#maybe we should turn him into mash

[fuzzbuns]

Inspired by the fact my friend called nanaki a “poor little potato” once and then followed it up immediately with a picture of mashed potatoes LOL and this

[shouyuus]

─── ハイキュー!! SUNDRESS SEASON

kenma, tsukki, kageyama, hinata; 2,321 words; highly suggestive, fluff, no "y/n", slightly sadistic!tsukki, gamer!kenma, jealous!kageyama, needy!hinata

summary: sundress by a$ap rocky plays loudly in the back

a/n: this wasn't supposed to be horny but then tsukki happened....

─── 研磨 KENMA

he’d never been against the idea of you becoming a streamer, even though some of his friends (kuroo, mostly) had objected with the fact that “you know you’re gonna have to beat off weird dudes on the internet thirsting over your girlfriend, right?” to which kenma’s response had been a nonchalant shrug, followed by a series of expertly aimed button-mashes.

“we’ll get mods for her chat,” he’d said, “it’ll be fine. plus, she’s not doing gaming stuff, she’s just gonna like talk about her day and stuff.”

kuroo’s exasperation was tangible, even though the voice call.

“right, yeah, that’s so much better.”

but now, kenma thinks, kuroo might’ve been onto something.

“yo ken, flash—” someone says. kenma jerks, yanking his eyes away from a small window of your stream, pulled up on one of his dozen or so screens, where you’re currently doing what you’d called a “summer haul” stream, popping in and out of the bathroom in your room, trying on dresses for your subscribers.

“and this one is one of my absolute favs,” you say, doing a twirl in front of your camera. kenma’s mouth goes dry — it’s a sundress, dotted in tiny little daisies, ruched at the waist, the thin straps tied in twin bows on your shoulders, the square neckline underlining the delicate curve of your collarbones.

“ken — the fuck —”

“sorry, one sec —” kenma rips off his headphones and mutes his stream, his video going dark.

a second later, on your stream, the door opens and kenma appears behind you, making you jump slightly as he loops a possessive arm around your middle.

“k-kozume! what’s up?” you blink, letting out a surprised laugh as he leans down to squint at your chat, nose crinkling at some of the comments flying across the screen.

“sorry, i forgot that we made reservations for dinner,” he says into your mic before ending the stream. you make an affronted noise, pouting.

“hey!”

kenma turns, his arm still tucked around your middle, and cocks his head.

“i don’t think you should stream anymore.”

“w-wait, what? kozume, where’s this coming from? you were so supportive of me streaming in the beginning —” you wave at your set up, “you even helped me with the rig.”

kenma frowns, not looking at you, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip as he sighs.

“i know but —” he cuts off, feeling a raw heat crawling up the back of his throat at the image of you on his screen, spinning in that sundress (the one you’re still wearing — god the fabric is so soft beneath his hands). he curls his fingers into the new material of your dress and drops his face into your shoulder.

“sorry, just —” he waves a hand vaguely at the setup, “this dress…” he manages, finally, still not looking up, “i saw you and…” he swallows around the lump in his throat.

you let out a tiny laugh, leaning back, your palms on his chest as you search his face.

“kozume… are you… jealous?”

kenma scowls, “no — i just don’t want my girlfriend prancing in a dress like this in front of a bunch of strangers on the internet.” the words tumble out of him, almost too fast to catch. he sucks in a long breath when he finishes, his eyes widening as he stumbles half a step back.

“a-ah — sorry — i don’t know where that —” he stutters, looking bewildered.

but you grin, looping your arms around his neck to pull him back. you tug him into a long, slow kiss, and you feel him soften against you, his thumbs drawing tiny circles just beneath the last rung of your ribs.

“how’s this — the next time i do a haul stream… you can get a preview of all the outfits and veto the ones you don’t want me wearing on stream.”

kenma crinkles his nose, bites back the urge to tell you that maybe he’ll just veto every single one. but the imploring look in your eyes is too sweet to deny. he sighs, nodding.

“fine,” he takes a step back as you reach for mouse to resume your stream; he pulls you back.

“we’re getting better mods for your chat.”

you laugh, rolling your eyes, “yeah, yeah, whatever you say, ‘zume.”

─── 月島 TSUKKI

“quit squirming.” tsukki swats at your hand as you try to tug at the hem of your dress. you whine, scowling down at him as the pair of you arrive at the top of the escalator and step off with the crowd.

“it feels weird —” you protest, but tsukki only tsks, his glasses flashing in the bright mall-interior lighting as he guides you by the small of your back towards the next store on your list.

“you were the one who wanted to come out shopping,” he says, his voice lilting into a sardonic tease. you sigh, feeling your cheeks prickle with heat as you feel another breeze between your legs.

“i — not like this!” you hiss as the pair of you duck into the clothing store, the bright lights flooding the colorful displays of summer outfits. you resist the urge to tug at the hem of your dress again, regretting every decision in your life that’s brought you to this moment, including the late-night purchase of the a-cursed sundress currently hugging your body.

tsukki wanders towards one of the meticulously set up displays and tugs at a shirt.

“this one’s cute.”

you frown at him. he cocks an eyebrow at you, watching for a solid three seconds before he drops the sleeve to the shirt, shrugging up a single shoulder.

“well, if you don’t like it —”

you hurry to his side, shuffling into one of the tighter aisles.

“it’s not that i don’t like it — i just —” you drop your voice, feeling your whole body burn as you press your legs. “i can’t believe you’re making me walk around without any panties on!”

tsukki’s smirk goes lopsided; his glasses flicker as he gently adjusts them up the bridge of his nose.

“like i said,” he heaves an exaggerated sigh, leaning down to back you up against a wardrobe full of pastel-colored croptops, “if you wanted to go prancing around outside in a dress like this… then i get to keep your panties.”

you chew on your lips, fidgeting with your fingers, heat roiling in your belly as tsukki leans back with what could only be called a sadistic shrug.

“kei,” you whine, but he only roll his eyes, unmoved. you sigh, deciding to change tact.

“what if someone sees?” you counter, to which tsukki only pins you with a deadpanned look.

“then let them see —” he leans down again, a hand coming up to brace against the shelf behind you, pinning you to the clothing rack. you let out a tiny squeak as his nose nearly brushes yours.

when he speaks, his voice is soft, sweet, smug and tantalizingly sadistic —

“then let them see… and they’ll have to live with the fact that they’ll never get to do anything else but a single look… cause this pretty little pussy’s mine, got it?”

─── 飛雄 TOBIO

the picnic had been your idea, so tobio tells himself as he leans patiently by the door with a large basket full of picnic-stuff — everything from chilled rose wine to finger sandwiches to strawberry tarts and just about a million other tiny, delicate, edible items.

“sorry, sorry —” you say, rushing out, putting in a pair of earrings as you stumble into the hallway by the door, “i couldn’t decide what to wear but i remembered that i got this a few months ago when it was still too cold to wear outside —”

tobio looks up, and the rest of your words fade out into a strange, muted silence as his head fills with a white-noise buzzing. he sees your mouth moving, the waterfall of your hair as you flip it over your bare shoulder, but the thing that catches in his chest like a loose thread around a chain-link fence is the dress —

and sweet god, what a dress —

dotted in tiny red strawberries, the hem frilled with a rim of delicate lace, the pleats pooling out from the scrunch around your waist, accentuating the flair of your hips.

he swallows, his mouth suddenly very dry.

“— ready to go?” your voice fades back in as if someone had suddenly turned the volume back on as tobio shakes his head, feeling not unlike a wet dog, ridding his ears of water.

“no.”

you blink, “huh?”

tobio frowns, his eyes flickering back down to your dress, where it lingers on the neckline, the soft, stomach-clenching rise of your chest, the pendant necklace he’d gotten you for your anniversary two years ago sitting pillowed between the dip of your tits.

“not this one,” he says, shaking his head.

you stare up at him, your mouth slightly open.

“not… this one… of what?” you ask, clearly confused.

tobio grabs your hand then, tugging you back down the hallway towards your bedroom.

“t-tobio!” you yelp as he jerks you into the room, pulling open the door to the walk-in closet, “w-what’s going on?”

tobio huffs, whirling around to wave vaguely at you with an exasperated hand.

“you! i — we can’t go out like this!”

your eyebrows shoot up as you look between him and the dress on your body, a dull, pulsing heat creeping up the back of your neck.

“w-wha — i — i thought you’d like this dress — i picked it just for **—”

“i just… don’t want anyone else to see,” he says, his shoulder shrugging up and for a moment, he doesn’t look like an international sports star, for a moment, he looks like the awkward boy who’d stood outside the gym and asked you to be his girlfriend who knows how many years ago.

you let out a breathy laugh, looking down at your dress.

“so… i take it you like the dress?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your voice.

tobio sighs, closing the space between you as he tugs you to him, his large hands circling your waist as you press your palms to his chest.

“i love it… and i’ll be damned if i let anyone else see you in it but me.”

─── 翔陽 SHOUYOU

you’ve always loved shopping with shouyou, because who could ask for a better hype man? and for his part, he loves shopping with you, because who could ask for a better model?

you’d already been to a good handful of stores, and shouyou’s admittedly muscular forearms are slowly starting to run out of real estate.

“alright — you ready?” you call from behind the changing room doors.

“yep!” shouyou’s voice answers, bright as sunlight.

you giggle, pushing open the door and stepping out in front of him. he’s sitting on a large couch, surrounded by the proof of your very successful shopping trip.

you tug on the hem of your dress, shifting from one leg to the next, feeling a familiar heat creep up your chest as you watch him look you over with molten-honey eyes.

“so… what do you think?”

“whoa…” shouyou gulps as you do a twirl for him, a dull humming settling behind his ears as the lace-hemmed dress flairs up, showing more of smooth, buttermilk thighs. he clears his throat and sits up just a bit straighter, “it’s — really nice — i mean — you look so good,” he says, though he’s not sure if he’s doing a good enough job of impressing upon you just how fantastic you look in the sundress.

you still look doubtful, looking down at the thin material of the dress, the cute little pleats, the tiny tangerine pattern.

“yeah?” you ask, turning towards the full length and looking yourself over, twisting this way and that.

shouyou fights down a groan as you roll up onto your tiptoes and he catches a glimpse of your lacy panties as the edge of the dress kicks up.

“yeah — holy shit —” he swears, clearing his throat, suddenly feeling very, very warm for reasons he doesn’t really want to go into.

“so…” you trail off, turning back towards him, a silent question in your eyes.

shouyou quirks a grin before calling for a shop clerk and handing over one of his cards.

“oh! you didn’t have to —” you cut off as the clerk bows and takes his card to the checkout. shouyou coughs into fist as the clerk returns with the receipt. he signs without so much as glancing at the final number.

“it’s a pretty dress,” he says, even as he gently guides you back into the spacious changing rooms. you squeak as he squeezes in behind you, locking the door with a sharp click.

“sh-shou! what’re you —” you let out a bitten-off moan as he drops to his knees, his eyes blown dark and lightless, his warm, callused hands flipping up the hem of your newly purchased sundress, his touch nothing short of reverent.

“you just look so good,” he says, his voice debauched as he tugs down your panties, “i — c-can’t i just —” he breaks off as your breath hitches, your back hitting the floor-length mirror. you press the back of your hand to your mouth as his fingers inch up the back of your thighs.

“shou — please —”

“mm… you can be quiet for me, right? god, you’re so pretty — just lemme make you feel just as good as you look in this sundress, yeah?”

taglist: @yaoduriaa @ominouslywritinginmyhead @naomihatake @cheesypuffkins87 @crispynutella @unriding @phroggii @fennecnco @inloveinsickness @simpingdailyforthem @jkj33w10 @ryescapades @katiekawls @ally-all-around @arahiraaai -- join the taglist

shouyou truthers: @dearru @neiptune @shoyosh

tobio nation: @mcdonaldsnumberone @lale-txt @hiraethwa @inloveinsickness @hiraethwrote

[dirtyvulture]

BBB

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Sergeant!Reader*

18+ only read at your own risk

Word count: 3248

Requested by anon: Hi i love your work..you don't have to do this request if you don't want.. i was kind of was wondering since we haven't heard from Sergeant Nat and reader. If we could hear from them? I was thinking since Nat is always the confident reassured one in that universe like maybe something happens where shes not sure where she stand with reader? Like jealous or maybe reader lets one of her military friends borrow her laptop and they use it to watch porn...and nat finds it and thinks its reader. And nat kind of loses her mind in a way that we havent seen. (Not like crazy but for the first time shes like am i enough). And reader is high key oblivious bc she worships nat. Some communication to sort out and then smutty times. Only if you want. If not i look forward to whatever you post yay. 

AN: *Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Thanks for the idea, anon! This was a lot of fun to write. :)

This is Part 5 in my Sergeant Beef series. Read the first one here.

“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” Sam asks, poking his head into your room. 

“Why?” You don’t even look at him, focused on you video game on the tiny television mounted to your wall.

“I dropped mine in the lake, so I had to buy a new one but it won’t get shipped off until later this week,” Sam explains. 

“Okay,” you say, hardly listening to him as you race your little car across the screen to bump the giant soccer ball towards the goal. “It’s in my room on the–”

“I know where it is. Thanks.” Sam whisks in and helps himself. 

“Close the door on your way out!” you call, just in time to hear the door slam behind him. Turning your whole focus back to your game, your fingers mash the buttons to a triumphant win.

***********************************************************************

A few days later, Natasha is over at your apartment. While the two of you had discussed a thousand times moving in together, you had always stalled or walked around the subject. Natasha wasn’t sure if it was because you were nervous what the public’s perception would be of your relationship, or if you preferred your own private space too much to give it up. Ever since the deployment, you had been more likely to retreat and hide away (even from Natasha) when you were upset or moody. She wondered if it was a side effect of your PTSD, but you never seemed ready for that conversation so she left it alone.

For dinner, you grilled some steaks (setting off the smoke detector in your apartment) while Natasha made a side of mashed potatoes and green beans. Afterwards, you went to take a shower while Natashas lounged around and found a movie on Netflix for the two of you to watch. She sits on the couch, opening your laptop and finding the web browser. She looks up Netflix and then browses through the recommendations on your home page, but none of them pique her interest.

She goes onto Google to search what other people are recommending and wades through a sea of titles and descriptions to find one. Swapping back and forth between tabs, she finds a website with a host of titles and flips back and forth until she finds a movie that is both on the list and currently on Netflix. But in the process, she loses track of the tab and accidentally closes it, silently cursing to herself, before going to check the history to find it again.

But what she finds in the history is not what she had been looking for.

Natasha feels almost scandalized when she sees the words “big busty blondes” in your search history, followed by a list of pornsites. While she knew you watched such videos in her absence, she didn’t know what genre you were into, and now a deep sinking feeling of insecurity fills her. She was not blonde, nor was she particularly busty after the years of hard workouts had shrank some of her assets a little. You always told her she had the perfect body, but now she wasn’t quite sure if she should believe you.

“Nat? Did you pick a movie?” You poke your head out of the bathroom. You’re not wearing a shirt and your wet hair is dripping water down your chest, emphasizing the lines of your muscles. Natasha can see the bullet scar on your ribs from the deployment that almost ended your life. But you walked away with every member of your team alive, and your tale of bravery had become something of a living legend in the community. 

She knows you could have any woman you wanted. She had seen the way the recruits eyed you and how bold the other brass were with you. Before your promotion to sergeant, you were often overlooked and completely ignored. Natasha, perhaps a little selfishly, always considered herself the catch in your relationship: she was one of a handful of female sergeants with outstanding credentials, and looked great in and out of a uniform. But maybe she thought too highly of herself. You had developed into a very competent sergeant, were extremely good-looking, and had the most lovable personality anyone could ask for.

What if you didn’t want her anymore? What if you wanted someone younger, or someone you could start a family with? Natasha hadn’t yet disclosed to you her inability to have children, but if the subject ever came up, she knew you’d need no other excuse to walk away.

“Nat? Did you pick out a movie?” you ask again.

“Yes,” Natasha says. “We can watch Trolls.”

“Okay. That sounds fun.”  

You come out in a sweatshirt with matching gray sweatpants and join Natasha on the couch. Instinctively, you put your arm around her shoulder and she snuggles against you, letting you rest your head against hers.

You seem to enjoy the goofy children’s movie, laughing out loud at the jokes and cheering when the main characters hug by the end. But Natasha can’t focus for a second, still thinking about the search history on your laptop. She didn’t even know if it was something she should bring up, but it was already eating her alive to think that she wasn’t good enough for you.

Natasha didn’t know if she would be able to survive without you. She would have to do everything she could to keep you by her side.

***********************************************************************

“Give me a sec,” Natasha calls, hurriedly slipping her boots on. She checks herself in the mirror one final time before opening her apartment door to see you.

“Hi, Nat–oh.” Your expression goes flat.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks, her stomach twisting in knots. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“You dyed your hair,” you say, blinking at the short blonde hair she was now sporting.

“You don’t like it?” she asks, her worry growing by the second. She had dropped a significant sum at the salon on base to cut and dye her hair. Perhaps this had been a severe overreaction on her part. 

“Oh. No, um, it looks very nice,” you stutter. 

Natasha is not convinced in the slightest. Her face flushes red and she bites her lip to stop herself from crying in frustration. “That’s okay,” she mutters more to herself than you. “Where are we going again?” she asks, even though she knows every detail of the outing she had planned with you.

“The gym first, then we can get lunch and go grab groceries,” you list off, seemingly oblivious to her awkwardness. 

“Yes, that’s right. Okay, let’s go,” she replies sullenly.

***********************************************************************

Natasha isn’t sure what else she can do to hold your attention after the hair dying incident. She tries to be extra doting with you, but all of her efforts seem to go completely unnoticed. You only say “thank you” once when she gets you your favorite chocolate bar from the commissary. The next time the two of you are in bed together, Natasha feels like she has to guide you through all the motions and you fuck her with a concerningly low level of enthusiasm. Natasha is convinced you’ve found someone else and just the thought of losing you makes her sick. 

She’s nearly sent over the edge when she finally gets a text from you:

From Y/N: Can you come over tonight? I want to talk

Natasha feels like the rug has been pulled out from under her feet. Sweat breaks out on her forehead and her stomach starts to hurt like she had a bad meal. What if she just didn’t go to see you? Would you really still break up with her over text?

Her body seems to have a mind of her own as she responds:

To Y/N: Ok

***********************************************************************

“Thanks for coming over,” you say, welcoming Natasha into your apartment. She steps in guardedly, wondering if you’re hiding your new girlfriend under the couch. Or maybe she’s already in your bed. She shuffles down the hallway to subtly peer into your bedroom, which is empty.

“What did you want to talk about?” Natasha isn’t one to dance around the elephant in the room. Besides, she doesn’t want to draw this out any longer than it needs to be.

“Oh. Um…” You sound caught off guard. “Well, I was thinking that–”

“You want to break up with me.” Natasha can’t stop the tears forming in her eyes. She wipes them away, angry at herself for showing such weakness already.

“What? What makes you think that?” Your shock is so genuine, Natasha almost wants to believe you.

Natasha hides her face behind her hand. “I saw it on your laptop last week. The kind of porn you were watching–”

“Porn? I use incognito,” you say. “Unless that doesn’t actually hide things…” you add in a mumble.

“Your search history said you looked up…” Natasha takes a breath. “‘Big busty blondes,’” she repeats, hating the way the words sound off her tongue.

“What?” You sound confused now. “That’s…I don’t watch that kind of stuff. Wait, is that why you dyed your hair blonde?”

“No,” Natasha lies. “But I saw it on your laptop!” she insists, hastily changing the subject.

You pause for a moment, then start shaking your head with a chuckle. “I’m gonna rip him a new one,” you mutter. Then louder, you explain, “Sam borrowed my laptop last week because his was broken. I’m guessing he used it to…you know…” Your expression turns into one of disgust, and Natasha matches it. 

“Oh. So, you’re not into big busty blondes?” Natasha is embarrassingly desperate for clarification.

“No, I’m not.” You take a step towards her and hold out your hands. “But I do have a thing for hot redheads who could totally kick my butt.”

“I know,” Natasha says, taking your hands and leaning up to kiss you. Her lips lift into a smile when you return her kiss with more passion than you had all week, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her flush against you. You dig your fingers into her thighs, lightly rolling your hips, and when she feels your hard bulge against her stomach and all of her doubts are cast away immediately. Her face burns in shame when she realizes how quickly she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. You weren’t going anywhere. You were totally in love with her and wanted no one else.

“Wait, so what did you want to talk about?” Natasha asks, trying to ignore the arousal building in her core as you hump her.

“Oh! Um…” Your face reddens, as if you’re so turned on yourself you forgot why you asked her to come. “Uh…I wanted to ask if…you would like to move in with me? Or if I could move into your apartment? Or we could find a new place together…”

Natasha feels like she’s gotten whiplash from the subject change. She had come here thinking you were breaking up with her, but instead you actually wanted to move in with her? Just when she had thought it was never going to happen.

“Why the change?” she asks.

You shrug your massive shoulders. “We spend so much time together as it is. And I was mostly nervous because you know I have those night terrors a lot, but…” You sigh. “I realized I get them a lot less when I wake up next to you.” Natasha wants to melt in your arms. “And it would be really nice if I got to wake up next to you every day. And eat every meal with you. And–”

Natasha cuts you off with a hard kiss. “Yes,” she pants, groping for the tie on your sweatpants and pulling them down. “Of course I’ll move in with you.”

“Nat,” you whine when she grabs your cock. She feels it throb in her hand and her arousal spikes. As high as her own sex drive was, there was little else that turned Natasha on more than to see how excited you were for her. She pushes you towards the bedroom and you understand without needing words, obediently sitting down on your bed and pulling you on top of her. You grunt when her weight lands on your thighs and Natasha immediately props herself on her knees; sometimes she forgets about the injury on your right thigh that still causes you pain sometimes.       

“Sorry baby,” she whispers while leaning in to kiss your cheek. It had been a long and sometimes frustrating journey to get back to the same level of intimacy the two of you shared after the deployment ambush and your recovery. The medicines you were on had drastically affected your mood (and performance) and there were still some positions you could no longer do because of the strain it put on your body. But Natasha had been patient and gentle with you, even when all she wanted to do was fuck you senseless. Over time your strength and stamina had come back, and Natasha was thrilled you could still please her in bed. 

She leans back and takes her shirt off while you mirror her. You’re almost back to your weight as before the deployment, but the physical therapy has encouraged you to work out even harder, so you are more muscular and toned than before. Natasha eyes your body hungrily, her hand reaching out to trace the scar on your ribs. While she hates the memory attached to your scar, she can appreciate how much more badass it makes you look.

“Nat,” you say, and she breaks out of her thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” She pushes you to lie on your back, rolling her clothed lower body against yours. “Everything is very okay.” Her hands skate across your warm skin, squeezing your biceps before resting on your chest, balancing herself as she rocks back and forth. Even though you’re still wearing boxers, Natasha can feel the hardness of your dick pressing against her butt.

“All ready for me?” she hums, digging her nails lightly into your chest.

“Always,” you respond, rolling your hips to match her rhythm. 

“Hmm.�� Natasha contemplates how she wants you today. You almost never call the shots in bed, but you have no problem with Natasha taking control most of the time. She likes how submissive you are to her and your willingness to please her even at your own expense. But she isn’t feeling selfish today and wants you to relax and enjoy too. 

Her body seems to have a mind of its own as she humps along your abs, eventually pushing her panties to the side so you can feel her heat on your stomach. 

“Nat,” you whine, gripping onto her waist to guide her movements. 

“Just let me ride you,” she says, lifting off of you for a moment to remove her panties completely, and the two of you moan when she settles back on you. You flex your abs until Natasha swears she could grate cheese on them. She angles her hips back and widens her legs so she can drag her pussy along the ridges of your abs, smearing her wetness everywhere. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” she moans.

“So do you,” you say, your hands tightening around her waist. 

Natasha moves her hips faster, sliding back until she can feel your cock practically poking a hole through your boxers. She’s just warming herself (and you) up and doesn’t want to rush to the main event. But as she hears your whines and feels the tension in your body, all she wants is for you to flip her over and fuck her until she can’t walk.  

“Can you do exactly what I ask you to?” Natasha pants, the building arousal in her stomach almost painful now.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Sergeant. Whatever you want.”

The use of Natasha’s title makes her pussy clench around nothing. Her body aches for you and she’s done playing around.

“Good. I want you to get on your knees and fuck me,” she demands, abruptly climbing off of you and presenting her backside to you. You scramble to obey, wasting no time lining up your cock with her soaking pussy and pushing in eagerly. Natasha inhales sharply when your length stretches her out, filling her perfectly and reaching places she could never reach with her hand or a toy. When you start moving your hips, she whimpers and moans, gripping handfuls of the bedsheets so you don’t slam her into the headboard.

She spasms around you with every stroke, clenching tightly and trying to draw you in as deep as you can go. Natasha loves to hear you moan, knowing she was the cause of them, and more of her slick leaks out around your cock. 

“Fuck, Nat,” you grunt, your thighs slapping against her butt with every thrust. “You always feel amazing.”

“Harder,” she begs. “I want you to cum when I do.”

“I’ll try,” you respond, your breathing ragged as you start to falter in your rhythm. 

“Fuck, you’re in me so deep,” Natasha moans, wishing that despite your already above-average size, you had more to give her. She lets go of the bedsheets and slips her hand down between her legs, rubbing her clit for added stimulation. “Don’t you dare stop,” she warns, noticing the way your legs are shaking and your thrusts are losing their power.

“I won’t,” you whimper, and Natasha is not convinced you’ll be able to last much longer. Her hand glides back up to her stomach, where she can feel the bulge of your cock through her skin. That alone nearly sends her over the edge, but she has one more request from you.

“Bite me,” Natasha pants, motioning to her right trapezius muscle. Normally, she is very against you marking her during sex because she doesn’t want to worry about hiding them, but now she is panting at the thought of you finally staking your claim on her.

“Bite you?” you say, sounding extremely timid.

“Yes!” she growls, not wanting to repeat herself. “If you don’t bite me, I won’t let you cum.”

You moan and tighten your grip on her waist. Natasha feels your cock throbbing inside her, but she knows you won’t finish without her permission. The bed creaks as your weight shifts and she feels your chest press against her back as you lean over her. She hums in anticipation, feeling your breath across the back of her shoulder. Your teeth graze her skin lightly, your hesitancy obvious. 

“Y/N,” she moans, pushing back into you and squeezing your length. “If you don’t fucking bite me–”

Your teeth suddenly clamp down sharply and Natasha keens, gushing around you and not even noticing you finish inside her. White spots of pure pleasure burst behind her eyelids and she feels cum drip down her thighs. It feels like she’s riding out the high forever, but when she finally unwinds, she feels your weight pressing into her back and a dull stinging in her shoulder. She twists her head to see the clear imprint of your teeth in her skin, the flesh reddening already.

“Sorry if that was too hard,” you say softly, as if you’re embarrassed by following her instructions.

“Nonsense,” she says, reaching behind her to cup the back of your neck. She pulls your head down against hers and nuzzles against your cheek. “Next time, you can bite me harder.”

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

AN: Sorry to Sam lol

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[starboye]

pairings: eijiro kirishima x male reader x katsuki bakugo

request: If you write for My Hero Academia, how about YN riding the boys of your choice in the common room while they play Mortal Kombat? If for example, Shinso wins, YN must ride him until he loses. So if Bakugou defeats Shinso, YN will ride him until someone else defeats him. They just using him as a ragdoll. Oh, and they're all naked by the way and the rest of the students maybe went out to visit their families or something. I don't think Todoroki knows how to play video games, so he just records everything patiently waiting his turn or Midoriya shares his turn with him.

warnings: smut, degrading slightly, unprotected sex, recorded sex, cursing

a/n: please know that I have never once watched this show so if I got anything wrong I'm sorry

when eijiro and bakugo said they wanted to hang out you didn't expect to be spreading your ass across their dicks but here you were getting passed between the two after every win.

"how much longer am I gonna have to do this guys" you ask tired after the hours of riding, your knees feeling like they were mere minutes from giving out "c'mon you can go for another hour" bakugo says focusing in on the game to make sure he can keep you tightly wrapped around him "no I can't" you whine turning your face away from the camera that todoroki was recording with (which was definitely gonna be used for jerk off material later).

"don't be shy baby boy" bakugo says turning your face back to the camera but doing that makes him loses focus and he ends up losing the round "fuck this shit" he curses throwing his hands into the air "yes, my turn" eijiro celebrates, you lift off bakugo and eijiro snatches you onto his dick "can you guys please just cum already" you begged mixed with a moan "should we" eijiro asks bakugo.

"one more round" bakugo replies resuming the game "you guys are such dicks" you huff "yeah but you're still enjoying this huh" eijiro says rubbing the tip of your dick making you moan and lay your head on his shoulder while you begin lightly bouncing up and down on his dick, "yeahhh just like that" todoroki says stroking his dick watching the erotic scene in front of him "shut up you horny fuck" you snarl "don't test me or I'll fuck you till you beg me to stop" todoroki growls making you shut up.

"that's what I thought, now be a good boy and ride the cum out of them" he says, you could hear the buttons mashing as the boys cursed at each other trying to win, but in the end you heard bakugo huff in frustration and eijiro cheered "yeah you get to ride me for a little more" eijiro says smacking your ass and going back to focusing on the game, you moan put before resuming riding him as you feel yourself get weaker and weaker.

you tighten your hole around eijiro, basically begging him to cum so you can finally rest "fuck" eijiro mutters as his vision becomes slightly hazy "about to lose huh" bakugo smirks "n-no... I got this" eijiro says before he closes his eyes tightly and cums in you with a loud groan while curses fall from his mouth, bakugo takes this chance to defeat eijiro and gets his chance with you "my turn" he eagerly says snatching you from eijiros dick.

bakugo doesn't even bother setting the controller down, he throws it too the side and slams you onto his dick "fuck" you both moan, bakugo could feel his dick sliding so easily in and out of you with the mix of eijiro's messy cum "right there" you whimper digging your nails into bakugo's back which will definitely have people questioning what happens to him over the break.

"nghhh" bakugo grunts through gritted teeth holding you down on his dick by tightly wrapping his hands around your waist "oh fuck" you loudly moan as you cum on bakugo's chest before you both collapse on the floor, chest heaving up and down with loud huffs.

"did you get that" eijiro asks todoroki "every second of it" he replies stopping the video and smirking "I'm never doing this again" you say leaning up off bakugo's chest "I'm sure you'll be back begging for more" todoroki says slapping your ass to hear you moan, after the break you were sure the boys showed everyone the video seeing as almost every guy was asking to fuck you, you weren't complaining though, you got to get fucked by every guy in school.

[aizshallnotbefound]

your love is my favourite song (2)

summary: celebrating your first solo debut with your boyfriend and your friends, making you realise everything happens for the best a/n: a collab post !! me & my amazing , talented wife mash have a love child and decided to make a collab <3 hope you guys enjoy this ! (this is part 2 of 1)

writing by @mashtatosworld

SMAU by @aizshallnotbefound part 1 is on her account <3

You barely made it off stage before CL wrapped her arms around you in a euphoric hug, both of you still breathless, flushed from the lights and adrenaline. The energy in your limbs was electric, your cheeks aching from the non-stop smiling.

“You killed it!” Chaelin yelled over the noise, cupping your face and shaking you like a proud sister. “You killed it, maknae!”

You laughed, nearly dizzy as you turned to Jiyong, who had just come off behind you. His arm was already outstretched, catching you as you crashed into him in full momentum, arms flying around his neck.

“Thank you,” you breathed against his shoulder. "Thank you for being there."

“Always,” he murmured, voice low and full of pride, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You didn’t even need me though. You were incredible.”

Before you could reply, the rest of 2NE1 came flying in, followed seconds later by Big Bang. Screams, cheers, claps, all in a whirlwind - everyone hugging and shouting over one another in a blur of congratulations and chaos.

“Yah!” Daesung hollered, grinning at Jiyong. “Since when were you part of the line-up?!”

“We didn’t see that on the schedule,” Youngbae teased, nudging his shoulder.

Jiyong didn’t miss a beat. His arm slid around your waist as he smirked, eyes dancing. “Had to show up for my girl.”

You flushed immediately, elbowing him lightly - but didn’t move away.

Before the teasing could escalate, your manager appeared, through the throng of celebrations. “We didn’t know you were going to perform either,” she said, nodding at Jiyong.

The room quieted a touch - eyes flickering between you both.

You straightened your spine, voice firm. “We didn’t plan it. The feature bailed last second. But Jiyong stepped up.”

There was a pause.

Then - surprisingly - your manager nodded. “Well, the fans certainly lost their minds. The footage is already everywhere.” Her lips twitched in a smile. “And the consensus is that they loved it."

You breathed out in relief.

"So...If your schedule allows it, Jiyong, maybe we could make this a regular thing.”

Jiyong didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll do anything for her,” he said, arm tightening around you.

“Ooooooh!” the room erupted.

Your manager nodded, stepping back with a pleased smile and bow. "We'll discuss it more later. Enjoy your party tonight, y/n. You deserve it."

Once the good news had been delivered and she departed, Minzy and Dara took the opportunity to squeal and crowd around you. “Anything, huh? Should we forget the party and let you two celebrate alone?”

You buried your face in your hands, half-laughing, half-wheezing in embarrassment. “You guys are so annoying.”

But Jiyong just leaned into you, whispering, “Let them talk.”

The cocktail bar was buzzing. Champagne flowed, camera flashes went off in every direction, and your name was on everyone’s lips.

But none of that mattered as much as the arm wrapped lazily around your waist. Jiyong never strayed too far from your side - always near, always watching you with that warm, knowing gaze.

You tried to play it casual at first.

Sit beside him, not on him.

Smile when he brushed your fingers under the table.

But it didn’t last long.

Because eventually, the two of you were swaying together in the corner of the lounge area, giggling and tangled in each other, whispering things into each other’s ears with zero regard for the people watching.

And yes - they were watching.

But not one person said anything now.

Because it was obvious.

It had always been obvious.

The love in his eyes when he looked at you. The glow in your cheeks when you smiled at him. The way your bodies leaned into each other instinctively, like gravity itself had chosen sides.

There was no hiding anymore.

And for the first time… you didn’t want to.

Liked by chaelincl , xxxibgdrgn, ttt & 5,309,242 others 𝒀/𝒏 ✓ - 🍻🎉

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User_00 - you CANNOT tell me y/n and jiyong arent dating 

User_ishighasf - i need a friendship like CL and y/n they are so cute 

User_gd - party animal core?!

Userisgdxy/n - I NEED TO BE IN THIS PARTY-

User_stevelvr - they better play high high there or im shooting the DJ

User_bart - i bet seunghyun is blackout drunk hence there is no pics of him 

User_brian0Fk - may a friendship like 2ne1 always find me <3 #ot5 !

User - feeling alot of fomo rn 

User - not all of YG being there 

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Each city was a blur of neon lights, screaming fans, and adrenaline-fueled highs - but in the midst of it all, there was always one constant: him.

After the surprise performance at your debut night, your management slowly stopped resisting.

The fan response had been overwhelming - in the best way.

Videos of the two of you performing together exploded online. There were hashtags, reaction videos, fancams dissecting every smirk Jiyong sent your way, every second of unspoken chemistry on stage.

And suddenly, what was once hidden was now… iconic.

The next few shows, he made time - even when it meant taking extra shots of espresso after his own tour stops. He’d show up straight from the airport, baseball cap low, mask on.

But as soon as he stepped on stage beside you?

He transformed.

The crowd would lose it every time he sauntered out mid-set for that song - your shared song.

The one with his verse, your chorus, and all your shared glances.

It never got old.

The moment he walked out, the room would erupt. And every time, he’d find you in the centre of it all like it was second nature.

It wasn’t choreographed, it wasn’t rehearsed - it didn’t need to be.

You and Jiyong had been making music together for years, just in secret.

Now, you were performing in sync like your bodies had already memorized the rhythm of each other.

The way he’d hold your mic steady when you danced. The way you’d spin into him, letting your back hit his chest like second skin. The way he’d rap his verse, eyes never leaving yours. And the way you'd smile right back, singing the final line like it was meant for him alone.

You weren’t hiding it anymore, not really.

If someone caught you two in a quiet corner, sharing water bottles or whispering with your foreheads pressed together, no one said anything. If his hand lingered on your waist, or your thumb brushed over his wrist mid-conversation, no one batted an eye.

He brought you coffee before soundcheck. You curled up beside him in the dressing room. He held your hand walking out to the car.

It was easy now. Light.

“I can’t believe we get to perform together,” you whispered once, lacing your fingers with his.

Jiyong grinned, that sleepy, cocky look in his eyes. “I told them I’d make every show. I meant it.”

The last show of your mini-tour ended in Seoul.

Your home turf.

The stage was packed with emotion, and as you launched into your final set, you felt the weight of everything: the nerves, the work, the secrecy, the fear - gone.

When Jiyong came out for the final time, the screams were deafening.

He didn’t just do his verse.

He stood beside you as you took your final bow, his hand brushing against yours as the confetti rained down.

The two of you stood there, side by side, hearts racing, hands nearly touching but not quite - until, finally, without fanfare or drama, you reached over and took his hand.

The crowd lost it.

And Jiyong turned to you with a slow smile, tugging you closer, just enough for the cameras to catch the glow in his eyes.

“You did it,” he whispered, proud.

We did it, you wanted to say.

But your smile said it all.

Liked by gossip_loverVIP , xxxibgdrgn , Y/N &  1,509,899 others  YG_familyupdates_fanacc - its official! G-dragon will now be apart of Y/N’s scarlet dreams tour along with CL and other artists that are featured in her album that has been confirmed in a recent interview of the star. This seems to be a last minute decision from the last show where he showed up as a guest appearance instead of the original featured artist. But who’s complaining? Here are some promotional and recent show’s pictures 

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User_lvstabi - I THOUGHT Y/N WAS WUH LUH WUH?? I lost my chance User - I NEED THE TICKETS IMMEDIATELY 

bigbang_SGS -  CL AND Y/N MY TWO QUEENS <3

UserHAruhaRU - i absolutely SCREAMED when he came like omg??? Absolutely loved the show so much especially theirs, they are so cute together <3

User_ishighhigh - the sexual tension is just amazing especially y/n and cl lol

user - IT couple of yg

Userlvs_yn - WHAT A YEAR TO BE ALIVEEEEE

User - MY PARENTS  User_mark - their chemistry on stage seems so real you cannot tell me they arnt dating View 19k more comments

[lmk if you guys want to be in the taglist ^^]

Taglist:

@gdinthehouseee @loveesiren @sherrayyyyy @ldydeath , @eru-vande @mashtatosworld @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @petersasteria @emmiesoverthemoon

[ likes , reposts , a follow & comments are encouraged and appreciated! <3 ]

[artdcnaldson]

the ONLYYYY thing on my mind right now is what happened (or didn’t happen 😔) UNDER THAT BLANKET. can’t even imagine the energy in that room. i need a prequel horrendously badly cat 😭

Three’s Company || Art Donaldson x Reader x Patrick Zweig

Rating: E (18+)

Notes: Patrick POV, exhibitionism, very tame descriptions of fingering, sexual fantasies, masturbation

Word Count: 841

Summary: In the Fall of 2006, Patrick just wants to watch a movie with his best friend. Art, unfortunately, gets distracted. Then Patrick gets very distracted.

A/N: Mic…. This was supposed to be short 😭😭😭 but I knew I had to feed you 🩵🩵

Requests are OPEN

Patrick wasn’t paying attention to a single damn thing happening in the movie, and would’ve liked to, considering he was the one who paid the money to rent it from Blockbuster.

He was having a very hard time focusing on Channing Tatum playing soccer when you were panting beside him, hand fisted into the blanket that was covering you and Art.

Your thigh shifted, bumping against his, and you offered a sweet apology that was more of a squeak.

Art was grinning, looking like the cat who got the fucking cream while his hand moved beneath the blanket, finding a home between your thighs. Patrick couldn’t look at him, because making eye contact with Art meant acknowledging that he knew what was going on.

Art was probably doing it on purpose— the fucker. Maybe he was mad that Patrick got to have Tashi, and was making a point about having something the other person can’t. But Patrick wasn’t going around fingerfucking Tashi while Art tried to watch a movie, was he?

“I can’t fucking hear,” Patrick snapped finally, hoping if he turned up the volume on the laptop, it might cover the feeble attempts you were making to stifle pretty gasps and sighs.

He mashed the buttons on the laptop, maybe a little too hard in his urgency, but the volume spiked, barely loud enough for him to force his brain to tune you and Art out.

You leaned into Art’s shoulder, muffling your noises in the junction of his neck.

“What? You don’t like the movie?” Art teased. He pressed his lips to the crown of your head, and it was then that Patrick finally met Art’s gaze.

That smug motherfucker.

He must’ve done something particularly nice with his fingers, because a low moan slipped from your lips that you tried to pass off as… fuck if Patrick knew. It had to have been your first attempts at exhibitionism, because both of you were awful at it.

Art grinned, tilting your face to eye level. “Should we turn it off and do something else?”

“No!” You piped up quickly, eyes wide and glossy.

Patrick tried his best to conceal his annoyance and focus on the movie as Art pulled you closer and closer to the brink. Which was hard, because all of those little noises and the feel of your warm body beside him was enough to make anyone go fucking crazy.

He’d been faithful, even if Art was dubious. He hadn’t stepped out on Tashi— he would probably have a moment of clarity in some foreign country or a shitty bumfuck country club that he loved Tashi.

But it was like Art wanted him to break.

Your body was trembling, breath coming in shaky pants from your pretty, open mouth.

If things were different, he would’ve kissed you. Licked right into your mouth, let his hands wander.

Finish her off, Donaldson.

Art would have the first set, but Patrick could rally. He could always make you fall apart with his mouth. Better yet, he’d fuck you and make Art sit there like a asshole watching the goddamn movie Patrick had rented.

Art wouldn’t like it. He doesn’t like feeling left out. Whatever, Patrick would let you swallow Art‘s cock down your throat as a reward for him being so fucking ballsy in the first place.

A muffled squeak snapped him back to reality. You were panting, giggling softly in the juncture of Art’s shoulder.

Art’s cheeks were pink and flushed, and he wore a smug grin on his lips before he slipped the fingers that had just been buried inside of your pussy between his full lips. And then, like it hadn’t even happened, he reached over and grabbed his Gatorade from the nightstand. Patrick watched as he took a long drink, throat bobbing, and felt like he was going insane.

“What’s happening?” You asked, leaning over to whisper in Patrick’s ear. “I totally zoned out.”

Patrick stood suddenly and went for the door, hyper aware of his cock straining against his jeans. “Start it over, I’m gonna go smoke.”

He made it halfway to the door before Art spoke up. “Patrick?”

His voice was strained. “Yeah?”

“You left your pack.” Art was smug as he handed Patrick his pack of cigarettes— his fingertips still spit-slick when they grazed his wrist.

There was a silent exchange then. An I-Know and an I-Know-You-Know-and-I-Know-You’re-Hard. Patrick almost scowled as he snatched the cigarettes out of Art’s hands and darted out of the room.

He probably should’ve smoked. It would’ve been smarter than… well, anything else running through his brain. He settled on the shared dorm bathroom, a thin curtain of privacy in a mildly molded shower, and a spit slick hand working himself to completion.

Then a smoke.

Ten minutes later, he walked back into Art’s dorm and you smiled sweetly over at him. He sat back down, stole the popcorn from your lap, and glared at Art for good measure.

Art’s laughter made him forgive him for the whole thing anyway.

Thank you for reading!! Hope you enjoyed 🩵 let me know what you think + any other requests in the changeover universe 😚🩵

[porkcutletbowl44]

People turn their heads at Simon when he walks by, or they look away and very casually quickly walk away.

Who wouldn't do either of those?

The guy is all height, muscle, mass, bulk, thickness, just one whiff of him sets off danger alarms. But really? He doesn't care about civilians and their stares. He's just minding his business, no one comes up and talks to him, which is preferable.

It only ever happens during his grocery runs getting the usual; protein shakes, chicken and red meats, some veg, and maybe the occasional fruit to spoil himself.

He loves a simple lifestyle, finds joy in simple things because that's what he is— just a simple guy. (Minus his military streak) He is mostly unbothered by everything off deployment.

But you, on the other hand, are the complete opposite of all of those things.

You're on your grocery run too, prepping for your usual girls night to whip up quick and easy snacks. Chips, crackers and cheese, grapes, wine and beer, sweet treats, rolls to make sliders, anything and everything you and your friends would be in the mood for as you talk to your closest on the phone.

"Uh-huh, I'm thinking ice cream," you'd remark casually while inspecting chocolate covered pretzels with your phone wedged between your ear and shoulder.

"We should have plenty for the whole movie marathon—"

And that's when you see him.

Or, well, the absolute fucking dump truck he's carrying around. He's completely engrossed in the directions of instant mashed potatoes, not even noticing your staring— which normal people would be thinking how he doesn't hit his head on a door frame or how he fits into a car—

You are not that kind of normal.

You aren't thinking any of those things, how the hell is that thing even legal? It would clap from the top of you so much as tapped it.

You don't even need to go to the bakery for sweeter goods because the bakery is right fucking there in all its glory.

His ass is practically a shelf.

With your mouth agape, and your eyes wide, "hey, listen, I gotta call you back—"

[roosterforme]

How Old Are You? | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Bob only gets one birthday every four years. When his wife, Molly, realizes it's almost Leap Day, she throws him a party any nine year old would love. And it's the perfect celebration for a thirty-six year old, too.

Warnings: Fluff, adult language, implied smut, 18+

Length: 2500 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC!Molly (this story accompanies The Curveball)

Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Bob was half asleep in bed, post orgasm, when the weird conversation started. "So technically you're about to turn nine? Even though you'll be thirty-six? Is that right?"

He cracked his eyes open again as he watched his wife stretch her arms above her head, her nipple piercings glinting in the soft candlelight that had their bedroom aglow. She was nibbling on her lip, and he could practically see her mind working.

"Yeah," he answered cautiously. "Why do you have that expression on your face, Mo? Like you're plotting something scary?"

"I've never plotted something scary a day in my life!" she told him before leaning down and gently biting his bicep. "I was merely considering what I should get you for your special day."

"I don't need anything," he replied quickly, remembering the naked cowboy statue wearing glasses that she gifted to him last year.

"Well," she said, drawing out the single syllable. "That's where I think you're wrong, Bobby."

"Molly, I don't even want anything." Then he had an idea that he hoped would throw her off. "How about you get some pretty new barbells or rings and let me play with them?"

She rolled her eyes. "That would be a gift for me."

He shrugged as she draped herself across him. "Kind of for both of us when you really think about it."

Her soft lips found his jaw as she whispered, "But it's not every day you turn nine, Coach Cute Glasses. You deserve an extra special treat."

He shook his head in exasperation and said, "I'll really be thirty six though."

"Not according to the calendar." She kissed him sweetly before climbing over him to get out of the bed. "I'll go check on Charlie and Flora one last time before we go to sleep." Bob watched her slip his discarded undershirt on and smooth it down over her gorgeous body, perhaps a little more filled out now that they had two kids.

He reached for her hand and said, "Mo, we really need to sell the condo and get a bigger place. They can't share that tiny room forever."

Even though she told him all the time that she loved the condo and didn't want to leave it, she was finally starting to come around. "I think I'm ready to admit that you might be right about that, Uncle Bob."

"Really?" he asked, jolting up in bed.

She nodded and hummed. "Yes. Besides, your birthday party would be a lot easier to plan if we had more space to accommodate all the guests."

Bob groaned and flopped back down again, and Molly removed his glasses for him. "I don't need a birthday party," he insisted. "I just want a nice, quiet evening with you and the kids. Maybe your sister, Ev and Bradley, too, but that's it."

"We'll see," she replied before leaving the bedroom with a wicked smirk on her face.

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

"Can you get to my sister's house by noon on your birthday? For your party?" Molly asked as she watched Bob feed a mashed up banana to their one year old daughter. 

"I thought we ended that discussion with us both accepting the fact that I do not need a birthday party."

"Yeah... it's too late for that," she replied easily as she and Charlie both ate their own dinners. Molly's favorite hobby was keeping her husband on his toes. She figured his life would be sad and boring without her in it, and since he chose to be with her, he must have a deep-seated love for nonsense. She always made sure to bring it out for him, especially for his birthday. 

He gave her a stern look. "It's just a small party, right?"

"Sure, Bobby."

"I don't believe you."

"Oh come on," she whined. "This is your first real birthday since we met!"

She knew he would crack. He gave her what she wanted the vast majority of the time anyway, but when she whined for something harmless, it was always hers. 

"Fine."

And with that single word, Molly executed the most epic ninth birthday anyone could ever have. She called the vendors. She ordered the piñata. She invited the guests. She procured a balloon arch. And on Bob's birthday, her own sister and brother-in-law were looking at her with shocked expressions from their back deck when she started setting things up at eight in the morning. 

"I thought this was going to be a small party?" Bradley asked as he watched her assemble the red and yellow balloon arch. 

Molly just laughed. "That's just what I told Bob. I lied. The pony should be arriving soon."

"Pony?" gasped her sister. "I'm sorry, I must have misheard. Did you say a pony is arriving?"

"Yes," Molly said, speaking a little louder now to make her point. "How the hell are we supposed to have a cowboy birthday party without pony rides?"

Then Everett came tearing out onto the back deck, still in his pajamas, shouting, "Someone is bringing a horse around from the driveway!"

"See?" Molly asked as the pony and handler appeared in the backyard. "Ev is excited. He has good taste."

"He's ten!" Bradley snapped as he went running across the yard. "Is this thing going to tear up the grass that I spent months watering so it looked this nice?" But as soon as he saw how excited Everett was to pet the cute animal, Molly knew her brother-in-law would be on her side. It was just her sister glaring at her now.

"Whatever you mess up out here, you need to clean up. That includes the horse poop!"

"It's just a pony," Molly assured her, although the animal was a lot bigger than she expected. And yes, it was actually pooping. "It's fine. It'll be fine."

She was hoping it would be fine.

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

When Bob buckled Charlie and Flora back into their car seats in his truck at Myers park, he checked the time. It was almost noon. "Oh god," he groaned as he opened the driver's door. He had no idea what to expect, but the text from Bradley about how he was going to need help filling in the hoof prints in their yard next week had him on edge.

"Birthday party!" Charlie cheered from the backseat as Bob pulled out onto the main road. Molly had been talking about it so much, their son kept saying it over and over.

"That's right," Bob told him calmly. "But I'm pretty sure Mommy went bananas over the entire thing."

"Nana!" Flora crooned before she burst into tears. He should have known better than to mention her favorite food right in front of her like that. So he drove to his sister-in-law and brother-in-law's house with one delighted child and one who was crying hysterically. When he pulled down their block, there was absolutely nowhere to park, and there was a horse trailer parked right in front of the house. 

"Oh, no. No no no. Molly, no," he whispered. When he got closer, he saw the massive banner hanging on the porch that said Happy Birthday, Cowboy Bob. He had to squeeze his truck into the driveway behind the familiar blue Bronco while he gaped at the sight before him.

"Horse!" Charlie screeched. He wasn't wrong. There was some sort of pony walking around the backyard with Everett perched on top of the saddle wearing a cowboy hat. "I want the horse!"

"Okay," Bob told him as he shook his head and climbed out of the truck. He walked around to the back of the house with one child in each arm, and thankfully when Flora saw the pony, she stopped crying, perhaps out of fear. 

"Bob!" Molly shouted over the classic country music that was playing as she popped out of the enormous rodeo themed bounce house and ran to him. Literally everyone he'd ever seen in his life seemed to be here, and they were all wearing cowboy hats. Everyone from work was here. Like everyone. Cyclone was wearing a cowboy hat and drinking a beer. Bob thought he saw the doctor that Molly worked with who delivered both of their children. His parents and both of his sisters were here. His niece Piper was taking a turn riding the pony. There were indeed hoof prints in the yard.

Then Molly was somehow in his arms along with both kids, and she was kissing his neck as she said, "Happy birthday," in a voice that would have been a lot more appropriate for their bedroom. 

"Mo," he said, shaking his head. "There's a pony. It's making Bradley look constipated." 

She just rolled her eyes in response. "He'll get over it as soon as I offer to watch Everett for a few days over spring break so he and my sister can go away and do nasty stuff to each other."

Bob just smiled down at her and said, "You told me this would be a small affair."

"I guess I lied. Oops. Come say hi to Phoenix." She dragged him up onto the deck where Natasha took both kids from him with a kiss to his cheek, and then Molly was yanking his shirt over his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked, standing there in his undershirt with his glasses askew. But as soon as the words were out of his mouth, she was pulling another shirt over his head. It said Birthday Cowboy, and there was a number 9 that looked like it was shaped out of rope.

And that's when everyone started hugging him and running around to get him drinks and chat with him. Mickey was wearing cowboy boots and a cow print vest. Maverick was teaching the kids how to line dance. Bradley's scowl had started to ease up since Everett seemed to be having the time of his life. 

"Happy birthday, Uncle Bob," Everett said when he walked over. He hugged Bob and added, "Your birthday party is my favorite birthday party ever, and I can't believe it's in my yard!"

"Thanks, Ev," he replied with a laugh as he watched Molly and Flora dancing with Javy. "It is pretty cool."

"Happy birthday, Bob," his sister-in-law said, handing him a card. "You can open it later. We got you opening day tickets for the Padres. Also, I'm so sorry that my sister is so chaotic, but you should have known what you were getting into when you started dating her."

Bob accepted another kiss on his cheek. "She really can't be stopped once she gets going." 

"It's a waste of time to even try. Might as well sit back and enjoy the show."

He did, and the looser he got, the more fun he started to have. He pet the pony while Piper rode around on it. He smashed open a cowboy piñata with one of Everett's baseball bats. He jumped in the bounce house with Charlie and Everett, and Bradley even joined them.

"I'll help you fix your yard next week," Bob promised as Everett did a backflip. 

Bradley just laughed and said, "It's hard to be mad about it when Molly just wants everyone to have the time of their life. You're very lucky. Also, I don't know how you deal with her on a daily basis."

Bob laughed, too. "Sometimes I just take it one hour at a time."

"Get ready for cake!" Molly shouted, and it took five people to carry out the biggest sheet cake he'd ever seen in his life. It was cow print and decorated with boots and spurs, and said Happy 9th Birthday, Cowboy Bob!

After he blew out the nine candles he reached for Molly. "Thank you," he whispered, kissing her softly. "I didn't know I needed a ninth birthday party, but I guess I really did."

"You're only a kid once, Bobby," she replied, smiling against his lips.

"You do know I'm actually thirty-six, right?" he asked, pulling her snug against him as her sister started to cut up the cake. 

"Not according to the calendar," she responded, patting him gently on the cheek. "Your mom and I had a lovely conversation about how terrible you look for your age."

He tried not to smile, but it was useless. "I'm actually having the best day, Mo."

"I knew it all along."

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

Both kids were sound asleep as soon as Molly tucked them into bed. Charlie went on a sugar high and then crashed, and Flora was played with and held by seemingly everyone at the party. They would probably sleep for a solid twelve hours. Which was good, because Molly wanted to give her husband the rest of his birthday presents. 

She found him in their bedroom where he was opening up the cards he got with a soft smile on his face. "You have so many friends," she told him, and he turned to look at her. "Everyone loves Bob Floyd."

He actually blushed which made her want to rip all of his clothing to shreds and have her way with him. He shook his head slightly and said, "Everyone loves the amazing Molly Floyd and her beautiful imagination."

"Bobby," she moaned softly, taking the card from his hand and wrapping her arms around him. "Tell me more about how amazing I am."

He laughed and whispered, "You threw me the equivalent of a kids' ninth birthday party, just because you could. My dad participated in the pie eating contest. My mom learned how to line dance. Bradley almost popped a vein in his forehead. It was wonderful."

She sighed in contentment. "In four more years when you turn ten, we'll be in a bigger house, and we can host your party there. But we'll have to wait and see if you're still into cowboys or if your interests change, Kiddo. Now will you please open your present from me? And put on your cowboy hat? I've always wanted to suck a real cowboy's cock."

Bob grinned. "Molly, you suck my cock when I'm wearing my cowboy hat all the time."

"But you've never had assless chaps before."

Bob let out a strangled sound, and when he opened the box that was wrapped in cowboy paper, there were in fact assless chaps inside. "Please, please, please put them on," Molly moaned. "God, I feel like it's my birthday."

As soon as she started whining, he always gave her what she wanted. It was impossible not to. Five minutes later, Bob was standing in the middle of the bedroom wearing the chaps, his birthday shirt, and his old cowboy hat. Molly was panting and biting her knuckle, already obviously raring to go down on him, which just made him harder.

But she took a step toward him and then stopped, a devilish smirk on his face. "Now wait. I'm having a bit of a moral dilemma with you in that shirt. How old are you again?"

"I'm thirty-six," he replied blandly. 

"You sure about that, Cowboy Bob?"

"Molly! I'm thirty-six!"

"Okay, okay. Just checking," she said, reaching for the bottom of his shirt. "But let's just remove this anyway."

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

I had a blast revisiting these two! I'm so deeply in love with Molly. I hope you enjoyed Bob's birthday celebration. Thanks for reading! And thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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[solarmorrigan]

11 & 17 Robin and Steve? Maybe something where one of them thinks they're back under Starcourt for a second 😈

Ask and ye shall receive (like, eventually. this is so late, I'm sorry)

11. Disoriented + 17. Delirious - Robin & Steve

-

Robin pulls her hand back from Steve’s forehead with a hiss. He’s burning up.

She knew this would happen. She knew it.

She should have argued harder to get Steve to go to the hospital. She should have taken one look at him rebandaging his bat bites, which were still bleeding (“Relax,” Steve had said. “They only bleed when I move around too much.”), and called in reinforcements. She shouldn’t have taken no for an answer.

Instead, she’d caved under Steve’s stubborn refusals, under his pleading stare, under his insistence that he’d always taken care of himself and that he would be fine. And now–

“Steve?” Robin tries, patting his cheek.

Steve mumbles something, brows furrowing, but he doesn’t open his eyes. His cheeks are pink, the rest of his face pale, his bangs sticking up at odd angles after being plastered to his forehead with sweat before Robin had pushed them back – he looks fucking awful.

He mumbles again when Robin swears and pulls the sheets down around his hips so she can get at his bandages. They look clean, but when she presses a hand to his side, she can feel the heat radiating from the wounds beneath.

“Shit,” Robin swears again. “Steve. I need you to wake up.”

If he doesn’t wake, if he can’t open his eyes, Robin is going to call Nancy to help haul his ass to the hospital, no matter what Steve wants. He'd been a little feverish last night when Robin had left (her parents are being a little lenient, having heard about Steve’s injuries from the “earthquake,” but she does have to go home sometime), but she’d hoped that if he kept taking Tylenol and drinking water, his temperature would start to go down. Clearly, that hadn’t happened.

Finally, though, he does open his eyes. They’re glassy, fever-bright, and a little unfocused, but they’re open.

“Robin?” Steve rasps, blinking at her in confusion.

“Oh, thank god,” Robin breathes, reaching for Steve’s hand. “Steve, I think your bites are infected. We need to get you to the hospital.”

Steve blinks at her again, before he glances around the room. He doesn’t look like he’s really listening to her – he doesn’t even look aware of what’s going on.

“Steve?”

Slowly, he shakes his head. “No,” he whispers.

Robin bites back a frustrated noise. “You can’t argue with me on this. You need a doctor, Steve,” she says firmly.

Her stern and urgent tone doesn’t seem to be doing anything to calm Steve down, however. In fact, he only seems more agitated, managing to prop himself up on one arm as he looks wildly around the room.

“No, no, no–”

He jerks himself fully upright, trying to scramble off the mattress, entirely heedless of his injuries, and Robin lunges to support him.

“Shit, Steve, be careful–”

But Steve isn’t listening. The moment he’s off the bed, he’s turning to Robin and shoving her towards a corner of the room with a strength Robin wouldn’t have imagined he could muster in his state. She’s so surprised that he manages to get her all the way into the corner, practically mashing her up against the wall, before he turns and places himself in front of her, body held tense and ready.

“Steve, what the hell–” Robin tries, before Steve cuts her off.

“Shh,” he hisses, arms held out like he’s trying to block something. “’m not gonna let them get you.”

Robin’s heart stutters in her chest, a reflexive anxiety rippling out across her body until she can feel it tingling in her fingers and toes.

“Let who get me?” she asks, glancing around the room now, too. “What’s going on?”

“Fucking– fucking Russians,” Steve says, voice low. “Not gonna let them take you.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Okay, Robin thinks. Okay. She can handle this.

“Steve,” she says, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on his arm, careful to avoid the scrapes along the back of it, “we’re not in the bunker. We made it out, we’re home.”

Steve shakes his head, muscles still tense, almost shaking beneath Robin’s palm. “They’re coming,” he says hoarsely. “They’re– they’re gonna– I won’t let them.”

“No. Look around, see where we are. Look at your weird, plaid wallpaper. Look at all the pictures you have pinned up now. Look at that fucking bowling pin you keep on your desk and you won’t ever tell me why.” Robin squeezes his arm. “You’re home. We’re safe.”

Steve shakes his head again, but he seems to be flagging. “’m not gonna… gonna let them hurt you.”

The raw determination, the desperation in his voice makes Robin’s chest ache. “You didn’t. They didn’t lay a hand on me, I’m fine,” she promises (not strictly true, but now isn’t the time to get into that).

Slowly, ever so fucking slowly, Steve’s shoulders start to droop. He relaxes from his stance, swaying a little bit on his feet, and looks around the room again before looking over his shoulder.

“Robin?” he manages, his voice small, a little faint.

“Yeah, Steve, I’m right here,” Robin says, squeezing his arm again.

Steve nods. “Okay,” he murmurs.

He takes two faltering steps forward, lists to one side, and then falls to his knees so quickly that Robin barely has time to catch him.

“God damn it,” Robin hisses, doing her best to keep his uncooperative ass upright. “Steve!”

“’m fine,” Steve mumbles, but says nothing more. His eyes have fallen shut again.

“God damn it,” Robin mutters again.

She does her best to lower him gently to the floor; she isn’t strong enough to haul him back onto the bed on her own, but she at least grabs one of the pillows and puts it under his head before she reaches for the phone—she’s always teased Steve about being spoiled for having his own phone in his room, but she’s grateful for it now—and dials the number she’d forced herself to memorize days ago.

It rings, and rings, but finally someone picks up.

“Nancy,” Robin rushes out, before the other girl has even finished with her ‘Hello?’ “I need a ride, and I need it now.”

[lulublack90]

Prompt 6 - Riddikulus

@wolfstarmicrofic April 6, word count 475

“I swear it was around here,” Sirius said, exasperated by his lack of success in finding the boggart he’d discovered less than an hour ago. “I was terrified at first. Honestly, anyone would be if my mother suddenly appeared in front of them. But then I realised she’d never come all the way up here to see me. Regulus, maybe, but not me. That’s when it hit me and I realised what it was. I cast riddikulus and forced it back into the cabinet it had come out of. I swear, I nearly choked up a lung. I was laughing so hard at the image of my mother with clown makeup and roller skates. 

“Sirius, I’m sure it was great, but dinner is in ten minutes and…” Remus’s stomach growled to emphasise his words. 

“Yes, yes, Remus, I’ll make sure you get to the great hall before the bangers and mash are all gone,” Remus grabbed him by the front of his robes. 

“You’d better,” Remus growled. Sirius just grinned up at him fondly, knowing Remus wasn’t being serious. Remus leaned in to give Sirius a kiss when he spotted it. 

He jumped around Remus and raced for the cabinet. He pulled it open still grinning, and out walked Walburga Black. 

Sirius felt a shiver of fear run through him and had to remember she wasn’t real. 

“Riddikulus,” he said, his voice strong as he imagined his mother with a burger splattered on her face. Boggart Walburga stumbled backwards. “Remus, Remus, come on, you have a go,” He waved Remus forward. Remus didn’t move. “Remus?” He turned away from the boggart and looked at his boyfriend. 

“How do I stop the moon from being terrifying?” he asked, looking up at him from under his long eyelashes. 

“Oh, Remus,” Sirius held out his arms and Remus walked into them. 

“Pop it like a balloon,” Sirius said. Remus pulled away. 

“Huh?”

“The moon. Pop it like a balloon,” Remus looked a little uncertain. But he squared his shoulders and turned to face the boggart. 

Sirius watched as his mother disappeared and a smaller version of the moon filled the corridor before them. Remus turned away from it, squinting in its light. Come on Remus, Sirius said to himself. 

“Riddikulus!” Remus yelled and a popped balloon bounced off the walls all the way along the corridor and out of sight.

“I did it,” Remus was beaming at him and Sirius pulled him into his arms again. 

“Well done,” he praised him and stole a kiss. 

“Do you think we should go after it?” Remus asked, pointing in the direction the boggart had gone. 

“Nah, let someone else figure it out. Right now, those bangers and mash are calling.” He took Remus’s hand and led him away, still chuckling to himself over what he’d done to his boggart mother.  

[mrsclrakey]

Sorry guys I’m back I was just having a break I hope u like this one and another fic is coming out soon tonight

STORY NAME-me and you

It’s one of those perfect nights—the kind where neither of you have anywhere to be, and the only plan is to do whatever feels right. The living room is dimly lit, a soft glow from the TV casting flickering shadows on the walls as you and George sit sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a tangle of blankets.

The night started with a movie, some random comedy that neither of you paid full attention to because George kept making dumb jokes about the actors, trying to make you laugh. It worked, of course—he always knows how to get you giggling, even when you try to act unimpressed.

Then came the games. You both took turns picking, from old-school Mario Kart (which George dramatically accused you of cheating at) to a stupidly intense round of some random button-mashing game that left you both breathless from laughing. George, ever the sore loser, demanded a rematch every time you won—until he finally beat you and declared himself the “champion of the apartment.”

At some point, the warmth of the blankets, the soft hum of the TV, and the comfort of being curled up next to George started to make your eyelids droop. He noticed immediately, smirking as he nudged you lightly with his shoulder.

“Getting tired already?” he teased, though his voice was softer now, like he didn’t really mind.

“Mmm,” you hummed, leaning against him without thinking. His warmth was just too nice to move away from. “Maybe just a little.”

George huffed a small laugh but didn’t push you off. Instead, he shifted slightly, letting you rest your head against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat was steady, calming, and before you knew it, your breathing evened out.

“Oi,” he murmured after a moment, nudging you again—but gentler this time. “C’mon, let’s go to bed before you knock out here.”

You grumbled in protest but let him pull you up. The two of you shuffled to your bedroom, the exhaustion finally settling in as you collapsed onto the bed. George flopped down beside you with a dramatic sigh, throwing an arm lazily over your waist.

“Tonight was fun,” you murmured sleepily.

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice quieter now, sleep creeping into it. “We should do this more.”

With that, the warmth of his presence beside you and the weight of his arm draped over you was enough to lull you into the best sleep you’d had in a while.

[ficfield]

Chris Redfield: Reacting to his wife/girlfriend breastfeeding in public

let’s say at the BSAA.

Request: How would Chris handle trying to breastfeed in public?? Say like the BSAA or whatever.

Enjoy my lovelies!

Chris doesn’t blink an eye: To him, breastfeeding is as normal as cleaning a weapon. The baby’s hungry? Problem solved. He’s been through enough messed up biohazard situations that this is the least complicated thing happening in his life. It’s his normal, and he assumes everyone else should get on board too.

The recruits? No so much: The BSAA recruits come in all shapes, sizes, and ages, and a lot of them are young. We’re talking fresh out of training, early twenties, still trying to figure out how to carry an assault rifle without tripping over themselves. So when they see Chris Redfield’s wife/girlfriend casually unclip her top to nurse their baby in the middle of the HQ mess hall or briefing room, it throws them way off.

There’s awkwardness… Lots of awkwardness: Some of them try to be professional. They really do. But their eyes dart around like they’re scanning for B.O.W.s s few look panicked, stuck in a loop of do not look, oh no I looked. Some stare at their food, suddenly fascinated that their forks work. Others just stare blankly at the ceiling, probably wishing they were anywhere else. 

Chris notices. Of course he does: He’s hyper-aware. Always has been. He clocks every look, every fidget, every shift in the room. But he’s not mad. He gets it, they’re young, they’re green. They’re not being jerks… they’re just awkward as hell.

 He has two responses, depending on his mood: - Chill Chris: He’ll just smirk, maybe toss a casual, “What? Never seen a baby be fed before?” that’s enough to make a couple of them turn scarlet and suddenly develop a deep interest in their tactical vests. - Teasing Chris: If  he’s feeling a little playful, he’ll clap one of them on the back and say something like “Take a good look, boys, this is what we fight for.” Which absolutely wrecks them. They’re tripping over themselves trying to figure out if that was inspiring or horrifying.

But he always makes sure she’s comfortable: At the end of the day, Chris’s priority is her and the baby. If she’s cool with it, he’s cool with it. He’s her walk if she needs it. If she doesn’t want the stares? He’ll shift his chair or stand so he blocks the view entirely, making it look casual even though it’s anything but. He’s got those instincts. 

Little one shot – “Eyes front, rookie”

The mess hall at the BSAA HQ was packed. Recruits and vets sat shoulder to shoulder, shovelling food like they hadn’t eaten in days. Chris was halfway through his meal when she showed up, their baby boy snoozing against her chest in a sling.

“Hey,” she greeted, kissing his temple before sliding in beside him.

Chris’s smile softened. “He asleep?” 

“For now,” she said, already reaching for the baby bag. “But not for long.”

True to her word, their son stirred, making a soft, unhappy noise. Without hesitation, she shifted the sling, pulling her shirt aside, and settled the baby in to nurse. Calm. Natural. Second nature.

Chris kept eating. 

A rookie two tables over wasn’t so composed.

Private Jennings froze mid-bite, his forkful of mashed potatoes suspended in midair as his eyes locked onto them. Specifically, her. He was staring like he’d just seen a live grenade get tossed onto the table.

Chris chewed slowly, watching the kid out the corner of his eye. Another one, Lopez, maybe?, elbowed Jennings hard, muttering something under his breath, Jennings jerked back to life, face going red as he dropped his form with a loud clatter.

She noticed. Of course, she did. She sighed, leaning her head against Chris’s shoulder with a smirk. “I think I’m making the rookies uncomfortable.”

Chris chuckled. “You’d think they’d be tougher than this.” 

“I’m just feeding the baby,” she said. 

“You are,” he agreed. He turned slightly, glancing toward Jennings, who immediately found something very interesting on his tray. Chris’s voice was casual. “Eyes front, rookie.” 

“Yes, sir!” Jennings snapped, sitting, glancing straight like they were back in basic training. Lopez was biting his knuckles, trying not to laugh. 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re terrible.” 

Chris smiled, his hand resting on the small of her back. “I try.”

And just like that, they went back to their meal. Baby fed, mum happy, dad on duty. Business as usual.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere Coworker (part 13)

Thank you @i---believe---in---pink for commissioning this chapter.

(2331 words)

tw: cyprus kissing you without consent, a bit of injury , afab reader

Masterlists (+commission info), part 1, part 14

You apologized.

He was silent, focusing on maneuvering the car safely, but you caught how his stern, grey eyes widened a bit in surprise. But aside from that, there was no other reaction from him.

You looked out of the window and curled yourself to the door. Cyprus continued driving quietly.

You nodded off, closing your eyes, and allowed your body to gently sway along with the movements of his car. The constant humming of his engine is making you sleepy, or maybe it was your eyedrops? Or perhaps it's the fact that Cyprus isn't talking for once. Whatever it is, you find yourself struggling to stay awake.

Eventually, you managed to wake yourself up again as you detected a change in your environment; the car stopped moving. You blinked multiple times and focused your bleary eyes, realizing you were back in the underground car park. You grumbled, about to rub your eyes, but resisted when you realized what you were suffering with. So you endured the discomfort and unbuckled your seatbelt.

Then, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Making you turn around without thinking, only to have your lips mashed with his. You let out a muffled scream, and Cyprus seized his chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. You couldn't escape, because Cyprus was progressively climbing over to your seat, trapping you against the door and his muscular chest. His hands were fervently rubbing all over your body; a hand roamed under your shirt and another pushed the back of your head towards him. Your hands were free, but your hits and scratches did nothing to him, or maybe you were holding back and not causing actual harm.

He positioned himself until you're sitting on his lap, you could kick all you want but it's only harming the air. It's fueling your chagrin that he angled you in such a way, that you couldn't even deal any damage towards his car.

You opened your eyes the entire time, noticing that Cyprus had removed his glasses. It's unfair that he has such long, pretty, and dark eyelashes, it's especially accentuated when his eyes are closed and you're this physically close to him. It's also frustrating that he's actually a god at kissing, it's undeniably enjoyable despite being a violation of your autonomy. He knew where to run his tongue to send tingles down your spine, he knew the pace to mold his lips with yours and he knew where to touch with his fingers to fluster you to the maximum.

Sensual smacks and soft moaning occasionally slip through the gaps between kissers filled the car, shuffling and rubbing of fabric also could be heard. But not to the world outside. And you are eternally grateful for that.

You ran out of breath, hitting him a bit harsher than usual. It did the trick, Cyprus got the hint and reluctantly parted his lips from yours with a very audible pop. His grey eyes fluttered open to see you disheveled and dizzy, your cheeks were heated up to an almost uncomfortable degree, and it's not due to a fever. You're panting and gasping greedily for air, it's jarring to see how Cyprus is breathing fine as if he didn't hold his breath for about a minute and a half. A slappable smirk found its home on his handsome face as he chuckled at you.

"Apology accepted." He said as he wiped excess drool from the corner of your lips with his thumb. "And you really need practice; you ran out of breath already?" Cyprus continued as he hugged you close, nuzzling his nose against the side of your face. You whined, trying to pry him off you, but all he did was laugh and press a kiss on your jaw. "You are so not getting through foreplay. You were right, we should just fuck right away instead."

You yelled that you're not going to have sex with him. He still wouldn't let you escape his arms, though, keeping you in place as he peppers your head with appreciative kisses. "Of course, you're not. Because we have a farmer's market to explore. Though, I don't mind a quickie..." He purred in your ear.

You called him shameless. "Only for you." He replied wittily as he gently groped you in different areas.

You called him disgusting. "Ouch." It was a nonchalantly teasing response. You then told him you don't care about his feelings or well-being, if your words hurt, then it's too bad. He merely smiled and hummed; "Mhmm..." Yet, he still wouldn't let you go from his bear cuddles.

You told him that he shouldn't have too much contact with you, because you have pink eye.

"I have grey ones. Your point?" He snickered, kissing the crown of your head.

You said he could get infected!

"And?" You stared at him incredulously.

You said that he's going to get sick and miserable!

"And?" His grin grew the more you talked.

You said that it wouldn't feel good and-- then you saw what he was trying to get you to admit. You couldn't believe that you fell for it, twice.

Cyprus simply laughed, he didn't even need to tease you for caring about him despite saying otherwise. You're humiliated enough and he didn't want you to burst into tears right before exploring the market.

"You know, princess. One of the steps to kicking an addiction is to find another coping mechanism." He stroked your hair while staring at you lovingly.

You asked him where is he going with this conversation. But your words were cut short when he pushed your head into his broad chest, making you take in his scent.

"I don't need to carry a pack with me anymore. But I'm now addicted to you." He mumbled into your hair, letting out a sigh of pleasure as he relished in your presence. "I'm not complaining, you're definitely way healthier than cigarettes."

You were about to say something, but he cut you off. "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me, baby. God, I can't imagine my life without you in it."

You wanted to snark back, however, something stopped you. And you think it's due to the serenity he held in his face.

"You make everything so good. How does my pretty girl do it?" He rambled on. You didn't reply, because you knew it was just a rhetorical question.

He continued cradling you in his arms for a few more minutes.

--

"Princess."

He called to grab your attention. You were distracted by the live animals being sold.

You turned your head to the side, only to have a piece of orange press against your lips. Looking up at his face, Cyprus had his sunglasses clipped on and he was chewing. No doubt, he was eating the orange he bought earlier; it's impressive how he could peel them while walking, and not drop a slice or its outer covering.

"It's great. I never see this variant in stores and I have been hunting for it for a while now. Try it." He prodded your mouth with the juicy piece, you're not going to lie, it does look succulent and sweet.

You hesitantly took it in between your teeth, he let it go so that he could peel more of the oranges for you and him.

It was delicious and seedless too, and you secretly wanted more. But you don't think it's a good idea to try and ask something of Cyprus. You don't have to, as if he read your mind, he wordlessly fed you another piece.

You and he strolled through the stalls, Cyprus was mindlessly feeding you and himself the peeled orange slices. Well, he's mostly feeding you at this point, and you didn't even realize you ate three whole oranges already.

You could see why he wanted to come here, they sold a variety of different fresh produce. Most of which you have never seen before. A unique take on street food, pickled goods, and handicrafts were also prevalent there, it's an overall lively place. Maybe it isn't that bad after all, you liked the vibrant colors, the smell of pretzels and blooming flowers definitely gave you a new experience. The air is much cleaner and lighter here, unlike the polluted city.

Cyprus trailed behind you, peeling another orange for you while enjoying the sights too. He stuffed the peels in the plastic bag where the oranges were from. However, his eyes were mostly trained on you: the sight he enjoys the most.

You felt his hand getting closer to your face, thinking that it was another orange segment, you swallowed the remnants of the previous one and parted your lips for the fruit to enter.

"Ow!"

That wasn't an orange.

You apologized in reflex for biting his finger, but then you blamed him for sticking his index in your mouth, why would he do that?

He rubbed his digit with his thumb while laughing, unclear at you or at himself. "Did you really need to bite that hard for an orange piece? It's not like the damn thing would bite back."

You said that doesn't matter, you wanted to know why he did what he did.

His response was to shrug. "I just wanted to see something."

He wanted to see how strong of a bite force you have?

"Yeah, maybe. That's not all, though." He smirked, bending down to peck you on the forehead. Cyprus dodged your swats effortlessly.

You asked if it's a sexual thing.

"If you want it to be, but I usually prefer to do the biting." He lets out a guffaw when you tried punching him on the arm.

You asked again, why he did that.

Cyprus smiled at you. "I know you trust me."

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. That's such a false statement, it's sickening. He couldn't be further from the truth, Cyprus is the last person you would trust with anything. Why did he think that way of you?

He slung an arm around your shoulders, pressing you to his side as the two of you walked.

"You weren't paying attention when I fed you for twenty minutes, baby. I could have fed you dog shit but you didn't see me in that light. It's cause you trust me not to fuck you over. That's why when I brought my hand to your mouth, you bit me- thinking it was just another slice of orange."

You blinked owlishly at his reasoning. What? Isn't that... the bare minimum? Even strangers wouldn't feed you something so terrible, why would he be any different?

There was an amused look on his face as he snorted. "So you're telling me... if a random guy just starts poking your lips with an orange slice, you'd just... eat it? And let him feed you for a full twenty minutes?"

You think you can see the grave you somewhat dug yourself in. You just said yes just so you could save whatever face you have left in this rebuttal.

And that made him laugh out in glee. "You're so fucking funny, doll. Admit it, I grew on you. And you like it when I take you out on dates like this. Even if you had to be a whiny brat at the start."

You immediately deny it out of reflex.

"Yeah right. You're blushing." He playfully ruffled your hair.

You deny it again, you're feeling increasingly embarrassed as time goes on. Damned Cyprus and his teasing.

He chuckled, kissing you on the temple as you tried your hardest to defend yourself. But you end up stuttering and making more of a mess than it already is.

"You know I love you, right?" He muttered in your ear, brushing his lips on the shell of it, making you shiver.

You didn't reply. This only made his smile wider. "I know you love me too."

You said you don't.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, beautiful. Keep denying your true feelings for me, it totally wouldn't come out sooner or later." Cyprus rubbed your arm up and down. You feel deflated, but you must keep walking to keep the foot traffic flowing.

Then, a food stall caught your attention. They're selling your favorite treat but with a creative spin on it. Their products look edible enough for you. However, the prices were absurd, it was written in chalk, on a blackboard easel next to its food truck.

"You can just say you wanted that." You were snapped out of your thoughts. You turned your head to see Cyprus was already fishing his wallet out, to retrieve the money needed to purchase a dish. "The amount of mind reading I have to do..." He grumbled under his breath.

You lied and said you didn't want it. He paused, putting his hands on his hips and giving you an unimpressed look. "Really?"

You said yes, really.

He rolled his eyes, clamping his hand around your wrist. "Come on, we're getting you one of those." Cyprus dragged you in the direction of the food truck.

You said you really didn't want it!

"Yeah, and I'm Chinese." He retorted sarcastically. "I know that look."

You asked, what look?

"It's like you're physically incapable of telling me what you want. I had to adapt and find ways around it. Come on, a line is forming behind us, which one did you want?" The sun was shining too brightly, so Cyprus stood in front, blocking the scorching rays for you.

You and he stood right at the front of the food truck, where the attendant looked at you expectantly. Her fingers are already positioned on the screen of the digital cash register.

You sighed and pointed at the item on the menu.

Cyprus smiled with satisfaction, he went ahead and told her your order.

You watched him pay for the overpriced treat as if it were a piece of cheap candy.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 6

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

You can’t remember the last time you had the house to yourself. Even if your mother’s just next door, it feels a little lighter around there. And you’re happy for her. Maybe having Steve around will be good. He can be an outlet so she doesn’t have to put all her frustrations on you. 

She was happy when she left, even excited. That’s another rarity in your life. 

You start your day off with a tea. The apple cinnamon bags are a bit old so you use two. You bring the cup into your room and get your table set up with your pencils and sketchbook. You open the window to let in the sunlight, the natural light much brighter than the yellowed bulb above. 

You know your mom would tell you to do something more useful than just scribble in your sketchbook. You got the dishes done last night. Steve offered to help but you deflected as you foresaw your mom’s disapproval. You can’t let company pick up your slack. 

You try to wipe away the anxiety of last night. It’s over now. You shouldn’t have worry very much about it again. 

You finish your tea. It’s cold by the time you get to the dregs. You sit back to look over your sketch. Your eyes feel a bit fuzzy from hyperfocusing on that one stamen. You rub your brow and yawn. The sun shifts and you look over at the old alarm clock on your nightstand. It’s close to noon. 

Something else catches your eye. You look up at the window across from yours. The curtain ripples around the gap before it’s pulled open from inside. Steve stands on the other side of the pane. Can he see you? 

You can’t tell as he turns away without acknowledgement. The glare of the sun should hide your room well enough. You never really thought of it as your blinds are closed more often than not. 

You get up to rinse out your cup. You stretch your legs as you pace in the kitchen. You’re restless. You’re so used to your mom and her demands and expectations, that having your own time feels aimless. 

You could surprise your mother with dinner. Have it in the oven when she comes home. It’s still early but you can make something more than boxed macaroni. It will be a good cushion to fall back on when you remind her about tomorrow’s appointment. 

🏠

When your mother returns, you can see the fatigue around her eyes. For as little as she goes out, you’re not surprised. What strikes you, is how happy she is. You help her to her recliner and she sighs as she leans back. 

“Such a nice man,” she keeps repeating.  

You smile and let her regale you with a recounting of her day. Still, you can’t help but wait for the pendulum to swing back to normal. She leans her head in her hand, her eyes distant. 

“I swear, the universe sent him to me,” she says, “it had to. It was how much I need someone.” She drops her hand and traces her finger around the armrest, “sick, got a lazy daughter, stuck in this damn house...” 

There it is. You frown. You mash your hands together and waver. 

“I made dinner,” you offer. 

“I don’t want KD,” she snips. 

“I made... I made shepherd’s pie,” you offer meekly, “should be almost done.” 

“Hm, wondered what that stench was.” 

You frown. “I can put it in the fridge for tomorrow. Be good to have something we can just heat up after the doctor’s.” 

“Doctor?” She grumbles, “eh... I forgot.” 

She slumps and her eyes dull. You can’t help the pang in your chest. Sometimes you wish it was you who was sick. It feels like you deserve it more than her. 

“Hopefully it’s good. If you can get the surgery--” 

“Surgery!? Surgery. You keep going on about the damn thing,” she barks. “They can’t fix me, girl, get that through your head.” 

“I know, mom, but they can help--” 

“Like you help me? Crittering around here like a rat!” She hits the armrest violently, “would ya leave me be?” She closes her eyes and turns her face away, deflating once more, “ruined a good day...” 

You sniffle and slowly turn on your heel. You should have known better. You should have just left her alone. As much as she rants about you staying in your room, she prefers you there. Out of sight, out of mind. 

🏠

The next day, your mother doesn’t say much. Her silence is just a bitter as her words. You don’t push it. She gets in the car without argument and you set off into town. Even if she says it’s a waste of time, she listens intently to the doctor and answers all his questions. It’s only when she has to go through the tests that she shows her agitation. 

After some hours spent at the specialist clinic, you’re free to go. Your mom is just as quiet. You feel her mood roiling in the air. Her hand is shaking to the point that she’s hissing at it. 

You steer down to the corner and linger at the stop sign. 

“Mom,” you squeak, “you want some orange julius? A treat for the way home?” 

“Don’t talk to me like a damn child,” she snarls. “Let’s just go. I’m tired. Got no blood left in me.” 

You nod and bite your tongue. Maybe you can just put her to bed. Her naps are a respite, though you find yourself anxious in the silence, terrified of waking her prematurely.  

As you pull onto the suburban avenue, you slow and approach your drive. You pull in and shut off the engine. You get out and go around to help your mom. You open her door and she hauls herself out, tisking under her breath. 

“Didn’t see him,” she mutters. 

“Good afternoon,” Steve’s voice answers your question before you can ask. You look over the hood as he waves from his porch, “busy day?” 

Your mother steels herself and forces a smile, “just went to the doctors.” 

“Oh, everything okay?” He asks. 

“Sure,” she chimes, “just some tests. Nothing serious.” 

“Good to hear,” he stands behind the porch railing, arches crossed, “day’s not over yet. Still lots of time to enjoy the sun.” 

“Mhmm,” you mom grabs onto your wrist, shaking you as leans into you. “Nice day out.” 

“I was gonna do up a milkshake, if you ladies wanted to join me I got plenty to go around.” 

“Milkshakes?” Your mother considers, “mm, I’d have to change out of these.” She looks down, “smell like a hospital.” 

“Sure, take your time,” Steve says, “how about you, honey? I got strawberry. You seem like a strawberry type.” 

“Eh, she’s more a vanilla type,” your other cackles. “Plain.” 

“Got that too,” Steve ignores the joke. “I understand if you’re tired out though. Don’t wanna be too desperate over here, just wouldn’t mind the company.” 

“I’ll be over soon,” your mom assures him, “she’s got some laundry to do.” 

She keeps hold of you and points you towards the house. You help her inside, even though she does her best to hid how she clings to you. Her steps are uneven and stunted. You get through the front door and help her sit on the chair you keep by the door, just in case. 

“Goddamnit,” she’s shaking pretty bad. “Help me, you dumb girl.” 

“I... I don’t...” 

“Get my goddamn inhaler. I forgot it this morning.” 

“Oh, uh, okay.” 

You hurry down the hall and to bathroom. It isn’t in the cabinet. You go back out and scan the table. Not their either. You find it next to her recliner. You wish she’d keep it one place. You go back to her and hand it over. 

“I’m gonna go over,” she says before she huffs from the canister, “you’re gonna stay here. Out of my way.” 

“Alright,” you agree. You prefer that anyway. 

She takes a minute before she gets up. She shooes you away and you retreat to your bedroom. You sit on your bed and wring your hands, waiting as you listen to her. She doesn’t say goodbye before she leaves. Only the front door slamming lets you know she’s gone. 

You exhale and pull the fold out table up to the edge of the bed. You open your sketchbook and stare at the pencil. You don’t feel like drawing but you have nothing else to do. You just sit, looking at the amaryllis. You can pick out every flaw in your work. You close the cover and frown. 

A knock startles you and you stand up. Oh gosh, it’s probably Marge. What is it now? Is the siding too stained? Are the steps crooked? You get up and shuffles down the hall. You open the front door, hiding behind it as you poke your head around. 

Steve has the screen door propped open against his elbow. He holds a tall glass filled with pink, “here. Figured I’d bring this over.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you accept the condensating glass, a wide straw poking out of the whipped cream topped drink. 

“Maybe next time you can pop over too,” he suggests, “I’ve been working on getting the pool going...” he grins, “it’ll be a good summer for it.” 

You nod and look down at the milkshake. 

“Really nice of you,” you say. 

“It’s nothing, sweetie,” he puts his hand on the door above him, looking down at you, “enjoy.” 

“Uh,” you look at him then at the straw. You don’t want to be rude. You put your lips around the tip and take a sip. “Mm, yup, good. Thank you.” 

His blue eyes stick to you and he drags his hand down the door, “I’ll make a deal. You come over to see the pool when it’s ready, and I’ll make you another. How about that, sweetie?” 

You push your lips out. It’s not nice to say no. He didn’t have to bring you the milkshake or invite you. You shrug. 

“Okay,” you agree, “erm, thanks again.” 

He nods and taps the door frame before he steps back. He gently closes the screen door and you watch him through. He turns and strides down the stairs. You shiver as the cold glass numbs your fingers. Hopefully, he forgets about the pool thing. You don't even have a suit.

[brotherwtf]

How about Gale overhearing John talking about him to someone? (with positive outcome)

oooo now this is a very interesting prompt, thanks anon!!

decided to basically mash up all of my fave clegan scenes into one big rainbow scene, I hope you guys enjoy :))

----

John often ran his mouth, both sober and with a drink in him, but the stories always seemed to flow more with the flow of liquor into his system. Always bragging, always galavanting about someone or something to any ear that would listen, especially if it was about his favorite subject, Gale Cleven.

Exaggerating stories until the Major seemed more myth than man, talking to anyone who would listen about all of their escapades, good and bad.

And John would do it no matter if the man himself was there or not, and often did it despite Gale's best wishes.

But even now, as Gale sits on the edge of the dance floor, he can hear John's loud and unabashed laugh as he starts to weave another tale for the poor dames he has coerced. Gale noticed the slightly tense smiles of a woman who was originally only interested in getting beneath John's uniform now being blathered at by a Major far drunker than she expected.

"Nah but my buddy, Buck, here, he don't like sports. Not team sports anyway, likes boxing, 'test of manhood' or whatever the fuck that means," John says, eyes lazy as he points jovially back at Gale, recalling the night Curt lay an RAF pilot on the ground with a singular jab. Gale couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"Was gonna slug that RAF pilot himself the nasty fucker. Ah, he had it coming, don't you worry girls. Buck woulda knocked him straight on his British ass I just know it, there's nothing our Buck can't do, can probably take on the whole Luftwaffe by himself, all engines feathered. Hey, Buck!" John says, turning back towards Gale with loose limbs and gesturing for him to stand next to him.

Usually, Gale would be content to sit on the sidelines and watch John act a fool, but John was gesturing so heavily that it felt like he had a string attached to Gale's chest, pulling him over with just a beckon. Even when Gale puts himself right in the crook of John's body, right where he seemed to fit, John so easily puts his arm around Gale's shoulder.

"Tell em, No-Engine Cleven, nah I'll tell em, he's the best damn pilot in the 100th, hell, maybe even the whole air force, my Buck here is just too good, I wish I could fly half as good as him," John says, leaning his weight into Gale's, leaning so that his face is dangerously close to his.

Gale feels warmth bloom in his stomach but he just lets himself roll his eyes, wrapping a stabilizing arm around John's waist to prevent him from toppling over, giving the women a friendly yet tight smile.

"Easy there, Major, now I think it's best we turn in for the night. It was lovely meeting you ladies," Gale says, keeping his voice clipped and polite despite hearing the girls murmurs of how drunk John seemed to be.

The cool of the English night hits Gale's hot cheeks as soon as he drags John out of the officers club, hiding his tight smile into the night.

"Don't gotta go bragging on me, Bucky, I can hail my own victories," Gale says, breath misting in the air.

John smiles at him, swaying dangerously into Gale as they walk clumsily back to the barracks.

"It's all true, my love, someone's gotta say it and it might as well be me," John says, planting a wet smacking kiss to Gale's cheek.

Gale really should be more careful, but he seems to be getting drunk just on John's warmth and turns his head to press a careful kiss to John's lips, one that's far too slow for John's liking.

"It's my pleasure, Gale, you're my favorite thing to talk about," John says, a rogue hand coming up to squeeze Gale's cheeks and bring him in for another kiss, not being able to help the smile that spreads across both of their faces.

[dangraccoon]

Untitled Spreadsheet - PRIVATE

Chapter 3 - Name

Word Count: 329

Content: Anakin being like who tf is 'cody'???, references to clones building a still a la MASH, Cody's a smidge horny in this one

For @literallyjustanerd, based on this post

Mando'a Guide Kote - glory; common headcanon that it's Cody's real name

“Cody.”

Cody wasn’t sure he could ever get used to General Kenobi using just his name. He’d always found the General’s voice… acoustically pleasing, but something about him saying his name just felt–

Maker, he thought. Pull yourself together, Kote.

“Anakin, I’ll reconvene with you in my quarters; Cody and I have a… morale issue to discuss,” General Kenobi smirked as he waved away his former padawan.

“Cody?” General Skywalker raised his brow at his old Master, before turning to give Cody a suspicious glare.

“Sir?” he barely managed. 

“I thought we could discuss the… new plumbing that one of the officers discovered in the barracks.”

“Of course, sir,” he nodded, starting to walk through the ship by his side. 

Cody actually was paying attention to what General Kenobi was saying, but he couldn’t help how his mind focused so hard on the sound of his name dropping from the General’s lips. 

“Ultimately, I think it should not be something of which we’re supposedly aware unless it becomes a real issue,” the General shrugged. 

“I agree, sir,” Cody nodded. 

“Very well. If you’ll excuse me, Cody, I’ll be in my quarters meditating.”

Cody’s heart pounded against his chest. He nodded. 

Cody: Rex.

Rex: cody 

Cody: He’s stopped calling me Commander at all. He has exclusively used my name for three standard days. 

Rex: so what

Rex: skywalker and tano do that with me all the time

Cody: He’s dropped the formality of my title entirely, Rex. Speaking of General Skywalker, did you notice the odd looks he gave me at the last briefing?

Rex: yeah he was mumbling too but not sure what

Cody: I’m fairly certain he doesn’t like it when General Kenobi refers to me only by name.

Rex: yeah probably 

Rex: i dont know man

Cody: Maybe I should keep track of these interactions somehow. 

Rex: i guess if you want

Rex: wait

Rex: damn it

Rex: youre going to make a kriffing spreadsheet arent you

Event: Has begun referring to me exclusively as ‘Cody’ instead of ‘Commander’ whether we are in private or in company

Rational explanation: The General is trying to establish trust in himself among clones by affirming our individuality

Irrational explanation: The General feels that our relationship is close enough that formalities are not needed and has taken to using my name as this is the closest intimacy we could display publicly without consequence

Additional notes: General Skywalker seems to have picked up on the change too, and has been giving me accusatory looks whenever the General refers to me by name

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Thanks for reading! - River

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