids, making it easier to continue thrusting. His eyes and the effects of alcohol made his longing for you fill with overwhelming ecstasy, heightening his experience as if he was on autopilot. 

Heat building up at the bottom of your stomach once more, breathlessly panting throughout moans that resonated in his ears. All the blood is rushing to his tip, feeling all hot and heavy inside you as Tsukishima’s body continues to surge into yours at full speed.

The way your walls clung tightly onto his erection was all it took for him to understand you were nearing your climax. His lips moved down to caress the crook of your neck, softly sucking on your skin leaving subtle marks along with his pecks here and there. Your nails were digging into his shirt, gripping onto his pace while you took his delicious cock.

“Feel so good.. I’m gonna cum, Kei” babbling out to him with your half lidded gaze. Tsukishima’s golden brown eyes peered at you from your nestled neck to see your adorable expressions twist with each seductive moan that left your lips. 

“M’too.. you’re so cute,” latching his messy kisses onto your jaw. His thumb reaches down to play with your swollen clit to help finish you off. You’re curling your toes while accepting all of the stimulation he’s giving you while you shiver in delight.

You lose your senses when that thread you were holding onto for so long snaps. Creaming all over his cock as it rimmed with a thick white substance, continuously getting pushed back into your cunt. It was like you saw stars in your field of vision when you came. Your arms relax and bounce with each of his remaining thrusts.

“I’m almost there.. don’t worry.” Tsukishima’s breathing is inconsistent and heavy while beads of sweat continue to gather on his forehead. Plummeting his cock at a speedy pace as you laid beneath him, tiredly caressing the bottom of his face.

Loud groans slipped off of Tsukishima’s tongue when his white honey-like liquid spewed into your nether regions. His cum filled you to the brim, leaking out when he slowly removed himself from your swollen cunt. The tall figure looked over you, watching his milky white seed seep down from your gaping hole that twitched to be stuffed once more before collapsing onto you from exhaustion.

His eyelids rested for a second before prying open again to glance at you once more. Buried in your sweet heat, he’s mumbling to you.

“I drank so much.. cause I missed you.” 

masterlist here

[samodivaa]

permeated by jealously

Paring: Bucky x Reader

Summary: In your tight-fitting red dress, you look ravishing for the date with a Russian guy—but the moment you retort to Bucky in Russian, it begs to be ripped from your body.

Warnings: smut, angst, kitchen sex, rough/possessive, unprotected p in v, miscommunication Words: 4k

Bucky's veins are full of the serum, but at this moment, they are full with belladonna tincture, the substance of jealousy. Seeing you with another man, he speaks of Love in the past tense. The scene that plays in front of him—that guy coming to pick you up from the compound, is perfectly adapted to a temporal phenomenon: distinct, abrupt, framed, already a memory. For a split second you stare at each other, you smile at him ruefully. A fleeting, lasting moment for Bucky. Why do you even notice him? Seeing you happy, gives mixed colors to the air of the moment—he is lost in time, sleeping being his only lover.

Bucky wants to kiss you. Instead he puts his lips on the tumbler glass, pretending that it is you. His t-shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and he runs a hand through his hair before he puts the glass down on the kitchen counter—flashes of you in that dress that you wear for your date and the way it lifts your body up from a single look races through his head.

His cock jerks and he shakes his head, grinning as he stares down the bottle of vodka next to his cup.

And, for the first time in his innocent and confined life, he senses in himself a potential for a different corruption that takes his breath away. He doesn’t blame himself. He is a curious, wanting thing—finally, enlightened and free, but also lustful and carnal. But It stabs at him, almost like a physical pain, and he feels both deprived and angry, deprived because Bucky wishes to be with you and angry, because his own choices causes him misery. ----- “It is almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare, you're so relieved. I just wake up into another nightmare."

"And what is that nightmare, Bucky?" He keeps his blue, lusterless eyes fixed on Natasha with a calm but warm and kindly expression in them as he thinks how to say it  "My love life” “Maybe you need to ask her on a date, that’s what Vladimir does”

“Vladimir? Oh , so it is not just 'that one guy' anymore?”  he says in a quiet voice, without a trace of irritation, with a note of the simplest curiosity, his lips quivering as a forced smile comes on to his face. Nat momentarily startles. Then she starts to laugh. “You’re jealous of him?”

He clenches his jaw. “I’m not jealous,” a note of personal affront creeps into his voice “I don’t like his name”  ----- You are on a date, having fun—but anxiety grabs his mind, it is self-perpetuating. Worrisome thoughts reproduce faster than rabbits, he is trying not to lose his balance. Not yet. Especially when the jealousy sets in. 

Bucky is conscious every moment in himself of many, many elements positively swarming in him, ah these, opposite elements. He knows that they have been swarming in him since you started going out with Vladimir and they are craving some outlet from him, but he doesn't let them, would not let them, purposely would not let them come out, because he believes there is nothing so self-destroying, and so despicable, as his jealousy. He tries to appear as a hard shell on the outside when you finally enter the kitchen at 1 am—while there is a runny mess on the inside as he tenses, waiting for you to say something, anything. When you near the sink, your fingers find the curve of the faucet, the metal cool beneath the touch. He turns around to lean against the counter as you pour a cup of cold water. Bucky stares hard at you, watching you take a long drink then he follows the flick of your tongue over your bottom lip. His heart stumbles a beat. He is in such an irritated frame of mind, because of your quietness that in rude and abrupt fashion he blurts out the words:    “You must love that dress”

He takes time persing down the length of your body as you take a step back, watching you press against the counter and then back up before locking on your eyes again. You are not wearing a bra and your nipples harden from having his eyes on you. Red, the front needlessly too scandalous—at least for Bucky. The dipping v lets him see the swelled sides of your breasts pushed up and together. Just to be sure, though, a golden necklace with a teardrop pearl at the end, letting it trail just over your cleavage.

  “I didn’t know that you notice what I am wearing when I go out”

You answer, trying to look as innocent as possible. The vindictive smile that stretches on your ruined lipstick sends shivers down Bucky’s spine—did you make out with the guy, maybe more than that? You look beautiful sitting there looking at him like a she-cat. All he has to do is look at you, and he lusts. He wants to take off that delectable dress and make love to you until you don't have the energy to go out with anyone else ever again.

  “You’ve worn it for the second time. For your date.”

His gaze drops from your eyes, to the swell of your chest. Your chest tightens and you bite your lip to hide the grin wanting to escape. You notice the disgust written on his face and you laugh coldly, gaze never leaving his buff frame. With the certainty that you have well and truly punished him for not asking you on a single date. The angry, feral part of you feels so close to the surface that you can almost scent its blood-clotted fur. You want to lick the scratches you’ve made on him. You want to scratch him until he breaks apart. You gulp down the rest of your water to ease the heat flaming across your skin. Then you lick your lips. His gaze tracks the movement. You think you stopped breathing.

  “His name is Vlad” 

An audacious expression plasters on his face as you sigh in irritation at Bucky, rolling your eyes. Bucky is still leaning against the counter and rests his metal hand on the countertop while sipping vodka from the mug in his other hand. A beautiful yet deadly ornament—vibranium has no business being as hot as it is on him.

A note of personal affront creeps into his voice “Vladimir, mhm”

  “What else have you noticed about me?” your grin becomes a touch leery, innocently cocking your head to the side.

  “Try me” he says softly.

  “Favorite color?” you ask, interrogatively.

  He chuckles “Red”

  “Favorite quote?”

Your brows lift, anticipation making your nerves sing. You are not sure what he is about to say, but you have the feeling that it will be the right one, your heart leaps at the thought.

  “Much unhappiness has come into the world because of bewilderment and things left unsaid”  he answers, this time winking at you  “I know everything about you, sweetheart”   he adds and you feel like smacking that stupid grin off his face.

His mind works well when it comes to his work as an avenger, hovering on hummingbird wings, but when it comes to you, especially when you purposely play with his jealousy, It finds a way to push through any seal of his mind, his expressions are always an array of masks he uses to cover it up his emotions—but now, it is all over his face, pure surrender, because he is affected and you can tell, he is staring impudently at you, awning for your response.

  “I prefer kotyonok. Vlad says that cognac and wine is all for the heart and that vodka is for the soul. If it's hurting real bad and you’ve never had vodka before”

His brows lift, because this does surprise him and his stomach tightens at that particular Russian word. His mouth curls into a small snarl at the thought of that stupid man calling you that. A pang of jealousy surges through him. The bad kind. The kind of longing that makes him wonder that there must be a natural comorbidity between sexual appetite and sexual jealousy, between the desire to fuck and the desire to kill. He clears his throat, his face souring before his mocking tone grates:

  “Looks like you know a thing or two about me, too”   

He is trying to not be overcome by emotion. Emotion is the art of breaking hearts, minds, and tongues―but jealousy is too much, even for Bucky. He settles back into himself, shaking whatever momentary emotion flitted over his face and replacing it with a confident aura that screams laid back and in control as he cages you to the counter, his flesh hand still holding his half full cup. Your throat gurgles slightly, looking at the bigger frame towering you through your lashes like the starved woman you are. You are overwhelmed by his bold move, leaving you both speechless and breathless, but even then it is important to identify the correct emotion here—lust, a longing that goes on a loop. You try to ignore his hard cock pressing against your thigh, your attention remains on his face. You feel drunk without a drink, your nerves tighten, making your muscles clench―this is going exactly how you want. You want him to kiss you. But you make sure to keep your facial features mundane and level.   “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to think you have a crush on me, Bucky” You also ignore the annoying, visible blush on your cheeks, he must have noticed it because his expression goes grim for a second before a surprised laugh almost breaks free from his lips, responding only by a clink of his tumbler against yours. Judging by the rumble that vibrates in his chest, he likes your reaction, though the noise ends on a cynical note. His blue eyes drop to your mouth, warmth pours through your body and you moisturize your lips as he presses his knee between your legs. Right against your clit—you breathe out, a wave of pleasure sliding down your spine while Bucky just tips his glass back the last of vodka, allowing the burn to sear his throat and warm his stomach—while casually grinding his leg slowly against you, creating a sensation that has heat winding through your core and shooting down your legs.   “Na zdorovie” (cheers) You smile venomously with a kind of joyous sigh, your arrogance in this moment makes you feel very confident. Up to this moment possessiveness has not been that much of a torment, now it suddenly gnaws at his heart. As in slow motion, he pulls back to put both glasses on the counter. He realizes that you do something to him. Every time. It’s your only detriment this past month. To step on his heart—to test his feelings for you, and his jealousy already has made him erupt like a volcano. He has never been jealous before he met you. It burns. Some nights, watching you go with other men on missions, even that drives him mad. 

   “You and that fucking mouth, kotyonok” His voice sounds ill-natured, bitter, politeness that would only be laughed at, restraining an unruly nature, wary of the ways that you are trying to provoke him, but his tone shifts at the last word. Voice warm and low. Intimate. You like it this way. You like the way it sounds and it makes you gasp.   “You like this, don’t you, pretty girl?” Your character has absolutely changed. It is an entirely new and hitherto unknown being who now stands and stares at him somewhat lovingly. There is evidently, he concludes, something at work here, some storm of the mind, some paroxysm of emotion which he won’t question. When you say nothing, his hands move to your waist, his vision already blurring. His bones fill up with foam, a languid fear, and a terrible desire. You let out a deep breath and can’t deny the strange elation you feel when you feel his hands, needing more of it, of his touch. Your pussy contracts as his hands reach around, gripping a handful of your ass, forcing you harder against his both body and leg. The grip is both bruising and possessive, controlling every movement.     “Oh, god-” You open your mouth, and Bucky dips down, catching the moan with his tongue. Satisfaction sparks in his irises and he tilts his head and keeps watching you with those fucking lethal eyes of his. Bucky gives a small grin, a fake one. The type that shows no teeth and barely lifts at the corners. You feel a very small spark to your ego, knowing you are getting a rise out of him. But all of the playfulness in the air drowns beneath the intensity of his thousand shades of blue dancing in his eyes as if he is peeling back your mental layers, his eyes looking down watching the bare length of thigh that shows through the slit in your dress. 

   “You and these dresses” he groans. Whether you want to admit it or not, physically, this man affects you more than anyone else ever has, and that causes panic to percolate through every nerve, you feel like you are losing control, but you don’t mind it. You feel vulnerable, exposed, almost at his mercy at this point. Jealousy isn't a pleasant quality, but his jealousy is combined with modesty and there's even something touching about the filthy words coming out of his mouth. He wants you—and finally, he is not afraid to both tell and show it.

   “Ya ne mogu vyrazit', kak sil'no ty menya zavodish'” (I can’t explain to you how much you turn me on) Your lips part and you swallow audibly while he has the most delicious visual of his dick slipping between them, your eyes staring up at him in surprise and that sweet tongue running along the shaft. He surges forward, your face is an inch from his when you breathe out, he breaths in before crossing the final, tiny gap and pressing his lips to yours. It is not a sweet kiss. It is hard, demanding, and possessive, borne out of weeks of pent-up frustration and tension. His mouth is hungry and insistent, his tongue probing your lips, asking for greater intimacy. You grant it, tongues swirling together, yours follow his when it retreats and tasting his in return. When he finally pulls back, he rests his hands on your hips, and stares into your eyes for a minute.

  “Tvoy zapakh s uma menya svodit” (your scent drives me crazy) 

He speaks without haste, controlling himself so well, yet there is something in his voice, determined and euphoric, resentful and insolently defiant. Passion smolders in his eyes as he traces the line of your clavicle with his index flesh finger, pausing for only a fraction of a second. And then you become aware of all the magnificent silk wrapping around your body, you have the feeling that you might drown in his eyes, his two drops of winter rain.   “I would love to make love to you, but not tonight”  He studies your face, pleading silently for your approval, searching for the smallest sign, the slightest movement of your brow, the vaguest reddening of your cheeks, the surprise of your eyes. At that moment, your soul clenches as well as your pussy. The hard dick still pressing into you distracts you from replying. You can feel your panties dampening. And your nipples are suddenly incredibly sensitive, aching as they pucker against the material of your dress. Your chest warms, desire winding like a rope around your core. You think you like Bucky this way. A smile shows on your face. This would be invisible to any, but the closest scrutiny—Bucky has noticed it and taken it for his sign. Then he leans forward and presses his lips once more, his sugar roughness, his possessiveness is what you need to finally feel.   “What did you do when you went out?”   “We had a few drinks. We danced.” you reply, thinking it best to speak the truth at once. His lip quivers slightly, forcing himself to seem calm, but Bucky’s eyes are sparkling irefully, there is no doubt in his expression the full success of your endeavors to make him even more detested.   “You danced with him?” he asks, with sudden vivacity.   “Well, he is my date” You murmur, trying to smooth away all disquietude on the subject, you sense a physical weakness by the violent, unequal throbbing of your own heart, which beats visibly and audibly under the excess of agitation—but before you can even manage to open your mouth again, his metal fingers grab the front of your gown and pull it until it tears, no matter how beautiful, it was meant for another man—perfect breast on display just for him, his cock pulses at the sight. His touch tickles you on his way up to your boobs, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his palms. “Tony’s rules include no sex in the common areas” “Fuck the rules” he grits out, more animal than you have ever heard from a human. And then he gives you a smile that just seems so genuinely sweet—with the filthy touch of his hands, that unexpected warmth rushes through you. His thumbs run over the hardened peaks, making you moan and his dick is so stiff that he is worried that he might come.   “Ty moya” he says coolly. (you are mine)

   He leans in, his voice a rumble in your ear.   “Moy kotyonok” (my kitten)

Bucky moves, gripping the meat of your thighs before he spins you harshly around and bends you over the counter. Your walls are squelching around nothing as you feel him pull back, murmuring something in Russian, it is sinful—and pleasurable, drawing a muffled whimper from your mouth as you hear him tear apart your panties. You lick your lips, trying to quench the thirst for him. Your throat is dry as you hear his belt clattering noisily as he unbuckles it, popping the buttons of his jeans open, followed by the low purr of his zipper coming undone, he drifts his hands down his sides and hooks both thumbs into his jeans, sliding them and the boxers down his legs before pressing his body against yours until every inch of him melds into you one more. Bucky’s metal hand grips your chin and forces your head back while the other closes around your throat as his cock presses against you—chills slide up your spine, arousal sending a shot of adrenaline through your center as you feel pre-cum on your naval. Fuck, he is huge. There is a certain satisfaction in manhandling you into this position, the flesh arm tightens around your nape, holding you close to him. 

   "How about we make a deal? You wear dresses for me and I take you out on dates?” He rambles against your ear, tongue slipping out to taste you, just a little bit. His cock nudges around your ass cheeks, to your sleek mound until he gasps as he guides his sticky cockhead with his metal hand, gliding through your delicate folds and returning his cold grasp around your chin. He doesn’t say anything as he slips inside you with ease, your wetness sucking him in, making it easy for him to thrust into you until he buries himself to the hilt.     “Fuck, you feel good”

Bucky moans quietly as his eyes close, focusing on feeling your cunt wrapping around his dick for the first time. His lips stay silent, but he chatters with his fingertips, with the way his hands hold, the way he fucks you. You want to see his face, but you can only imagine how perfect he looks.

His expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure—breathless, possessed, lost in the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight. Your pussy cradles around his dick as he pounds into you from behind. It is an igniting feeling to have so much control over your body. It is sick and twisted, he has long learned to run from what he feels and wants, that's why he has nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control. And he needs to take control over something for once in his life. You. He has lost control over everything, even the places in his head. When your moans become too loud, his hand closes around your neck, slowly cutting into your skin while cutting off oxygen. It is more painful than lethal, but more erotic than painful. His growls erupt from his chest, the primal noise flooding your senses, making your insides clench around his length.

   “Come for me, drench my dick”

He whispers, fucking his cock against your cervix. He nibbles at your earlobe, loving the sharp intake of your breath as you struggle to breathe. Jealousy…teeth dragging against your skin, living marks. The primal lust, the sheer need to claim you, quickly finding ways to express his sacred hunger to you in animal passion. He snarls out gluttonous groans against your skin as you clench and seize, pounding you harder as your body contracts. Pleasure breaks out like a wildfire, reaching around your temples, shooting up and down your spine as his thrusts never falter, his mouth hangs open with bliss, his cock plunging into you with skin-slapping speed and he finally reaches his orgasm, cock spurting a thick dollop of cum with each throb.

Lust is the best of all the deadly sins, you realize as he pulls out and helps you go back on your shaky feet. It all happened too fast. You only wanted a kiss. You push his chest like you want him off of you, but your fingers have Bucky’s shirt clutched in them and he knows you are full of shit. You want him. 

   “I wish I could say I felt guilty for what I did. I don't.” The timbre of his voice goes into that low register that makes your insides curl in on themselves. You want that tongue to swipe your sex like licking the frosting off a cupcake. It is the sexual chemistry you want more of. It is electric. But guilt sets in. You are feeling torn between your commitment to building a relationship with Vlad while engaging with Bucky, in a way it feels like cheating. A part of you is hoping someone from the team would wake up and catch you, so you wouldn't have to live with this lie. But no one wakes up and in the silence that follows, you understand the nature of your new curse: you are going to get away with it. Your silence hurts him, his mouth tightens. But there are some wounds that he can heal only by deepening them and making them worse. And yet, sometimes facts are no more than pitiful consequences, Bucky knows how the public will perceive you if you are dating the former Winter Soldier. Seeing you standing there unresponsive makes him realize that silence has a sound—he knows that you regret sleeping with him. You are the people's favorite Avenger, the one everyone look up to with admiration and reverence—he is sure that you are thinking about it, but he understands. The blue moons in his eyes are glimmering with an emotion you can’t put his finger on—and he should be sad, but instead, he feels nothing. He feels a lot of nothing these days. He is empty, as if whatever makes him feel and hurt and laugh and love has been surgically removed, leaving him hollowed out like a shell. This is for your happy ever after, Vlad might be a stupid Russian, but he is at the very core of his existence—a real human. He turns around and paces the room, as if he can leave his regret, you, behind. But it cracks you as you see him walk away, leaving you naked like an ugly shadow made by himself. You have mistaken his lust for love. Regret. It turns into anger, into hatred. And where there is anger there is always pain underneath. You eventually come to understand that in harboring the anger, the bitterness and resentment towards Bucky who has hurt you, you are giving the reins of control over to him—maybe It’s time to finally say “yes” to being Vlad’s girlfriend.

[ating-bathroom]

Oh, a #wallmounted #rainshower system packaging is like that, very nice !

do you want to know how we pack the wallmounted rain shower system ? Like this, come to you very safty. Come and have a look!

[moonstruckme]

can i request a reader who can’t admit she’s upset with one the marauders (or all)? like refuses to cry…only if you’re comfortable of course. thank you :)

Thank you for requesting gorgeous!

modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

The smell of smoke coming from the kitchen is the first sign that Sirius has tipped over from resentment into remorse. 

“Jesus,” you open the front door on your way into the kitchen, eyes watering, “what are you doing?” 

“I was trying to make rice,” he says, fanning desperately over your pressure cooker, “but I think I’ve fucked it.” 

“Do you think so?” Any other day you’d both grin at the harmless snark, but now Sirius’ expression pinches and you think your own must look the same, your tone more biting than you meant for it to be. “It’s fine, it’ll be fine once it airs out. Help me with the windows?” 

Sirius acts like it’s a competition, opening three windows before you’ve finished two and looking at you like he’s expecting a pat on the head for it. You try to give him a smile, and his expression clouds over. 

“Sorry,” he says, voice not quite cool but oddly remote, “the idea was to surprise you with dinner, and I’ve broken your rice thingy instead.” 

“It’s not broken,” you reassure him. “I’m sure it’ll be fine once I clean it out. Why were you trying to make dinner?” 

Sirius grimaces. It’s a full body motion, his eyebrows hooking in the middle while the muscles in his forearms shift uncomfortably and his shoulders migrate upward. “Sort of a shitty attempt at an olive branch, I guess.” 

Some of the smoke has cleared, and you brave the kitchen. “I don’t need an olive branch,” you say. “If you say we’re good, we’re good.” 

“Don’t do that.” He follows you into the kitchen. “I can tell you’re upset, just because—” Sirius hisses when you take the bowl out of the pressure cooker, transferring it swiftly to the sink “—fuck, baby, don’t burn yourself. Let me take care of that later.” 

“I’d rather handle it now,” you say, turning on the faucet. “I’m just letting it soak anyway.” 

“I’m trying to handle this.” Sturdy hands wrap around your shoulders, turning you to face your boyfriend. He looks at you steadily. “Don’t pretend you’re not angry with me, because I know that you are.” 

A spark of annoyance tingles up your spine as you shrug, reaching behind you to turn off the faucet. “I’m not.” 

“Can you stop trying to make me feel like an idiot? I know you. You’ve been all stiff since last night.” 

“You were angry last night. Not me.” 

“Yeah, well it seems to have caught on.” 

You turn away from him and back towards the sink, swishing your hand in the cold water of the bowl to dislodge the charred rice sticking to the bottom. You don’t know where Sirius gets off, acting like you’re holding a grudge when he’s the one who shouted at you last night. Your phone had died while you were out with friends. That was all that had happened. You didn’t think anything of it, because Sirius, the only person who would really worry about not being able to reach you, knew you were out and that you’d be home late. 

But when you had gotten home, he’d been furious. Gone on and on about how he’d been trying to get a response from you all night, and how dangerous it was to get drunk when you couldn’t call anyone (nevermind that you’d been with your friends), and how freaked out he’d been. He wouldn’t listen to you. He’d only wanted to yell and rage, and make you sit in your heels on the couch while he did it. He’d even seemed like he might be tearing up a couple of times. And you hated to think of him being scared for you, but since when was it your responsibility to answer every time he called? He knew you were with your friends. You hadn’t asked him to check in on you. 

He’d gone to bed still fuming and you’d stayed on the couch rather than try to sleep in a hostile bed. Now, inexplicably, his tune seems to have changed. 

“So,” Sirius sighs, “this is you not mad, huh?” 

“Yup.” You scrub at the bowl with your fingernails. 

“I just want a chance to apologize.” 

“You can if it’ll make you feel better, but I don’t need it.” 

“Why can’t you just admit it?” 

“Because I’m not the one who gets pissy about stupid things.” You dislodge a chunk of rice and your hand slips across the bowl, splashing water onto your shirt. “That’s you.” 

There’s a second of dense, oppressive silence. When Sirius breaches it, you can hear the smirk in his voice. “There’s my girl. Tell me about the stupid things I got pissy about, would you?”

“It’s nothing.” 

“No, it’s not. It wasn’t nothing to me, and clearly it wasn’t to you either. Go on, doll.” 

“I don’t want to argue with you.” 

“Sure you do.” 

“Why do you want to fight so bad?” 

“Because,” Sirius says, and you can hear him moving behind you, can all but see him leaning against the counter, the picture of insouciance, “I think you need to get it out of your system.” 

You scrub harder at the bowl. Blackened bits of rice float to the top of the water. “Like you do?” 

A pause. His voice softens. “It’s not always a good thing. I shouldn’t have shouted at you, last night.” Something in your chest tightens painfully at this new gentle tone. “I’m sorry. I let my temper get the better of me. I was just worried about you.” 

“I don’t think that’s my fault,” you say, managing to sound mostly normal. You dump out the contents of the bowl, filling it again with warmer water. “My phone was dead, and I was with my friends. I didn’t need you to worry about me.” 

“I just do, when I know you’ve all been drinking, and I can’t talk to you to know you’re okay…” Sirius takes in a breath, breaking your heart with how it sounds like he’s trying to steady himself. “But you’re right, okay? It wasn’t fair.” 

“I didn’t know I was coming home to be shouted at.” This time, your voice betrays you, a pitchiness that makes you go quiet fast. You hear Sirius move. 

“Sweetheart?” he asks softly. There’s a touch at your elbow. “I’m sorry, baby, please look at me.” 

You don’t want to, but you don’t want your embarrassment interpreted as ire. You take a quiet breath before pivoting from the sink. Sirius’ eyes are waiting, sad and fretful as they probe at yours. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, impossibly quieter, and runs his fingers from your elbow up the back of your arm. “It wasn’t your fault, I wasn’t being fair. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.” 

You press your lips together, hard. His eyebrows hook up in the middle. 

“You can cry, sweet thing. It’s okay.” You shake your head mutely, blinking, and Sirius makes a terribly lovely cooing sound, snaking an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest. You hug him back as the first hot tear rolls down your cheek. “Oh, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Your shoulders jump with a stilted, poorly repressed sob, his grip on you tightening. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby. My temper tantrum really did a number on you, huh?” 

You laugh wetly. “Guess so,” you squeak. “Sorry.” 

“If you apologize for this, I may shout at you again,” he warns fondly. “You haven’t done anything wrong, lovely girl. Just let it out, if you need to.” 

You know that’s not easy for Sirius to say. Know he’s likely close to tears himself, from how agitated seeing other people cry makes him. You appreciate the offer. 

You fall into a silence less heavy than any that’s suffocated your home since last night, broken up only by the steady, quiet thumping of Sirius patting your back and the intermittent smooching sounds as he kisses your shoulder or your cheek or the side of your neck. You stand still in your smoky kitchen, wetting your boyfriend’s shoulder with tears and snot, and he lets you.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

#27 with art if you feel so inclined! :) 🖤 please and thank you!

Sure thing!

Prompt: Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

Warnings: Established relationship, divorced Art Donaldson, smooches

"Did you eat already? I'm so fricking hungry," You grumble, leaving your suitcase by the door and striding toward the kitchen.

"Yeah, I ate."

"How's your shoulder?"

"It's fine."

"Are you sure?" You glance back at him from the kitchen. "Ken said you mentioned that it was stiff."

Art doesn't answer for a moment, eyes sweeping across your face. You watch him glance even lower before he shakes his head a little.

"It loosened up."

"If you're sure," You turn back to the sink, cranking on the faucet to wash your hands. "Don't push it if you don't have to."

"I won't."

"How did Lily's uh—Career day go?"

"It went fine. C'mere."

"Her teacher was so excited you could make it, I mean, so happy." You shut the sink off, plucking up the dishtowel to dry your hands before turning to the fridge. "Like, jazzed. I know no one uses that word anymore, but she was jazzed. Did you eat already?"

"I told you I did. C'mere."

"She's always been the coolest kid in the third grade in my opinion, but now it's official. Like—Peer official. Like, blue tick, you know?" You eye the contents of the fridge. "Are you hungry?"

"I just said I ate."

"No, right—Sorry. My mind's like," You shake your head. "I'm trying to slow down and catch up at the same time."

"Baby."

"I'm all jet-lagged and just jacked up. Fucking hate conferences."

"Baby."

"Yeah?"

"Look at me."

You turn your head from the fridge, raising your brows at the sight of Art's small, amused smile.

"...What?"

"Come here," He laughs, holding his hand out. You close the fridge, rounding the counter slowly and eyeing Art with suspicion.

"What's that look for?" You ask.

"I'm not giving you any kind of look."

"Yes you are."

"I am not."

"I know that face, mister."

He chuckles, taking hold of your hand once you're close enough, tugging you down. You lower yourself over him, straddling his thighs and settling in as his arms curl around your waist. He leans up, sucking a gentle kiss to your neck. You bite your lip, shifting slightly as his hands curl in the fabric of your shirt.

"...Are we picking Lily up from practice tomorrow?" You ask as your mind races.

"Tashi's got her," Art mumbles, the hum of it vibrating against your skin.

"Okay, good. I mean—Not good like—I've got some errands to run and I have to wash my clothes from the trip. I don't wanna mess up her schedule."

Art groans, tipping his head back and leaning away. You frown, pouting.

"What's wrong?"

Art lets his head loll to look up at you, a pout forming on his lips.

"You've been at a hundred since you walked through the door."

"I've got things on my mind."

"I can tell."

"Alright—" You groan, beginning to lean away, but Art's arms tighten around you, leaning up and pressing his chest against yours.

"I missed you," He murmurs. You wilt a little, raising your hands to cup his cheeks.

"I missed you, too."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

"Because I'm feeling very neglected."

Art grins as you break into a laugh, leaning up and brushing a kiss along the underside of your jaw.

"You poor thing," You coo, turning your head. He catches your lips with his, sliding a hand up to your nape to guide your kisses as you sink down against him.

"...Art?" You mumble against his lips.

"Mm."

"I...Missed this...And you..."

"Mhm."

"But I am starving."

"Pizza'll be here in ten."

You grin, leaning back to look at him.

"You didn't."

"Course I did." His hand slides around your neck, knuckles brushing against your jaw.

"You're gonna spoil me rotten, Donaldson."

"Or die trying."

[paperultra]

back of house.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,113 words Warnings: Mild swearing

If it weren’t for his principles regarding women, you’re fairly certain Sanji would’ve throttled and strung you up to dry by now.

“I … I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he says with a bright smile, though under the swinging lights of the kitchen it seems more out of pain than pleasure. “You managed to burn water.”

Your cheeks flame as you peer into the blackened pot with him, all traces of the water you’d been tasked with boiling completely gone. Vanished. You have no idea how or why.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

“No need to apologize. Everybody makes mistakes –”

“Sanji!” you hear Zeff before you see him round the corner. “Why the hell do I smell something burning in my kitchen?”

“None of your business, old man,” Sanji snaps immediately, murmuring a quiet excuse me, dear to you before taking the pot by the handle and heading to the sink. He twists the faucet open and running water roars like thunder in your ears as he thrusts the pot underneath. “I have it under control.”

“Under control, eh?" Zeff says. He suddenly turns his squinted gaze upon you, and you shrivel. “This your doing, missy?”

“I –”

“Leave her alone,” Sanji interrupts. “I didn’t give clear enough instructions. It was my fault.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Eyeing your guilty and defeated figure next to the stove, Zeff shakes his head with a sigh and points you to the door. “[Y/n], go out and wait tables for the rest of your shift.”

Immediately, you make a move to remove your apron. “Oka –”

Sanji makes a noise of dissent and turns the faucet off. “Wait tables? She can still chop the vegetables and help me plate.”

“You’ll do that yourself. Front of house needs the extra person, anyway.”

“I’m her mentor.”

“And I’m the damn boss.”

The rest of the staff roll their eyes and carry on while the two men argue in the middle of the kitchen. You swallow and take your apron off, balling it up in your hands. This isn’t the first time they’ve butted heads over your incompetence, and watching them now cuts at your last shred of dignity.

Clearing your throat, you grimace when Sanji’s head whips around to look at you.

“Zeff’s right,” you tell him. “Dinner rush is coming up soon and I’ll just be in the way, anyway.”

Zeff grunts with satisfaction.

The expression on Sanji’s face reminds you of a kicked puppy. “But …” he begins to protest.

“Oi, you heard what she said. Get back to work! We have customers waiting!”

Sanji blusters about before heading back to his station, casting you one final, forlorn look as he does so. You imagine that your own face looks just the same when you turn to leave.

—

You take orders and serve customers for the remainder of the day, as promised, and help with cleanup after closing time. And then, long after the sun’s dipped below the horizon, Sanji joins you on the upper deck with a steaming bowl of seafood fried rice.

“For the madam,” he says with a smile, offering you the bowl.

You accept it silently and take a bite as he sits down next to you. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach. You’ve never known a home quite like Sanji’s cooking.

His eyes remain fixed on you as you eat all of the rice, scraping the bowl for every last grain and setting it down beside you once you’re finished.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I figured it would cheer you up.”

“It did.”

It did, and yet, your lips tremble and your throat closes up. You clench your hands into fists in your lap.

Sanji’s hand immediately presses your shoulder as you sniffle. “Are you alright?” he questions worriedly.

(His attentiveness strikes you like a hot iron sometimes, even now.)

“Why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

His brow furrows. As if it’s obvious, he answers, “You want to be a cook. A lady’s wish is my command.” Sanji pauses. “And I can’t call myself the greatest cook in the East Blue if I can���t teach others to be great cooks as well.”

“I think you’d be the greatest regardless.”

You glance at him through watery eyes in time to see his face flush a deep red. He looks away hastily, chuckling with feigned modesty. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

Your shoulders lift in a shrug as you look back down at your hands. You reach up to blot away your tears.

How could you not think the world of Sanji? Or the world of anyone at the Baratie, for that matter? When you were kicked off the merchant ship you’d stowed away on two years ago, you had been sure that you’d be banned from setting foot in such a fine-looking restaurant. Years of scorn and slammed doors had not given you the chance to think otherwise.

But Sanji spotted you on the docks, called you madam like you really were one, cooked you a meal in the kitchen and talked to you. Zeff gave you a job and a bed of your own. The staff gave you a family.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll figure out something that’ll make everything click for you, and you’ll be a proper cook in no time.” Sanji leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and winks up at you. “I promise.”

As always, your heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

Maybe, you realize suddenly, you don’t necessarily want to be a cook so much as you want to love the way Sanji does.

“That’s my girl.” Standing up, Sanji takes your empty bowl in one hand and offers the other for you to take. “Now, shall I walk the madam to her room, or does she wish to stay out on the deck for a while?”

You allow yourself to grin, considering. “The madam wishes to stay out here and …” you hesitate but then decide to soldier on, “and possibly chat with a dear friend for a few more minutes?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Sanji’s eyes widen a bit. Then he blinks, and then he smiles, drawing his hand back and quickly sitting down next to you once more.

“A lady’s wish is my command,” he says.

He takes out a cigarette, making a quip about Patty while he lights it, and your combined laughter rings out across the Baratie. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach.

Indeed, this is home.

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅱ ▬ ⁽ 𝑔𝒽𝑜𝓈𝓉 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₃˖₈ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : mdni----- unedited, NSFW, dubcon, rape/noncon elements, explicit content, spectrophilia, ghost/human, rough sex, "unprotected" sex, creampie, somnophilia, cunnilingus. ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: after coming home from a grueling day of work, instead of being able to relax, the feeling of someone watching you has you scared. ꒰m!ghost ₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

CLICK

𝒯 he soft glow of your lamp casts a warm yellow light throughout the desolate home, but it fails to dispel the darkness that lingers. You make a mental note, weariness seeping into your thoughts, to buy a new lightbulb from the mart later in the week. The dimness of the room matches the heaviness in your heart, as you feel the weight of loneliness settle upon your shoulders, part of you knows you should be used to coming home with no one to greet you, but it still stings nonetheless.

Struggling to remove your gym shoes, you let out an annoyed groan, exhaustion causing you to stumble and collide into the wall with a thump. Finally freeing your feet, you stretch your arms above your head and let out a tired sigh. Your muscles ache from the long day at work, and the fatigue seems to seep into your bones. Your eyes flutter closed from the effects of sleep deprivation but your stomach grumbles with a ravenous craving for a thick pastrami sandwich. The thought of sinking your teeth into the juicy meat and tangy mustard momentarily distracts you from the weariness that engulfs you.

Discarding your wool coat onto the carpeted floor, you shuffle yourself wearily down the hallway towards the kitchen, fully expecting it to still be a mess from three days ago. The cluttered countertops and unwashed dishes serve as a constant reminder of your chaotic schedule and the lack of time you have for yourself. It’s as if the mess mirrors the disarray in your own life, and you can’t help but feel overwhelmed by it all. At times you missed living with your parents and not having any responsibilities. Being an adult was so stress-inducing you just wanted to lay in bed and cry sometimes.

Leaning against the hallway wall, you find solace in pressing your forehead against the cool, flowered wallpaper. Sleep weighs heavily on your eyelids, momentarily clouding your vision and tempting you to succumb to its embrace. And just as your legs threaten to give way, a gentle chill dances down your spine, jolting you awake with a surge of electricity. A tired sigh escapes your lips as you run your palm down your face, mustering the strength to continue towards the kitchen. The chaotic mess that greets you almost makes you cry.

Resting against the entryway to the kitchen, a pang of regret washes over you. Deep down, and not even buried that far truly, you wish you hadn’t taken your coworker’s shift. Despite your fondness for the woman, working two consecutive twelve-hour shifts was more than you could handle. And as the new nurse in the hospital, you were an easy target for those who wanted to shirk their responsibilities, they left you to run around like a headlesss chicken.

You finally gather the energy to carry yourself into the kitchen, reaching for a cup from the cupboard and turning on the sink faucet, allowing lukewarm water to fill it. Impatiently you can’t wait for the tap to run cold and quickly knock back the glass, the satisfaction of quenching your thirst outweighs the temperature. Slouching against the sink, you take a moment to stretch, feeling your joints crack and your muscles slacken. You flutter your eyes shut to stop yourself from gazing at the mess that’s your kitchen.

Placing the glass on the worn countertop, you set your medical bag on the kitchen island and head towards the staircase, overwhelmed by the longing for a shower and some rest. However, as you approach the hallway, a sudden shiver runs down your spine, causing goosebumps to rise on your arms. Your legs momentarily go numb, and you manage to grab hold of the stair railing, preventing yourself from stumbling. After being on your feet for a whole day, you were shocked you had not immediately collapsed when you walked in the door.

A sudden sense of unease washes over you when you survey your modest home, the horrid sensation of being observed seeping into your skin and festering in your mind. It’s as if the feeling surrounds you, leaving you breathless and on edge. Your eyes dart between the dimly lit kitchen and the shadowy staircase, it’s as if the shadows themselves are in motion. Objects seem out of place, and didn’t you leave your bag on the island?

Confusion creases your brow as you search for your bag, it takes a while but you discover it leaning against the couch’s armrest in the living room. Your unease deepens, causing a slight twitch in your eye. The entire situation leaves you unsettled. Anxiously, you bite down on your lower lip, feeling the sting as your teeth sink into the flesh. Once more, the sensation of being watched intensifies, as though someone is observing your every move, listening to your every thought, and knowing your every action. Goosebumps raise on your skin, skittering down your back.

You shake your head in disbelief and pinch the bridge of your nose, the weight of exhaustion and hunger bearing down on you. ( the latter was something you would fix in the morning, as you did not have the energy to cook anything.) The darkness of the hallway only adds to your supposed delusion. With a heavy sigh, you push yourself away from the railing and begin the arduous climb up the stairs.

Stopping just shy of the top of the stairs, you reach your hand out and glide it along the cool walls beside you, feeling for the light switch— one may think that you would know where the light was in a house that you’ve lived in for two years, but you seemed to fail to find it every time. Your palm glides along the walls, desperately searching for the elusive light switch. It’s a futile attempt, as if the house itself is playing tricks on you. The anticipation builds as you inch closer to the top, your body tensing with each step.

Finally, the click of the switch echoes through the silence. But it’s not your doing. Panic sets in as you realize someone else must be in the house, but soon the hallway is bathed in harsh light, exposing every shadow and corner. Yet no one is there. You stare at your hand, questioning whether you had unknowingly flipped the switch.

Ignoring the fear that threatens to consume you, you force yourself to continue. Quickly, you make your way to your room, seeking solace behind the closed door. But even within the confines of your sanctuary, the feeling of being watched persists. It’s as if an unseen presence lingers, peering into the depths of your soul.

Your skin tingles in question as the ethereal sensation of fingers delicately cupping your cheek sends shivers down your spine (truly almost nonexistent). A surge of unease washes over you, even though you can’t see anything, you can sense an intense, ravenous gaze fixated on you. Shaking off the remnants of your episode, you take a hesitant step forward, determined to overcome any lingering apprehension. With a burst of courage, you scurry to your dresser and retrieve an oversized T-shirt, a memento stolen from your older brother years ago, along with a pair of plain black cotton panties.

No matter what strange occurrences were unfolding, you refuse to let them hinder your plans for a hot shower. The past twenty-four hours have left you covered in sweat and grime, and you are determined to cleanse yourself of it all.

With eager anticipation, you make your way to the bathroom, barely bothering to close the door behind you. Placing your clothes in the sink, you turn towards the shower, pushing the curtain aside to adjust the knobs and pull up the shower valve, spurring on the hot water. As the bathroom fills with steam, your breathing becomes slightly shallow, the heat causing your cheeks to flush.

Stepping back towards the sink, you gaze at the fogged-up mirror, your reflection blurred and distorted. Like a scene from a horror movie, you raise your hand and press it against the glass, wiping downwards and watching as the water droplets cascade lower, dripping on your discarded clothing below.

As your eyes meet your reflection once more, they immediately lose focus and fixate on the imposing figure standing just a few meters behind you. Towering over six feet tall, his muscular frame exudes a suffocating amount of dominance and power. A scream of terror and disbelief escapes your lips, and in a panic, you grab the hand soap from the sink and swiftly turn around, hurling it towards the intruder. The bottle soars through the air, crashing into the wall before landing on the tiled floor.

There was no one there; you were going crazy.

“Calm down. You need to sleep. It’s been a long day; your mind is playing tricks on you.”

You were just full of excuses, desperately trying to maintain your sanity. But surprisingly, those excuses provided a strange comfort, no matter how unbelievable they were. So, you decided to settle yourself down, shedding your work pants and kicking them aside. Your shirt and undergarments followed suit, as you let go of all inhibitions. In that moment, the fear that had consumed you was momentarily forgotten.

You gazed at your reflection in the mirror, taking a moment to wipe away any imperfections. Your eyes wandered down to your body, taking in the soft ridges of faint stretch marks on your breasts with your fingertips. As your palms venture lower, they lovingly caress your thighs, reveling in the velvety softness of your skin and the warmth that radiates from them.

With a shake of your head, you release a sigh of surrender, allowing your hands to fall gracelessly to your sides. You take a step closer to the inviting tub, parting the shower curtain to reveal the steamy water within. As you enter the embrace of the hot water, a soft moan of pleasure escapes your lips, the heat enveloping your entire being and melting away the tension in your muscles. This shower was exactly what you craved.

After diligently scrubbing your skin until it’s both raw (and irresistibly smooth), you find yourself sitting on the floor of the tub, relishing in the sensation of the water cascading over your hair and body. However, as much as you yearn to stay in the blissful sanctuary that is your tub until the water turns cold, you reluctantly acknowledge the losing battle against sleep that you’re already engaged in.

Carefully rising from the bathtub, you extend your hand under the cooling sprays of the water to twist the knobs and halt the shower, pushing the valve down afterward. Exiting the tub, you forgo the use of a towel and opt to let the air dry you while reaching for your toothpaste and toothbrush from their respective places. Relocating your clothes from the sink to the nearby shelf, you proceed to brush your teeth swiftly, counting to fifty before spitting and returning everything to its original position.

You grab your face wash and dispense a small amount onto your palm, with gentle strokes, you massage the cleanser into your skin, creating a lather that removes the remnants of yesterday morning’s messy makeup. Switching on the tap, you lean over the sink, allowing the warm water to flow into your hands, smoothly gliding it across your face and rinsing away the soap.

Your back divots suddenly with a delicate grace as an ethereal caress firmly grasps your sensetive hips, eliciting a startled gasp of surprise from your parted lips. Your eyes pop open, darting around in a hasty manner, well, stupidly, seeing as you hadn’t quite finished washing your face--- the remnants of soap trickling into your eyes. A sharp hiss escapes your mouth as you instinctively lower yourself to rinse away the discomfort.

Once more the tantalizing trail of fingers tracing along your spine is undeniably present. You remain still, your muscles tensing in anticipation, trembling as the touch ascends higher, encircling your neck. With trembling hands, you turn off the faucet and inhale deeply, attempting to steady your racing heart. The deep, seductive timbre of your name being whispered intimately close to your ear fills you with a bone-chilling terror. Quickly, you snatch your garments from the nearby shelf and flee into the sanctuary of your bedroom, momentarily struggling with the bathroom door.

“Calm down, calm down; this is not happening. You’re hallucinating.”

You erratically throw on your shirt, using it to also dry your face, and shimmy your panties up your legs, the soft cotton resting comfortably on your hips. You quickly crawl into bed and pull the comforter up to your chin, shutting your eyes and tucking your bottom lip into your mouth. (Your hair could wait, you were not getting out of bed.)

“Hey, Alexa, turn off: Bedroom Lights. ”

You can’t even recall switching on the overhead light, but honestly, you’re past the point of caring. The mechanical response plunges the room into darkness, and the moment your head hits the pillow (as comfortable as it can be when cold and damp), you’re fast asleep.

You’re unsure how long it’s been, but your eyes flutter open, heavy with sleep when you feel the sensation of large, calloused hands gliding up your stomach softly. The touch is unfamiliar, but it doesn’t necessarily frighten you as it should, instead, you can feel yourself throbbing in your panties, gentle and shy. You blame your sleep deprivation on the lack of fear.

The hands approach your bare breasts, a thumb rubbing over the taught peaks of your pebbled nipples causing a soft gasp to escape your luscious lips, your cheeks burning with fiery heat, and your body arching ever so slightly from the bed, offering your breasts to the awaiting, eager palms.

Your pussy, warm and slick, constricts and drools with your arousal. Maybe it’s the thrill of imagining a supernatural encounter, but you’ve never felt as aroused and eager as you do at this moment; dripping and throbbing.

You feel a surge of anticipation as your panties are gently shifted aside, a trail of your desire following suit. Ghostly fingers swiftly trail up your inner thigh, getting closer to your sopping pussy, and despite the uncertainty of the situation, the mysterious touch ignites a fire within you. The paranormality behind the sensation makes your heart pound and your pussy salivate with need. Lost in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts, a soft caress on your clit causes your hips to involuntarily buck, your lip bruised from the force of your bite. “Ah~”

Your voice comes out as a breathy, needy whine. The suspense of where and when the next touch will land sends shivers of excitement down your spine. And as soon as you're almost on the verge of begging, a rush of hot air sweeps over your dripping core, causing your pussy to clench instinctively. Your throbbing clit pulsates with an insatiable ache, lost in a haze of pleasure, and your eyes roll back, unable to fully grasp the intensity of the experience.

As the sensation engulfs you, your throbbing bud is devoured by their hungry mouth. The combination of their saliva and your own intoxicating arousal trickles down, moistening your tight, quivering entrance. The sensation is nothing short of divine, as if their touch is delicately fondling and slurping at every nerve within your shuddering body.

Your hips, moving with a will of their own, rise from the bed and writhe. You can’t help but squeal softly as firm, powerful, and large hands encircle your hips, forcefully pressing you down onto the mattress, indulging in your warm, sticky juices; skillfully teasing your clit with its tongue. Your cries and pleas echo loudly, a stark contrast to your usual quiet demeanor when having sex with men.

Oh, but you felt like a bitch in heat, like your entire being was engulfed in flames and burning you from the inside out— it made you want to scream and cry.

Your body trembles uncontrollably as the knot tightens, gripping your stomach, thighs, and lower abdomen. In a desperate bid for relief from the agonizing pleasure, you instinctively gyrate your hips. Your vision blurs and fades into a blinding white haze, signaling your impending climax. But just as you teeter on the edge of release, the touches abruptly cease, leaving you yearning for more.

You whimper and attempt to reach down to your soaking pussy to pat and rub at your engorged clit, but you unintentionally freeze in place; a small knot of fear causes your eyes to well up, yet it only intensifies your craving for its caress. When nothing further occurs, you start to plead, like a desperate whore— as if you hadn’t been touched in years.

And as if pleased, the ghostly caresses return to your sensitive clit, moving with a deliberate slowness that sends shivers down your spine. You can’t help but let out a series of soft moans, as you offer up sweet words of gratitude to the mysterious entity pleasuring you.

“Ah, yes, yes, please!”

Your body tenses as the knot tightens, aching with a mix of pain and pleasure. Your hips move uncontrollably, seeking more of that sweet torment. Yet, it stops once more, leaving you to come down from your ruined high. You’re a sobbing mess now, grinding against the air, waiting for something, anything.

Your throat constricts suddenly, leaving you breathless as fingers delve into your tight, dripping pussy, curling and prodding your spongey g-spot. The digits seem to know your pussy like the back of their hand, stroking every nerve inside of you. The squelching sound of your arousal drowns out your heavy breathing and mewling moans. The entity suddenly adds its thumb to the mix, circling your clit quickly. The pleasure escalates swiftly, and your eyes squeeze shut as a rush of pure ecstasy overwhelms you, leaving your thighs quivering and twitching from the deep, blissful climax.

After the high subsides, you pant for air, the tension easing from your throat. You sprawl sensually on your bed, clit throbbing and arousal coating your sheets. A tepid, exhausted breath escapes your lips as a thickness delicately nudges apart the folds of your pulsating entrance, prompting an instinctual urge to flee. However, unyielding hands firmly pull you closer, and your legs reluctantly surrender to their command.

You can feel a bulbous, mushroom-shaped tip forcefully penetrating your quivering, weeping pussy eliciting a mixture of pleasure and pain at the invasion. Your pretty eyes roll quickly to the back of your head as the unknown entity plunges its heavy, thick cock into your tight entrance, your thighs pressed to your chest and legs draped over broad shoulders.

You keen softly, as your pliable walls ensnare his cock in a vice-like, velvety embrace. “More, I need more; please fuck me, please.” Your plea is abruptly silenced as its thick length withdraws from within you, only to resume with an intense, unconventional rhythm—leaving you no opportunity to adjust to its entire length.

The unyielding grip on your waist marks you in the most delicious way, leaving behind a trail of bruises that only heighten the pleasure coursing through you. Your pussy feels so full and sated, despite nothing physically filling you, you throb with satisfaction.

Lost in the depths of your pleasure, the reasons behind your desperate pleas elude you, but you continue to spill them forth without hesitation, unable to think. Once again, your breath is stolen away, your throat constricts, and an intense orgasm surges through you like a forceful tidal wave. A delicious warmth then radiates from your core, spreading through your tummy.

The most painful and pleasurable feeling of being filled with cum has you aching for a taste of it. Your body goes limp, but whatever is fucking you doesn’t stop; their cock pistols into you despite you slowly losing consciousness.

As your eyes flutter open, you gradually rise from the bed. The room is shrouded in darkness, leaving you disoriented about the time you’ve spent asleep. Urgently, you rush to the bathroom due to your full bladder. Stepping out of bed, a gasp escapes your lips as your foot lands on a cold, damp object. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s your panties. Blushing, you drop them and shake your head, with your hair still slightly wet from the previous night’s shower.

As you enter the bathroom, you opt for the wall light switch instead of the one on the ceiling, casting a gentle, warm radiance throughout the room. Oblivious to your reflection, you casually stroll past the mirror, too exhausted to spare a second glance.

As you ease yourself onto the toilet seat, your tired eyes gently close, and the tinkling sound of you using the bathroom lulls you into a state of sleep for a brief moment. A few moments pass, and you linger a bit longer before reaching for a flushable wet wipe, dutifully cleansing yourself before discarding it into the swirling abyss of the toilet bowl.

With a swift flush, you rise to your feet and shuffle to the sink to cleanse your hands. However, as you slowly open your drowsy eyes and catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, a sudden chill runs down your spine.

As you gingerly raise your shirt, a gasp escapes your lips. The sight before you is both shocking and unsettling. Crimson and violet bruises, resembling the imprint of a colossal hand, encircle your throat, cascading down to conceal your collarbone and shoulders. As your eyes wander further, a gasp escapes your lips. Vivid handprints, a testament to an intimate encounter, mark your hips in crimson and violet, while a constellation of hickies adorns your tummy.

As you gaze into the mirror, you suddenly catch sight of a man standing behind you, from earlier. Surprisingly, he seems closer than the last time you saw him, and you can feel the warmth of his body through your shirt. He stands tall, with bulging muscles and an overwhelming presence that leaves you breathless. However, his appearance remains a mystery, as you struggle to make out his features. Just then, the bathroom door slams shut, plunging the room into darkness as the lights flicker off. Your heart skips a beat as you feel hands slowly trail up your shirt, eventually cupping your pussy.

His voice is like a warm embrace, wrapping around you with its deep, sensual, sinful, and amused tones.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

[alchemistc]

He's at the kitchen sink rinsing dishes when the lock mechanism clicks in his front door. Something zings up his spine, that familiar little tingle that means he's about to be showered with affection and attention.

He doesn't turn, mostly because he's bound and determined to act normal just this fucking once (he's too in his head about the way money had exchanged hands the last time Tommy had met them all at the bar and he'd leapt from the table to greet him). The door sways open, almost silent except for the creak right at the end that no amount of WD40 seems to fix.

Buck rinses another dish.

Keys in the dish on the side board, the soft thump of Tommy's duffle on the bottom stair, the snick of the lock latching again, and the gentle pattern of work boots across the floor. Buck's a little surprised that Tommy doesn't say anything - he's nowhere near the same level of talkative as Buck but he's rarely solidly quiet.

Arms curl around his middle, thick wide hands shifting over the belly Buck's stopped worrying so much about keeping trim, since that two-week span he'd pinched a nerve and been told in no uncertain terms to take it fucking easy or risk mobility issues for the rest of his life and he'd decided to call them cheat weeks. Tommy's nose slides along his back, his lips shift over the knob of Buck's spine, two-day beard scratches at the exposed skin of Buck's neck and Tommy sighs, long and deep and tired.

"Hey," Buck says, a still damp hand curling over the bulk of Tommy's forearm, and Tommy hums against the back of his head.

Buck waits a beat while Tommy sort of slumps his weight into Buck's back.

And it's this - this bone deep calm that shivers over both of them at the end of a long day - this knowledge that they can finally unwind in each other's presence. That just like Tommy is happy to let Buck unload after a rough shift, Tommy is willing to take that same comfort from Buck. Buck never has to chase to figure out what he can do to help Tommy. He never has to guess at what Tommy needs to feel supported. Tommy will take - and when he's not sure, or it feels too much, he'll ask. No mixed signals, no needs unmet, no over the top gestures to overcompensate. Just.

"Hi," Tommy says, and presses a kiss to the dimple of Buck's skull. "Smells good in here."

There's a roast keeping warm in the oven, some simple thing Buck had asked Bobby's help in perfecting because Tommy "Meat and Potatoes" Kinard had finally admitted he hadn't had a good roast since his mother passed and he missed them. And Buck hadn't known Tommy'd had a shitty shift until well after he'd thrown the roast in but the terse, one word responses to Buck's texts and the lack of typical post-shower selfie had been a pretty good indication.

"Go sit. I'll grab you some wine. Dinner should be - ten-ish minutes?*

Tommy's arms tighten. One big hand presses into his stomach, just enough to tip Buck back into the cradle of Tommy's hips, just enough to make them flush from head to toe. "Gimme a minute, Buckley," Tommy murmurs, and Buck feels that buzz under his skin, can't help the shit eating grin that curls his lips. Tommy's nose digs into his curls. "Come home just for hugs and you tell me to sit down," he scoffs, and Buck doesn't waste any more time pretending to do dishes - he gets the faucet off and sways back into Tommy to make himself just enough room to spin, arms already coming up even as Tommy hooks a chin over his shoulder and digs into the meat of it.

Tommy's back is tense at Buck's first pass, but by the time he's rubbed up and down another two times he's sort of melted bonelessly into Buck's front, a few shuddering sighs drawing from somewhere deep inside his chest to make a home in Buck's collar bone.

He wants to stick Tommy in his pocket and take care of him, but barring any shrink ray technology he'll settle for being a safe place for Tommy to land.

"Love you," Buck murmurs into the hair curling over Tommy's ear - because he can, because the word had been so terrifyingly easy to say the first time and has only gotten better from there.

Tommy huffs against his cheek. "Trying to pepper me with words to get me off you? Not gonna work. Might just stay here all night now.*

*We'd get uncomfortable standing so long." Tommy hums. "We wouldn't be able to eat."

"Can't have that."

"I'll let you play footsie with me for dinner."

"I'm close to accepting your terms. You got a kicker?"

"There's cannoli in the fridge for after."

Tommy whistles, impressed and only a little mocking. "I get five spontaneous handholds, too," he negotiates, like Buck doesn't blush deep as a tomato every time Tommy snags his hand just to hold it.

"Are they still spontaneous if -."

"Yes."

"Shake on it?"

Tommy flicks his tongue against his teeth. Seems to contemplate it for a moment, and then licks a line up Buck's neck instead. "That binding enough for you?"

Buck doesn't bother to hide the way his dick twitches against the seam of his zipper. Tommy chuckles.

"That a yes?"

Buck only eyes up Tommy's neck for soot before he follows Tommy's example.

[bluesidez]

The Love Lab presents:

Wash Day 🫧🚿

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

summary: Miguel offers to wash your hair because wash days can be a lot, mischief ensues.

content warning: 18+ MDNI, lots of fluff and banter, talks of marriage/proposal, lovey dovey!miguel, head scratching + massaging, p in v sex (wrap it up 🫵🏾, healthcare is expensive and so are babies), just the tip at one point, cussing, subby + service-like miguel (he does start to enter a daze that is similar to a sub drop, but it's not really that and the reader checks up on him immediately), needy!miguel, creative use of miguel's talons, kissing, hickys, a little hair pulling, manhandling, cunnilingus, fellatio, squirting, slight edging, praise kink, breeding kink towards the end, mentions of cum, overstimulation, a little aftercare, reader is a bit of a tease, miguel is a bit of a brat, more references to cats than I thought, no use of y/n

credit for the art/dividers: Me! (+ illustrator and canva)

a/n: This is my first fic that I am posting on here! 🤠 This one has been in the works for a while, but I am happy with the result. This story is written with a black reader in mind, but it's very inclusive minus the hair situation, so anyone can enjoy the story. There is one unrealistic part that NONE of my natural brethren would ever allow, I beg you to just go with it. 😭 I also used a little Spanish in here, to my Spanish-speakers, if anything is wrong, just let me know and I 'll change it right away!

I also imagined the shower to be one of those fancy walk-ins like this or this but big enough for two, because in my mind, Miguel is stacked in the money department as well.

word count: 6.9k (I got carried away)

To all my sub Mig lovers and fiends! Love ya! 🩵🪮

It was finally time for the day you’ve been putting off for about a week now, the taxing Wash Day.

Normally, you would drag this day out because you knew that once you started, you had to keep going until your hair was done and either ready for the bonnet or the hood dryer. Although today, you were lucky because you had a braid appointment the following morning, so that meant just a simple wash and a blow-dry. You were even luckier because your boyfriend, Miguel, was more than happy to wash your hair for you.

“I know how tired you get afterwards and I just want to help make the process easier,” is what you remember him telling you last night in your sleepy, whiny state.

Now, here you are the next day watching his eyebrows furrow in confusion, lips pouted in a crooked M as you guide him to the old faithful: the kitchen sink.

“Why are you giving me that face? You said you were gonna help,” you chuckle at his expression, watching as his eyes turn to your hair supplies littered across the counter.

“No, no! I still want to help. It’s just that,” he picks up your wide-tooth comb, running his fingers over the teeth, “I thought we were going to be in the shower.”

You look at him, a little dumbfounded at the statement. You didn’t mind washing your hair in the shower, you did it all the time, but what was the point of getting you both wet?

“I just thought it would be easier for you this way,” you reply, pulling the faucet from the sink and waving it around in an attempt to hype up the situation. “I’ll bend my head in the sink, and you’ll wash it that way. Or! You can hike me up on the counter and I can lay down with my head over the sink. That one’s a little less comfortable for me, but it gives you more than enough room to maneuver.”

“Hm,” he grunts, eyes going from you to the counter, then right back to you. “That’s fine and all, but what if my back starts to hurt from bending for too long.”

You just stare at him, unamused. If anyone would be in pain, it would be you.

“In the shower, we can stand together and I can see exactly what’s going on. Plus, you can wash my hair too,” he continues, pulling you flush against his chest, comb forgotten. He starts to rub your hips in a slow motion. “Let’s make it a date.”

“Ok, first of all, you’re not that old to where your back can just give out like that,” you quip, leaning back from his embrace to look him in the eyes. “Secondly, you expect me to believe that the Spiderman is unable to wash someone’s hair in this sink.”

“At 6’9? Absolutely.”

“Touché.”

Truthfully, Miguel was a bit turned on after spending the last 20 minutes watching you completely melt under his hands from scratching your scalp.

It was such a simple task but all of your sighs and whispers of “right there” and “harder” had him internally groaning.

When it was finished, you were up off the floor easily and blissfully unaware, while he was left with a few of your shedded curls covering his clothes and pre-cum threatening to seep into his underwear.

So yes, while technically the shower was the best option for him, he really wanted to ignite that same reaction from you again. It was addicting.

You reach up on your tippy toes and squish his face to give a quick peck to his lips. “Fine, fine! Quit your puppy dog eyes, we can go to the shower. Just let me pee first.”

Step 1 of Miguel’s master plan was already successfully underway.

He started to pick up your supplies, reading the ingredients out of curiosity. Today you were trying a new line of products that was making huge waves online. He remembers seeing how excited you were when the package came in. You had barrelled into the bedroom in a squealing frenzy, and had it not been for his spider senses listening out for you, he would have jumped from the way you threw the door open.

Even though it was another line of products that would fill up the bathroom cabinets, your giddiness rubbed off on him, so he was ready to see results.

“Baby, come on! I’m ready!”

Miguel quickly huddled up everything from the counter and made his way to the bathroom.

He walked in to see you standing next to the sink, birthday suit on and your hands reaching up to push your hair from your forehead.

Heaven-sent were the first words that came to mind. Here you were, standing in the steam of the bathroom just for his eyes. He couldn’t help but linger in the doorway, heart skipping a beat at the sight of you.

You turned to look back at him, mirth in your eyes, “Mig, come on, the water’s running.”

He didn’t even comprehend the sound of the water hitting the tiles, he was so zoned in on you.

“I’m coming, I was just…admiring you,” he replies, moving to prepare for the shower.

“There’s no way you’re eyeing me up right now. I look a little crazy,” you say, turning back towards the mirror.

“Querida, you could be rocking a spiked mohawk right now, and I would still have the same reaction. You’re beautiful no matter how your hair looks.”

You bit your lip, heart fluttering at his words. If you didn’t have to get ready for your hair appointment tomorrow, you’d stop everything then and there to love on your boyfriend.

For now, you settled on helping him out of his clothes, a smile growing on your face. You pulled his shirt up as far as you could reach, then let your hands roam over his chest, watching the goosebumps that followed behind. You kept your fingers walking down to the waistband of his pants, lightly scratching at his happy trail.

His stomach twitched in response to your touch, hands itching to pull you closer.

You placed your hands at his sides, gripping the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, slowly tugging at the bands. You stepped forward to get a better leverage, breasts pressing against his torso.

His breaths were coming out in short beats, not wanting to disrupt the spell that you put him under. He looked down at the closing space between you all’s bodies because if he looked up at your eyes, he’d stop everything and take you right there against the counter.

But the shower. He was supposed to make it to the shower. Which was in an area by itself. In the next room. With your hands roaming everywhere, he wasn’t even sure if he could even make it past the toilet.

His eyes fluttered closed as you slid your hands back up his thighs, a deep breath building in his lungs. Like this, he was really able to tune in on both the heat of your body against his and the lingering touch of your hands. Hyper-focused on you and you alone.

Then he heard a loud slap.

His eyes bucked back open, body rigid as the sting came back in waves on the side of his ass.

“Come on, we’ve got heads to scrub!” you said, voice as clear as ever.

He watched you twirl towards the shower, his mind muddled from your switch to playfulness. Had he read that all wrong?

He looked down and sighed at the sight of his dick, half-hard at what could have been.

All he could do was stagger out of the clothes that pooled at his ankles, grab the hair products, and waddle to the shower.

You were already halfway under the spray of the shower head, head leaning back, waiting for the water to completely soak through the layers of your hair.

Miguel came up next to you and detached the shower head, bringing it closer to your scalp, careful not to get water in your ears.

“So first, we have to use the scalp scrub shampoo,” you say, grabbing one of the taller bottles and unscrewing it. “Just take this in your hands first, lather it, and work it into my scalp.”

You pull his left hand forward and squeeze some of the liquid in his palm.

“Is this enough?” he asked, noticing the little amount you put in his hand.

“Yep! A little can go a long way, baby,” you say, turning around to him, trying to determine how you would reach the top of his head.

Oh, how Miguel was so well acquainted with that phrase. Especially after this cat-and-mouse game you’ve been playing with him all day.

You faced him as he placed his fingers on your scalp, beginning to move in circles, spreading the shampoo in several sections.

“You can add a little pressure. I can take it,” you mumble out, almost low enough for Miguel to miss it.

So he does. He starts to scratch at your scalp, remembering that this is an important step. For your hair of course, not his plan.

“Ugh, that feels so nice,” you sigh, trying not to sway under him. “I should have had you do this sooner.”

Miguel thought so too. Here you are, head leaned back, eyes closed, and completely oblivious to his inner turmoil. He kept scratching at your scalp, your head nodding along with the motions.

“Can you scratch over here, please?” you ask, pointing at the right side of your head, eyes squeezed tight to not let any soap fall in them. Even after all of your teasing, you were still so cute in this moment. When Miguel complied, you showed your gratitude by groaning out a quick thank you. With a long sigh, you placed your hands in front of his chest, fingers balled up in loose fists.

“Does it feel good?” Miguel knew the answer, but he had to play along. “You want me to move anywhere else?”

“Yeah, could you just-” you leaned your head over, mindlessly guiding Miguel’s hands. “Right there, baby.”

You brought your hands up to grip at his wrists, needing something to hold onto. Miguel felt insane.

To curb the feeling, he quickly leaned down and kissed your forehead. His head was overloaded with the sound of your voice and he had to keep himself composed.

You looked up at him, eyes big and wide at his affection. He kept making you feel warm doing such mundane things. You purse your lips, silently begging for more.

Miguel brought his soapy hands to the water to quickly rinse them off, then placed them on your cheeks and leaned down again to kiss your lips.

One. Two. Three pecks and you were giggling.

Four. Five. Six pecks and you were on your tiptoes, arms crossed behind his neck.

Seven. Eight. Nine pecks and you were turning your head, opening your mouth for more.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve kisses and you were in his arms, feet off the ground, biting at his bottom lip.

By the thirteenth kiss, you were pulling your head back, staring into his eyes, grabbing at his nape.

“We still have to wash the shampoo out,” you say, watching as his eyes linger on your lips.

“We can do that,” he mumbles, still holding you close.

“Are you gonna put me down?” you ask, tone a little cheeky.

He snaps his eyes up at yours, eyebrow raised. “Are you gonna finish what you started?” He started to move one of his palms down your back, taking a thigh to pull around his waist, and placing his mouth on your jaw.

“Nuh uh, O’Hara,” you chide, pushing against his chest and wiggling to get him to remove his embrace. The water smacks against the tiles as you jump down, one calf still in Miguel’s hand.

“O’Hara?” Miguel scoffed, playfully pulling at you again and tickling your side. “I’m not sure who that is, but maybe you forgot how to say baby, mi vida.”

You laughed at him, finally calling out his bluff, “No, because my baby said he would help me wash my hair, and right now he’s being bad and trying to distract me. So, until you finish, it’s O’Hara.” You folded your arms and tilted your head to the side, daring Miguel to counter your words.

He dropped your leg and muttered out a gruff “fine” with his lips downturned. Two could play at this game and if he wanted to distract you, he just had to turn up the heat.

He grabbed for the shower head and started to rinse the thick shampoo from your hair, carefully weaving through the locks.

“When do we detangle it?”

You started to smile again, happy at his verb usage. He really does listen to you when you talk about your hair.

“When we put on the conditioner, but you can start a little now while the water’s running on it. Need the brush?”

“No, I’ll just use my fingers for a little bit.”

You turned your face back to him, shocked that he remembered another technique.

“You’re gonna finger detangle, ba- I mean, O’Hara?”

“Yes I am, corazón. Why are you looking at me like that? I’m a great boyfriend that knows what his girl needs.”

You squint your eyes, wary at his words. “Uh huh, I bet you do. If you know so much, what’s next?”

“We shampoo again. Rinse. Then it’s conditioner and detangling, just like you said.”

You hummed, internally ecstatic that he actually did know the answer. “Another point for you,” you say, turning back around as Miguel places the shower head back on the hook.

Miguel smirked. He listened to you, he really did, but he also made sure to watch over 20 videos about washing coily hair while you were sleeping. You didn’t have to know that though.

His high was short-lived when you bent over to grab the next shampoo. He grabbed at your hips, watching as the swell of your ass aligned against his front. He pushed his head back and breathed in deep. How unfair.

You leaned back up slowly, turning the bottle around trying to fish for any specific directions.

“This one is a hydrating shampoo. It says you can just put it on my hair and just work it through.”

Miguel repeated the same shampooing process, although this time with less scalp scratching and more scalp massaging. You were once again in bliss at his ministrations, like a cat who couldn’t stop purring.

“O’Hara, you really have a way with your hands. Super relaxing,” you say with snickers underlining your voice.

Miguel just reached for the shower head, ready to rinse for the second time. “This guy sounds like a real catch. Too bad he isn’t here.”

You just laugh at how sulky he sounded, ready to grab the conditioner.

“Well, is there a Mr. O’Hara here? I kind of need him for this last step.”

Miguel stopped in his tracks.

You really didn’t understand how much he wanted to make you his wife. In fact, he started planning the proposal to a T after a year of you all being together. He started to dream about a future with you after the first couple of dates, despite how often he had to tell himself to slow down. It was terrifying yet thrilling how much you left an impression on his life.

Mr. and Mrs. O’Hara.

Mr. O’Hara.

Mrs. O’Hara.

Miguel bent his head in your neck and wrapped his arms around your waist, face burning from his running thoughts.

“Y-you can’t use that against me. You know how I get,” he said petulantly, voice softened in the juncture of your neck, drowned out by the pouring water.

“And how do you get, baby?” you ask, reaching over to run your fingers through his damp hair. You tugged lightly at the root causing Miguel to hug you tighter and groan against your neck.

As hot as the water was, the heat of your body against his left him burning. The angle was weird so he couldn’t exactly rub up against you, but he could kiss along the surface of your shoulders.

He started to slowly press kisses down your neck, moaning as you tilted your head to give him more space. He stopped to linger at the top of your shoulder, taking in a small amount of skin. After he was happy at the mark he left, he opened his mouth a little wider, canines grazing against your skin.

You reach to pull his head back up, resting his jaw on your shoulder.

“Focus, Mr. O’Hara, it’s only one more step.” You say these words lowly right next to his ear, pressing your lips on his tragus then pushing his head up to kiss against his jaw.

When Miguel stood up fully, you could see the dazed look in his eyes. Staring closer, you noticed they were a little dewey.

You had to bring him back down to Earth. You couldn’t have him lost in this steam.

“Hey, baby look at me,” you even your tone and angle his face towards yours. “Are you alright? Do we need to sit down?”

You wait for his eyes to find yours, searching for discomfort.

“No, I'm fine. I’m ok, sorry,” he says, leaning into one of your hands, wrapping his hand around it for extra support.

“Positive? I know the water is really hot so if you need to step out and cool down, then that’s fine. I’ll help you settle down then come back and finish up by myself,” you say, adamant in your words.

“No! No, no. I’m really ok. I’m so cool and calm right now that it’s crazy,” he replies, frantic at the thought of leaving you in the shower. “Hand me the conditioner.”

You look at him again, tickled at the change in condition. All you could do was sigh, twist the cap off of the conditioner, and pull the inner lid off.

He dabbed two fingers on top of the cream, scooping a small amount off of the top. “A little goes a long way, right?”

“A little does go a long way.”

“Can you turn around, please?”

You comply, placing the conditioner in a corner.

“If you need it to lather a bit more, just add a little water,” you remind him.

He began to work the conditioner through, going from the root to the ends. The results were quick and he could see your curls begin to sprout. He started to thoroughly pull his fingers through, working out any leftover tangles. He got to a bigger knot and held the section of hair in one hand, and carefully combed through the knot with the other.

You were feeling peaceful until it dawned on you: you never gave him a comb or a brush to work with.

“Hold on, baby what are you using to take the knots out with? Do you have a comb?”

Miguel placed one of his hands in your face and pushed his talons out, like a cat showing its claws off when you press the center of its paw.

You panic, remembering that they can tear through people and metal, “Um. I don’t think using these bad boys on my hair is the right way to go.”

“Tranquila, mi amor, I got it. I’m using the dull side, see?”

He put a tuft of hair in front of your eyes and showed the process of him detangling while talon-less, then working out the final tough knot with the side of the talon, turning his hand sideways to avoid cutting your curls.

As a result, the section was completely detangled, allowing him to run his fingers straight through the thick strands, and the curls springing back up once he was finished. Plus, from what you could tell, there was no breakage.

Color you impressed because Miguel was pulling out all of the stops today.

“Alright, just. Be careful.”

“Always.”

“If you jack up my hair, Lyla will have to place Jess in charge permanently.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You stand, arms placed under your chest, waiting for Miguel to finish. Subconsciously listening to the pattern of his breaths and the sound of his talon going through your hair.

“Ok, that’s it. Do you want to wash my hair while this sits?”

Such a smart boyfriend.

“Yeah just let me go ahead and finish this shower while you get your hair wet.”

Miguel stepped back to get under the overhead shower head, letting the water fall on him like rain, watching you as you began to lather body wash on your net sponge.

You were scrubbing away at your skin getting into every crevice, peach fragrance filling the air.

He wanted to reach out and touch you, but look where that’s gotten him so far. Almost kicked out of the bathroom.

You were just as stubborn as he was, no, resolute.

He admired it, especially when you gracefully brought him down from clouds that were his own fantasies.

Focusing back on you, he stared openly as you folded your body in half to reach your ankles causing everything to be on display.

A normal person would put their foot on the ledge to reach below. You were definitely fucking with him.

He watched as you pulled the net sponge across your body, leaning up as the languid movements of your hands pulled the net side to side.

He was glad that the water drowned out his harsh breathing.

You finished off your shower, working the detached shower head over the soap, clearing up your skin.

You brought the shower head lower, making sure that there was no bubble left behind.

When you held your ass to help the water pass all the way down the back of your body, Miguel jumped to hold the base of his cock, softly groaning at the picture you were painting.

He lifted his face up and pushed his hair back, in hopes that the stream could help him clear his mind. But, the water was hot, all it did was make him lightheaded at the thought of you.

“Miguel? Come over here so I can wash you too.”

Miguel tottered over, looking down at your body, shining after all your thorough work. You were placing soap on a pair of exfoliating gloves you had bought for him, lathering them together once you were satisfied with the amount of soap.

You got to work on his body, starting at the shoulders and moving in circular motions.

Miguel stared in silence, hoping you would put an end to this charade. But you continue to be meticulous, covering every inch of his upper body. Lifting his arms when you wanted to. Moving him around when you wanted to.

In this moment, he felt like a ragdoll, letting you do whatever you pleased.

You squatted down to do his lower body, eyes laser focused, not missing a spot.

All Miguel could focus on was your face so close to his dick that was twitching in anticipation. You just ignored it and continued to rub the rest of him down. Miguel wanted to cry.

You were touching everywhere, slowing down on his inner thighs and ass causing his knees to shake.

You held him steady by gripping the back of his thighs and finally looked up at him, acknowledging his presence.

Your eyes traced him all the way down to the gift that was in front of you. You parted your lips and let your tongue brush against the tip, watching as spurts of pre-cum escaped. You couldn’t have that. You leaned forward a little more, taking the head in completely, and allowed yourself a few more licks and a suck before you let go with a pop, watching the thin trail of spit grow as you leaned back.

Miguel whined in frustration, a cloud of desire fading so quickly.

“Amor, why did you-”

You quickly jumped up and rested against him, arms wrapped around his waist and hands lightly groping his butt.

“I didn’t even wash your hair yet, silly,” you quip, chin nuzzling against his sternum. “Now, go rinse off and sit on the bench so I can reach your hair.”

Forget wanting to cry, Miguel might actually do it.

He was so, so hard.

After the soap was gone he trudged to the bench, glancing over at you washing the conditioner out of your hair.

“I could have washed it out for you,” he protests, half bothered by his situation and half annoyed that he let it blindside him from the main point of this shower.

“It’s ok, baby. You really helped me out a lot today and I’m thankful. I’m also making sure you don’t drop to the floor right now, so hold on for me,” you reply earnestly, chuckling at the look of frustration slapped across Miguel’s face.

You bring over the hydrating scrub, some conditioner, and the shower head, and stand in between his legs, ready to start.

Miguel looked up at you like you hung the stars in the sky, undeniably in love and unbelievably aroused.

You started to unscrew the scrub, making sure to part his hair down the middle.

“You’re using your products on me?” he asked, confused at your actions.

“Just the shampoo. I don’t think this conditioner will do you any good, but for the most part, the line is pretty inclusive. Ain’t that neat?”

“Mm-hm,” he responded, cheeks squished against your chest, arms wrapped around your thighs.

“Look forward, for me, baby,” you say, starting to spread the shampoo on his scalp.

He just hummed and groaned in the safety of your torso, while you scratched at his scalp and pulled the shampoo to his ends. He started to kiss and nibble at any skin he could get his mouth on. His grip was getting tighter and he felt a stutter in your breaths.

“Lean back so I can rinse this out.”

He placed his chin on your stomach again, eyes full of hearts.

“I’m almost finished, I just need to put your conditioner on.”

Miguel hummed once more as you placed the conditioner at his ends first, then scrunched his hair up, careful not to mess with his scalp. Mindful of his wavy, curly hair texture like he was for yours.

His wine eyes kept staring at you, as if you were the 8th wonder of the world. You felt heat in your face, an accumulation of the almost boiling water and Miguel’s full attention.

He was simply grinning, face wet and tinted from the water.

“You’re so cute,” you say, rinsing out the last of the product.

“Only with you,” he replies, still trying to make you look into his eyes. “Can you come closer?”

You set the shower head down and run your hands through his strands, “I feel like I’m already as close as it gets.”

“Not really,” he said, swiftly sitting you on his lap like you weighed nothing. “You could always be closer to me, cariño. I can think of many ways to make that happen.”

You finally allow yourself to indulge in his shenanigans. Leaning your forehead on his, you open your mouth to say, “Is that why you were so adamant about getting in the shower? To get as close to me as possible?”

He looked from your eyes to your mouth, “No?”

You bring your hands from his hair to his neck, “You know you can’t lie. In fact, you’re like, really bad at it.”

“Fine. It was partially because of that. How did you know?”

“Like I said, you can’t lie and neither can your face. You’ve been pouting ever since I let you scratch my head and especially when I wanted to wash my hair in the sink.”

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Kind of,” you say, a laugh twinkling off your lips. “I can always tell when you want me.”

“Yeah? And what am I telling you right now?” He starts to move your hips, placing his erection right under you, grinding your lips against him.

You close your eyes, a flame beginning to blossom within you, “I guess that you need, fuck, you need me.” Your clit was throbbing against his length as he dragged your body back and forth.

“I do, bebé, I do,” Miguel was moaning loudly, melting at the feeling of your pussy finally warming him up. He moved his lips to yours, desperately trying to have more of you, gripping your hips even harder.

“Baby, s-slow down,” you say in the midst of his kisses, trying to put your feet on the bench next to him to gain some sort of stability. You knew he was pent up, but he was moving so frantically, you were scared he might slip off.

“Te necesito. Please, just-” Miguel cut himself off with a groan in your neck, grinding your slit along himself faster. He started to kiss down your chest, finally getting to your breasts, and gliding his tongue along the wet skin. He took a nipple into his mouth, allowing himself to suck.

The flame from before was starting to grow, “Miggy if you keep going, I’m gonna cum.” He was just starting and you already felt everything coming to an end.

How were you so close, yet he was the one who was riled up?

“Miguel, I’m-” you hold on harder to his neck, eyebrows furrowed.

“Uh huh. C’mon, give it to me,” he encouraged, staring at you, eyes cloudy.

You break above him, a scream crawling from your throat, hips stuttering in his hold, and liquid leaking onto the floor.

“Oh my god,” your mind was hazy, reveling from how quick you came, but mostly at how needy Miguel looked.

“Was it good?” he asked, hugging your body as he switched angles, dragging his body closer to the edge of the bench, letting your feet fall to the floor. His voice was whiny, desperate, wanton. “Was I good for you? Did you feel good?”

You brought your mouth to his temple, movements shaky and heart still thumping, “You were so good for me, baby. So good.”

He sighed, breath leaving his lungs as if what you told him was a matter of life and death.

“Then use me,” he leaned back, hands pressed against the seat. “Use me, however you please.”

You stared at him, a little stunned but fully immersed. When you brought your hand to his chest, you could feel how fast his heart was moving. You brought your mouth to his once more, a thumb on his chin pushing so that lips could part. You kissed him deep, making sure to direct his focus there while you placed your knees on the bench.

Sitting just above him, you guided your sex to his, allowing his tip to barely kiss you. You wanted him, yearned for him inside of you, but not yet.

You slid his tip past your slit, only edging it in partially, then rubbed your pussy up and down the head, allowing yourself to open up.

Miguel moaned into your mouth, hands curling into fists as he felt your walls close around the top of him. He started to move in tiny thrusts matching your rhythm.

“Nuh uh, baby, it’s just me right now, remember?” You break your kiss to reprimand him, bringing your hand from his chin to his stomach, and stopping all movement.

Miguel could only cry out and nod, upset at the loss of your body devouring his own, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, keep going. I’ll be still, cariño, please.”

“Good. There he is, my sweet baby,” you say, voice a prime example at how much Miguel begging for you was affecting you.

You start back, ass moving with a bit more force. You lean to press a long kiss against his neck, losing yourself in the sound of him barely inside of you, his groans a lovely melody filling up the room.

“You feel amazing, Miguel. So big, and you’re only giving me so little,” you pant in his ear, knees starting to hurt from how hard the tiles were.

“It’s all for you. Just for you,” he gasped, twitching when the sounds of your juices got even louder at your constant movement. “Mi amor, please, can I hold you?”

“Always, baby.”

Internally you chuckled, you never told him he couldn’t touch you, you just followed his plea to use him like a toy. He was so pussy drunk, he forgot the parameters he set for himself.

He wrapped his biceps around you, your arms folding behind your back in the process, but that didn’t stop you from riding out the high that was another orgasm.

“That’s right, keep going. Úsame, take what you need,” he requested. He was itching to dive deeper into you, not wanting your pleasure to end.

You threw your head back and whined high with Miguel’s name on your tongue, gushing out your release for a second time.

“Fuck.” Miguel was still holding onto you, legs taut in their position. He swerved your pussy across his length, listening at how wet you were.

You laid your head on the tile above Miguel, relieved with its slight coolness and trying to slow down your rapid heartbeat. Your hips kept bucking as an aftereffect.

You didn’t get that much of a cool down before Miguel was at it again, finally sliding his dick in until he bottomed out.

The two of you let out long moans in unison, a harmony that wasn’t unfamiliar to your apartment.

In this position, your face was back in front if Miguel’s, eyes watery from the sensation of him filling you up.

“You’re perfect, you feel perfect,” Miguel cradled you, trying to get as comfortable as he could, despite the impossible position he put himself in.

Lifting his hips off of the bench, he held himself up by his back pressed against the tiles.

Before you could even ask him if you all should move to the floor, he knocked the wind out of you, holding you up as he slammed into you.

“Miguel!” you shout, clamoring for anything to grab onto after the impact had you knocking forward.

“I got you, I promise. Won’t let you fall,” he heaved out, words spilling out as fast as his hips were snapping.

All you could do was mutter out words incoherently, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass reverberating off of the walls. Your eyes finally let go of the tears they were holding, overwhelmed by your state of being.

“What’s that, mi amor?” Miguel cooed at you, licking off one of your tears and kissing your cheek. “Can you feel me? Is it too much?”

“I, ngh, I,” you could barely get your words out, your brain turning into mush after each thrust. Miguel kept going, humming as he spread kisses around your face.

“You gotta answer me, baby. I need to know,” he whispered.

“I’m trying,” you respond, voice cracking from overuse. You were still peeved at his composure. “I thought you said, oh my god, you said you didn’t want to hurt your back.”

Miguel just pursed his lips, eyes clearing up for just a second, “I didn’t. And I’m not going to, super-healing, remember?”

“That’s-” your sentence was cut off by Miguel hiking you up and smacking you back down in time with one of his thrusts.

“Shit! Do that again,” you sob, thoughts coming to a stop.

“Yeah?” Miguel tried his best to keep his eyes on you, but you were squeezing so tight around him that his eyes kept rolling.

“Yes, Miggy. Right there, that spot. It’s so,” you were drooling at this point. “It’s so much.”

Miguel kept it up, glad to be hearing those words, proud of himself for igniting you.

You held your head down, body wound tight, “I think I’m gonna cum. I’m close.”

“Again?” Miguel asked, heart fluttering at you falling apart on his dick.

“Yes, baby. Don’t stop,” you say, voice wavering.

Right as you felt your body beginning to let go, Miguel halted and sat back on the bench.

“No, no, no. Why did you-” You were cut off by Miguel grabbing you and placing you on your shoulders, pussy in his face.

He opened his mouth and pushed his tongue in where his cock once was swirling in and out, sucking at your folds. He starts to hum as if you've fed him his last meal, causing your orgasm to come in waves.

“Oh!” you shout, thighs quivering around his head, one hand gathering a fist of hair and the other pawing at the wall. Miguel was lapping everything up, holding you so that you couldn’t even think of falling.

“Ok, ok,” you say, mewling as he kept you in place while your hips shook. “S’too much.” He finally let’s go, placing you back in his lap.

“Did I do good?” he asks, chest rising and falling rapidly now that he catered to you. His face was a mess, evidence of you all down his neck.

You kissed his nose, giggling at his need for praise, “Yes, baby. You did amazing. Fantastic. Perfecto.”

He was practically vibrating with joy, kneading at your thighs.

“But Miggy, there’s still a problem,” you say, holding his face with both hands. “You still didn’t cum yet.”

You watched his face flit through several phases: ecstatic, worried, then hungry.

“Can I keep going?” he asks, hands starting to roam again.

You simply nod and try to prepare yourself for him moving you around again.

He sinks back in slowly, careful of your sensitive body. You try your best to move, hips working in circles, hands holding onto his thighs. You couldn't help but to squeeze onto him, despite how tired you were.

“You look so pretty,” Miguel mumbled.

“Bet I would look prettier if you finished. Inside.”

That fired him up even more. He started to help you to bounce up and down his length, teeth gritted. You held your head back, eyes scrunched at the feeling of him inside again.

Then he started to whimper, a telltale sign that he was close.

“Can you say it again, please?” he said, moving to stand with you in his arms.

“Say what?” you ask, exhausted yet in awe that he still had so much energy. “That I want you to cum inside? Fill me up?”

You could feel him twitch inside of you, mind hazy at the thought.

“Shockingly, no. My name. Porfa, mi vida. I need to hear it.” He was still holding you as he pounded away, eyes never leaving yours.

You’ve been saying his name the whole time, so surely that can’t be it. Then, it dawned on you.

“Let go, Mr. O’Hara,” you say, mouth right next to his.

And so he did. He bent over, hands gripping your sides as he snapped his hips frantically, groaning into your mouth as he kissed you hard. You could feel him seeping inside you, hot liquid filling you up.

You clutch at his shoulders, feeling your hold slipping from how wet his skin was from the shower and the heat. You cry out again, body sore from all of fun and sensitive from overstimulation.

Miguel finally let up for what felt like hours, standing up straight and pulling you off his dick. He hissed at the feeling, angling your body parallel to his so that everything could fall to the shower floor.

You lay your head on his shoulder tiredly, grateful that he was still carrying you.

“That’s going to mess up the drain. You should have just let it stay in me until it took,” you mumble into his shoulder, hearing his breath hitch at your words. “Or until I got to the toilet or something.”

He brought you both back to the bench, “You're on the pill so stop teasing me about that.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t live out your breed-”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it, mi amor,” he says, pecking your lips to stop you from continuing. “Now let's clean you up. Again.”

He reaches for the shower head and checks the temperature. Humming, he aims the spray at your lower area.

You jump and yelp, “That’s so fucking cold!”

“Bébe, it’s literally warm. I just checked!”

No wonder he was about to die in the steam, “You know how hot I like my showers, and that’s ice cold right now.”

“Well I’m sorry it’s not burning, but we have to clean you up,” he said, trying to console you. “I’ll warm you up later.”

You look at him and there’s this playful look on his face. “No,” you say, just the thought of doing this again making you sleepy.

You eye his body up and down. “Maybe later.”

He just chuckled and finished up.

An hour later, the two of you are dry, blow dried, and comfortably laid out across the couch with baking competition shows queued up on the TV.

You look up at Miguel from your position on his chest, cheesing from ear to ear.

He feels you staring at him and looks down, eyes warm. “What?” he asks, watching your face light up.

“Nothing. I just love you,” you say, unable to look away.

He kisses you, heart keeping a steady beat, “I love you too.”

I hope you enjoyed reading! 🩵🩵

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated and welcomed.

(And did anyone catch my Beyoncé Cécred refs?? I have no idea how brand names work with fics so I just stuck to nameless descriptions😭)

- Blue 🧼

[starlitrays]

SAFEHOUSE

starring. shouta aizawa x gn!reader

summary. what happens when pro hero eraserhead, also an old flame, shows up on your doorstep, beaten and bruised and a little bloody, telling you he needs your help?

content. use of 'y/n' and 'l/n' for last name, blood descriptions, patch up descriptions bc i have first aid, emt & basic life support training, reader's quirk is 'total immunity' meaning the only way they can die is of old age although idk how relevant it is, reader and aizawa used to be kinda together, 'who did this to you?' but reader says it

a/n. can you tell yet that i'm an oxford comma lover?? | also part 2?? maybe?

navigation – masterpost

You should've gone to sleep hours ago. But you kept telling yourself, one more episode, which had become the rest of the second season of a show you were starting to hyper fixate on. You had the next day off, and whenever you did, you had a tendency to be more lenient with your bedtime, even when you regretted it in the morning with more cups of caffeine than even you deemed healthy.

Blinking hurt a little bit, your eyes dry from having been glued to you laptop screen. Your fingers mindlessly floated over to the trackpad, and you tapped it, pausing the episode. With a heavy sigh, you tilted your neck to either side, effectively popping the bones.

When you felt a dry tickle in the back of your throat, you looked off into the dimly lit space of your bedroom. The only light was from your laptop and a bedside lamp on your nightstand. Without the sound effects and voices of the characters in your new show leaving your laptop speakers, your home felt extremely quiet.

That tickle again came back to irk you again, and you realised you needed water. Setting your laptop aside, you pushed the bunch of blankets that lay over your lap to the side, swinging your legs over and off your bed. You yawned, reaching for your phone on your nightstand.

You blinked a couple times as your eyes tried to adjust to staring into the brightest light source in the room. 2:38 AM. Shaking your head at yourself, you pushed yourself out of your bed.

Using your lockscreen as a flashlight, you opened your bedroom door, shining the light down the hall. It seemed dimmer when you used it like this. Still, you stepped out of your bedroom, venturing into the darkness. It was still your space, and you trusted that you wouldn't be jump scared by anything.

You walked down your hallway, glancing into your bathroom out of habit as you reached the main area. To your right was the entryway and living room, and to your left, the kitchen and dining area. In quick strides you made your way into your kitchen, opening the cupboard just to the left of your sink. You reach for a glass and pull it down, setting it on the counter with your hand still around it while your other hand reaches forward to the faucet handle, turning it to set the water as cold as possible.

As you fill your glass, you start to feel that something is off. The air is so still, almost to the point you think you can see the dust floating around in the dark. You look around, but end up shaking your head, chalking it up to being up too late. You look down and see the glass just over half full and call it good, bringing it up to your mouth. First, small sips of the cold liquid, and then a gulp of it down your throat.

”Better.” You mumble into the air, staring at the closed sheer curtains that hang over the window over your kitchen sink.

Then there's a knock at your front door. Well, it's not so much a knock and more so a bang-like sound. Several bangs, actually. It made you flinch– jump a little bit where you stood. You set your glass on the counter and just stared at the door, unsure of how to proceed.

You heard words through the door, although you couldn't make out what they were with the distance you had from the entry point. But something persuaded you to go over to your door. You reached for the handle, and then paused when you heard a sound. A groan.

”Who is it?” You asked through the door, your hand hovering just over the lock mechanism.

”It's shit-” The voice is strained, but you recognise it immediately. ”Shouta.” It's your ex. Sort of. There was history, but you didn't end on bad terms. you both just outgrew your relationship at the time. You still cared for him deeply though, and the next bit was a no brainer.

You unlock the door and pull it open, your eyes taking in the entirety of the man before you, who's leaning against the frame of the door with his free hand clutching at his side. You knew he was a hero, Eraserhead, and how he was dressed reflected that he had just been doing something related to hero work. His dark hair fell just past his shoulders, and he looked tired, the scars on his face emphasising the exhaustion. Although bigger than anything, you could see he was bleeding. The hand holding his side had blood all over it.

”Sorry (L/n), I didn't have anywhere else-” He groaned, and your eyes shot up from his injury to his eyes. Shouta took a step forward, and you instinctively reached for him, helping him stay upright. ”to go.” He managed out, and you nodded. You guided the man inside and against the nearest wall, shutting the door behind him.

”Stay here. I promise I'll be right back.” You tell him, letting go of him. Despite the late hour and the shock of it all, you still had a moment of thinking about his blood staining your furniture. Just before you turn down the hall, you pause. ”And Shouta? It's (Y/n), you know that.” He smiles at your words as you disappear down the hallway.

You're quick to walk to the hallway's linen closet, pulling out two bath towels you save for guests and a sheet set that you can easily replace. Gently kicking the closet's door shut with your foot, you make your way back to the main area of your home and start to lay the sheet set over one of your sofas, the towels going down shortly after.

Then you stand upright and guide Shouta, one arm around his upper back, over to the sofa to lay down. ”I got you.” You repeat to him a few times when he resists letting go of you as you try to lay him down. When you feel his body tense and relax and tense and relax as he lets go of you, you sigh.

”Thank you (L/n)- (Y/n).” Shouta corrects himself, short grunts leaving his lips as he tries to readjust to get comfortable.

”Don't thank me yet, you're still bleeding out.” You dry laugh, before looking around the open space. The time you spent with the underground hero years prior had taught you some things. For example, to be aware of your surroundings. You stood up straight and double checked all of the windows were locked, as well as the front door, and you only turned on one lamp in your living room.

You were about to head back down the hall for the bathroom when Shouta spoke again, making you stop in your tracks to listen to him. When you realised he was speaking quietly, probably to himself, you moved on, taking quick strides in your bathroom. Your hands moved quickly to light switch, flicking it on, and then to the cabinet under the sink, reaching for your intensive first aid kit or, you supposed it would be better classified as a basic life support kit. Another thing you'd learned, or adapted from, your time with Shouta in the past. As you got upright again, you looked at yourself in the mirror. All sleep had disappeared from your eyes, your breathing was laboured, and your hands were, surprising stable. You weren't sure when you picked up the ability to make your hands stop shaking but if you had to take a guess? He was in your living room right now.

When you kneeled on the rug beside the sofa Shouta was on, you tried to steady your breathing, although it was a little difficult with how worrying the entire situation was.

”What happened?” You asked as you began to open the medical kit, your eyes moving to his for just second.

Shouta chuckled, and as strained as it was, it was comforting. After all, at least he wasn't dead.

”Was the hero get-up not enough of an indicator?” He asks as you begin to remove his hands from his injury, instead opting to press some of the dressing from your medical kit to his wound. From the times you'd patched both Shouta and some of his associates up before, you'd worked as a well oiled machine together. This time was no different. Right as you lifted one hand from the dressing, he took over, using his own hand to press the dressing.

”You're gonna give me a better explanation in the morning.” You tell him sternly. A man, an old flame nonetheless, shows up your doorstep bloody and about to croak and you're supposed to not want to know what happened?

Shouta's eyes fell to you. You looked worried. Worried about him. ”Of course.” He mutters, moving slowly as he tries to help you by raising his body to help him get his shirt and scarf off him. He still keeps his mouth mostly closed, his teeth grit together as he breathes out between them.

You begin to pack the dressing with more once you see that he's starting to bleed through the first set, and you start to notice that you aren't crying. You aren't tearing up like you used to on the occasion Shouta got injured. Of course, you could feel the warmth of tears behind your eyes, threatening to attempt a fall, but you were focused. The only indication of possible tears was how you sniffled every couple of minutes.

Reaching into the medical supplies, you pick up and move around various items until you find it. The needle and sterilised sutures. With those ready to go, you got up again, running to your kitchen for any kind of alcohol you had on hand. The first bottle you found was of an older scotch. A good one. Regardless, you didn't think twice before bringing it back to the rug you sat on.

Shouta's eyes followed you around as you moved. He tried to mentally prepare himself for the pain the scotch would cause him.

”This is gonna hurt.” Shouta can only nod along with your words, shutting his eyes momentarily. He purses his lips together as he releases the dressing and you begin to pour the alcohol around and over his wound.

As you tilt the bottle upright, you go to set it back down but hesitate.

”You want a sip?” You ask, and Shouta's eyes open. ”This next part is gonna hurt too.” You gesture over to the stitching equipment you have.

He smiles. ”Sure.”

You smile back at him for just a moment, and then you bring the bottle up to his face and tilt it over, only pulling it back and setting it aside when he used his hand to push at your hand.

Your hands go for the needle and sutures, and you shake your head. A mental way of making sure you weren't sleepy anymore.

When you cut the end of the stitch, you and Shouta both sighed simultaneously, and then you took a sip of the scotch yourself.

Next was the bandages. You had several types, but ended up with two kinds in hand. The first was easy to press on, it was just a large sheet of gauze with something tape-like around it. The other kind started with a sticky end so it could be applied directly on the skin.

”Alright.” You mumble, partially to yourself, partially to nobody, and partially to Shouta as you stick one end of the second bandage to his bare torso and you start to pull it around him. Shouta again lifts his body to help you, and you wrap it around him twice, cutting it with some freedom to tuck and tie the ends until you were sure it would stay in place.

You sit back on the floor with your legs tucked to the side, leaning against your coffee table at the same time Shouta lets himself relax back into the sheet and towel covered cushions of your sofa.

Through your heavy breathing, with your eyes on Shotua, you find it in you somewhere to laugh a little bit.

”Did you want a shirt now?” You ask, already about to stand up.

Shouta looks at you a little bit confused. ”Not be rude (Y/n), but I don't think your shirts are gonna fit me.”

”No, Shouta of course not. But you never came back for your stuff.”

”You still have it?” He's a little... confused? Baffled maybe? It's been years, why would you still have his clothes? Whatever the emotion is, it shows on his face.

”Have you ever known me to get rid of anything comfortable?”

Of course. He chuckles, sucking in air through his teeth at the end, his hand instinctively coming to rest just over his injury.

”In that case, would you also grab me a pair of my sweats?” He asked, smiling up at you. You only nod before you disappear from his peripheral vision. Why did you guys stop seeing each other again?

”Are you alright?” You asked when you returned to him, shirt and pants folded neatly over each other in a pile. To most, that question in this context seemed odd. But in the moment, it made sense. Shouta blinks a few times in the dimly lit room.

”I will be. Do you have eyedr-” He stops speaking when his eyes flick to you and you're already holding the familiar bottle of eyedrops out to him. It's the brand he'd told you forever ago that he preferred, and it'd sat in your mini surgery kit ever since then.

”Come to my room after you change?” You mean it more as a direction, and Shouta nods a yes to you. ”If you need help, call.” You tell him before scurrying back off to your bedroom.

Your eyes scanned the room up and down, from left to right, picking up the little messes scattered about the space. First a couple of socks that were strewn about, moved to a hamper. Then your laptop, you shut it down and put it on its charger. Third, you went to your linen closet and grabbed a couple of extra pillows for the other side of your bed.

”(Y/n)?” Shouta called out, and you turned to the hallway, getting back to him quickly.

Without exchanging many words, you helped Shouta sit and stand up, looping your arm around his middle and his arm around your shoulder. The walk back to your room felt slower, but you were still considerate as you could be.

When you get into your room Shouta stopped walking for a moment, so you do too. He looks around the bedroom, and you look at him. He's not judging it, just observing it. After all, it's your private space, your territory. Just as soon as the man picked up his feet again, you moved with him, walking him over to the side of the bed you don't sleep on.

He starts to let go of you, sitting down on the mattress. Carefully, you let him lie down on his own, still standing just beside him, just in case.

”You should consider being a nurse.” Shouta tells you with a smile.

You half-smile at him, a small laugh escaping you. ”I've got my hands full enough with you, Eraserhead.” You emphasise his hero name, which makes the both of you chuckle. ”Especially if these visits are going to become a thing.”

Shouta almost rolled his eyes, instead opting to wave away your words with his hand. ”I'll try not to make them a habit.”

”Good.” You respond, with a smile on your face as you help him get comfortable with the blankets and comforter on your bed. ”You good?” He nods and you retire to your usual side of your bed.

”Shouta?” He's always liked the way his name sounds coming from you.

”Hm?”

”I was serious about that explanation in the morning.” You remind him, and he smiles, although you can't see it with how you're turned towards your nightstand at the moment.

”I'll make sure to leave a note.”

You turn your head to face him with a frown. ”A note? Absolutely not. Even if I didn't want the explanation I have to replace your bandages.” You scoff.

At first he doesn't say anything, he just smiles. ”I'm glad you were awake. I missed you.” He says, and you just look at him for a moment, a little stunned.

You wanted to say more, but instead only hummed in acknowledgment. There was so much to say, to talk about, but the adrenaline was wearing off, and you were getting increasingly more tired as the late night turned early morning wore on.

You watched Shouta turn over. ”Thank you again, (Y/n).” His voice is quieter, and you smile before turning off your bedside lamp and trying to get some sleep yourself.

@ STARLITRAYS : please do not translate or repost my works without my expressed consent and permission. please do not copy any of my works.

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x wife!fem!reader

Summary: When your sister's new mystery fiancé is someone you know from university, your husband isn't very happy.

Genre: fluff and hurt and comfort

Warnings: protective!Tangerine, reader is pregnant, mentions of stalking, knife/gun wounds, swearing, suggestive ending.

~ thank you to the anon who requesting this! ~

TANGERINE MASTERLIST

"Ah," you groan, burning yourself on the saucer as you transfer the pasta into the strainer over the sink. Your husband, who'd just finished setting the table to his liking, peeks his head inside the kitchen. 

"You ok, luv?" he asks, coming over and guiding your hand to the faucet where he turns on the cool water, "All better, yeah?" he asks, almost mocking in the kindest way and he kisses the crown of your head as the water runs over your wounded palm. 

"My poor girl," Tangerine is really laying it on thick now as he kisses behind your ear. "D'ya need me to finish up here?"

You turn, looking up at him, and nod, "Would you? They're coming over at nine and I haven't even showered or changed—and the warmth is making me feel all woozy." You emphasize this point by fanning at your face with your wet hand, water droplets cooling your skin, and Tangerine cups his hand over your stomach. 

"'Course my darlin'. What an awful husband I am havin' ya cook while you're pregnant. I'm sorry, my luv," he says genuinely, ignoring your attempt to remind him you'd wanted to make the meal since it's your sister's favorite, as he practically shoos you away. 

"I'll call ya down when they've arrived, hm?" 

You nod, smiling as you make your way up the stairs to shower and change for dinner.

As the oldest, you've always been protective over your sister. Andy had this tendency to jump into situations impulsively and when she'd called and gushed over her new fiancé, you had been slightly concerned for her considering she'd gotten engaged within just four months of meeting him. 

So, with Tangerine's approval, you had invited them both over for dinner. 

Once you finish adjusting your dress in the mirror, you make your way downstairs and smile at the familiar sound of Andy's rambling.

The room smells like the spaghetti you'd started and Tangerine had finished, and you see that he has poured both Andy and her fiancé a glass of wine.

He hasn't poured one for himself considering he doesn't drink when you don't. 

Seeing you, Andy instantly squeals and rushes up to pull you into her arms. "Oh my, just look at you," Andy exclaims and looks at your dress, which shows your baby bump, "You been taking good care of my darling sister?" She looks at Tangerine with a light-hearted frown and points at him accusingly. 

"Mmhm, only the best for my darlin'," Tangerine smirks and moves closer so he can kiss your cheek. You feel all warm and fuzzy inside as you smile at your husband. You're too preoccupied with your happiness to fully hear Andy introduce her new fiancé until Tangerine nudges your shoulder and you look up at your sister's future husband. 

You're happy you hadn't been holding a wine glass because it would have fallen onto the ground instantly.

"This is Oliver," Andy says, hugging him closely as she draws hearts on his chest. The man is tall and slim and he has dusty blond hair. His eyes, which the blue reminds you of Tangerine's, are piercing into yours and you shudder. 

You know him. 

Tangerine can see your discomfort and he squeezes your hand. He doesn't mention it. He doesn't want to make a scene and he's distracted by Oliver shaking his hand. "Hi," Oliver then moves his hand to you and he continues to stare. You feel sick but you know you have to shake his hand anyway.

"Hi," you answer and strain a smile.

Andy jumps in immediately with a new topic of conversation, happily introducing the man she loves to you and Tangerine. You feel like you're underwater as you stare at Oliver and all those memories; of the bundles of flowers and the endless phone calls swarm and drown you. 

Tangerine's hand in yours is the only thing now keeping you above water.  

"Excuse me," you say early into dinner as Tangerine finishes serving everyone some pasta. You've barely sat down but you suddenly feel sick to your stomach so you rush to the bathroom.

After only a moment, you hear your husband's worried voice from behind the bathroom door. 

"My luv, are you alright in there? Is everything okay?" he calls and raps on the door with his knuckles. 

You let him in instantly, your eyes round as you pull him inside the bathroom. Tangerine stumbles inside and looks you up and down with confusion. 

"The baby's okay," you reassure him breathlessly and his expression softens.

"I didn't ask if the baby was okay," he says gently but places his hand on your stomach as a way to show he's grateful the baby is okay, "I asked if you were okay, my heart." 

You look up at him, holding in your frustrated tears. "I know Oliver," you whisper. 

Tangerine frowns but he understands what you mean. "You do?" 

You nod and start to explain. "Yeah, I know him from university. We were classmates freshman year and then—it became weird. Remember that stalker I had? It's him. He was obsessed with me and would ask me out numerous times and when he finally asked for my number, he wouldn't stop calling and following me around. The university got involved and he left junior year. I haven't heard or seen him since but Tan, I know it's him. I just know," you sound scared and your husband hates the sound.

"Sweetheart," he says and pulls you in closer, his hands cupping your cheeks. "I believe you, darlin'. You wouldn't lie about something like this. What do you need me to do? Should I kick him out–or—"

"No!" you lean your head on Tangerine's chest, sighing as you clutch at his shirt, "Andy clearly loves him. I can't ruin this for her."

Tangerine's hand rests against the back of your head, his thumb soothing in your hair. "But, if he makes you uncomfortable—"

You interrupt him, "I can deal with one dinner and then I'll tell Andy about all this privately. It has to be her decision, okay?"

"I do not want your stalker as our brother-in-law, Y/n," Tangerine says sternly. 

"It's not about us! It's about Andy and– please can you pretend I didn't tell you anything tonight?" you say, "And I'll pretend I don't remember him."

Tangerine can see the determination in your eyes. He wants to protest and tell you you don't have to go through with this dinner but he can tell you want to protect your sister more than yourself and he knows he has to respect that.

So, he puts on his best fake smile as you both return to the table. Tangerine hates pretending like this, especially because now he's overanalyzing every look Oliver is sending you. His blood boils even more when Olicer asks you, 

"How far along are you?"

How dare that bastard ask about his baby?  

You take a bite from your fork and strain a smile, nudging Tangerine's calf to convince him to stay quiet as you answer the question. "Almost six months now," you say and Oliver uses this as an opportunity to look you up and down which makes you visibly tense. 

"Yeah, my darlin' has been a real trouper," Tangerine fakes a laugh at Oliver's question and rolls up his sleeves, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he presses a kiss to your cheek. You know what he's doing instantly because you've seen the number of bullet wounds grazes and knife slashes he has on his forearms, as well as the tattoos that cover his skin. 

He's intimidating Oliver and by the look on the poor man's face, it's working. 

"And she has me to help 'er, right, luv?" He smiles and tilts his head in Oliver's direction, drumming his hand on the table as he brings attention to the scars there and the amount of rings he's wearing—especially his wedding band.   

Oliver stares at you less after that. 

As you say your goodbyes to Andy, you tell her you'll call her later, and then smile politely at Oliver—who doesn't say much to you or Tangerine and once your front door is shut you turn around and narrow your eyes at your husband. 

"I saw what you did," you say and Tangerine raises his arms in mock confusion. He winks and then starts to clear the table. You follow him, trying to do the same but he sends you a look and you retaliate, instead leaning against the kitchen counter as you watch him.

 "You didn't need to show him your scars like that. Andy doesn't know what you do for a living, remember?" you sigh. 

Tangerine hums, "I wasn't showing them to her," he shrugs and loads up the dishes into the dishwasher. 

"I wanted that bastard to know what I would do to him if he even considered hurting you again. I wanted him to know what I'm capable of," he finishes.

You sit down on a chair, holding your stomach and you sigh. Tangerine turns to look at you over your shoulder, "Ya okay, darlin'?" he asks, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he walks over and kneels in front of you, his hands on your knees. 

You nod. "I'm just a little tired," you whisper.

Tangerine caresses your cheeks. "See, this is why I had to intimidate the bastard. You were under unnecessary stress and that makes him a threat to everything I hold dear," he whispers and kisses your stomach over your dress. "Ya know I won't let anyone hurt you, luv, yeah?"

"I know," you say, running one of your hands in his curls and twisting one in your finger as you contemplate admitting this. "I did think it was hot," you admit, "Seeing you show off your arms like that."

Your husband's grin widens. "Yeah?" 

You glare at him and suppress a smile. "Oh, don't get a big head about it, you prat." 

Tangerine laughs and stands up, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He straightens up and flexes his muscles, sending you a playful wink. "Is this making ya all hot and bothered for me?"

You shake your head but the way you're staring at him says otherwise. Tangerine helps you stand, smirking as he sees that look in your eyes. He knows your pregnancy sometimes makes you hornier than usual and he can read your moods easily now. 

"Want me to make the ache go away?" he teases and kisses your cheek. 

You laugh breathlessly and wrap your arms around his neck. "Okay," you say and then look at him seriously, "But you're doing all the work. I just wanna lay there," you pout, "I'm tired."

Tangerine smiles and nods, "Such a princess," he teases and then succumbs to your wishes, "But anything for you, luv'."   

[cupidsdolll]

The Feeling Came Late

Chapter One: When You’re Young, They Assume You Know Nothing

pairings: grumpy!college student!Harry x fem! sunshine!reader

summary: Harry hates Y/N, it seems like it's been like that forever. He's quick to insult and correct her even when she's right, he's just always been the only one to pick on her no matter what she does. She doesn't understand why it's like this between them or what she did to make him dislike her so much, but what if it's all just a lie?

overall warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, kind of enemies to lovers, angst, alcohol consumption and drug mentions, foul language, Harry is a major asshole in this tbh, heavy on the grumpy x sunshine in this.

chapter 1/? (wc: 3.3k)

- - - - - -

Y/N's always loved mornings, she loves being able to wake and watch the sun rise. She loves being able to listen to nature's song, the birds chirping, the different buzzing and humming of the insects and the various sounds of all the animals that stay around her house. She always wakes with a bright smile on her face and enthusiasm to start her day, she'll turn on her favorite playlist and sing along as she begins to start her day.

Y/N didn’t love this morning though, it started out differently than her normal morning started. It was different because she had stayed up much later than she should have trying to get some last minute studying in for a pop quiz, which caused her to wake with a slight frown and a loud huff as she shuts off the blaring beep coming from her alarm clock.

"I get it, I'm up. Now shut up." She mumbles as she tiredly rubs her eyes and sits up; she grabs the various sheets of paper strewn across the bottom half of her bed and stacks them as neatly as she can in a hurry on the wooden nightstand next to her bed. She sighs as she stretches her arms over her head and leans back some, feeling only slightly better as she feels her body loosening up.

She makes her bed, tucking the thick blanket underneath all of her pillows and making sure there's no wrinkles anywhere before grabbing her phone and clicking on the 'Music' app and clicking her morning playlist. She smiles as her favorite song begins to play as she walks over to her closet to pick out her outfit for the day. After several minutes of aimlessly searching through her clothes she settles on a knitted sweater, a brown tartan skirt, some white open toe sandals and a white tote bag.

She heads into her en suite bathroom and sets her outfit on the gray granite countertops before turning on the faucet and letting the water warm up. She hums along to the current song playing as she splashes the warm water on her face and dries her face slightly. She grabs her face wash and begins to do her daily morning routine, the small feeling of normalcy making her feel better already.

Once she's dressed, done her makeup and in a somewhat better mood, she heads into the kitchen while singing along to another one of her favorite songs and begins to grab a banana and some leftover oatmeal from the fridge. Making her way to the small dining room table, she sighs happily and sets the oatmeal down and begins to peel the banana and break it into small uneven pieces to eat in her oatmeal.

After eating everything, she washes the bowl and sits in the dish rack placed next to the sink and grabs her purse and her phone, putting all her essentials in the bag and walking to the front door. Smiling as she shuts off the living room light and closes the door behind her, she begins to make her way to the front of her apartment complex and towards the small bike rack, filled with various bikes of all sizes and colors.

- - - -

It takes her roughly less than twenty minutes when she reaches her university and sighs as she hops off her bike and ties it to the bike rack in front of her school. As she makes her way into the school, she stops as she notices a few new flowers on the side of the steps. As she makes her way over, she can feel her smile growing, the flowers are absolutely beautiful. They're a beautiful shade of pink carnations, the bright color popping against the stark bricks of the stairs and she quickly takes her phone as she snaps a picture of them.

"Leave it to the professionals, and move out my way." She hears a voice coming from somewhere behind her, she recognizes this voice. She could pick it out in a crowd and not because she likes it, but because it’s one of the only ones that can upset her. This voice throws out insults and mocks her, jeers at her for seemingly no reason, the one voice that she’ll never understand why it hates her so much.

She turns around with a frown already set on her face at the voice behind her. His long brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a cotton white t-shirt paired with a pair of light wash denim jeans and a black leather jacket. His signature smirk is plastered on his face as two of his friends laugh and pat him on the back, he’s making his way towards her. For as long as she can remember she and Harry have been at each other's throats or more like he's been dead set on giving her absolute hell since the end of their high school while she ignores him.

"Shouldn't you be getting to class anyways, miss goody two shoes?" He asks and snickers as he purposely bumps into her shoulder as he passes as if there’s not plenty of room for him to walk, her frown deepens as she messes with her bag and makes her way to the entrance door. Just before she opens the door, she turns around and gives him a glare, a small smile slowly beginning to take over the frown.

"Oh you’re one to talk, Styles. At least, I’m not the one failing English! " She yells back before quickly walking in the door and heading to her first class of the day.

While she loves her classes, loves interacting with the teacher and adding her input in group discussions, the lack of her normal amount of sleep makes her brain unfocused and easily distracted. Her eyes flit across the room with every sound that occurs, she can't seem to sit still. She's fidgety, her hands play with the pen in her hands as if she's not supposed to be taking notes right now. She wishes she could be focused enough to take even the bare minimum of the notes on the board, she can't stay focused on anything for long before her attention is grabbed by something new.

Time seems to fly as she looks down at her bare page in the notebook; nothing written on it beside the title of her notes and she sighs. Quietly she leans over and asks the girl behind her if she can take a picture of her notes after class, she thanks her when the girl nods before going back to writing on her own paper.

A knock on the door grabs her attention as well as the sound of her fellow classmates whispering amongst each other, the scratching of the pencil of the girl next to her, and she watches the teacher make her way to the door. The clicking of her heels echo in the small classroom and finally her hand reaches for the door knob, the teacher begins to twist it and pull the door open. She can hear him before she sees him, his voice carrying through as he speaks.

"Mornin' Liz. How's my favorite girl?" She watches as the teacher rolls her eyes and swats his arm as he goes to give her a hug.

"You're late Mr. Styles. Have a seat." She says as she makes her way back to her desk and Harry chuckles as he opens the door fully, his emerald eyes scanning the room.

The only available seat is next to Y/N and he scowls. Briskly walking over to someone at the table furthest from her and asking to switch seats quietly, they shake their head and he sighs. He walks over to another table and asks to switch and in response he gets another no. Frowning, he walks over to Y/N's table and grabs the chair and moves it as far away as he can, mumbling a few words under his breath as he sits down.

Not bothering to pay attention, he lays his head down on the desk and closes his eyes. Allowing the outside noise to become faint murmurs, he bounces his leg quickly as he begins to drift to sleep.

"Can you stop please? You're shaking the table?" He huffs and rolls his eyes as he lifts his head.

"S'not bothering you." He says and she shakes her head gently.

"I'm trying to take notes." He scoffs as she points to her notebook.

"That doesn’t have shit to do with me though, does it? Gotta make sure you pass the exams, right? M'surprised you don't have it all memorized." He says dryly and lays his head back down. He can hear her sigh and the crinkling of the paper as she moves over some towards the opposite end of the table. He snickers softly to himself before closing his eyes once more.

He wakes up to the feeling of someone shaking his shoulder, it's soft, small and gentle as it shakes him. He groans as he sits up and stretches his arms over his head. When he turns he sees her standing next to him, her side of the desk cleaned up and the room’s silent.

"The fuck do you want?" He mumbles and frowns, he's never been on to be happy whenever he wakes up, especially grumpy because it’s her waking him up.

"Class is over, just figured you'd want to head wherever you need to go." She says, her voice soft and sweet and he frowns once more.

"Sure." He stands up and moves the chair back to its original position. He barely catches the sight of a small frown etched on her face before she leaves, he waits a couple of minutes before he's heading out the door and onto his next class. He doesn't care that she's upset, she lives in her own world and doesn't seem to grasp the fact that not everyone's as nice as she is or was raised with such manners, it's not his problem.

On the way to his next class, he hears his name being yelled from behind him. He turns around and sees the principal yelling and jogging his way.

"Harry! A moment please?!" He yells and Harry frowns. He knows what he wants to talk about, it can only mean one of two things, it's either his failed midterm or be found out that it's him graffitiing the various parts of the school walls and parking lots. He doubts that he knows about the graffitiing so it has to be the exam, and he just doesn’t want to talk about the exam with him at this point.

He shakes his head as he begins to walk opposite of the voice calling his name. He's never been one to care about time and his grades so he waits until the last minute and does just enough work for him to be at a D level.

"Harry Styles!" The voice booms and he huffs before turning around and grumpily begins the short trek to the principal.

"Yeah?" He says and crosses his arms, the principal nods shortly before asking Harry to follow him.

As Harry follows the older man into his office, he grumbles the whole time about how unfair and stupid all of this is. Passing by all the lockers and the small gaggle of students littering the halls as he walks, head held high and confidence is his walk because he can't be seen being embarrassed. It'd be the end of the world if that were to happen, not that he’s embarrassed about this in any way. He’s not.

When the principal opens the tall wooden door leading to his office, he steps aside to let Harry in and smiles as Harry mumbles a rough thank you in response. Harry immediately frowns when he sees the figure sitting in a chair in front of the desk, her fingers messing with her bag and her eyes seeming to stare a hole in the desk. Sitting behind his dark oak desk and opening up his laptop, the sound of clicking filling the room as he types.

"So, Harry, you know why I brought you here?" The older man asks and Harry nods.

"Think so, s'about the midterm right? And if so, I have some words. Knapick's crazy if she thinks that test was anywhere near suitable to give to us. I suggest you look into that." Harry says and the principal shakes his head, Y/N only lets out a soft scoff as if she doesn’t believe him.

The principal leans back and adjusts his glasses as he stares at Harry.

"No, Harry. It's just you I believe. Almost everyone else passed the exam with at least a C average if not better." Harry frowns at that and shakes his head.

"No way, the test is rigged I tell you. I knew Knapick never liked me. She's trying to fail me Oscar."

"No, you barely did effort. And if you wanna be able to graduate on time, I suggest you get a tutor." The principal says and Harry's frown deepens.

"No way."

"Yes, Harry. I'm serious. I'm trying to help. I can give you a list of our best tutors in the school but it’d be pointless on both of our parts, we both know you won’t take this seriously or you’ll just find a way to get them to give you the answers. I don’t want you wasting their time.

Harry shakes his head furiously, the ponytail slowly beginning to slip from the elastic's hold causing a few of his curls to frame his face.

"It's either you get the help you need or you're gonna be repeating, and I know you don’t want to ruin your little reputation by having to repeat." Harry huffs and rolls his eyes once more.

“I guess.” Harry says and the principal nods.

“Great! That’s where you come in Y/N. I know you’re real patient and won't fall for your game, Styles."

"No game. I just have the charm the ladies want, Oscar." Harry says and smirks - only briefly though, he absolutely hates the idea of spending any time with her; just being here in the same room for this short period of time is excruciating and annoying.

"But I don't want her, give me someone else."

"I'll see what I can do but I think she would be best. She’s already here, I don’t want to have to waste her time and I'm sure she works fast."

Y/N only sighs, it’s quiet and barely noticeable if Harry wasn’t already trying to stare a hole into her head.

“I can tutor him, sir. Only if he wants me to, which we all know he doesn’t.” She says and Harry huffs obnoxiously loud as he uncrosses his arms.

"She makes me want to tug my hair out." Y/N laughs to herself at this and Harry frowns again, he didn’t say anything funny.

"I’m sure she knows that. Have a good day Harry." Harry grumpily walks out of the office as fast as he can, eager to get away from her and her annoying voice, her eagerness to help, her unwavering kindness, and heads to his next class. He hears her calling after him, he doesn’t care about whatever she has to say. He hates the fact that he has to spend time with her, listen to her annoying voice and that he has to learn from her. He’s already late of course so once he’s out of the office and doesn’t have to worry about her chasing him down he slows down, walks slowly because quite frankly he doesn’t care about this class. His thoughts become a chant of how much Y/N annoys him and why she has to be so smart. If he had to be paired with her, he'd make it the worst tutor session ever. He's really gonna make her life hell, and he’s really gonna have the best time doing so.

Harry doesn’t share many classes with Y/N thankfully, but he absolutely loathes the few classes he does share with her. He hates watching her take notes in her stupid notebook, and listening to her answer any questions the teacher has and adding her own input or asking a question about whatever the teacher is talking about. When he walks into his next class, about ten minutes late because of his purposefully slow walking and sees her sitting in the front row with her notebook about and all of her colored pens and pencil laid onto her desk he immediately frowns.

Her presence just irritates him to no end, having to watch her be on top of her game all the time just doesn’t make sense to him. He doesn’t get how she’s able to do it all without wavering or failing. Either way, it just fucking irritates him. He walks to his seat towards the middle, the teacher refuses to let him sit in the back because he won’t do anything other than be on his phone. He can feel her gaze on him which only frustrates him more so he stares straight ahead, purposefully ignoring her. There’s nothing for them to talk about anymore, he just needs to get what he needs from her with no other complications or distractions.

The class drags by slowly and Harry still can't seem to shake the feeling of her eyes on him, so he just lays his head onto his desk in hopes that it’ll make the time go by faster. He can’t help but to bounce his leg as the teacher drones on about something related to History he thinks, and quite frankly he just doesn’t care. He just wants to be done, to be out of the room. He knows that he could easily just walk out and be done with this class for the day, but that won’t do him any good. He’s going to have to come back and grab his assignments if he’s assigned any and he’s going to have to come back tomorrow and suffer through.

Finally the teacher dismisses the class for the day and Harry’s one of the first ones out, or he would be one of the first one’s out if Y/N hadn’t called his name and caught up to him and grabbed his shoulder. He jerks it off roughly and turns around.

“Leave me alone. It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to deal with you for God knows how long with these stupid tutoring sessions, make both of lives easier and just fucking write down the answers to anything and give it to me.” He says, ready for this encounter to be over with. She shakes her head firmly, a frown beginning to form on her face.

“I agreed to tutor you, I’m not just going to give out the answers. I need your number so I can communicate with you,” She says with a roll of her eyes and Harry can’t help but to feel a small sense of pride and enjoyment at irritating her, to be the reason she frowns and rolls her eyes.

“You don’t need my number, just give me the answers and all of this will be done and over with. I’m not giving it to you anyways.” He says with a huff, here she goes again wanting to fix him. She wants to help him and allows her kindness to seep through even though he’s the last one she should be treating with kindness, he doesn’t want her kindness. She huffs once again and Harry can only smile briefly before he remembers why they’re even having a conversation to begin with.

“Fine, be stubborn if you want to. I’m not going to allow you to stress me out.” She says and walks past him, and because he takes joy in annoying her he makes sure to walk along with her only to bump into her before laughing and turning around.

He’s definitely going to have a lot of fun with this.

[luveline]

hi jadey!! can i request something with steve? maybe where reader used to be in a relationship where the other person made her to do all the work ( put in the groceries, clean the house, etc.) and one day steve is taking care of some of the chores and reader freaks out cause she’s the one supposed to be doing it?? it’s just an idea, no pressure lovely! hope you’re having a good day 🫶🫶

ty gorgeous! fem!reader

Steve hums when he's busy. No pretentiousness, no shame, he sings lyrics, guitar, and occasionally drums, too. You can hear him in the kitchen singing that Van Halen song he loves, his voice twisted tight as he tries to hit a high note. 

"Are you making a sandwich?" you ask hopefully, hanging your coat on the hook as you trudge in from the front door. 

You're in the kitchen before Steve's collected the wits to answer you. Your jaw falls open. 

"Hey, babe," he says. It's difficult to tell if the pet name is joking or serious, Steve in his pyjamas with his sleeves rolled up, his lips quirked into a funny smile as though he's pleased to see you but confused at the same time. "No? Did you want one?" 

"What are you doing?"

Steve holds his games up in surrender, a cloth held in the left. "I'm wiping down the counters?" 

"Why?" 

"I do this every Friday before you get home." 

"What?" 

Steve takes the cloth to the sink to rinse it out. Bleach bubbles squeeze from the fabric. "Am I doing it wrong? This is how I always do it. Wipe the counters, vacuum, mop. Why are you back so early?" 

"Steve, you don't have to clean. I… that's my job." 

"Then what's mine?" he asks, turning off the faucet and dropping the wet cloth at the bottom of the basin. He wipes his hands dry with a hand towel, ushering your forward with a gesture of his index finger. "Come here…" He wraps his arms around you. "All you do lately is work." Steve kisses your cheek three quick times. "Miss you."

You blink a little, overwhelmed, still worried. "Do I not do it right? It's okay if I don't, I can–" 

"Do what? The counters? No. I just figured it's my turn before the weekend starts and you go on your cleaning frenzy. Which isn't your job, by the way. I don't know why you think that." 

He's light-hearted, but your silence spurns him into a more serious tone. Taking your face into one still-damp palm, he narrows his eyes until they're more brown than anything else and says, "Do you really think it's your job?"

"I'm the girl." 

"And I'm so stoked about that, but…" He smiles, pulling your cheek with his thumb to encourage the same. "That's not right. Do you even like cleaning?" 

"I don't have to like it, it's housework." 

Steve can't seem to decide whether this is serious or not. He goes from smiling to frowning to impassive, his fingers rubbing a slovenly path down your cheek. Strands of hair like lace drift into his eyes as he ducks his head, his gaze on your chest. "It's housework for the house we both live in. I know you've been doing more of it since we moved in, and I'm really sorry. I'm lazier than you. I should've asked you about it, but now I've let you do more and you think you need to do all of it. I'm a dick." 

"No, you're not." 

"I'm a total dick. You think you have to clean up after me?" He brings you in for another hug. "Holy fuck, baby. I'm a grown up." 

You bristle at first, but relax the longer he holds you, his words sinking in steady. He's not criticising you; Steve is apologising and self-deprecating. You slide your arms behind his back and breathe in his smell, all things boy but with the sharp smell of bleach lingering. 

"I did it myself. You know, before. So that's why it feels like it's mine to do. Not your fault," you say into his chest. 

Steve pulls away. "Thanks, but I'm a huge dick no matter what." 

He marches you backwards and forces you back into one of the chairs at the dining table. You grab at his arms as he attempts to walk away, lifting your chin to kiss him. It distracts him for a while, the soft, slow press of his lips against yours, your hand in his hair scratching tenderly, but he can't be kept forever. Steve ends your kissing with a peck and beelines for the fridge.

"What are you doing?" you ask. 

"Making you a sandwich. Dinner and a show tonight, did I forget to tell you? You can eat the best BLT in the western hemisphere and I'm gonna vacuum the crumbs from under the toaster. Perfect Friday night, right?"