#modern green and white bathroom

[darrenishedwig]

New York Traditional Bathroom Bathroom with open cabinets, white walls, and a wall-mount sink in a medium-sized, elegant 3/4-sized bathroom with green tile, white tile, and stone tile ceramic tile.

[ellie-is]

Traditional Bathroom

[glassclosetcastiel]

Master Bath Bathroom Example of a mid-sized 1950s master green tile and mosaic tile marble floor, white floor and double-sink alcove shower design with furniture-like cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, a one-piece toilet, green walls, an undermount sink, marble countertops, a hinged shower door, white countertops, a niche and a freestanding vanity

[queen-moors]

Kids Bathroom Bathroom - small transitional kids' white tile and subway tile ceramic tile, gray floor and single-sink bathroom idea with recessed-panel cabinets, green cabinets, a two-piece toilet, gray walls, an integrated sink, solid surface countertops, white countertops and a floating vanity

[zinaaatjuh]

French Country Kitchen - Pantry

[misstel]

Master Bath - Bathroom

[planetbabel]

Bathroom - Modern Bathroom

[ronswansonquotes]

Bathroom - Powder Room

[gtfoimrocking]

Charleston Contemporary Bathroom

[verpuerto]

Bathroom in San Francisco

[valerioeliogabalotorrisi]

3/4 Bath - Bathroom

[sepiasims]

New York Bathroom Kids

[v1sexual]

always forever , vi (arcane) part two

a collection of (modern) domestic life activities with vi ! college au , modern au , self indulgent

part one , part two , part three, part four soon !

note : this one sucks lol , i literally made this at work a couple of days ago and didn’t have the willpower to write a new one. anyways, hope u guys like it !

drabble two : its mariah carey season

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who was ecstatic when you suggested to decorate the flat for christmas. she and her family are not religious at all, but christmas is something that they celebrate every year without fail.

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who went all out and spent around $500-$600 on christmas decorations and around $1000 for christmas gifts. (she bought like five different types of christmas lights, a 6 foot christmas three, and a lot of stuff she definitely didn’t need)

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who’d show off by carrying all the shopping bags in one go and would not let you help. “just doing my job shortcake,” she’d say as she opened the front door for you, her pinky visibly shaking as two heavy shopping bags hang off it.

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who’d stop to look and admire you as you two decorated the christmas three. she watched, as you strategically placed the blue, green, and red baubles in a pattern so that they’re even distributed. it’s been a couple of days since you two kissed, an unofficial confession to how the two of you felt for each other. after that night you’ve shared countless of kisses (and a little bit of heaving petting here and there). but you guys haven’t really addressed what you two are, if this is a start of a relationship or just something casual (her bet is on the former though).

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who excused herself and told you she needed to go to the washroom but in reality she just needed an excuse to sneak off and set-up a mistletoe under your door, her door, and the bathroom door.

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who basically barricaded the hallway to that leads to her and your room. she literally hung a white sheet in front of the hallway to hide what she’s planning.

“vi you’ve been there for two hours!” you whined, hand resting on your stomach. “i literally need to shit!”

vi popped her head out from behind the white sheet, “give me two minutes baby i’m almost finished.” she said then popped her head back in.

as much as you’d love to cuss out vi right now, you just couldn’t ignore the way your belly does flip flops the second she called you ‘baby’ (also the fact that it somehow made you no longer wanna shit).

approximately two minutes later vi popped her head out again, “close your eyes for me shortcake.” you sighed but closed your eyes anyways.

ꕀ flat mate vi ! who quietly turned off the light. she intertwined her fingers with yours as she held the white sheet open and leads you towards the hallway.

“okay shortcake, open your eyes.”

a gasp left your lips as you opened your eyes. the hallway was illuminated in nothing but white christmas lights hanging from the ceiling, it looked like something out of a pinterest board. personalized wreaths hung outside your rooms (yours had books, a guitar, and all your favorite little things. then vi’s had a hockey stick, a rugby ball, and a pair of boxing gloves).

“do you like it?” vi asked quietly.

you didn’t say anything, eyes still focused on the hallway.

“i-i can take it down if you-“

you cut her off by basically jumping into her arms, you wrapped around her in a tight hug burying your face in the crook of her neck.

“i love it,” you whispered against her skin. vi smiled down on you, her hands situated under your legs to support your weight.

ꕀ flat mate vi ! whose face you showered in kisses when you broke free from the hug.

a dopey smile played on vi’s lips as she leaned against your palm, eyes fluttered shut as your lips met hers. she sighed contently, her hands rest on your hips her as her thumb rub circles against your clothed skin.

vi has never felt so happy, so content. she felt as though her heart would burst from how hard it pounded against her chest.

“i love you,” she said. “i don’t know if it’s too early to tell you, but i love you. i have for a while now, and i understand if-“

you cut her off by shortly pressing your lips against hers. “i love you too, violet.”

ꕀ extra !

“oh. my. god.” powder exclaimed. she gripped her phone tightly, re-reading the text her sister sent her.

ekko raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend, placing his guitar in it’s stand before walking towards his bed and plopping down next to her. “everything alright pow?”

powder didn’t say anything, instead she shoved her phone in ekko’s face. it took him a second to read the text but judging by the photo vi sent powder, he already knew what was up.

“can’t believe it took them this long to be honest.”

“cut them some slack little man,” powder rolled her eyes playfully before shooting vi a quick text. “it’s not like you’re any better.” she teased which made ekko roll his eyes.

“yeah, yeah, whatever.” he replied, pressing a kiss to powder’s cheek.

[superblysubpar]

I Think I Only Want You, Under My Mistletoe:

modern!steve harrington x fem!reader

3.6k words

summary: Meeting The Harrington's, an office Christmas party, seeing Steve's big, hard d- Desk. Get your mind out of the gutter. // The prompts: [mistletoe] - a playful or romantic kiss under a mistletoe // [BEND OVER] - one muse bends the other over a table/couch/etc. 

warnings: THIS HAS BIG SPOILERS FOR MY SERIES WE’LL CALL IT LOVE ( #a we’ll call it love blurb // we’ll call it love masterlist) - this blurb takes place only a few short weeks after the end of chapter 5: Getting Older, and before the Epilogue. | slight description of reader worrying about her appearance/comparison and anxiety about what people think of it | slight angst with Harrington parent disapproval and judgement | alcohol consumption | SMUT: semi-public (steve's office) teasing, calling Steve Mr. Harrington and sir, illusions to unprotected PIV intercourse

day 1 of 12 days of superbly subpar writing // requested by @palmtreesx3 - thank you for requesting and continuing to encourage WCIL nonsense. Hope you love it babe! 💛

Steve: You found a dress right? You: Nah, I was thinking I’d just show up in my period sweats and that sweatshirt with the stain on it.  Steve: Honey, seriously, I need confirmation.  You: 🙄 You: yes steve. I got a dress. Relax. 

You tossed more popcorn in your mouth, trying to squash the nerves he wasn’t making any better by harassing you for the last week about the dress. 

Like it wasn’t enough to have a boyfriend after swearing off love. The boyfriend you now had after confessing all dramatic and movie-like that you were falling for the guy despite thinking he was engaged. The engagement he called off because of you, much to his parents' fury. The parents you were going to meet at this party. The party at the office he had just put his notice in to quit, again because of you. 

What was there to be nervous about?

The phone next to you lit up and Robin glanced at it, and you caught the name ‘Dingus’ as she  cleared her throat and locked it. Her voice strained to sound nonchalant. 

“Can I see what you’re wearing to the party tomorrow?”

An annoyed huff and strangled cry left your mouth. “That’s it! I’m not going! I’m not!”

You stomped to the kitchen and poured more of the white wine they brought as Nancy failed to cover her smile, coughing over her laugh. 

Robin sat up on her knees, green clay mask beginning to harden on her face, so only her bright blue eyes could convey her feelings. “Just let us see it so we can tell him he has nothing to worry about and he can relax.”

Your head shook, laughing despite being unamused. “Does he think I don’t know how to dress myself? Does he think I’m gonna actually show up in something disgusting? Does he think-”

“You haven’t met the Harrington's.” Robin interrupts, her voice far more serious than you cared for. 

Stomping off to the bathroom, you scrubbed the mask off your face, splashing cold water against your cheeks and tried to ignore the queasy feeling in your stomach. She’s right. You hadn’t met the Harrington's. You’d heard all about them, and you weren’t sure you’d like to meet them under normal circumstances, let alone these complicated, messy ones. 

“Are you-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” You interrupted Robin’s call down the hallway, closing the door to your room and stared at the wine colored fabric with your arms crossed. 

Slipping it on with resentment and nausea fluttering throughout your body, you ran your hands over the velvet material, tilting your head to the side in the mirror as you exhaled. Turning on your heel before you could find all the ways you hated the dress you once were confident about, you stepped out of the room. Nancy and Robin’s mouths dropped in tandem when you stepped into the light of the living room. 

“What?” You squeaked, hands crossing and curling around your waist. “It’s bad? Is the slit okay? I thought…”

Robin started typing on her phone furiously and Nancy held up her hand as you trailed off, “You are so good. Furthest thing from bad. Don’t worry.”

Your shoulders released their tension, but the crease over your brows deepened as Robin smirked down at her phone. “What are you telling him?”

She hummed, “Don’t worry about it. Relax.”

Relax.

Easy for her to say. 

You: steven. You did NOT send a limo.  Steve: 🤷🏻‍♂️ You: you think you’re so cute, huh? Steve: I think *you* think I’m cute.

He clicked at his desktop more, glasses falling down the slope of his nose as he tried to finish work. He felt awful that not only were you nervous, but he was already here, you had to arrive alone, and he still hadn’t seen your dress. His phone vibrated and he looked down to see a picture of you, in the back of the limo, holding up an entire bottle of champagne just for you, and much to his dismay, a coat covering your dress.

You: you know what won’t be cute? When I down this entire bottle of champagne and puke from nerves all over your parents six thousand dollar shoes harrington Steve: they’ll buy new ones You: 🙄

He continued to work on his computer, people calling into his office and asking if he was coming downstairs to which he nodded and said soon to, until the lights started to turn off and it was just him. Hand running through his hair as he flipped back to his conversation with Robin last night.

Robin: DUDE Robin: You’re gonna go into cardiac arrest when you see her Steve: you’re not helping Robin: your mom will love her, you know she will Robin: Well, eventually. I did. Sort of. Steve: Again, NOT helping Robin: honestly your dad is gonna try to sleep with her Steve: you’re sick, you know that? Robin: The way she looks in this dress is sick steve Robin: ILLEGAL Robin: wow. You have wonderful taste in women Steve: YOU HAVE TO STOP 

Despite already having been to Steve’s office, the sight of it tonight still has your jaw going slack. When the limo stops and the door opens for you, the vast and towering skyscraper shimmering with snow swirling around it seems more intimidating than ever. As you push into the warm lobby, the two story Christmas tree steals your breath further. Decorated in golds, silvers, and crimson, two staircases curling on either side of it. 

You make your way up slowly, admiring the decor, hand gliding over the banister and reeling from the noise coming out of the transformed large ballroom. The space was used for a variety of events for the company, anywhere from big convention type conferences, parties, presentations and more. Steve had told you they’d put in a bar, a dance floor and stage, claiming this year’s Christmas party to be the biggest yet. 

Lucky you.

The room overflows out into the hallway with loud chatter, a jazz band playing familiar holiday songs. Boisterous laughter exploding each time the doors open and close, no doubt louder and more easily flowing from the contents inside the glasses you can hear clinking together and the pops of corks. 

You know you’re supposed to text Steve that you’re here, he said he’d come out and walk in with you, that he had been pulled in by his soon to be former boss. The thought of just going in by yourself is somehow easier though. Perhaps no one will even spare you a glance, not when you don’t have him next to you.

The room is even louder once you’re inside. The air smells like leather and cigars, champagne and scotch, stiff and overpowering floral perfume. It drips in luxury - mahogany tables, three Christmas trees, silver and gold candlesticks over burgundy table runners. 

Your feet carry you inside cautiously, and you spot the bar on the other side of the room and head towards it, ignoring the heat of strangers' stares. Feeling like every woman around you is eyeing you from head to toe, their judgment pushing up their chins and noses, rolling their eyes. Their dresses far more expensive and their makeup and hair done professionally. This was worse than the first time you went to Steve’s apartment. 

This was a big, big, massive mistake. 

When you make it to the bar, you order champagne that you can see already being prepped, hoping it’s comped or on the lower end, mentally preparing yourself for Steve insisting he’ll pay for it despite the zeros. The sharp bubbles slip over your tongue as you try to sip it slowly, eyes roaming over the crowd in search of Steve. 

“You look lost,” a deep voice comes from beside you. 

Turning, you find a man in a three piece navy suit that costs more than your rent. His hand holds a glass with three fingers of amber liquid over ice, a silver watch on his wrist that glints. His other is deep in his pocket, his posture nonchalant and lazy yet oozing with the confidence of a man who knows what he wants and how to get it. His jawline is familiar, clean and sharp, leading to soft brown eyes that roam over your face. He has two freckles next to his ear, and dark brown hair that’s just starting to gray. 

Your swallow is louder than the saxophone solo coming from the far end of the room as he removes his hand from his pocket, extends it to you, and says, “John.”

Fuck. 

“Mr. Harrington, it’s so nice to meet you,” your voice is calm, hand shaking his firmly while the inside of you screams, alarms inside your brain going off, shouting abort, abort, abort!

His lips twitch in a far too familiar way and he cocks his head, “Now, how do you know me and I don’t know you?”

You’re certain that everyone in this room knows who John Harrington is, and he knows it too. You squash the nerves inside of you, taking a deep breath. 

“Well, uh, Mr. Harrington-”

“Please, call me John.” He smiles, encouraging, and you nod, plastering on a bigger smile. 

“Right, Jo-John. I’m-”

“Honey, you don’t recognize her?” A softer, sweeter voice comes up behind him and her warm smile makes a little bit of your nerves disappear. That is until she says your name, and then:

“This is Steve’s friend.”

Friend. Friend. Friend. 

“Oh!” He snaps. “I forgot he decided to bring someone after all.”

Your lungs deflate, your stomach churns, you hear the way your heart cracks, chest aching from the pressure. 

Steve’s mom sticks out her hand, “Vivian.”

Introducing yourself far less confident, voice barely a murmur, cracking as you push out, “It’s really nice to meet both of you.”

“So,” John has a cigar in his mouth now, patting at his pockets for a lighter, frowning when Vivian takes it from between his lips, but he continues, “What do you do?”

“Oh, um,” you take a larger gulp of champagne before finishing, “I’m an assistant right now. But I hope to-”

“I’m sorry, what?” John interrupts you, his brows furrowed. Mrs. Harrington’s hand squeezes his bicep sharply, a smile plastered on her face. But he keeps going, “An assistant? How old are you? Your parents can’t be thrilled with-”

“Dad.” His voice is ice, a protective hand on the small of your back, appearing out of nowhere.  

You’ve heard Steve’s end of phone conversations with his dad, you’ve seen the way the people in this room acted just passing by him in the last few minutes, so you are shocked beyond belief when John Harrington closes his mouth at Steve’s singular warning. 

Vivian’s smile relaxes, her voice warm and syrupy, “Hi honey.” She hugs him and he only returns the gesture with one arm, the other keeping a firm grip on your waist as she pulls away and smiles, “We were just getting to know your friend-”

“Girlfriend,” he corrects quickly, strong, and nods at the bartender. You watch as the man behind the wood bar grabs a bottle from the very top shelf, pours two fingers, neat unlike his father, and Steve grabs the drink he didn’t have to order. Despite the last few moments, the tone and action has your thighs pushing together and you clear your throat as Steve’s thumb swipes over your spine. 

Vivian smiles, quietly correcting, “Right, girlfriend. She was just telling us what she does, right sweetheart?” Vivian pinches John’s arm again and he straightens, forcing a closed-lip smile. “So, an assistant, that’s…exciting?”

“I think we’re gonna go dance actually, we’ll talk to you later.” Steve’s voice leaves no room for argument. 

He starts to pull you away and you call over your shoulder, “It was nice meeting you.”

Steve pulls you through the crowd, his shoulders tense and the scotch tipped to his lips in one sip. He sets the empty glass on a passing tray, grabbing your champagne flute from your fingers as well. He stops in the shadow of one of the trees, his hands finding both of yours as he turns. 

“Honey, I think we have a real problem.”

Your heart and stomach drop even more, voice frail and small as you ask, “We do?”

He nods, face solemn, though his lips seem to be fighting a smile as sighs, “I’m afraid I can’t let you out of my sight all night in a dress like this.”

Relaxation floods over your veins, soothing your nerves as it feels like you finally exhale a breath you’ve been holding since last night. Still a little frazzled from the interaction, but a smile twitches your lips up slightly, forcing a light tone. 

“It’s okay? Up to the Harrington standards despite the girl inside it failing miserably?”

Steve hums, leaning in close, spice and stinging scotch on his breath as his nose traces yours. “I think the dress and the girl surpass all Harrington standards. They rearrange the meaning of the word babe.”

Your eyes roll, but your shoulders hunch again, hands smoothing over the lapels of his tux. “That’s a nice sentiment Mr. Harrington, but I think your parents would disagree on the matter.”

Steve’s eyes flash at the use of Mr. Harrington and your eyebrows raise, curious if it’s the authority of the name or the potential of you being a missus, but he’s too quick for you to investigate, bold and something in his eyes hungry. “Fuck my parents and their obnoxious standards. Every other person in this room wants to be you or be inside of you.”

“Steve.” Your head ducks at the forward compliment, “God, how much of that scotch have you had already?” 

“First glass.” His lips part, tongue licking over his top lip as he smirks, “I think you liked it though.”

“The comment or the way you ordered the drink?”

Steve, breathes into your lips as you tilt easily for him, mouth parting as he says, “Both.”

His hands press to your spine, a barely there kiss, when his name is called. He sighs, spinning to shake someone’s hand. The rest of the evening is spent with men clapping on his back and saying they’ll miss him. He holds your hand as he introduces you to co-workers he seems to genuinely like, flagging down servers and getting you glasses of champagne before they’re empty. Shushing you and kissing your temple when you ask how much it is. Maybe it’s the bubbles in your system, the pink flush to Steve’s cheeks when he stares at you, your name on his lips when he introduces you as his girlfriend, but the interaction with John and Vivian is long forgotten. 

All you can think about now, is how tonight has shown you a side of Steve you hadn’t seen before, and he looks good. He holds his drink that keeps being refilled without being ordered, slipping bills in waiters hands almost imperceptibly, their quiet ‘thank you Mr. Harrington.’ even more so if you weren’t listening. His suit is tailored to his body nicely, pieces of his hair falling over his forehead when he laughs in a charming and confident way. Steve is also handsy, and has been since he pulled you away from his parents. Squeezing your hip, running up your spine in the keyhole along it, pads of his fingers following the straps that hang off your shoulders back and forth, back and forth. Each touch of his skin to yours sparking like frayed wires. 

You excuse yourself quietly in the middle of a conversation about trading and something or other you can’t be bothered to listen to and Steve grabs your wrist, cocking his head in a silent question. You call out a little too loudly, maybe a little too flirty, “I’ll be right back, Mr. Harrington.”

The men around him smirk into their glasses and Steve watches you walk away, the color long gone from his eyes as his pupils take over. You feel the presence of his stare on your back as you make your way to the bar, only turning around when you have another glass in your hand. 

Steve’s still across the room, and you watch the path his eyes take over your body, heat rising to the surface of your skin in their trail like he’s physically touching you. He tracks you as you make your way to the exit, starting on your ankle, up your calf, then thigh. You’re almost able to feel his fingers sliding over the velvet, tracing the slit that exposes the skin. The cinch of merlot fabric on your hips and the way his hands would pause there and squeeze. You take another sip as they travel over the curve of your sweetheart neckline that shows off maybe a little too much. Tracing the path his lips could take over the straps, up your collarbones and neck, and they finally meet your eyes. 

His jaw is tight, tongue wetting his lips and gulping. His eyes narrow as you smile and you glance up at the familiar green holiday leaves hanging above the door, dropping your head and forming a fake pout. 

It takes Steve less than thirty seconds to cross the room, the now empty glass on a tray as he passes yet again, freeing his hands to grab onto your waist as he leans in. You let your bottom lip slip between the two of his, teasing and innocent. 

Steve groans as you bump the door open with your hip, letting your fingers linger on his chest, sighing, eyes wide, “Oh, I bet the view of the city is so beautiful on the 65th floor. You have a big, fancy office don’t you? Do you think I could see it, sir?”

He’s a man possessed. His mouth and hands haven’t stopped moving since the elevator closed. Clumsy lips and your name leaving him breathlessly as he pushed you into the railing as the floors climbed higher and higher. 

“Look too good, illegal, she was right,” he mouthed at your neck, slipping lower into your cleavage enough to make you laugh. 

“Wh-who was right?” 

He growled something that sounded like Robin’s name which made you laugh harder, stopping only when his mouth found yours. 

Steve shushed your giggles, leading you down the dark floor to the office at the corner, pulling the door closed and clicking the lock. 

A brown leather couch, gold lamps, a bookshelf and a cart full of bottles of fancy liquors and sparkling glasses. A giant, wood desk with a tall leather chair. A name plate that glinted and said Steve Harrington with a pair of wire rimmed glasses. 

You’d seen it before, but not on a night like tonight. Not with all the lights off, snow falling lazily across the skyline. Not with champagne in your system, not with your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who had confidence and charm, who commanded respect and attention. Who stood up to his parents for you, for what he wanted.

Steve stood behind you, hands on your hips again as he led you towards the desk. Sucking a bruise under your ear, tongue soothing the way his teeth scraped down your neck. He was wrecked, gone, could cum in his slacks right then and there with the view of you in his office in this dress. Would he miss being in charge at a place like this? Sure. But he had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time he was a boss. 

His voice was strong, cinnamon and scotch on his breath as he commanded, “Bend over, baby.”

You laughed, arching over his desk slowly. Looking over your shoulder as you spread your legs and pouted, “Kind of bossy, Steve, not gonna even say please?”

Steve watched under heavy lids as you kept your gaze on his fingers moving over his buckle, the way your chest moved up and down quicker as he freed himself. He knelt behind you, pushing up the fabric of your dress. Kissing up your calves, your thighs, nipping at the curve of your ass and smirking when you yelped. 

He stood, hands landing on the desk on either side of yours, mouth a ghost over your ear, heaving chest pressed along your spine, and his hard erection pressing into your ass. 

“You think you’re cute, huh?”

A shiver ran through you at his tone, the way his breath hit your cheek and fingers overtook yours on the desk. 

You gasped out, parroting your conversation earlier, “I think you think I’m cute, Harrington.”

Steve’s nose skimmed the curve of your ear, tutting, “No more mister already? Where’d your manners go baby?”

He slid his tip against your clit, circles to it until your head fell forward in a gasp, slick coating his cock with barely anything to prompt it. 

Steve finally moved lower, his lips on your neck and his tip nudging at your entrance but pausing as he laughed, smirk pressed to your skin. “You are cute, though, honey. Prettiest,” he kissed your shoulder, “Sexiest,” a kiss below your ear, “Cutest thing here tonight.”

He kept his tip pressed to your entrance, waiting until your hips squirmed, till your fingers twitched below his. Breath warm on your jaw as he kept his voice even, confident, pulling himself back up to your clit and starting all over again as he spoke. 

“Know what’s even cuter though?”

You whimpered, head empty, nerves buzzing, and stomach burning as his lips brushed against your jaw with each word, head circling your clit and tapping again. 

“You’re about to be begging for me.”

[heavenlyakin]

Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem!Reader 

tw: modern au (sanemi is a boxer), established relationship, mention of blood, smut. Not edited. minors and blank blogs dni

wc: 1.2k 

network: @enchantedforest-network

–

When he enters the house, you’re standing over the counter, chopping a carrot. 

The sight of blood makes you stop in your tracks. Dropping the knife, you take a moment to examine the blood stains on his green pants, the white of his top also smeared with streaks of red, but he stands as if he’s uninjured. 

“You’re home,” your voice is soft, barely a gasp. 

He smiles at you, dropping his gloves by his shoes. “I’m home,” he replies, excellent hearing as usual. 

You follow him to the bathroom, watching as he strips from the bloody clothing. He must have beaten the shit out of someone tonight, or he got in another fight on his way home. Either way, the facts are still that your partner of several years is covered in blood, again. 

“Are you not tired of it?” You ask, helping him shed his shirt, and draping it over the laundry basket so you can treat the white with bleach spray before you wash it. 

He laughs, “Don’t ask stupid questions.” 

As he turns to face you, you notice a cut above his left nipple, small but still bleeding. “Let me treat that,” you sigh, grabbing the first aid kit from the shelf beside the towels. He closes the toilet seat, sits down atop it, and grins at you as you sit on the edge of the bathtub. 

“You know,” he says after a few minutes of you dabbing alcohol on his cut with a cotton swab, “somewhere else needs some attention.” His pale eyes drift down to his crotch, where he’s visibly hard. 

You smile, heat creeping across your cheeks. “You’ll be lucky if I even kiss you after making me wait all night for you.” 

“Honey,” he smiles, lifting your chin to make you look at his face. “I made it home before dinner. You can’t be that mad at me.” 

“Shut up,” you smack his hand away. “Let me bandage this cut then we’ll see about that.” Your eyes drag back down to his erection and his lips curl into a smirk. He relaxes now. 

“Thank you,” he kisses your cheek as you place a pink bandaid over the cut. 

You pull him closer, into you and against your lips. 

He doesn’t react at first, but then he’s devouring you. His arms around your frame, his fingertips digging into your skin, his body melding with yours as if he can’t get close enough. You bite his bottom lip, pulling a deep sound from his throat. 

He pushes you back, guiding you to the bedroom down the hall from the bathroom. The sound of something crashing and shattering on the ground goes unnoticed as your shirt is tossed on the floor. Sanemi’s rough hands palm at your breasts through your bra. 

Your thighs hit the bed, and you drop down onto it, looking up at your boyfriend. You kiss his stomach, just above his belly button, while you slip your hand into his boxers. He sucks in a fast breath, tilting his head back as you stroke your hand down his cock. 

“-----,” he groans your name. “Don’t tease me like that,” he looks down at you as you’re getting on your knees in front of him. 

“Tease you?” You say as innocently as possible as you slide the boxers down his thighs. 

“God,” he brushes his hair back from his face as your lips wrap around his cock. 

He groans as your tongue swirls around the tip, his body reacting with a shiver. You grab the back of his right thigh with your hand, holding him still as you take more of him in your mouth. Your free hand squeezes him softly before you use the spit drooling down him to stroke his length as you start bobbing your head. 

It’s only a few minutes of this before he’s pulling you up to him, his tongue flooding your mouth as he strips you down until you’re bare under him on the bed. His lips are all over you. Your lips, your neck, your collarbones, your shoulders, your breasts, and down down down until he’s between your legs. 

Your fingers grip the bedding as his tongue drags down your cunt and teases everywhere but your clit. He likes to play this game, but you’re in no mood today. You sit up on your elbows, looking down at him. 

“Can’t find it?” You smirk, cupping his cheek as he frowns at you. 

“Really?” He deadpans. 

“You get knocked around an awful lot, so it’s understandable if you’ve forgotten…” 

“I don’t get knocked around that much,” he rolls his eyes, his mouth connecting with your cunt again and his tongue flicking your clit as if to prove a point. 

You moan, falling back onto the bed and letting him prove the point.

A very good point. 

Two of his fingers slip inside you, stretching inside of you to pull an even louder moan. Between his lips and fingers, you come undone, cumming against his mouth as he laps at you like you’re his favorite dessert. 

The second his mouth detaches from you, you pull him up to kiss you. The taste of you on his lips still. He bites your bottom lip, making you open your mouth more for him. As he sucks on your tongue, you moan again. 

You push him over, forcing him to lay on his back. You straddle him, grinding your cunt down against the length of his cock, the slickness allowing you to glide up and down him smoothly. He groans, his fingertips digging into your hips to guide you. 

Reaching between you, you take his cock in your hand and guide it to your hole, sliding down on him slowly. A small moan escapes your lips, him mimicking you. The first few times are slow, and calculated. You enjoy the way his face contours in pleasure as you ride him this way. 

However, Sanemi isn’t patient. He grabs your hips sternly, fucking up into you hard and fast, making you bounce more than you had intended this to go. You lean down, kissing him, biting his neck, sucking on it too, leaving a pale bruise you know will darken. 

“Fuck,” you moan against his neck, sitting back up and placing your hands on his chest.

He’s so toned and so pretty to look at. The scars that gather across his body are all reminders of the times you’ve helped patch him up over the years, mentally and physically. 

“Gonna cum again, baby?” His eyes shine as they look at you. 

You nod, biting your lip as you slow down, Sanemi letting you take over again. You drag the orgasm out of him, cumming with him as your head spins. You collapse beside him, him turning to lay on his side, propping his head up on his hand. 

“You’re beautiful when you cum,” he whispers, kissing your cheek. 

You laugh, pushing him away. “Stop trying to suck up to me.” 

He grins, “Just tryna butter you up so we can order pizza instead of whatever the carrot was going to be used for.” 

“I’ll shove it up your ass if you don’t watch it!” You tease, grabbing one of his shirts to slip into while you search for your phone to order pizza.

[missbeatabitch]

Blue collar hubby !!

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Fem!Reader (Modern AU)

Setting: Cozy Suburban Home with your blue collar husband, being his stay at home wife !

Tone: Fluff, Domestic Romance, overall dream man jean boy!!

The sound of gravel crunching under tires signaled Jean’s return home after a long day of work. The sun was setting, painting the sky in soft shades of pink and gold as his old pickup truck rolled into the driveway. You stood at the kitchen window, wiping your hands on a dish towel, your heart fluttering like it always did when you saw him step out of the truck.

Jean was still in his work boots and navy blue coveralls, stained with grease and dust from hours spent fixing machinery at the auto shop. His hair was tousled from his hard hat, and a faint shadow of stubble dusted his jaw. He looked tired—but he still managed to give you one of those crooked smiles when he noticed you waiting for him.

You practically skipped to the front door, opening it just as he reached the porch. “Welcome home, handsome.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice was gravelly, worn down by the day, but full of warmth and tirednesd yet full of love.

Before you could react, Jean’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, and he lifted you slightly off the ground as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You squeaked in surprise, but your giggle was swallowed by his mouth.

“Jean!” you laughed as he finally set you back down. “You’re all dirty!”

He smirked, a cocky glint in his amber eyes. “Oh yeah? Thought you liked me dirty.”

You swatted his chest, your face heating up. “Go wash up before dinner, you dirty boy.”

He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before heading toward the bathroom. You watched him go, the broad set of his shoulders straining slightly against the fabric of his coveralls, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip.

The table was set perfectly—a steaming plate of homemade chicken Alfredo sat in the center, paired with buttery garlic bread, a fresh green salad, creamy mashed potatoes, and a cold bottle of Jean’s favorite beer waiting by his plate. The smell alone made the kitchen feel warm and inviting.

Jean walked in, his damp hair sticking to his forehead, a plain white t-shirt hugging his broad chest and shoulders. His eyes immediately went wide as he took in the spread.

“Babe…” he said softly, running a hand through his hair. “You did all this? For me?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off casually. “Well, yeah. You’ve been working so hard lately. You deserve to be spoiled a little.”

Jean walked over, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you into a hug. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his voice muffled as he said, “You have no idea how much I love you.”

You giggled, running your fingers through his hair. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

He pulled back just enough to press a firm kiss to your lips before guiding you to sit down.

Jean practically devoured the meal, letting out low groans of approval every few bites. You couldn’t stop smiling as you watched him enjoy every forkful of the Alfredo, occasionally taking sips of his beer with a satisfied sigh.

“This is the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks, babe,” he said around a mouthful of garlic bread.

“Better than the restaurant you and Connie always go to after work?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

Jean snorted. “Don’t even talk about that place right now. This blows it out of the water.”

You laughed softly, sipping your water as you leaned your cheek against your palm. “You’re easy to please, Jean.”

He set his fork down, his amber eyes locking onto yours. “No, Y/N. I’m not. Not when it comes to you.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the sincerity in his voice, the way his gaze softened as if you were the only thing he could see in the world.

Jean leaned back in his chair, a lazy smirk spreading across his lips. “You spoil me too much, sweetheart.”

You shrugged, trying to hide the blush creeping across your cheeks. “You deserve it. You work so hard for us, Jean.”

He let out a soft hum, tipping his beer bottle toward you in a silent cheers before taking another sip.

After dinner, you were curled up on the couch with Jean, your legs draped across his lap as he absentmindedly ran his rough fingers over your thigh. His other hand rested on your knee, his thumb brushing circles on your skin.

“Y’know,” Jean said softly, breaking the comfortable silence, “I think about this all day. Just coming home to you. To this.”

You smiled, your head resting against the couch cushion as you gazed at him. “That’s all I want, Jean. I want you to come home and feel like this is your safe place.”

His amber eyes softened, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly. “You make it that way, sweetheart. Everything about you… this home… it feels perfect because you’re here.”

You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him into a kiss. Jean’s hands immediately slid up your thighs, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, Jean smirked up at you. “Careful, babe. Keep kissing me like that, and I might have to remind you exactly how much I love you.”

You laughed, pressing your forehead against his. “Then remind me, Jean.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Jean lifted you effortlessly, carrying you toward the bedroom with a playful grin. “Guess I’ll have to make sure you feel as spoiled as I do tonight.”

The night was slow and filled with soft touches, whispered words, and lingering kisses. Jean was gentle yet firm, his large hands never leaving your body, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

Afterward, you lay curled against his chest, his steady heartbeat echoing in your ear as his hand rubbed slow circles on your back.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“More than okay,” you mumbled sleepily, snuggling closer to him.

Jean let out a content sigh smiling warmly, his free hand reaching for the blanket to pull it over both of you. “Get some sleep, babe. I’ve got you.”

And in that quiet moment, wrapped in his strong arms, you knew there was nowhere else you’d rather be than with your Jean.