#only to realize the box was JUST barely too big for my car

[sammyluvr]

some other time — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, reader sits in sam’s lap, he holds their waist/stomach, mentions of demons, poor editing ofc, 1.1K words. requested !

prompt : one having to sit in the other’s lap when space is tight and them both blushing like crazy over it.

being able to steal a car is a very helpful skill to have when you’re being chased by several demons and too far from your normal ride to make it away. you just can’t help but wish that dean could have picked a better car, if only to spare your sanity.

dean, ahead of you both, yells through the driver’s side window as you approach at full speed. “in the back! front’s full of shit!”

sam skids to a stop at the back door of the small car, yanking the door open and swiftly climbing in with you right behind him. you expect him to keep sliding down to make room for you, but when you finally register the state of the car, you realize that the back is full of bulky boxes, the same as the front seat. only the seat that sam takes up is clear. you hesitate for a split second, but sam takes your hand urgently. you’re still in danger. the three of you managed to off a few of the demons, but there was something strange going on, and there were far too many to deal with for the moment.

“c’mon,” sam urges. with that, you pile in right after him, barely all the way in the car when dean gets the engine to start and begins driving away. you let out a surprised yelp when the car lurches forward, and you lose any semblance of balance. your legs were already draped across his, but the rest of you slams right into his chest from the change in velocity. still tilted towards the middle of the car, you almost hit your head against the box right in front of you, but sam’s quick reflexes keep you from getting hurt with his hands on your hip and shoulder. he helps you settle onto his laps as you huff out a laugh that’s half frustrated, half flustered.

“thanks,” you mumble, trying to sound as casual as possible as you feel his strong thighs under your own.

“you okay?” he asks, his hands leaving your hips, then hovering in the air as he realizes that there’s just about nowhere else to put them. the space is completely cramped; the car itself is small, and the added boxes piled up on the seats press against sam’s shoulder and push him into the car door that he barely managed to close in the whirlwind of getting into the car and out of danger. 

“i’m fine,” you confirm, nodding your head. you look down at his hovering hands and smile at them, at how sweet and respectful he is. but your gaze flies up along with your hands to grip the seat in front of you to stop you from falling off of sam’s lap as dean takes a hard turn. in that same moment, sam’s hands firmly reattach themselves to your waist to hold you steady. you laugh nervously again, rolling your eyes at dean’s driving, but choosing not to scold him since he’s busy trying to get you safely away from this nasty group of demons.

“looks like you’ll have to be my human seatbelt,” you joke to sam, barely tilting your head to smile at him and catch his eye. if you turn to fully look at him, you think you’re likely to die. his face is so close to yours, his hands so big on your waist, and his thighs even bigger under you. your face is hot and your expression is likely much more flustered than you’re normally able to cover up. so, you quickly avert your eyes and keep your gaze fixed in front of you.

sam’s having similar problems, both glad that you’re not facing him and mourning the loss of your face turned to his while you’re so close. in the end, this is better so that you can’t see the blush on his face or the way his jaw clenches every time the car jolts or bounces in any way. having you settled on his lap in a moving car, pulled all the way to him so that your back is against his chest, does not help with his raging crush on you.

he can’t even give a proper answer to your half-joking comment, and just gently squeezes your sides to show you that he’ll keep you steady. just as you intended, he takes your words as full consent to leave his hands on you.

of course, this action is entirely ruinous for you, and you hope that he doesn’t notice the way you gasp at the pressure of his big hands on your waist.

after a minute of stillness and dean’s teasing eyes on you through the rearview mirror, you think you might be safe as you get a little more used to the sensation. naturally, you’re still flustered out of your mind and wishing desperately that you could sit in sam’s lap for no reason at all, whenever you like.

but as sam’s arm grows uncomfortable in its position pinned against the boxes beside you, his hand starts to shift from your side to your stomach. he feels you stiffen under his hand, and quickly retracts his hand.

“sorry,” he whispers, afraid that he’s made you uncomfortable.

but you look down and really survey the position his arm is. his elbow, wrist, and shoulder are all pressed into an awkward angle, just to be sure that he’s not touching you anywhere but the place you seemed most comfortable with. “it’s okay,” you rush to assure him, and without thinking, you grab his hand and wrap his whole arm around right around your middle, effectively putting it in the most comfortable position. “that better?” you ask softly, voice a little breathy as you register what you’ve done. you’re not helping yourself. or maybe you are. you can’t really tell, because it’s sort of hard to breathe with his muscled forearm pressed up against your stomach.

“yeah,” he breathes out, “as long as you’re okay with it.”

“of course,” you assure, nodding for a moment. “i don’t mind at all.”

he seems to soften at that, and he holds you with more surety. i don’t mind at all. over and over again, he replays those words in his mind, thinking about the soft tone you used, all of the sincerity that you made clear and easy to pick up on, and the way that you relax into his touch.

he can imagine you like this some other time. you in his lap because you want to be there, and his chin perched on your shoulder. he’d nuzzle his nose into the side of your neck, and he’s sure that it would make you giggle a little. what he wouldn’t give to have that. he’d rub his thumbs over your sides in a soft pattern, and you’d lean all the way into him when he kissed your jaw. god, he wants you. he wants you more than anything.

[momoswifee]

The Fall

Pairing: Mina x fem!reader

Synopsis:  "Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted? No, but I once got very close."

Warnings: Grief, death mention, overworking, depression, alcohol consumption, isolation.

w/c: 2997

A/n: Hi!! I'm sorry for taking so long but yay! final chapter!! I'm so happy I finally finished this, I hope everyone who read all of this has enjoyed it, and thank you all for supporting me on this and for reading it!! I'm sorry if this feels rushed by the end, I really tried to write a good ending but yeah. I hope you guys enjoy it!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

“Mina, you really didn’t have to...” Your father says, smiling at the box she had brought.

“They’re your favourite, I have a shop near my apartment that sells them so it really isn’t that big of a deal…” she dismisses, handing him the expensive box of chocolates. 

“They were her favourite too…” He whispers, smiling at the thought, as he looks down at it. The contrary feeling washes through her. Every time she walks down the street she instinctively looks at it and wishes to go in, to get one of those ridiculously expensive boxes, bring it home and get drunk on your memory. 

Two years had passed, two whole years without you, and she felt like it was yesterday that they took you to the operating room and took you away from her. She had kept her word and had come to your parent's house for dinner occasionally, to remember you, to let them see her as an extension of their kid. 

As soon as she went through the door, a big white ball of fur almost tackled her to the ground. “Hey honey” she says, laughing as Otis excitedly pushes himself onto her, trying to get close. “I missed you too.”

Three months after your passing, Mina had already gone on the press tour, she had already attended the premier, everything to do with her most recent movie was done, and she had nothing to occupy her mind with anymore.

She only had herself, in her big empty apartment to worry about. Otis had been sent to your parents when she started the press tour, she couldn’t take care of him properly. She had never gone to pick him up after.

Once she was home, she could barely get out of bed, she didn’t talk to anyone, she didn’t answer any calls. She just laid there and thought about how you weren’t with her. At one point she did think about going to get Otis back, he was the only thing she had left of you. But as soon as she got in the car, she realized that she hadn’t been good to him, to the only thing you had left behind. If she wasn’t being good to him, she didn’t deserve him. He had gotten older, he was 10 now, and she had met him when he was 3, but he still greeted her the same.

“You’ve been working a lot,” Your mom starts, once they’re all at the table. “Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“I have a pretty good agent,” Mina replies, laughing, trying to show that she is happy with it, that it is something that she’s doing because she knows it’s good for her career. “I’ve been offered pretty good opportunities, I’m just trying to make the best out of it.”

The truth is, she took on the most challenging jobs possible so that she never had to think about you more than she had too. She needed to keep you out because it had been two years and if she heard a sound of a leave being crunched while she was walking she would automatically think that it was you who was coming to her. If she heard someone knock at her door, she would think that it was you who was knocking. Every time she went to the supermarket and decided to buy oranges, she would freeze because it reminded her of your citrus smell, she decided to just not consume oranges again. The mere mention of hockey would almost send her into a spiral. 

She hated that she would spend more time remembering you, than she had spent by your side, so, she focused on everything that had nothing to do with you. She would become another person, she would impersonate the character, she would absorb their essence and forget you. 

After lunch, Mina offered to take Otis on a walk, to go into the town, maybe get some groceries if needed. “Have you been having fun, buddy?” She asks, receiving an almost enthusiastic bark from him. She missed him, but she knew it was for the best.  

She hadn’t been to the town for a while, now usually her parents went to her, they knew she wanted to avoid it. At maximum, she would go to only their house or your parents and then leave. She honestly surprised herself when she offered to take Otis on a walk to town.

Once she had reached the center, what she saw first was your old shop, now turned bakery. She remembered the talk with your parents, how it was just you who was working there, there really was no need to keep it open, it would be best to leave the spot open for another business. 

The little bakery looked good, she got curious. She got closer. Inside were little cakes, cookies of all forms, pastries of all kinds, everything you used to love. A little tug from Otis prompted her to slightly look to her left, and there Jihyo was. She felt her heart stop. She had let her hair grow, her face had more set features, her smile lines still intact. She was laughing with some friends. She looked happy, so she did what she did best, she ran away. 

☾

“So we have a scheduled photoshoot until 4 pm and right after that you’ll be doing that interview because of your most recent nomination…”

Oh yeah, the nomination. Her role had been moving to many, so she had been told, it had been good enough to be considered for one of the biggest awards there were: an Oscar. 

“The driver will be there to pick you up after the shoot, and I’ll meet you at the script read ok?” Her manager, Miyawaki Sakura, an angel sent from heaven, said. 

Sakura, although a bit younger than Mina, had always been there for her, and more recently, had been trying to help her skyrocket her career as well as keep her healthy. After she had heard what had happened with her last manager, the over working, the whole episode where she went to the hospital, all she wanted was for Mina to have a safe and healthy environment at work, while still achieving her career goals. 

While she was being photographed, watched by people she didn’t know, all she could do was pose, blank her mind, just do whatever she was told. While she was being interviewed she did more of the same, answered the questions simply, always showing gratitude, always with her practised smile plastered on her face. 

“So Mina! First, congrats on the nomination!” The interviewer kindly says. “I’m sure this feels like a dream! I’m sure you’re getting closer to everything you’ve ever wanted right?”

She smiled politely and agreed with a nod. She continues to answer the questions with an almost excited tone, with a beaming smile. But in the back of her mind, she only heard a series of “no’s” being said right after the kind woman in front of her had asked if she had got closer to everything she had ever wanted. If she had asked this in the early days of her career, she would’ve said yes and meant it. If this had been asked before you had been taken away from her, she would’ve said yes and meant it. Now she said this half-heartedly, only wishing to go back to when she actually had everything, when she had you. 

☾

“She looked happy…” Mina says, a lingering smile on her face as she dusts off the leaves that had fallen on her. “I know you would be disappointed in me for not going up to her, but what could I possibly say to her after all this time?” 

You don’t answer, obviously, you’re not there. There’s only your gravestone with the flowers Mina had brought with her. Purple Hyacinths. 

“I miss you,” she whispers, picking out the little brown leave that rested on top of the stone. You loved autumn. The colours, the leaves, the nights with the soft rain sounding out. She was glad you had been put beneath such a big tree, that now displayed such fiery colours. 

After almost forgetting his presence, Otis makes himself known by huffing as he lays down his head on Mina’s lap, as he stares at the stone in front of them. 

All of this is way too familiar to Mina, taking Otis to see you had become a common outing, and she wishes it hadn’t. She longed for the days that he would run through the orange and red leaves happily while you held her hand and admired the seasonal sight. She hated having to come here with Otis and watch him slowly walk through those same coloured leaves, almost as if he was dreading having to face your grave, just as she was. 

☾

“Otis give it back!” 

Mina felt strange. She felt warm. The sun was hitting her just right, she felt so good. The breeze was hitting her face gently, the sound of splashing water, the birds above her, the branches of the trees swaying with the light breeze. It was perfect. 

“Well, I guess he just doesn’t want to play catch.”

A voice. Oh and what a sweet voice it was. 

“Hm, I’m sure just needs a little break.” She says, smiling instinctively at the person in front of her. The sun blinding her eyes, just letting her see the silhouette. 

“In the meantime I’ll keep you company” It says, sitting right next to her, offering her a smile. Your smile. 

You’re there. You’re there with her. 

She touches your hand, it’s warm. She can feel the heat travel through her body. 

Her right hand, as if gaining a mind of its own, goes straight to your face and her fingers trace your soft features. 

You look at her in amusement, already used to this kind of behaviour. Your smile is quickly replaced by a frown. “Mina, what’s wrong?”

Only then does she notice that she was crying. She doesn’t know why. Everything was fine. 

“I don’t know” Mina laughs, wiping her tears, leaning in to briefly kiss your soft warm lips. 

Everything was perfect. 

“Want to join me in the water?” You whisper into her lips, her hand at the back of your neck, not letting you get away from her that fast. 

The sun was so comforting against her back. She no longer felt that weird sensation. She was good. 

“I think I should stay here for now…” She whispers. 

“Ok.” You get up, gently taking her hand away from yours. “I’ll be waiting for you.” 

You send her a small, sad, smile as you leave, going in Otis direction. 

Suddenly a big thud is heard and Mina jolts awake in a cold sweat. She notices that the left side of the bed is empty. 

“Yn?” She quietly calls. Maybe you had gone to the bathroom. Before she thinks about getting up, she looks over to your side of the bed, and at your night stand, lay your dusty glasses. 

 She hated these dreams. She never knew they were dreams, it felt like she was back with you again. She couldn’t appreciate those fictitious moments because she never remembered that you were gone when she entered that dream state. 

You never left her head, you were constantly present, but in the past few weeks, you had come to see her more often as soon as she fell asleep. She would not be able to lie and say that she had been more excited lately to follow a more strict sleep schedule, it was, however, torture, waking up and not having you by her side. 

☾

Her throat burned. Every step she took felt like she was going to fall face down on the dirt. The bottle in her hand getting lighter with each step she took.

“I hate you” She spits out as soon as she sees you. “I hate you. I hate that I won one of the most prestigious awards there are and still the only thing I had on my mind was your name.”

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n

It was all that was going through her head as she delivered her heartfelt speech. 

“Why can’t you just let me go,” she brokenly whispers as she kneels next to you. Her gold coloured dress now stained with dirt. “It feels like you haunt me, I can never live just a day without thinking about you, and it kills me” 

She says this, knowing that she doesn’t let herself move on. She left your shared house, she left your clothes, your precious peach trees behind. She even left Otis. 

She did however bring your glasses and pose them on a night stand next to her bed, she still wears her engagement ring around her neck, she still hasn’t thrown in the trash your little shampoo bottle you kept at her house, nor all your expired skincare products. Every morning she would wake up, gently massage her face with her precious serum while staring at yours. 

“Some days I wish I had never met you,” The burn down her throat now had become familiar. “I wish I hadn’t met you, so I could live a happy life.” 

Right after those words left her mouth she feels tears streaming down her face. It’s all a lie, the best thing that had ever happened to her was you. It wasn’t the stupid award she had just won, it was the life she had envisioned with you. 

Finally, she starts to feel like her knees are burning so she decides to just rest her body on the stone.

“You promished you wouldn’t leave” she slurs out. “I can’t do this without you…” 

Before she can even try to say anything again, she feels someone’s hand on her shoulder. She allows herself to think that it is you. That you had finally come to take her with you. 

“Mina-” 

Momo. 

“Mina, what are you doing here?” The oldest asks, taking in the sight in front of her. Mina resting against your tombstone, her once golden dress now stained with dirt, her make-up completely ruined. 

“I missed her.”

What was she supposed to say? That she came to yell at you to stop haunting her life? That she lied through her teeth when she had told her cousin about how well she was doing, how excited and anxious she was to learn about the award when in truth she couldn’t care less? 

Thankfully, Momo didn’t press for answers, she just took the bottle from her hand and helped her up, promising to take Mina home and helping her get better. 

On her way home, all she wanted to do was to beg Momo to take her back. She just wanted to be with you. 

☾

Momo hadn’t left her side since her escapade to see you. She stayed with her and kept her company, not wanting to see her baby cousin so distraught and alone. While she did appreciate the caring nature of the oldest girl, all she needed was to be alone. She had already asked Sakura if any job offers or any interesting roles had come up. She just wanted to get back to normal. 

She hadn't been sleeping properly, always too afraid of seeing you in her dreams. The stress of not having any work also didn't help, she felt useless. She had already, deep cleaned the house, re-arranged her closet, bought new curtains, and installed them herself. She needed to keep busy.

“Momo you really don’t have to stay here,” She sighs out, already tired of this recurring conversation. 

“I’m not leaving you alone. Mina, no one knew where you were, you just vanished. Sakura called me worried sick!” Momo exclaims. “I’m not trying to suffocate you, I just want to know that you’re alright.”

“And I am,” She says, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “It was a moment of weakness, I’ve been missing her for a while." She stops. "I’m alright.”

"I-" Momo starts sighing. "You've been trying to keep busy, but have hardly slept. Try to sleep," she says, getting up from her seat. "You must be tired. I have to go to work now, but I'll be back when you wake up alright?"

She thinks about Momo's suggestion after she leaves. The truth is, she doesn't want to sleep. She's just afraid she will see you again in her dreams and not be able to remember and not appreciate her moments with you.

Unfortunately, sleep is stronger than her and she is knocked out before she knows it.

☾

"Are you sure you don't want to get into the water? It's actually pretty nice!"

She remembered everything.

There you were, inside the lake, softly smiling at her, waiting for her response.

She gets up and walks to you. She sits on the pier and lets her feet soak in the water.

It does feel nice.

Your hands go to hold her legs, gently rubbing them.

"I missed you." You whisper as you look up to her.

Her hand goes straight to your face. She can feel your skin. Every bump, every almost-healed acne scar. She can feel you.

"I'm here now." Mina says, looking into your eyes. The eyes she had fallen in love with.

And then she jumps into the water to be with you. All she feels is warmth. She feels your hands holding her waist and pulling her closer. She opens her eyes and sees that you had dipped with her. It reminds her of when you used to kiss her underwater, so she goes and brushes her lips on yours, melting into your touch when you pull her closer to properly feel her lips on yours.

She's happy, and she doesn't even think about ever going up to breathe.

She's with you at last.

[gemini-sensei]

So you uhhh... got any more thoughts on poly! Amanda and Daniel x reader? Asking for a friend of course👀

Naturally, I must tag @sensei-venus 🤭 a little bit of smut ahead

Imagine if bimbo!Reader comes to the dealership looking for a job. She's super sweet, giggly, and still has this youthfulness of her twenties about her. Daniel hires her thinking with his dick in all honesty and she kind of can't do anything. Like, she does nothing right at all.

She's good with customers but she knows nothing about cars. She's kind of a hazard driving too. She shouldn't be behind the wheel and so can't drive any cars around the lots at all.

She's only good at making coffee or bringing in snack cakes for everyone.

Amanda secretly loves her. She watches the new hire from her office, pretending to be on the phone as Reader prances around the dealership in her cute skirts that she bought because they "look so professional." But Reader's thighs barely fit in them, her ass looks so hot, and everything else about her outfit is just a bit too small that her tits and belly are about to spill out. Ugh, sometimes Amanda has to shut the door, close the blinds, and finger her cunt just because she stared at Reader too long.

Daniel is the same way. He takes her under his wing a little but at first, tries to show her the ropes. She's charismatic and cute, so with some help from him, she's talking sales with customers. He watches her but gets a little jealous if the customers are checking her out too. But he can't do anything about that, yet, so he brushes it off and watches Reader jump for joy when she makes a sale. Her tits bounce and Daniel is so distracted by them. Then she hugs him tight in a celebratory hug and he gets hard. She doesn't notice and he's scurrying off to rub one out real quick.

When Daniel and Amanda are together in their free time, they talk about her. They talk about how cute and sweet she is, how she comes to work so happy. They mask these conversations with topics about performance and efficiency, dancing around what they're really talking about until they can't take it anymore. Before they know it, they're fucking to the thought of their cute clueless employee who has no real job description.

"Fuck, I bet you wanna fuck her fat pussy," Amanda moans as she gets pounded. "It's probably nice and tight."

Daniel is so gone too. "I wanna fuck her. Wanna fuck her little cunt. Wanna fill it up and watch my cum leak out of that fat. Little. Cunt!"

The next day they see her, they act like they didn't spend hours talking about and fucking to the idea of her. She smiles so big with a box of donuts for all the employees and they thank her as they take one each. Then she's scurrying off to the auto shop to offer the mechanics some. They watch her, then eat her donuts with knowing looks, Daniel biting into a cream-filled one and Amanda wiping some of the filling from the corner of his mouth and sucking it off her thumb. Then they get to work.

They realize that Reader hasn't come back in a while, so Daniel goes to see what's taking her so long. He finds her bent over a car fixing something under the hood. Turns out she's something of a mechanic and isn't afraid to get a little dirty.

There's music playing and she's shaking her ass to it a lil bit as she helps out the guys in the shop. Daniel watches her for a while before she stands up and announces happily that she thinks she's fixed the problem. They test it and the car starts, but the crew cheers and applauds her. Daniel does too and she's shocked to see him there, so she apologizes for not coming back to the show floor.

"No, no, don't worry about that," he tells her, looking at her oil-covered shirt and the smudge on her face. He thinks it's so hot, but keeps it to himself of course. "Let's go get you cleaned up. You're not in the right clothes to be out here is all."

"You're right," she says as her heels click against the floor.

He takes her to Amanda's office to ask if she has a change of clothes for their sweet little employee. Amanda takes one look at her and 1) wonders what happened and 2) thinks about how pretty she still looks all covered in sweat, grease, and grim.

"I'm sure I have something," she says and starts looking around.

Meanwhile, Daniel leaves and comes back with a warm rag. He starts wiping the oil away from her face, then her hands and whatever little spots are here and there. It's a bit of a tense moment as he stands over her, helping to clean her up. He's shamelessly staring at her tits as they sit so pretty in her bra, her shirt discarded because it was so dirty. She feels the tension and it makes her squirm, but in a good way.

Amanda finally pulls out a shirt. "I think this is one of yours, honey, but it should fit."

Daniel is getting even more excited than he already was. He licks his lips. "Let's try it out."

Amanda comes over and helps Reader slip into his shirt. She helps her button it up and style it with her skirt, but her tits almost don't fit in it. Amanda is moving them, trying to adjust them to sit just right in the shirt, and Reader is biting her lip. Then Amanda finishes up and takes a step back. "Perfect."

Reader is a little flustered after all of this. She thanks them, then leaves the room to get some coffee, asking herself if that really just happened.

Meanwhile, Amanda finds herself bent over her desk, skirt hiked up as her pussy gets plowed by Daniel. They have a quickie while thinking about Reader, talking about the things they wanted to do to her when she was just there in her office.

"I wanted to just rip that bra off and put her tits in my mouth," Daniel grunts, salivating at the thought alone.

Amanda clenched around him. "Fuck, I saw the way she was looking at you when you were cleaning her up. She wanted you to. And I wanted to get on my knees and eat out her fat pussy."

They decide then and there that they have to make her theirs. They just have to have her. Not only because they have the hots for her, but because she is so cute and they've fallen for her. But mostly because they have the hots for her and want her all to themselves.

[sunlightmurdock]

Blow by Blow | 0.9 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

synopsis: Bradley’s washed up before his career has even really begun. He doesn’t want to fill his father’s shoes and he doesn’t want someone else to either. Stuck in limbo, living the same way he always has, the opportunity to step up wanders through the door of his gym in a mini dress and heels that are a size too big. Boxing au.

warnings: unspecified age gap, violence, probs boxing inaccuracies somewhere along the line, blood and injuries throughout the fic but will be specified in the warnings of the chapter. Smut and other 18+ content, minors dni. Alcohol, sexual content whilst somewhat intoxicated (not drunk but worth mentioning). Fingering, oral (f receiving). Pls pee after sexual activity, this is just fiction, like 5.4k words omg

…

“You have to come out, we’re celebrating!” Jake decides, trademark grin toying on his lips as you duck under his arms and step outside. The evening chill brushes your biceps and instinctively makes you cross your arms over your chest.

“Mm, I can’t,” You answer back, turning to face him and starting to walk backwards to keep up with your friends whilst keeping your eyes on Jake. He lets the door swings shut behind him and carries himself forwards after you. His busted up cheek doesn’t look like much cause for celebration, but the ten thousand dollars that tonight raised for charity certainly is. “I need to go and feed Tank.”

“I can let him out and feed him. Have to drop some papers off at the gym anyway, wouldn’t be a big deal.” Shrugging his jacket closer to his body, Maverick offers from just a few steps behind you. Jake quirks an eyebrow.

“Really, Mav?” Spinning back around so that you’re facing the right way, Bradley glances back and watches the brightness in the way you’re smiling at his uncle. “You would?”

“Of course! — It’s the least I could do for my favourite employee, right?” Maverick grins at you. You throw your head back and laugh at the various gasps and vocal complaints that come from Maverick’s other employees that surround you.

“Bro, why are you saying ‘hey’, you don’t even work with us.” Mickey points out, frowning slightly as he lifts his chin to look up at Rueben. Digging his hands deep into his pockets so that he can flex his aching fists without drawing attention to himself, Rueben shrugs his shoulders.

“I dunno, that was cold, Mav.” Rueben points out playfully.

“She’s the only one who does what I pay her to do, so she’s my favourite. Anyway, I’ve got a dog to go feed. You kids have fun.” Maverick waves them off as he nears the parking lot. Jake catches your shoulders and bumps into your back, squeezing your bare shoulders playfully.

“So you’re in, right, kid?” He checks, leaning over your shoulder to check your face. Protected from the cold finally, you don’t even realize that you’re leaning into his touch until he’s letting go. Something in Rooster’s shoulders tighten, the kind of tension he usually gets seconds before he steps into the ring.

Replacing Jake’s warm hands with your own, you brush your palms up and down your biceps, craning your neck to watch Maverick reach his car safely. Rooster’s bronco is parked right next to it. You shoot a quick look towards him and find him already looking at you, waiting for your answer.

“Okay.” You nod softly, eyes unwavering from the taller man up ahead of you. He looks away first, frowning slightly as Phoenix smacks him for not listening to what she’s saying. “Where are we going?”

A club not far from the downtown strip. Phoenix calls it walking distance but she hikes for fun, and you’re wearing heels that weren’t meant for the San Diego streets. Looping your arm through Mickey’s, you end up walking a little slower than the rest of the group. Rooster periodically checks back. You look happy enough.

He’s sure that it’s not going to be your scene and that you’re going to want to leave fairly quickly. But then, you’re under purple neon lights and being talked into celebratory shots with the winners. Jake and Phoenix can pound tequila like it’s water. They make it a competition every time. You’re no match for either of them.

Jake’s a winner this evening and Phoenix remains undefeated in her weight class; Payback’s only ever lost once. There’s a lot to celebrate and it’s your first time playing this game. Rooster watches you like a ball on a roulette wheel, slamming back whatever liquid Jake hands you. He knows that there are two ways for this to end.

Still, four shots in and a vodka lemonade in your hand, you’re still laughing your head off as you make your way through the bodies to the dance floor. He loses you in the mass of dancing people for a moment. When he sets his sights on you again, you’re laughing so hard that you’re clutching your stomach as Mickey and Bob weave around each other.

The music’s loud enough that he can’t really hear himself think, but he swears he can hear your infectious laugh over it.

“It’s alright that she’s not into you, you know.” It’s a packed nightclub on a weekend and yet, Bradley still flinches when Phoenix appears at his side. He rolls his eyes as she rests her hand on his shoulder and nudges a shot glass filled with clear liquid across the bar to him.

“How would you know that she’s not into me? — You didn’t ask her.”

“Roo, she has barely looked at you all night,” Phoenix points out as she runs her fingers through her hair, scalp still sore from the tight bun that she always has Javy scrape it back into. “The bartender, though, she is into you.”

Bradley takes the shot and knocks it back, dismayed to find that it’s vodka. It makes him shiver, shaking his head as he turns his back on the glass. “Think I’m gonna take my chances with your BFF.”

“Is that… jealousy I hear?” Phoenix taunts, leaning into him so that he’ll be able to hear her over the music.

“We’ve barely hung out since you brought her around — you know that you haven’t been to my place in over a month?” Rooster replies. Phoenix points to the shot glass and holds up two fingers. The gym’s closed tomorrow and she is planning on making the most of her time off.

Leaning her head against his thick shoulder, she smiles softly. She has known Bradley since he was thirteen, and the two of them have been on a course of fucked up adventures together ever since. He gets her, she gets him. Instant best friends.

She has seen the worst of him frequently, and the best of him fleetingly. Adoration is a strong word for a man that she considers assaulting multiple times a week, but Bradley really is the brother that she always wanted. Which is why she is so blunt with him, he can take it, and sometimes it’s the only way to get information through that thick skull of his.

Pounding music and sweaty bodies filling the room, Rooster almost feels alone with Natasha at the bar. Just the two of them and their conversation.

“I’m sorry, I’ll make time,” Phoenix promises, squeezing his shoulder. She grins as two more shots are placed in front of her. “Now stop being so moody and get drunk with me.”

Phoenix is a difficult type of drunk, because there is absolutely nothing ‘gradual’ about the way alcohol hits her. She’s fine, and then she’s not. Years of knowing her and Bradley still sometimes misses her tell.

She’s fine when his attention falters. His gaze finding you in the crowd. Bathed in a neon glow, your grin stretched wide as you dance with your friends. Swaying your hips, trailing your hands up along your body and over your head, eyes closed. Jake catches your waist and spins you to face him.

The rational part of Bradley’s brain reminds him that this is just what Jake does. Even Phoenix dances with him, he’s just that kind of guy. But his arms draped around your waist and that slinky black dress has the larger majority of Bradley’s brain plotting otherwise.

Then, Phoenix stumbles and spills forwards, arms flying out for leverage. Rooster steps forwards and catches her, lifting her off of the ground and setting her back on her feet.

“You alright?” He asks.

“I’m — yeah — completely.” She slurs back as she resigns into his arms, letting her head lull back and her eyes blink heavily. Rooster sighs softly, giving her a small shake before she turns into completely dead weight in his arms.

“Don’t you dare fall asleep right now.” Bradley warns her. He lifts his head and looks towards his friends, trying to make eye contact with any of them. Already looking in that direction, you notice him balancing Phoenix in his arms first. Your friends are quick to corral.

Huddling outside, Bradley has Phoenix tucked in against his chest with Bob’s coat draped around her, rubbing his hand up and down her back. Waiting for five different Ubers to turn up, chilled to the bone and suddenly sobered by the way Bradley isn’t looking at you.

Not in a malicious way. Just like there’s nothing on his mind than keeping Phoenix awake and warm until her car is here. She keeps his head on straight, he keeps her out of danger. It’s not always an equal alliance, but it’s one that’s cherished nonetheless.

You’re considering the platonic nature of their relationship, inspecting the way her arms are wrapped around his waist, holding herself close. You brush your hands up and down along your biceps.

“Hey, kid, I forgot to tell you,” Jake rounds on you, talking so quickly that your intoxicated brain struggles to keep up. You blink a few times and he switches from soft fuzz to defined lines and thick muscles. “I found you a fight. I can manage you, if you’re interested.”

Ears perking up at the conversation, Rooster doesn’t turn his head, but he glances across at the way your face lights up.

“Car’s here. Wake up, Nix.” Mickey nudges Natasha with his elbow as he steps to the edge of the curve to signal the driver. Phoenix groans defeatedly against Bradley’s chest. Something about her little competition with Jake not being over.

“Alright, watch her head.” Bradley passes her off into the capable hands of Bob and Mickey, knowing that they’re content enough to crash at her place because of how close it is to the beach. He swings the car door shut and tugs a hand through his stubborn curls.

The option is there to just call himself a car and go back to his place, but it’s a wordless agreement that he’s coming back with you. Safety and all that. The proximity of his apartment to yours. Whatever. Your car is next, slipping wordlessly into the backseat with Rooster sliding in next to you.

You hate when people stare at you for too long. It makes you squirm and shift under their gaze. And yet, you just can’t help doing it to Bradley. Studying him silently for the drive, thinking of what you just saw, of what you heard earlier.

It’s too complex for your tequila fuelled brain at this moment, to understand how the same man who broke through someone’s eye socket and almost blinded them, could stand on a curb with his best friend being so gentle and tender. How does someone go from one to the other.

You never understood that with Jett. With him, the lines were quick to blur and it was easy to lose sight of where the violence ended and the affection began. With Bradley, it’s like those are two different people, much less two different sides of him.

“Give me the keys, Bambi. I don’t have all night.” Rooster insists, walking around the back of the car as you swing the door on your side shut and stumble towards the door.

“Why? — Got somewhere to be?” You tease playfully, your strides long and confident as you head for the stairs. He’s hot on your tail.

“Well, yeah, I’d kind of like to go to bed at some point tonight.” He replies, keeping up with the quick work you make of the stairs.

“I’m literally not even drunk.” You tell him with a small frown. He watches the three times that you try to slot your key into the lock and miss before he decides to intervene. Pressing his chest into your back, he takes your hand and guides it forwards, fitting the key into the lock and twisting.

It complies instantly and you stumble forwards as it opens. Rooster catches your hips and follows after you, steadying you with his weight and swinging the door shut.

Tank barks and leaps up, pressing his paws into your middle, tail wagging excitedly. You drop to your knees and begin greeting him. Rooster stands in your entryway, listening to the excited baby talk from you and happy whines from Tank.

“Rooster, say hi.” You catch hold of his jeans and tug softly. Your chin turns towards him and he’s floored by the way you look smiling up at him like this. You tug again, “Come on, say hi.”

He sighs softly and kneels to the ground. He smooths his fingers over Tank’s fur, both of them seemingly uninterested in each other and each looking at you instead. You kiss the top of Tank’s head and pull back laughing as he tries to lick your face.

Then, you turn, pushing yourself up onto your knees and kissing Rooster’s cheek. Pressing closer to him, you kiss the corner of his mouth. He almost lets you kiss his lips, then leans back. “Bambi, c’mon. Not tonight.”

“Why not tonight?”

Every other night, he’s more than happy to come in and try to get in your pants. You remain on your knees as he pushes himself to his feet. Tank presses into your side, reminding you to pet him more.

“I should get going, now that you’re home, and stuff.”

“Don’t have to.” You reply quietly, looking up at his through your lashes. You press a gentle kiss to Tank’s ear, smiling softly as he leans into your touch.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not!” You insist. Truthfully, the car ride looking at his pretty face and his shoulders straining against that shirt, and his thighs in those jeans — and knowing what’s in his pants. It was all pretty sobering.

“I’m not going to argue with you, baby. Get some sleep.” Rooster leans down and kisses the top of your head. You catch hold of his wrist and tug yourself to your feet.

“Come on, what do you want me to do? — Say my alphabet backwards? - Walk in a straight line?”

“Actually, I would like to see you try to walk in a straight line right now, yeah.” He rests his hands against the kitchen countertop and calls your bluff. It’s refreshing for him to be in this room when it isn’t spinning. Looking around at the framed pictures, the hanging lights and the cute throw pillows, he likes the way you decorated this place. He likes that it’s not just gathering dust now.

Squinting at him defiantly, you stick your arms out at your sides and turn away from him.

“Don’t try to fool me, kid. I want to see a solid six paces, at least.”

Six paces it is. You count the soft taps of your heels crossing the hardwood floor, arms stretched out at your sides. Rather impressively, you make it to the door and spin on your heel to face him.

Extending one leg forwards, the journey back towards him has a rockier start as you miss the pointed heel and wobble, almost twisting your ankle.

“Alright,” Rooster chuckles as he starts towards you, shaking his head. His hands are on you immediately, holding you in place. “Bedtime, Bambi.”

“I haven’t taken my makeup off yet.” You frown at him, catching hold of his broad shoulders to steady yourself as he crouches in front of you. You look down and watch, eyes widening as he lifts your foot and turns his attention to the strap around your ankle.

Large fingers and a teeny-tiny little buckle. Ridiculous manufacturing. Cute, delicate heels — he likes them, but there’s a split second where he really considers just breaking it. You wouldn’t like that. Phoenix’s voice rings in his head reminding him to be respectful of other people’s belongings. He rolls his eyes and squints.

It only works if he moves tentatively slowly, brows knitted together in concentration as he threads the strap out of the loop and free from the buckle. He frees you from the shoes and straightens up, holding onto your waist as you step down from them.

“That was sweet of you,” You comment, now having to tilt your chin slightly to look up at him. “I’m gonna wash my face and brush my teeth.”

“Alright. I’ll leave once you’re in bed.” Rooster decides as you walk by him. He drops down onto your couch and rubs tiredly at his eyes. The rhythmic thrumming of that bass track in the club still pulses in his ears. He’s getting too old for this shit.

Even with that, you make sure that he hears your sound of discontentment from the bathroom. Taking his hand away from the bridge of his nose and resting it against his denim clad thigh, Rooster sighs, “What? You need me to do something else?”

Tank has stolen his spot on the couch already, so that’s not an option. Tank adores fleecy blankets and you just so happened to leave one out earlier. He’s already on his back with his paws stretched out above him, tangled in lilac and white fleece.

“No.” Rooster’s brows knit together once again at your answer. Well, it isn’t the answer that’s the issue. Your tone is. It’s a grumpy little statement, almost like you’re sulking. Pushing himself up from the couch, he walks over the bathroom door and stares at you.

“So why can’t I go?”

“Mm,” Swaying slightly, on the right side of buzzed as you swipe the cotton round over your cheeks, you look up at him dwarfing the bathroom door frame. “You could stay over.”

The micellar water cools the heat from your cheeks, cold porcelain under your other palm. Rooster watches you silently, waiting for further information. He’s not going to say no to another night on your couch, but he’s got a feeling that’s not where you’re going with this. Rather hedonistically, he wants to hear you say it.

“We could cuddle.” You look back up at him with those big doe eyes, bracing yourself against the powder blue sink. His lips quirk softly.

He stretches his arms over his head and rests his hands on the top of the doorframe, his shirt raising up slightly to reveal the sandy hair on his abdomen. “Is that what you want? — You want me to stay?”

Smiling softly at the thought that just popped into your head, Bradley watches as you giggle to yourself and pick up another bottle of something. Squeezing the pipette, leaving two equal drops on each of your cheeks, you smooth the serum into your skin without looking at him. “Like we’re having a sleepover.”

He doesn’t need more information than that. He lets you get ready for bed while he makes sure Tank pees before locking the place up for the night. Then, he takes his clothes off. Laying on your side, facing the closet, your back is to him on purpose.

The metal bed frame creaks slightly, the mattress dipping the tiniest bit as he slips into bed. It’s soft, and your sheets make a real difference. Every time he has slept in this bed before has been a mess of old springs and that uncomfy headboard. He’s glad that you switched out the mattress.

Your leg brushes up against his first. The bottom of your foot presses into his shin as you pull the covers up to your face. “How do you like to cuddle?”

“Just c’mere.” It’s an invitation, but there’s really no need to respond. He’s already looping his arms around your midsection before you’ve even registered the word. He pulls you back against him, your bodies meeting in the middle of the bed. He’s surprised by how warm you are already.

His body heat is still a welcome addition.

“Is this good?” His open palm rests against your stomach, tucked halfway under your t-shirt, his thumb smoothing over the spot just below your bellybutton. His lips press gently your neck.

“Could you, like… squeeze me a little tighter?”

Rooster tightens his hold on you, pushing his leg forwards and slotting it between your thighs. Wrapped in his thick arms, his face tucked into the curve of your neck, you should be feeling lighter already, settling off into unconsciousness. There’s just too much happening for that.

His heart beating steadily against your back, his thumb tucked into your shirt just the tiniest bit, stroking at your stomach, and his meaty thigh slotted between your legs. His lips are pressed right up against the skin of your neck, not doing anything, just resting there.

Rooster feels you shift a little and gives you the room to find the comfort that you need. Then, he feels your hand searching for his through the darkness. Finding the hand that’s on your stomach, your fingers curl between his.

Taking his hand, you slide it upwards, venturing further under the fabric of your oversized sleep shirt. Rooster peeks one eye open as you guide his palm up and over your breast. Catching the hint, Rooster squeezes his palm softly over the supple skin. Brushing the pad of his thumb over your soft nipple, pinching it between his thumb and index, your thighs squeeze together around his.

He closes his eyes once more, settling down like he’s going to sleep, still gently caressing your breast under his warm hand. It’s nice, feeling him touch you, feeling his weight pressing into your back and into the mattress. It’s just not enough.

His thumb swipes over your nipple again, feeling it harden against his digit this time. He traces the pebbled texture of the sensitive skin without opening his eyes. Figuring that it’ll probably be bothering you too much for you to sleep, he settles for just holding your breast in his hand as he tries to direct himself towards unconsciousness. There’s not a chance.

He’s just going to have to wait for you to fall asleep so that he can turn his mind to something other than how bad he wants you.

Swallowing softly, your fingers curl between his once again. Rooster lets you guide his hand away, thinking that he must have been bothering you, quickly realizing that that was not the case.

He slips his hand out of your hold and grabs your hip, tugging you onto your back swiftly. Your breath catches in your throat at how close he is, leaning over you, eyes searching over your face.

“I feel like I never know what’s going through your head.” He admits gently, the swell of his warm palm resting on your stomach, having brushed your sleep shirt up slightly.

Glancing down, you smooth your fingers over the top of his hand, examining the difference in size between the two of you. Rooster swears he almost feels the breath get knocked out of him when you finally look at him again.

“You want to know?” Your voice is so quiet that he wouldn’t be able to hear you if there was any other sound in the apartment right now. He nods back at you, curling his fingers around your waist. You lift your head just a little, your lips are soft and taste of peppermint when you kiss him.

Turning so that he can cover your body with his, Bradley presses his weight into you. His heavy palm cups your jaw as he takes control of the kiss. The way your mouth moves, the pace, he’s keeping it all in check.

“Are you wet right now?” Bradley murmurs against your lips, thumb stroking over the bone at the curve of your jaw. Your skin flushes as he pulls back and waits for his answer. Jett never asked this. Luke Hodge from second period English lit had never asked this.

“Mhm.”

Bradley’s lips quirk upwards. It’s torn between him smirking at you and a real smile. The languid amusement coats his features, but there’s something in those deep brown eyes that tells you he’s happy with your shy, little response.

“Mhm? — That’s all I get?” Rooster’s palm smooths over your stomach and curls around your hip, squeezing the joint softly in his calloused hand. More warmth. Your gaze flitters up and you consider cracking the window behind your bed.

Swallowing softly, it’s unintentional but you’re giving him that deer in headlights look again. Rooster closes the gap between the two of you and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. When he pulls back, a soft chuckle slips his lips and he rests his forehead against your shoulder.

Immediate recoil. He feels you tense up under him. The embarrassment floods you like a chill and you move to pull back.

“Baby, baby, no,” Wrapping both of his thick arms around your waist and pulling you into him, you couldn’t leave if you tried. Rooster kisses the corner of your mouth softly. “I’m not laughing at you.”

He slots his thigh between yours and guides you onto your back with little resistance, leaning over you. “I just… Don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” You ask quietly.

“You suck dick like it’s your day job and then, when it’s your turn, you turn into a little church mouse. — What’s with that?” His hand wanders as he speaks, fingers splayed so that he can touch as much of you at once. Trailing your abdomen, your waist, grazing over the soft tissue at the side of your breast without daring to touch is as boldly as you had allowed him to earlier.

It’s never really been your turn. There’s no out loud exchange, but the look on your face tells Bradley what he needs to know. He feels your hips shift, your core grazing his thigh softly as you squirm under his gaze.

“You want me to get you off?” His grip tightens on your hip and he rocks his hips forwards just slightly. Just to let you feel exactly how hard he is at the thought. Glancing down between your body and his, your decision is made whilst the rational side of your brain is still pleading its case.

“Mhm.”

Bradley smirks amusedly. He kisses you softly, hand trailing under your shirt to knead over your breast. Pushing the fabric of your loose fitted t-shirt up and out of his way, his lips attach to your skin. Languid kisses, open-mouthed and tender as his strong palms brace at your hips, keeping you in place for him. His mouth works along your abdomen, nipping softly at the underside of your breath and feeling you careen into him.

“Sit up.” You obey him blindly, sitting up long enough for him to quickly discard your too-big, faded shirt and leave you in a much more vulnerable state. “God, Bambi.”

His hands roam your torso like he can’t possibly touch enough of you at once, walking the line of having a firm touch and a gentle hand. Letting you know his strength and reminding you that you’re at the mercy of it, all while dusting a featherlight touch over the most sensitive parts of your upper body.

As with his hands, his mouth needs to be everywhere at once and it half feels like he has mastered the ability to make that possible. Eyes screwed closed, you deny yourself the sight of him, knowing that it’ll just make your nerves surge, and there’s no way you want to let yourself ruin this.

Four senses remaining. Your hands smooth over the flexing muscles in his shoulders as his tongue trails a circle around your nipple before he commits to taking it into his mouth. Warm, so warm, a flush of adrenaline running through him. The feeling of that under your fingertips.

The peppermint on your tongue, reminding you that you should just be platonically sleeping beside him right now. Your bedtime ritual pales in comparison to this.

The soft groan he makes as his hand paws at your other breast, reverberating in your ears and carrying shockwaves along your synapses. Excitement pooling between your legs at how deep and gravelly he sounds when he moans.

The cologne from before the bar. Inhaling it in the car as you traced the veins on his arm. Intoxicated by it when you had settled between his thighs the other day.

You lift your hips from the mattress and push them down against his thigh. His muscled appendage provides little relief, but you’re still chasing what it gives you. Your underwear presses into your core with each rock, soaked and catching on your excitement.

“All I got was an ‘mhm’,” Bradley muses softly, trailing his nose along the middle of your torso, pressing his lips softly to your navel. His hand slips between your legs without warning and cups your over your underwear. “This fucking soaked, and all I got was a little ‘mhm’.”

Nudging your underwear swiftly to the side, he dips his middle and index finger between your folds and gathers your excitement on the digits. Another deep groan as he looks down at the coating on his fingers.

He palms a hand over the tent in his boxers, kissing your hip bruisingly. “You’re gonna let me taste you, right, baby?”

“Okay.” You breathe out, needing your vision back. Heart pounding as you stare at the ceiling.

“Okay? — Is that all I get?”

“Please.” You whimper softly. Anything to settle the throbbing between your legs, anything to make you feel less restless. Bradley hooks your thigh over his shoulder and presses his mouth hungrily to your thigh. You careen into his kiss as it bruises the sensitive skin, pressing the heel of your foot into his shoulder for leverage.

Grabbing your hips, Bradley manhandles you into place, pressing you into the mattress and keeping you there. He grabs your underwear and tugs it down your legs, pulling back just to get it off your ankles and then settling back into back.

At first, he’s not where you need him at all. Tongue teasing between your folds, pressing tender chaste kisses to your pelvic bone. Ignoring the dripping mess between your legs until he’s satisfied with how your hips buck in desperation for him.

He lifts his gaze, brown eyes on you as he delves his tongue into your soaking core. His fingers press tighter into your hips, keeping you down on the mattress as he licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, gathering your juices on his tongue. He spreads it upwards and lubricates your clit with a mixture of his spit and your own juices.

“O-Oh, fuck.”

Before this second in time, you were so sure that Jett had made you cum. Orgasms with other people just weren’t as intense because there were so many other things happening. Bradley’s tongue could be tracing some foreign alphabet on the most sensitive part of your body for all you know. All that you do know for certain, is that you can’t let him stop.

Luckily, he has no intention of that. He’s been thinking about this since the day you gave him head and then denied his reciprocation.

Sucking, licking, alternating between pressure and gentle flicks of his tongue, he has your back arching away from the pretty flowers on your sheets. Your fingers slide into his hair without thought, tangling into his curls, keeping his head exactly where you need it the most.

Rooster sinks his middle finger into you first, groaning as he rocks his hips into the mattress in search of relief. Your walls squeeze his finger as he curls it into that spongy part that has you yelping in surprise.

Worked up enough that you can take his index finger with little resistance, Rooster’s brain damn near short circuits at how well you hug the digits. Even with the diminished capacity, his mission never once falters. His deep groans send shocks through your core and each curl his fingers has you rocking your hips against his tongue for more.

“Fuck, stop - Rooster — stop,” You pant out, voice strained, clawing at the sheets for purchase as your other hand tugs at his hair. “Feels… weird.”

“Just cum, it’s alright,” He mouths desperately along your thighs, stopping when you ask him to but not really wanting to pause long enough for your high to ebb away. “Trust me. Just let it happen, relax.”

You try to exhale slowly and do what he says, but then his mouth is on you again and you squeak at the feeling. You tug harshly at his roots and feel him moan, the vibrations and the tickle of his dampened moustache on your clit and his fingers fucking into you, it’s all too much.

The tightness in your stomach winds until it feels like a rubber band about to snap. And then, it does snap. You jolt against him, lips parted, brows furrowed, the sound caught in your throat. His mouth slows, but remains on the same pattern, sending aftershocks through your already trembling system.

“Fuck,” That image is never going to leave his head. He pulls his fingers from you and kisses tenderly across your hip. “How was that?”

Searching for words, any kind of intelligent conversation that you might be able to string together, it’s a lost cause. Panting, a soft sound of whimpered contentment slips your lips. “Mhm.”

He wipes his mouth and lays down against the pillows. “Gonna cuddle you how I like it normally. Alright?”

“Oh - b-but, wait.” You realise, hand trying to find which way is sound in your hazy mind, stumbling across the waistband of his boxers just by chance.

Rooster grabs your hand and pulls you closer, he manhandles you across the mattress so that you’re laying half on his chest. “This is so comfy.”

You hum in agreement, his arms tucked around your naked form, your cheek smushed up against his thick pectoral muscle.

“Should let me do that more often.” He muses quietly. You nod against his chest.

…

[blankwashed]

Heartstrings (P6 FINAL) P1 P2 P3 P4 P5

Every morning, without fail, Satoru would bring you to work, always insisting that he was just helping a friend out. From the first day he brought you there, his bright smile was a constant source of cheer. You could remember the first day he offered to fetch you to work.

"Toru? What are you doing here? Sorry, I don't have enough time to bake pastries for you now, I'm kind of late for work..." you apologized, feeling flustered.

"No, no, it's fine. That's not why I'm here anyway. I'm offering to drive you to work since I won't be teaching until noon," Satoru replied cheerfully.

"You're too kind, Toru... Are you sure I'm not a disturbance? W-what if Yaga's subordinate complains about this?" you asked, fiddling with your feet, clearly shy at his kind gesture.

Satoru laughed, "I'm not worried about that, they can't function without me so you don't need to worry. I can take care of myself. I'm not the same fool from high school, okay?" His lightheartedness made you laugh as he helped you with the utensils you were bringing to work.

"Really Toru?"

You exchanged a few light-hearted jabs and jokes as he drove you to work. Satoru always had a witty comeback ready, making you laugh. "Did you dream about meeting Prince Charming in the kitchen, huh?" he'd tease, making the drive feel light and easy.

"No way! I wouldn't want to date someone who's in the same field as me," you replied softly, feeling a brush creeping up your cheeks.

"Whoever he’ll be, he'll be lucky to date you," he said, giving one of the heart softening Toru smiles.

His driving was always smooth and steady, probably thanks to the Six Eyes. It seemed like he didn't even need to open his eyes to drive! But to ease the other drivers on the road, he would pretend to be a normal civilian, not to freak them out. The car rides became a time you cherished the most, always looking forward to them as your friendship with him tightened.

Whenever it was time to go back, you'd see his familiar car (sometimes it’s a different car because Toru’s bank is as big as his house) pull up, and there he'd be, ready to take you home. On days when you left early, you'd see his familiar car pull up, and there he was, without you even needing to text him. "Thought you might need me to pick you up," he'd say with a wink, lowering his window. How'd he know?!

At home, he was equally caring. "Here, I saw these on sale today. Thought you might need them for work," he said as he handed you a piece of kitchen equipment. These small but thoughtful gestures made you feel incredibly cared for. As a way to return the favor, you'd set aside a few of the desserts you made at the restaurant for him. The look on his face whenever you gave them to him would make your heart skip a beat.

"Toru!" you called out to him, about to leave the house at night to Suguru's place for some boy's talk.

"I made these just for you, you can share them with Sugu," you said, watching as he peeked inside the dessert box. His eyes lit up at the sight of another batch of your pastries.

His genuine happiness warmed your heart as he said, "You're the best, y/n! These are going to make my night! I might not share them but thank you~". Moments like these made you cherish how much you loved having him in your life, even as a friend.

On a day when the both of you weren’t working, an idea struck you. You've been harboring feelings towards Satoru for far too long. Yes, you've only been single but the feelings you've had for him were from high school, as cringy as that may sound. Today is the day you're going to confess. What other better way than to tell him during a dinner you cooked?

"Toru," you said, blushing as you saw him scrolling idly through his phone in the living room in only his boxers.

"Yes, y/n?" he looked up from his phone and at you, realizing how bare he was, quickly covering himself with his hands.

"I need to go to the farmer's market," you said shyly, hiding your face as you added, "I want to get some stuff to bake for an important person."

Satoru was stunned. An important person? Who could that be? Your family members?

"Oh, okay, sure. I'll go put something on and we can go," he said, feeling a bit confused. Who was so important to you that you needed to bake for them?

"I want to get some fresh ingredients for a new recipe I've been thinking about. Plus, it's been a long time since I went to the market. I remember the noisy loud-talking aunties," you explained, trying to sound as casual as possible.

He chuckled. "Sounds like a plan. Fresh ingredients, huh? Who is this mystery person that you're baking for?"

You laughed nervously, waving off his question. "It's a surprise. You'll see soon enough."

As Satoru went to get dressed, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. The market held the ingredients to making something truly special for Satoru, and you were determined to keep it a secret until the perfect moment. In the market, you couldn't lose sight of him because of how immensely tall he is.

"Toru? Please look for fresh salmon for me!" you clung onto his sleeve, beckoning for him to use his height to your advantage. The market was filled with people, bustling with energy. Satoru shook his head with a smile and started to spot things for you, his height making it easy to navigate through the crowd. As he scanned the crowd, Satoru couldn't help but think to himself how lucky the person you were cooking for must be. He sighed, his heart sinking slightly, and secretly wished it was him who you were putting in so much effort for.

After returning from the market, feeling excited to cook for Satoru, you started to prepare the ingredients right away.

"Whoa, is this person coming to our place?" Satoru asked, still wondering who the mystery person was that had you baking for them.

"Yes, and this person really love sweets. Just like you, Toru~" you said, as you measured the butter and sugar according to your memory.

Satoru was still puzzled, trying to figure out who this mystery person could be. "Is it someone from work? A relative?" he thought, trying to piece it together.

As you worked, Satoru hovered around the kitchen, curiosity getting the better of him. "Can I at least help? Maybe I'll get a clue," he suggested, flashing you a playful grin.

"Sure, you can chop up the veges," you said, handing him the sifter. "But no peeking at my notes."

He took the sifter and started working, glancing at you from time to time, his curiosity clearly piqued. "You know, you're not really good at keeping secrets from me. I might find out who it is," he teased.

You laughed, feeling a warmth in your chest. The anticipation of revealing the surprise to Satoru made the whole process even more enjoyable. "Just wait, Toru. I promise it'll be worth it." you wondered to yourself.

It was time for dinner in the Gojo household, meaning that both Satoru and you would meet up in the kitchen.

When Satoru walked into the kitchen, he was shocked to see a table full of his favorite dishes.

"Good evening, Sir Gojo. May you have a seat?" you greeted him with a playful, formal tone, like a butler in a high-class restaurant. For the surprise dinner date with Satoru, you wore a knee-length, A-line dress in deep maroon with subtle lace details, paired with a simple necklace and earrings. Your hair was styled in soft waves, complemented by natural makeup with a hint of blush and soft pink lipstick. He was still in shock but managed to say, "All this? Was for me?"

You nodded. "It's a dinner that I planned for you a long time ago. I haven't been able to do this yet because of our busy schedules," you said, sitting down directly opposite Satoru.

The two of you enjoyed the meal you cooked, sharing humorous stories from each of your workplaces. The atmosphere was light and filled with laughter.

"And for dessert..." you announced, bringing out a plate of kikufuku.

"Just like old times," Satoru said, making you blush.

You both savored the sweet treats, reminiscing about the moments you had spent together. Satoru looked at you with a warmth that made your heart flutter. "You really outdid yourself, y/n. This is incredible."

You smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment and happiness. "I'm glad you liked it, Toru. You deserve it."

Silence enveloped the kitchen as the two of you locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between you. The bond that had formed between you was unlike any other.

"Y/n," Satoru began, his voice soft yet filled with uncertainty.

You nodded, nervous of what he wanted to say. Was he going to confess? Was he going to make things easier for you?

He let out a heavy sigh, his words coming out in a rush, "I don't know if you feel the same way as I do, but..."

"I like you too, Satoru. More than a friend," you interrupted, your words filled with honesty and vulnerability.

"I... I never thought you'd actually like me," he began, his words stumbling over each other in his haste to express himself. "Since you came from a relationship where the man treated you like rubbish I figured you might lose faith in guys in general, and I..."

But before he could finish his sentence, you silenced him with a gentle press of your lips against his. It was a soft, tender kiss filled with all the emotions you couldn't put into words. In that moment, you conveyed everything you felt for him – the affection, the longing, and the hope for a future together. And as you pulled away, you saw the disbelief in his eyes give way to a warmth that mirrored your own.

"You thought wrong, Toru. Come on! You've known me for so long, I'm different aren't I?" you pouted and looked in his shining blue sapphire eyes.

"You sure are," he looked at you, his white eyebrows tilting up in curiosity after some time.

"Hold on, how is it possible? We came home, you cooked, and poof! It's dinner time? y/n, are you magic?"

"Shut up and kiss me, you talk too much Toru," you teased, pulling him closer, connecting your lips with his once again.

FINALLY! ok i dont know if it felt a little too rushed? i hope not? (technically posting this right after the chapter yesterday but i wanna finish this asap) (uni stress ugh) but y/n has already been feeling things for Toru from the start, its just that she was married to a Naoya so she suppressed it.

:(((((((((( I MISS SATORU SO MUCH

[fandomfluffandfuck]

uhm hi Mr. S can you do one like you did with Evanstan but it’s with them comforting a ftm guy? I adore your work and want to get a tattoo of some of your excerpts when i have the funds for it ❤️❤️❤️

related to this, maybe? I'm not totally sure

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

First, hi, you're so sweet, and while it's my impulse to be like, don't do that-! My words aren't good enough for that! It is also your choice, haha. I would be interested to know what words those are 👀 I feel like all I write is silly, kinky smut, lol.

Second, being not trans myself, I'm a little hesitant to write trans characters because it's not my experience and especially with comfort for dysphoria because I worry I'll be patronizing without realizing/call more attention to something that makes someone feel worse instead of better, but, I'll try. Especially 'cause I am a big believer in the idea that if you're a writer and you flat out can't even approach writing a whole swath of people then... you're a poor writer. If you're a man writing and you can't write a woman or a nonbindary person; if you're a straight writer and you can't write a queer character; if you're a cis writer and you can't write a trans character. Like, take in research and try and see the person for being a person with universal experiences. So, if there's anything shaky in here, I apologize in advance. I'm trying!

You're dragging yourself through what feels like mud--thick and heavy--instead of air as you climb out of your car and accidentally slam the door behind you, swaying ever so slightly on your feet.

You're so fucking exhausted that you don't even realize the weight you've thrown behind the reckless, automatic movement to close the car behind you until the sound hits your ears painfully. You wince. It's too fucking loud. It's too bright outside, too. Shit, everything is too much, and you don't want a piece of it--of anything.

The only thing you want to do is nothing. You just want to lay face down on the floor and sink into the foundation of the house, fuck it, you want to go deeper than that. Forget the cold concrete, you want to retire to the earth itself with heavy, cold dirt compacted on top of you, weighing down on all sides until it doesn't matter if your flesh and bones or just bones or nothing at all.

You don't want anything at all. You're exhausted by everything. Every moment, every interaction all day at work has just been wrong. You're just fucking sick of shit. Sick of being on the phone and having people mistake you for someone you're not. Sick of co-workers tip-toeing around you and being grandly and overly apologetic. Sick of delivery people and interns and other strangers around the office making assumptions.

The entire drive home, you've tried to put it all out of your mind. Reminding yourself that at least you don't have to deal with those fucking people at home. At least, at home, you can be. Just be. But... It's hard enough to turn your work brain off as is on good days, let alone bad days where your dysphoria eats you alive--gnashing teeth inside you and hungry, teethed mouths from the outside.

It's too much.

It feels like an impossible task to slog through the mud pulling at you to get from the driver's seat of your car to your front door. As relieving as it is to see your house, your home, it's rough to get inside.

You're saved from slamming the front door by tired limbs, at least. Heavy and tired, the best you can do is use your own body to press back against the inside of the door, shouldering it closed. In a few steps, barely making it to the mouth of the entryway, then, you flatten your back to the wall and sliding down to the floor as limp as a sheet of paper floating down from where it was pushed off the edge of a desk. You fall to sit on the floor without a hint of a fuck if you're getting dirt on your ass or not, next to the shoe wrack. And, for the first time all day, you breathe out, lungs deflating with a defeated rasp.

So caught up in your tangle of teeth and hollowness and heaviness, you don't even process the sound of the TV, turned on in the living room to your right, or the muffled foot falls of one of your boyfriends to the left.

And before either boyfriend even has a chance to know what's wrong or observe that there is anything wrong in the first place--

Sebastian's head turns from where he was just facing the flat-screen TV, "hey, look what the cat dragged in," he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling but not looking too carefully at you, keeping one eye on whatever show he's devouring.

Chris, then, appears from other side of the house, not with Sebastian chilling in the living room, catching up on TV, but about there, coming back from the kitchen, probably dumping off a drained beer bottle to the recycling. He, too, smiles at you, "hey, handsome," he thoughtlessly murmurs, going just a tiny, little ways out of his path to lean down, squeeze you with a big, burly arm around your shoulders and kiss the top of your head.

Any energy that you might normally have to poke fun back, making some comment about pussy cats or Seb's allergy to them just isn't there.

Barely, you keep yourself from further crumbling under the compliment and kiss. You're pretty crumbled as is with your back against the wall, spine curved, knees to your chest, arms crossed over your legs, wanting to crush into a ball. But... being wilted in such a way just makes everything worse. You let your arms drop from being folded over your knees. Ugh. Fuck this. You can hardly breathe with your arms squeezed into your sides, feeling your own body from your armpits, your ribs, all the way down your sides toward your hips. Fuck this.

'Handsome' coming out of Chris' mouth is the best thing you've heard all day, yet, at the same time... it feels too good to be true. If everyone on the phone and at work and strangers in your office and people on the street and everyone everywhere all the fucking time can't see you for who you're fucking supposed to be then... how do they? What if they're humoring you? What if they don't actually think that? What if--

Chris' hand is warm and heavy, solid, on your shoulder, traveling around to massage your neck, tapping at the top bone that portrudes from your neck when you hang your head. The heat of his body blazes through you as he squeezes the muscles there, lowering his voice to a quiet rumble and saying your name, your name, with enough twang for it to be a question.

He wants to know what's going on with you. He can probably guess, if he tried, but you know he wants to hear it from you. He wants to help. He's always so kind and generous and--

You can't assume anything bad of a man like him. He's geniune. Always so genuine. Open and honest. Still, you can't gather enough spirit to even lift your head. Shits fucking tough. It's just a bad day. You'd rather go to bed and try again later.

Yet, beyond the dark cavern you've made, your chin tucked, legs bunched to your chest, uncomfortable and also all you can bear to do, you hear the sounds of the sofa springs complaining as Seb extracts himself from the cozy furniture. The couch wishes he wouldn't, and you don't blame it. You too, find it terrible when Sebastian's all tucked into you and decides to move. He's the best. Kind and generous and sweet.

"Babe?" Seb asks, his careful probe directed toward you, Chris, or both. "Oh," he murmurs, probably spotting the both of you--you, crumbled, and Chris crouched and huddled in close, his hands on your neck and back, your shoulders, grounding you to this moment. "Long day?" The sound of Sebastian comes closer.

"You could say that," your voice draws up dry as if a rickety bucket pulled from a well on a spindly, fraying rope. There's no water at the bottom. Just. Empty and rough.

Chris huffs in amusement at your reply but stays close, knowing you're dead serious despite the layer of sarcasm coating your unenthusiastic words.

"Something in particular or, just, all of it?" Sebastian, again, sounds closer, drawn in by a rope. You're both grateful for it and a little worse off, drawing him in like this. In the same way that you spiral thinking that maybe they see you the same wrong way everyone else sees you, you can easily go off the deep end feeling as though you're being a burden. It takes effort to recall all the times they've assured you of the opposite. You're not sure you have the energy now.

Today.

"Ugh," you groan, feeling goosebumps lift on your skin, across your whole damn body thinking about it--feeling the toll of your whole day and the friction between you and everything else within it, "every minute of it."

"Anything we can do?" Chris asks, scooting closer, getting comfortable. He would stay here for the rest of the night if you wanted him to. Sebastian, too. They're both so good. Good to you.

"I don't know," you say, even while shaking your head no. It's hard, just, it's you. It's something that they can't reach inside you and touch--not something they can tinker with and fix. Unfortunately.

It's a pit in the center of your chest that's dark and hollow yet heavy, and it runs veins down your entire body, entangling you with knotted lines of thread, dragging you down like a deep sea fishing net. As nice as it is when they do offer you obvious reassurance and say how handsome you are and how strong you are and nonverbally feather their fingertips over your jaw or shoulders to show you how much they happen to love the body you, on your worst days, hate and feel completely alien from, or when they ask to borrow your cologne 'cause it smells nice or when they share clothes with you or anything else that's overt that reminds you you're an inarguable man to them, and a desirable man at that, sometimes... it can also get to be too much.

Sometimes, it reverts back in your head. Too much of a good thing? Like. It becomes--it becomes... it... it's something else. It's hard to even describe. They know that, which is why Chris is asking now. Sometimes exactly what you need is to be told you're strong and handsome and everything of the sort. And, sometimes, it's a call out that brings attention to how fragile you already feel. It can be everything you want, a barrage in the best way, or it can be your worst enemy. Though, when they ask when you can't handle all the compliments, your brain contorting them into something backward and demeaning--even though that's not true and you know that--it makes you feel that much more defeated.

It makes you feel more defeated now.

It fucking sucks that they can't help.

You would prefer if you could take it, if they could just say two things each and your day would be more normal, but...

That's not it. Not every day.

Today is a slog.

"What about..." Sebastian starts, trying to think of something to offer while Chris jumps in--

"Sweat it out?"

"Chris!" Seb squawks.

"What?" Chris asks, probably turning around to look up at him.

"Down boy," Seb huffs out a gentle, slightly scandalized laugh. You can picture him shaking his head, burying his face in his hands, even though you're not looking at him.

That makes Chris snort, catching the accidental innuendo he said now that it's been called out. He pats your knee apologetically, "I promise I meant the gym," he pauses, "unless-?"

With half a laugh stuck halfway up your throat, you manage a parroted, "down boy." Locker rooms, sweating from every place, being surrounded by mirrors that show your every angle, and a whole fuck ton of other men surrounding you, probably cis men, tricking you into comparing yourself to them, sounds like your personal version of the ninth circle of hell right about now. Thee worst thing. You know Chris genuinely enjoys working out--it makes him feel good, it makes him feel strong, it makes him feel like a man--so it's sweet of him to offer. But. Not today.

"Woof woof," Chris answers you and Sebastian, all that good, Boston-boy sincerity and goofiness.

"Hmm," Seb thinks out loud, "how about Chris skips the gym, and you two watch TV with me instead? I'm basically done with the episode I'm watching anyway. We can start something fresh. We'll get pj's and throw the couch blankets in the dryer to warm up and settle in."

"Way to be transparent, Sebastian," Chris teases softly, "using his bad day as an excuse to hold us hostage until we're as stockholmed into your weird, scary documentaries as you are."

"Noooo," Seb whines.

You crack a half-smile.

"Uh-huh, sure, baby," Chris quips, "we got your number, don't we, babe?" Chris drums his piano-playing fingers on your knee.

Their back-and-forth fills the space, pleasant, familiar, and boisterous, and shakes loose an agreeing, "yup" from within your chest. You don't feel quite so choked now. Its easier with them. It always is. They can't fix everything but they make it all seem less fucking tiring.

"See? He's on my side. Two against one, Seb." You can hear Chris' bearded smile.

You don't need to look up to know that Seb has a light blush staining his face or to know that his mouth is hanging open slightly. Just thinking about it pulls a chuckle out of you. They're idiots. But, your idiots who've offered to keep you company.

Now and always.

You'd be an idiot to not take them up on it.

"Okay," you sigh, not because you're put out, but because your shit, unfitting day of no one recognizing you is slowly cracking and peeling off from the inside of your too-tight body. "TV and blankets," you're distracted enough by Sebastian's suggestion and the opportunity to pull Seb's head into your lap to massage his scalp until he all but purrs like a kitten while Chris' head ends up on your shoulder, half on your chest, making you feel big and protective, that your traitorous mind doesn't remember to feel fragile or little while Chris grabs your hand to pull you to your feet. You know it's not because he thinks you can't do it yourself. It's because he cares for you. You. He sees you. He looks at you and sees you. Just--

"No disturbing documentaries at least three hours before bed but up until then..."

"Fair game?" Seb tilts his head to the side, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Fair game," you agree. "Just none later, you can't go giving Chris nightmares again." You feel good enough to join in with their good-natured teasing.

"That was one time!" Chris whines, clutching onto your hand as if pleading with you to let it go.

"One time too many, scaredy-cat," Sebastian rolls his eyes.

Chris sticks his tongue out because he's an actual man-child. But, he's distracted easily, saying, "so... if we're cuddling and spending the rest of the night on the couch, no workouts, then... snacks?"

That makes you laugh, "snacks," you nod, "fuck it, you might as well call it a cheat day, break out the jellybeans, too."

"Jellybeans?" Seb stops in his tracks from where he was heading to the bedroom, walking away, "we have jellybeans, and no one thought to tell me?"

"I thought you'd know by now 'cause this guy--" you shove Chris softly, stumbling towards the bedroom and comfortable clothes "--can't fucking live without 'em. He's half candy, don't you know?"

"That's true," Seb agrees in the same moment that Chris retorts--

"It's just means I'm sweet."

"Shut up," you joke, light for what the first time since you rolled out of bed this morning.

I hope that was what you wanted! <3

[mrmonster459]

The Midnight Diner

It was almost 2 AM, and let me tell you, I was freezing cold and exhausted. I desperately needed a cup of coffee and a hot meal. Keep in mind this was back before smartphones and GPS, back when if you wanted something while on the open road, you actually had to read a billboard and then follow its directions. So, when I saw a big, illuminated billboard, with a picture of a big stack of pancakes, reading “The Midnight Diner: Open 10 PM thru 5 AM, Seven Days a Week” I couldn’t help but take the next exit and find it.

At first, I thought it was closed; there wasn’t a single car in the parking lot. Even if there were no customers, I’d have thought for sure there’d be employees parked; this place was way too far from any nearby town for anyone to walk to. But then, I saw a waitress through the window, so I parked and went inside.

“Hi there.” I said, as I entered. There were three other people in the diner; the waitress, the cook, and a solo customer reading a newspaper.  “Table for one, please.”

And then, the waitress walked over to me. For being so young (I’d have estimated mid 30’s), she was exceptionally pale, with hair so white I thought it must’ve been bleached. “Yes sir, right this way. Can I get you started with anything to drink?”

“Coffee; cream and sugar, please.” I said.

“Coming right up.” She said.

After getting me my coffee, she said “So, what brings you out on this stretch of the highway, at this hour?”

“Been driving all day. I’m going to surprise my girlfriend tomorrow.” I said. 

“Oh, so she doesn’t know you’re coming.” The waitress said, in an unexpected and creepy way.

I then made something up. “Well, yeah, she doesn’t, but um, my friends back in the city, they’re expecting me. I called them, so that they’d, um, have a couch ready for me to crash on.”

“How nice of them.” she replied, but I could tell she knew I was lying.

“I’d like a grilled cheese sandwich.” I said.

“Fries or potato chips for your side?” She asked.

“Fries.” I answered.

“Coming up, sweetie.” She said to me. And shen turned to the cook and shouted “ONE GRILLED CHEESE!”

While I was sipping my coffee, the man in the newspaper took a look at me. Turns out he was even more deathly pale than the waitress; I smiled and waved at him, hoping he’d just go back to minding his own business. But then, he bared fangs at me, and growled like an angry cat.

By then, I didn’t even care about my food, I just wanted to be out of there. I left behind a $5 bill for the coffee and tip, and made my way towards the door, only for the waitress to stand in front of it and tell me, “Where you going, sweetie? I haven’t even gotten you your sandwich yet.”

I thought for sure she or someone else was about to hurt me. But then, she said “I’m only kidding. Go on, if you must.” and left the entryway.

I ran to my car, and drove out of that parking lot as fast as possible. I thought I could make it back to the highway, and leave that nightmarish diner behind.

But then, as I was taking the road back to the interstate entrance, I saw someone standing smack dab in the center of the street. My headlights weren’t too good, so I couldn’t see him in detail, but it was definitely a person. I slammed on the brakes, honked my horn a couple times, and shouted “HEY ASSHOLE, CAN YOU…” before I realized this was the newspaper reader from back at the diner.

“Damn.” I said to myself, as he approached the car. I had a gun in my glove box; I never went this far from the city without it. I fired at him, and got lucky. I hit him right in the head with my first shot. His body hit the ground, and I kept driving.

“Yes.” I shouted to myself, right before a bat flew towards my car. And then, midair, the bat transformed into the diner’s cook, and he dropped right onto the hood.

He then smashed through the window, and I fired. I missed the first time, but then hit him twice in the chest. He fell off the hood, and I tried to continue driving, but my car would no longer start. He must’ve damaged something when he landed on it.

“Well shit.” I muttered to myself.

I got out of the car, and continued on foot. My plan was to make it to the highway on foot, then hitchhike my way back to town, and use a payphone to . But then, I heard the waitress say “Where are you going?” behind me.

I turned and fired. I missed. I then fired again, only to hear the clink of an empty gun being dry fired.

She then ran up to me, grabbed me with near superhuman strength, and then bit me, in the neck. She then began sucking out my blood; I tried to fight back, but this frail looking woman was as strong as a wrestler. By the time she stopped, I felt so drained of blood that I was only barely clinging to life.

“You know, I was going to just kill you, like I do with most of my customers.” She said, as I was lying on the ground, helpless listening to her as my life was slipping away. “But as of tonight, it looks like I could use some more help back at the diner. So, what’s it going to be; should I drain your veins dry and finish you off now, or want to come back to the diner and work with me?”

I then made my decision.

________

My new “life” isn't all bad. Sure, I miss the people I used to know (I never even got to see my girlfriend one last time), but at least my new job isn’t terrible. It’s just diner food, nothing too hard to prepare.

But the best part of the new job is the endless free meals. Every night since I turned, the waitress and I have shared the blood of at least one guest, at The Midnight Diner.

[jupiter-reimagined]

Kali gives Charlie the ibuprofen before Butcher carries Charlie back to bed. And then Kali finishes making the food.

I guess Vincent can now come and berate Butcher for the subpar security in Charlie's apartment. You know, as a treat for being shooed away earlier. (Yes, I do want more Vincent content. Let me love this straight man.)

kept thinking about this the whole day that i just had to write a solid 60% of this while at school. cuz the brain worms.

wc: 1.3k

Vincent shows up to the ranch a few days after the engagement, rather abruptly. The sound of the motor can barely be heard, even as he screes to a sudden halt on the asphalt road leading up to the ranch house.

Stomping out of the car, slamming the door shut, the guy makes his way to the porch, repeatedly pressing the doorbell in quick succession.

Being the one who's not busy at that moment, Butcher answers the door, while Ashok cooks dinner.

Ultimately, the big man is grabbed by the collar and yanked down to meet the eyes of his former boss, which is never a good thing to happen... especially when looks utterly furious.

Unbeknownst to the two other father figured he has, Charlie had called Vincent from the hospital.

"Whoa-"

"Shut it, you absolute fucking moron!" He's cut off by the overly familiar deep voice, and it's when he finally realizes who's eyes he is meeting for the first time in years.

"... Yes sir." He caves, dropping his head, which gets a frustrated scoff from the older man.

"Now. Dare to explain what the hell happened?! My son, my only god forsaken son has an arm in a cast because of your idiocy!"

Silently, Butcher takes the verbal assault, as Vincent continues, his voice getting louder and his accent thicker.

"Why were there no cameras?! No security staff, no fucking alarms and no added safety locks?! Why am I finding out that you approved of my son living in a security equivalent of goddamn wet cardboard box?!"

The hit that Butcher was silently bracing for came. And it stung, the noise so loud he wouldn't doubt it that it was heard from inside the house.

Butcher would have flinched, had be been in this position a decade ago. But he's learned to take it ever since. He doesn't move to soothe the stinging spot on his cheek.

"... Where is he? Show me where my damn son is you-" The father demands are cut off, when his answer comes from Charlie creaking open the front door, having heard the ruckus.

"..." He remains quiet, not yet greeting his old man. The teen is absolutely stunned to see his father once more. Vincent too, falls silent, seething at the sight of the cast and clear bandaging covering his frail body, yet the words die in his mouth.

"... If I may, Sir," Butcher begins, raising his head slowly, staring at Vincent nervously. He's expecting to be cut off once more, but Vincent just nods, letting go of the collar, and in one swoop, holds his boy close, with gentleness you wouldn't believe, considering the last minute or so.

"... Make it quick." He grunts, holding his son, and only having his eyes on him.

Good, Butcher thinks. He'll listen.

"There was... A situation. Unexpected guests. Unwanted ones, at that. They're... Taken care of. However, their stay was detrimental to Charles. So... to not make matters worse, he stayed in the Birmingham apartment for a while."

"... How could you even afford to have guests here-"

"Let me finish, Sir. Please."

Again, Vincent (barely) contains his wrath.

"They were the... parents of my fiancé. Trust me when I say this, I did everything to keep them away, but my fiancé refused to listen to reason."

"... Got it. Where's the woman, then? I want to speak to her." Vincent growls, stopping when Charlie snickers.

"... Father... He's not... y'know..."

Realization dawns on the older man, and he hides his embarrassment with more faux-anger.

"Then show me the moron instead-"

"I'd appreciate to not be called that. Who are you and what are you doing here?" Ashok demands, appearing in the door, still in the apron. Seems like he finally noticed the talking.

Butcher smiles sheepishly, turning his head to the side, showing the angry red hand print still on his face. Thank gods Ashok had his glasses off, for with them on, Butcher thinks the worry would have skyrocketed within his partner.

"This is my old boss and Charlies' dad: Vincent. And boss, this is the guy I'm marrying: Ashok. He's also been helping a bunch with Charlie when I'm too busy on my own."

Unimpressed, the older man extends his hand out for him to shake. His grip almost bone-crushing, before he lets go.

"I suppose if you're as helpful as DeAngelo says you are, I have no reason to not trust you. Keep an eye on him though. He's incompetent on his own." Vincent scoffs, lighting one of his cigars, finally letting go of Charlie to do so, before blowing the smoke in Butchers face, resulting in an indignant noise from the usually proud man.

"Hey-! I am not!" Butcher coughs, offended, having went a number of years without the presence of the small, but intimidating don, who was known for taking a liking to use Butcher as his personal punching bag, much to the joy of the other goons.

"I would appreciate if you did not smoke near children." Ashok comments, which causes Vince to roll his eyes.

"Children? I only see a poor excuse of a guard, his partner, and a young man. Besides, he's used to it, ain't ya, boy?" He grins, elbowing Charlie affectionately, a wide, toothy grin on his lips. Butcher notes to himself that the yellowing has increased even more since they last met.

Shyly, Charlie nods, but Vincent beams all the same. "That's my boy right there!"

"... Anyways... Are you staying here longer, bossman?" Butcher asks, quickly regretting it as Charlie leans against his father, clearly having missed him.

"What, ya kicking me out, boy?" He growls dangerously, making Butcher backtrack. It's almost comedic seeing how the clearly large and powerful man is scared of this elderly man, "Of course not, sir!"

"Eh I'm just pulling yer leg, DeAngelo. I jus' wanted to see if my boy was alright," Vincent begins, "however. You better find him a new apartment within the next 2 weeks or next time it won't be just your cheek that's red now. Got it, boy?" He speaks, taking another drag afterwards.

"Yes sir!" Butcher gulps, eyes briefly flickering to Ashok, wondering if he'll have to explain everything in detail once they're alone.

"Good man! Your budget will be sent in the next 24 hours." He states, making Butcher nod again in acknowledgement of the words.

Vincent turns on his heel again, as he exhales, this time away from everyone, before patting Charlie on the head, smiling at him fondly.

"See you in a bit, Seraph. See you in a bit..."

Charlie just nods at that, before quickly going in for one last hug before his father leaves for an unknown amount of time. He's well aware this could be their last meeting.

"See ya, boss." Butcher nods, ushering Ashok back inside with him, who is still struggling to comprehend everything from how fast-paced the meeting was, but he figured the father-and-son would like a moment alone to bask in each others company.

"Wait... Seraph? Why'd he call him that?"

"Because that's his middle name?"

"... My son has a middle name?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, did he never tell you? ... No matter, doll, he doesn't like being called that often."

"I see... Well. I suppose the stew should be done soon. Do we maybe invite him in..?" Ashok asks, feeling the need to at least share the food.

"Nah. His diet consists of fine dining and booze so pricey you could buy a house with the money."

"Got it..." Ashok hums thoughtfully, before ladling the soup in the bowls, setting up the dinner table.

Minutes later, the teen enters the home again, looking a little emotional. The sound of the fancy car driving off can be heard, and Butcher smiles at him softly, putting a hand on his shoulder, it basically dwarfing him.

"C'mon. Dinner's done."

[prentissluvr]

some other time — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, reader sits in sam's lap, he holds their waist/stomach, mentions of demons, poor editing ofc, 1.1K words. requested !

prompt : one having to sit in the other’s lap when space is tight and them both blushing like crazy over it.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

being able to steal a car is a very helpful skill to have when you’re being chased by several demons and too far from your normal ride to make it away. you just can’t help but wish that dean could have picked a better car, if only to spare your sanity.

dean, ahead of you both, yells through the driver's side window as you approach at full speed. “in the back! front’s full of shit!”

sam skids to a stop at the back door of the small car, yanking the door open and swiftly climbing in with you right behind him. you expect him to keep sliding down to make room for you, but when you finally register the state of the car, you realize that the back is full of bulky boxes, the same as the front seat. only the seat that sam takes up is clear. you hesitate for a split second, but sam takes your hand urgently. you’re still in danger. the three of you managed to off a few of the demons, but there was something strange going on, and there were far too many to deal with for the moment.

“c’mon,” sam urges. with that, you pile in right after him, barely all the way in the car when dean gets the engine to start and begins driving away. you let out a surprised yelp when the car lurches forward, and you lose any semblance of balance. your legs were already draped across his, but the rest of you slams right into his chest from the change in velocity. still tilted towards the middle of the car, you almost hit your head against the box right in front of you, but sam’s quick reflexes keep you from getting hurt with his hands on your hip and shoulder. he helps you settle onto his laps as you huff out a laugh that’s half frustrated, half flustered.

“thanks,” you mumble, trying to sound as casual as possible as you feel his strong thighs under your own.

“you okay?” he asks, his hands leaving your hips, then hovering in the air as he realizes that there’s just about nowhere else to put them. the space is completely cramped; the car itself is small, and the added boxes piled up on the seats press against sam’s shoulder and push him into the car door that he barely managed to close in the whirlwind of getting into the car and out of danger. 

“i’m fine,” you confirm, nodding your head. you look down at his hovering hands and smile at them, at how sweet and respectful he is. but your gaze flies up along with your hands to grip the seat in front of you to stop you from falling off of sam’s lap as dean takes a hard turn. in that same moment, sam’s hands firmly reattach themselves to your waist to hold you steady. you laugh nervously again, rolling your eyes at dean’s driving, but choosing not to scold him since he’s busy trying to get you safely away from this nasty group of demons.

“looks like you’ll have to be my human seatbelt,” you joke to sam, barely tilting your head to smile at him and catch his eye. if you turn to fully look at him, you think you’re likely to die. his face is so close to yours, his hands so big on your waist, and his thighs even bigger under you. your face is hot and your expression is likely much more flustered than you’re normally able to cover up. so, you quickly avert your eyes and keep your gaze fixed in front of you.

sam’s having similar problems, both glad that you’re not facing him and mourning the loss of your face turned to his while you’re so close. in the end, this is better so that you can’t see the blush on his face or the way his jaw clenches every time the car jolts or bounces in any way. having you settled on his lap in a moving car, pulled all the way to him so that your back is against his chest, does not help with his raging crush on you.

he can’t even give a proper answer to your half-joking comment, and just gently squeezes your sides to show you that he’ll keep you steady. just as you intended, he takes your words as full consent to leave his hands on you.

of course, this action is entirely ruinous for you, and you hope that he doesn’t notice the way you gasp at the pressure of his big hands on your waist.

after a minute of stillness and dean’s teasing eyes on you through the rearview mirror, you think you might be safe as you get a little more used to the sensation. naturally, you’re still flustered out of your mind and wishing desperately that you could sit in sam’s lap for no reason at all, whenever you like.

but as sam’s arm grows uncomfortable in its position pinned against the boxes beside you, his hand starts to shift from your side to your stomach. he feels you stiffen under his hand, and quickly retracts his hand.

“sorry,” he whispers, afraid that he’s made you uncomfortable.

but you look down and really survey the position his arm is. his elbow, wrist, and shoulder are all pressed into an awkward angle, just to be sure that he’s not touching you anywhere but the place you seemed most comfortable with. “it’s okay,” you rush to assure him, and without thinking, you grab his hand and wrap his whole arm around right around your middle, effectively putting it in the most comfortable position. “that better?” you ask softly, voice a little breathy as you register what you’ve done. you’re not helping yourself. or maybe you are. you can’t really tell, because it’s sort of hard to breathe with his muscled forearm pressed up against your stomach.

“yeah,” he breathes out, “as long as you’re okay with it.”

“of course,” you assure, nodding for a moment. “i don’t mind at all.”

he seems to soften at that, and he holds you with more surety. i don’t mind at all. over and over again, he replays those words in his mind, thinking about the soft tone you used, all of the sincerity that you made clear and easy to pick up on, and the way that you relax into his touch.

he can imagine you like this some other time. you in his lap because you want to be there, and his chin perched on your shoulder. he’d nuzzle his nose into the side of your neck, and he’s sure that it would make you giggle a little. what he wouldn’t give to have that. he’d rub his thumbs over your sides in a soft pattern, and you’d lean all the way into him when he kissed your jaw. god, he wants you. he wants you more than anything.

[matthewtangemanphoto]

A Season of Spring Skiing in the San Juan Mountains

Or, my test-drive blog post.

I started skiing when I was 2. My approach to skiing has gone through a lot of different phases over all that time - from not really enjoying it at all, to being a wannabe racer, to just wanting to ski the backcountry, to being a park rat, a wannabe freerider, a Baker bro, a turns-all-year acolyte, to someone whose ski season doesn't really start till April. I'm still adjusting to the continental snowpack after moving to Colorado from the PNW four years ago. Ice climbing tends to fill my winters, though I did ski more powder in 2024 than other recent years, but those six weeks from the middle of April to the end of May are still my favorite six of the year.

After a month on a work assignment in Baja, my ski season began with a series of epic powder days on the Trout-to-Ophir tour, a popular shuttle mission in the NW San Juans.

Yours truly in Gemini (top). The Himalayan Face, always calling (lower).

After one T-to-O day, Dani made me take a picture with my photo of her in Backcountry Mag, and I'm quite glad she did.

One day skiing Gemini with Dani, I brought the drone along. Check out the video here.

Shortly thereafter, stuck again yearning for someone else to get into the mountains with, I did a solo mission, Trout-to-Ophir-and-back-to-Trout (nixing the shuttle option in favor of my own legs: the hermit's choice, not the smart one). I skied the Big O, one of the more prominent couloirs in Waterfall Canyon, made some GS turns through hero hippy pow into the bottom of the canyon, and upon realizing it was too warm to stick with my original plan of climbing back up an adjacent couloir to regain the ridge and descend back to my car, I took the long way out, tracing Waterfall Creek through low angle but consistent terrain, safe from the warming slabs and cornices that would haunt me otherwise. Not safe from dehydration and sleep deprivation, which always hit me like a train those first couple warm spring days.

Hero turns upon exiting the Big O.

I regained the ridge at a new-to-me location on the west shoulder of Pilot Knob, with a steep, exposed, unknown face between me and my car. My "safer exit" suddenly was feeling much less safe. I had a lot of words that day to describe the position I found myself in, dropping in blind on a face that I knew deadends in cliffs for 95% of it's width. Today, 3 months later in the middle of a record setting July heatwave, I don't seem to have as many. I trusted my intuition, ski cut a windslab, and followed my gut down towards what I hoped would be a sneak line through the cliff band. It went, but barely - just a couple centimeters wider than my 184cm skis through it's gut, I made almost 1000 feet of hop turns before exiting onto familiar below-treeline terrain and lovely cruise back to the car.

Is it gonna go?

It goes! We got lucky. The 'Pilot Pinner' is a couloir I would actually welcome skiing again.

Next stop, The Coors Face, on Shandoka (Wilson Peak). This line needs no introduction. For me, it had been the only line in the San Juans to ever turn me back, having attempted it 3 times in the previous year (wind slab, a late start, and a rocky, not-filled-in crux being the 3 reasons I bailed).

Three previous bails left me feeling stubborn, I guess, and Nick and I skied it in mediocre conditions that I would not repeat again. Of all the '50 Classics' I've skied, this was by far the worst in the given conditions. An inch of sugar snow often covered large, lurking sharks. I blew out an edge on one of them. It was kinda scary, and not really in the calculated, controlled sort of way, more of the 'this is stupid' kind of way. The crux was largely rock, and I booted a small section. I'm glad I did it, but it truly felt like checking a box, which is not the way I want any of my mountain experiences to feel. I would need a record setting snowpack to come back.

Nick on the thin face. Shark attack!

Once through the choke, the lower couloir and apron was phenomenal. I would ski that section any day.

Photo by Gus Bosch, who skied the line a couple days later. You can see my and Nick's tracks in the central couloir, lower on the face.

After that, I racked up 30000 feet of vert in a week of skiing in the Elk Mountains. I skied a couple more San Juan classics too, such as the Naked Lady.

The last Colorado ski mission of the season was in the La Plata Mountains, whose western facade presides over Montezuma County and is a never ending source of beautiful sunset landscapes from the mesa above my house in Dolores. The small sub range of the San Juans offers incredible powder skiing in the winter (often receiving greater and wetter snow than other parts of the range, comparable in some ways to Wolf Creek Pass or Marble) and plethora of fantastic couloir descents, complicated only by long and difficult access. A sled helps. On this day we chose mountain bikes to cover 5 or 6 miles of singletrack before reaching snowline.

We skied a perfect north-facing couloir off of Spiller Peak, which I have heard referred to as Ray's Couloir, though I'm also partial to 'The Spillway'. Owen Basin, the headwaters of the not-so-mighty yet vital Mancos River, was criss-crossed with bear tracks and packed with fun-looking ice climbs, and one incredibly good looking quartzite boulder. An inspiring amphitheater indeed.

Bear report, above treeline, all aspects: active.

Nick climbing the couloir. Dibe Ntsaa (Hesperus) and Lavendar Peaks behind. An inspiring mountain venue indeed, if only it were easier to get to.

3, 2, 1....

[cinematicnomad]

5, 7, & 13 for the fic asks? hope you’re having a good day!

005. share one of your strengths. i think i'm good at dialogue. i mean, who knows if that's accurate, but to me, dialogue comes easy and i feel like what i write is believably what a character would say and how they'd say it. sometimes i read dialogue and it's just so...written, y'know? and i think i do a good job of avoiding that.

007. share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

That time is lost to Margaret now, just as her pregnancy was, and she hates herself for it. Those last beautiful memories with Daniel, those months when he still could smile at her and laugh at Phillip’s jokes and play games with Maddie and tickle Evan’s belly. She wishes, desperately, that she could remember those moments. They must have been precious. They must have been beautiful. But all Margaret can recall now is the doctor’s faces, one after the other, the endless papers and the tests and the x-rays, as they explained in their careful, professional voices how the cord blood wasn’t taking. Wasn’t doing what it was supposed to. How they looked at her with sad eyes and asked in a gentle hush if she and Phillip had made plans yet. How they could recommend a children’s hospice if she needed one. And then the days slipped into months until finally, a year after Evan was born, Daniel was gone. Caskets shouldn’t be that small.

it's probably my most niche fic, but i do really love my writing in my margaret character study piece so far from who i was delving deep into her grief. i think it's really easy to write off "bad" characters and to just deem them unredeemable or evil, but her voice was just stuck in my head after 4.05 and i had to get this down. i think this piece has an almost...melodic quality to it? which isn't my typical prose (which i think is pretty...bland normally tbh) and i think this really evokes what that margaret must have been feeling in that time, what she must of thought, and the regret she feels when reflecting back on it now.

013. what’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across? lol it's not serious at all, but i saw someone on tumblr post about writing in comic sans bc it helps you to stop thinking of your writing as So Serious™ and bc it's so different from the fonts you typically see on your screen that it makes it easier to just...keep going. i wrote the entirety of finding our way (back home) in comic sans this year so i swear by it now!

✨40 questions for fic writers✨

[genyasglockk]

warnings: brief mentions of suicidal thoughts. like very brief. this is a steve whump. nothing super awful but i do make my boy very sad.

Nobody was there to celebrate Steve Harrington finally getting his high school diploma. Steve didn't look out to the crowd and search for familiar faces when he walked across the stage. He knew he wouldn't find any. Nobody came to the ceremony just for him. There wasn't an uproar when his name was called. There wasn't anyone proudly shouting that's my boy! Steve wasn't anyone's boy. He was barely anyone's son. After the final speeches and the "congratulations class of '85. you've made it. we know there's so much in store for all of you," Steve drove himself home. He pushed through the clusters of families and slowly made his way to his car. He tucked his diploma into the passenger seat and pulled out of the parking lot. The radio didn't play, and Steve didn't notice.

He decides to stop at the diner and treat himself to some pancakes to go. When the waitress brings him his box of food, she smiles and asks "Oh, you just graduate? Congrats! These are on the house then, big guy." Steve had forgotten he was still wearing his cap and gown. He desperately wished he'd remembered to take them off as he sat in the car and tried not to cry over the fact that some stranger decided to be nice and give him some free shitty pancakes because he graduated and that's something worth celebrating. Steve had spent every day for the past month telling himself that he didn't care about people celebrating him today. He didn't care. He didn't want anything from anyone, and he didn't need anything from anyone. Especially not today.

He graduated from high school. Big fucking deal. Plenty of people get that done all the time and they do it way better than he did. Graduating was something he was supposed to do. He wasn't special. Today was not special. It's not like he fought tooth and nail to be able to walk across that stage. It's not like earning his diploma felt more special than surviving literal monsters did. Because Steve hadn't expected to graduate. He hadn’t expected to scrape by the way he did. When he realized he’d actually passed, he was surprised. The kind of surprise that wasn’t present when he survived his first Demogorgon. Don’t get him wrong, the thought of holy shit I’m gonna fucking die had most definitely crossed Steves mind a few times during every encounter with the Upside-down, but deep down, Steve knew that some interdimensional monster wouldn’t be the thing to end him.

That would’ve been too kind. Too merciful. Life was too cruel to Steve Harrington and that’s why he was so sure it wouldn’t let him have the easy way out. Steve wasn’t suicidal. He’d never kill himself. His will to live was just weaker than others. The only reason he tried so hard to keep himself alive was for the sake of protecting his kids.

The diploma in his passenger seat meant more to him than the life flowing through his veins. And wasn’t that just sad? 

The drive home was long and silent. Steve could barely remember pulling into his driveway and making his way to the front door with his pancakes and diploma in hand. He didn’t come back to himself until his back hit the couch. 

The house was as quiet and sterile as he left it. Pathetically, a small part of Steve, the part of him that was still young, had thought that maybe his parents would come around this time. That he’d see his dad’s car parked out front and his parents would be waiting for him inside with a cake. Waiting for him with a kiss on both cheeks from his mom and a pat on the back from his dad. As if his parents had ever bothered to do anything like that before. As if they’d care.

Steve opened his box of food and decided to dig in with his fingers. He chewed quietly and stared forward at nothing. His pancakes had gone cold. He was still wearing his cap and gown. 

“Congratulations to me.” 

[ghostbellies]

Earthworms

(SFW SHORT STORY)

(A story I wrote about Engines. Yes, it’s Thomas and Friends, Get off my ASS. If you like it, drop me a comment! i love writing but don’t do it often! ALSO bear in mind that this is NOT my usual content, i’m just using Tumblr to post this to world lol)

It was a warm, drizzly day on the Isle of Sodor.  Rain fell in shimmery sheets over the island, the smell of new greenery and rich earth mixed in the air with the scent of petrichor. The sun shone through breaks in the clouds, spilling a golden light on the awakening countryside.

“The devil is beatin’ his wife”, Some Sudrians would say as they lifted their eyes skywards.

The engines on the Fat Controller’s railway hardly had time for such meteorological observations - they were busy at work as always, the Spring season bringing eager tourists from the mainland looking to enjoy the milder weather; trucks laden with paint and fresh thatch for Spring cleaning; and of course, lots of post.

Percy The Little Green Engine found himself pulling an additional afternoon mail train on every Wednesday, bringing priority post from the mainland. Although eager Percy would have rather blown his throttle valve than complain out loud, he couldn’t help but be a touch grumpy over the additional load, as it was always a rush job and always just shy of ‘absolutely bloody late’.

On that wet Spring Wednesday, Percy was hauling a particularly heavy priority mail train, running 8 and red-faced as the gentle rain became stinging needles against his plump cheeks.  Percy offered meek praise to the Maker when the mail depot finally appeared on the horizon. The porters were already racing around with carts in anticipation of the mail delivery, but he could also see a tall lady waiting patiently on the platform. She was wearing a lumpy raincoat, dirty overalls and muddy green boots.  Her brassy blonde hair was grimy, plastered to her forehead in the humid air.  As soon as Percy labored up to the platform, wheezing with the effort of hauling the laden trucks, the woman waved to him.

“Hello, Little Six!” she said in her big, brash northerner’s voice. Percy beamed, immediately feeling ten cars lighter. “Hallo Miss McColl!” He chirped brightly.

Amelia McColl was Farmer McColl’s eldest daughter. Only a few seasons prior she had taken over a good deal of the farm duties that pertained to the growing of crops, and she took it very seriously.  She was rarely seen without a healthy dusting of dirt on her clothes or a big box of seasonal produce and flowers to share with her neighbors. Percy liked her. She seemed to genuinely enjoy talking to the engines; sharing stories about troublesome crows in her corn or photos of her army of barn cats. 

Amelia stood aside as the porters hustled to unload Percy’s freight. One of them rushed over to her. He nodded to her curtly with a mumbled “ma’am” and handed her a clipboard, which she scrawled her signature on and traded back for a smallish crate. It was stamped with blue ink - RUSH DELIVERY: KEEP COOL.

“Thank you, Percy!” She said, bringing the crate ‘round to Percy’s front so she could look into the green engine’s earnest face.

“You’ve no idea how excited I’ve been for my worms!”

Percy raised an eyebrow as he watched the dirty farmer tear into the crate like Christmas morning.

“Worms?” He said incredulously. Suddenly he realized he had little to no idea what a worm even was other than the most basic wormy-understanding. He’d barely even seen a worm. Even as the smallest of the engines at Tidmouth, they were simply too far beneath his line of vision to see.

“Those little squiggly things??” 

Amelia laughed a big barking laugh - “I’ll have you know these are pedigreed squiggly things! All the way from Scotland!”

Percy’s furrowed brow communicated his absolute bafflement.

She pulled off the lid of the crate with the edge of her pen-knife and thrust her hand inside; she pulled up a handful of rich dark earth and held it up close to the curious engine’s pug-nose. She sifted the dirt out between her fingers, and as he peered closely, pale pink somethings twisted and writhed in her hands.

“These little beasties live their whole lives underground, eating dirt and keeping the soil loose and airy so the roots can breathe. They’re wonderful for a vegetable garden - a farmer’s best friend!” Amelia said it with a touch of pride, pleased with her purchase, clearly thinking the engine would agree. 

But Percy’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. He couldn’t look away from the strange things squirming desperately, as if the light burned their slick skins.

Suddenly he heard the sound of the mail truck doors creaking and slamming shut.  The porters had almost finished their frantic dance, and he would need to carry on with his daily duties. Amelia replaced the worms in their dirt bed, then patted Percy’s cheek affectionately. “Right! I better let you get on with it! I’ll bring you a bright bunch of posies for your cab once they sprout - all thanks to your hard work, and my worms!”

Percy smiled half heartedly. “Thank you Miss McColl, I certainly would love to see the flowers.”

But not so much the worms…

He thought to himself as he pulled away from the station, feeling a queasy rush of cold in his pump injector.

***

Later that evening, the engines were all bedded down at Tidmouth Sheds. They’d had the clinker cleaned off their grates, their flues brushed, and were cooling comfortably in their berths. The nightly indignation session was in full swing.  

“…I’ve had an ache in my flank since this morning…Driver says it was nothing but oh, I KNOW it’s a loose rivet…I shall come apart at the seams…”

“… A whole filthy team of footballers, all jostling and climbing in MY coaches!!! I could just DIE…”

“…I want racing stripes! Bertie says they’ll make me go faster…I’ve no idea how paint can do that but you bet your buffers I’ve GOT TO HAVE IT.”

Edward The Blue Engine listened patiently, the grumbling chorus of engines providing a familiar backdrop to the rain that was pattering on the tin roof. But one voice was missing.  He turned his gaze to his left where Percy sat silently, letting Thomas’ inane chatter about paint rush past him like a countryside view.

“It was Wednesday today, wasn’t it? Priority Mail day. Anything extraordinary?” Edward prompted gently, watching Percy’s eyes refocus as if he had been staring a thousand miles down the track.

“Worms.” Percy said hollowly. “I brought Miss McColl a crate of Scottish P..Peppertree worms…”

“Worms?” Thomas blurted out, a touch of jealousy piping up. “You’ve hauled a load of worms?! I’ve never hauled so much as ONE worm!”

Percy’s chassis rattled. Now that the seal was broken, he blurted the rest of his story out in a torrent.

“No you don’t understand…they…they looked so horrible! All pink and strange and slimy! She had a crate of smelly wet dirt, and they came packed inside in a horrible tangle… She said they live their whole lives underground…in the dark…”

“Ugh!” James The Splendid sniped, turning his bulbous nose up in disgust. “You wouldn’t catch ME living in the dirt!” 

“No respectable engine would have anything to do with worms. Pitiable tiny things. They haven’t even any arms.” Gordon huffily contributed to the worm deriding.

Once again the shed was ringing with cantankerous voices as the engines, big and small, provided their expert opinions on the merits (or lack there of) of worms. Percy seemed to shrink in on himself as the others talked over him.  Thunder shook the shed, and Edward seized his chance in the ensuing silence. He raised his voice only slightly.

“Oh, I don’t know. This reminds me of stories from the mainland about strange trains.”

All that could be heard was the soft tick-ticking of cooling fireboxes, and the air was thick with the engine's collected curiosity. Edward’s lined face crinkled with his gently mischievous grin. Now I’ve got them.

“Edward, I don’t like such frightful stories before bed!” Henry groused, screwing up his face in a look of distaste.  Edward just continued, knowing they’d all be hooked by the time he took his first pause.

"Driver told me on the mainland there are cities built over vast, gloomy tunnels underground. They tried to explore the tunnels, but they were so long and dark that anyone who set foot in them was swallowed up by the great yawning black, never to return.  So many were lost trying to navigate the tunnels, that they realized something had to be done. So the Great Controllers on the Mainland and the Makers got together to create a  plan.  They would tame the dark. Yoke it for their use as they have the great expanses of Sudrian countryside.  They brought in builders and iron workers and brick layers and engineers, but it was still so utterly alien and foreboding that they realized they had only one choice…to build engines to help.”

Thomas blinked in confusion.

“Engines? Underground? Away from the sun and fresh air? What kind of an engine could stand that misery?!” He knew the dark was not a friend to a locomotive.  Unseen hazards lay in it, waiting to derail an engine who carelessly rolled into it without their lamps, or worse. Tunnels had their own hazards, flooded lines or bad track that lay in wait. To The Iron Horses of the rails, the thought of a dank, endless dark was as unpleasant as a cold water washdown.

Edward cleared his throat of a bit of soot, and continued as his friends leaned in as if trying to breathe in his words.

“Underground engines.  Strong as the greatest LNER, and as fast as one as well. Great big beasts with wide, luminous eyes, though they are blind as a dead end. They haven't any fireboxes, because they do not need to eat…."

"Not eat?!" Muttered Gordon with a huff, already fuming over the implication of a faster engine than he.  "Nonsense. no proper engine could run without coal!"

 "...Or diesel!" Henry piped up helpfully, fully invested in this strange tale.

Edward continued quietly.  "Not a single lump of coal or drop of petrol. No - these monsters get their power from cables and coils…electricity.  They pull trains so long their tails are like rivers.  The Makers created the perfect engine for these inhospitable depths…the subway train. Never sleeping, stopping only to pick up passengers. They hurtle down these subterranean tracks, screaming into the dark like banshees, searching constantly for someone, anyone, to relieve their toils.”

Thomas spoke up with faux-bravado.

“Oh Edward. You’re yanking our Johnson Bars! No controller would allow their engines to be treated so unfairly! Afterall, if they are strong and fast and pull such huge trains, they must be really useful!” His tone seeked affirmation from his fellow engines, but they seemed to doubt his conviction.

Edward just smiled, another rumble of thunder punctuating his artfully crafted pause.

“When the Makers built the engines, they only knew to make them really useful for the underground.  And no man, brave or strong, can live in the tunnels with them all the time.  As a matter of fact…Driver told me he witnessed a subway train break down.  The poor engine had been rushing through the foul tunnels at full speed when it derailed on a length of uneven track.  It lay on its side, bellowing in pain for days before they finally found it. They had to use a huge crane to pull it through the tunnels and haul it above ground to the works….”

“Did…did they fix it?” James squeaked fitfully, the trio of big engines shook like shivering trucks on a shaky track. Henry rolled backwards as far as he could go into his berth, hiding his face completely behind Gordon’s bulk.

Edward’s voice dropped to a low rasp.  The dying embers of the engine’s smokebox cast strange shadows behind him, making his careworn face seem hard and angular in the low light.

“They drug the pitiful thing up to the surface slowly, carriage by carriage. The whole time they could hear it’s soft, mournful moans. At last they arrived at the head… But those poor fools, the lot of them - they didn’t know, just couldn’t know…once the engine was in the full light of the sun…”

Edward SHOUTED in a manic voice!

“PUT ME BACK! PUT ME BACK UNDERGROUND! MY FACE! MY FACE IT’S BURNING!!”

The shed erupted in noise. Thomas startled back like a nervous horse, giving a fearful wheesh of steam. The Big Engines hollered, Gordon’s whistle blasting a strident, hectic shriek. 

Throughout the whole ordeal… Percy had been staring tightlipped with mounting panic. As the others turned their ire to Edward for startling them, the old blue engine looked at Percy…and winked cheekily.

Percy’s face finally broke into a wide, genuine grin. He giggled, realizing suddenly that he and Edward had shared a brief moment of solidarity. He was grateful to his old friend.

“So there you are, Lads” Edward said, chuckling at his rioting comrades. “You see, Percy was rather brave to face those worms unprotected!”

***

The Engines on the Isle of Sodor always work hard and want to be really useful…but every so often, when the rains come and they care to look downwards to the wet soil where strange pink snouts poke out of the earth…They remember the alien worlds of the subways and their fireboxes cool a degree or two…

All except Percy of course, who now knows that pedigreed worms really do help grow wonderful flowers!

[tobesolonely]

house hunting

A/n: hello!! I’ve been having a mad case of writers block, so @goldenbluesuit​‘s list of prompts was posted just in time! Thank you and i hope you all enjoy!! thank u @harryysstyless​ and @nationalharryleague​ for looking this over also :) Love u guyssss!

summary: newly engaged y/n and harry realize they have very different tastes in homes when they begin house hunting!!!

warnings: smut

word count: ~3.3k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

With all the joys that came with being engaged, there was a good deal of logistics that you hadn’t even thought of when you excitedly told Harry, “Duh, of course, I’ll marry you!” just four short months ago. Should you wed in the fall or wait until the spring? Outdoors or indoors? These were things that you and Harry went back and forth about most nights, cuddled in bed next to each other before drifting off to sleep.

Something you were most excited about, though, was finally owning a home with Harry. You practically lived together as it was, seeing that you were at his place most nights. Still, his home wasn’t yours—you were reminded every time you had to grab something forgotten from your apartment. Or when he was away for work and you couldn’t bear to be in his large, empty house by yourself.

So while you already knew each other’s grossest habits, (Harry loved asking you to pop his back pimples) you didn’t yet own a home together. Sadly, house hunting was turning out to be a less-than-joyous task when you and Harry were looking for completely different things.

“I jus’ think we’re cottage-style people… that’s all,'' your fiancé’s hand rests on your thigh while you wait in his car for the real estate agent to arrive. “This one’s nice, yeah, but is it who we are?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes at him. “You’re only saying that because they remind you of home.”

“So? They’re lovely,” he sounds a little defensive, but not mad. Your response  to Harry is interrupted as the real estate agent pulls into the driveway.

“Be nice,” you remind him as you open your door to let yourself out. “I understand the Craftsman isn’t your first choice, but she worked hard to find this place for us. At least go into it with an open mind.”

Your fiancé mutters something under his breath, but you know he’ll behave himself––he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Harry’s demeanor immediately changes once the real estate agent is within earshot, turning on his signature English charm. “Thank you for meeting my fiancée and me today. We’re both very excited to check out this lovely home.”

Since you’re privy to the reality of the situation, you can tell he’s laying it on a bit thick, but your agent is loving it. “You’ll both fall in love, I know it,” she begins her ascent up the long driveway and you and Harry follow behind hand-in-hand. “Six bedrooms, eleven bathrooms, and nearly twenty thousand square feet. You can’t beat it.”

Harry seems unphased by the enormous size of the house, but your breath hitches in your throat. Did the two of you actually need this much room? The house appeared to be even bigger than the one Harry owned now––you knew you would hate staying here when he was away for work except this time, you wouldn’t have a quaint apartment and a roommate to go back to when you were feeling lonely.

“H, ‘s kinda big…” you’re trying to speak quietly enough so the real estate agent doesn’t hear you. “I don’t know if I like it.”

“What’s tha’? We haven’t even gotten inside, love,” Harry stops walking to give you his full attention. “You don’t like it?”

“Just the driveway by itself is enormous,” you feel your cheeks growing warm. “I would be too scared to stay here by myself.”

Harry hums in agreement. “Can we have just a moment, please?” He sweetly turns to face the real estate agent who insists you take your time, walking farther up the driveway to give the two of you privacy.

“We’ve not seen the inside, doll. Gotta at least do that,” Harry’s hands run along your bare arms. “‘Member what you jus’ told me? Let’s go into it with an open mind. Don’t have to place an offer on it or anything.”

“Okay…” you’re reluctant and Harry can tell, but neither one of you want to be rude to the real estate agent. “You’re right. I guess it doesn’t hurt to just check it out.”

Harry gives you a dimpled grin. “Y’never know. Might fall in love with it, puppy,” Harry leans in so close that you can feel his breath on your nose. “Besides, think of all the rooms we’d get to have a shag in if we moved in here.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“I hate it.”

“What’s there to hate? Look at how cozy it is.”

“Don’t like the color.”

“It’s nothing to slap a fresh coat of paint on the outside.”

You open your mouth and then close it in defeat. He wasn’t wrong. You let Harry lead you around the perimeter of the house while you wait for your real estate agent to arrive to let you in—Harry’s animatedly talking about all the renovations that can be done to upgrade the house (even stating he could do some of them himself) and deep down you know this is the house you will end up living in. 

“So sorry I’m late,” the agent’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “There was an accident on the 405–made traffic a nightmare.” 

“No worries at all,” Harry says cheerily. “We’re just excited to get inside and take a look at this place. It’s gorgeous.” 

The lady doesn’t even try to hide her surprise. “Really? I agree that it’s a beautiful home, but I thought it would be your last choice given it’s on the smaller side.” 

“How many bedrooms?” You change the subject,  gazing at the house in front of you. You thought it was rather large, but to each their own. 

“Five bedrooms, four and a half bathrooms.”

You glance over at your fiancé, who appeared to be deep in thought—he was most likely calculating if five bedrooms would be enough to host friends and family who came to visit. 

“That’s perfect,” he says after a moment, squeezing your hand in excitement. “We’d love to get inside.” 

The real estate agent mutters a quiet, “please, follow me” to which you and Harry oblige. She leads you up a gorgeous cobblestone pathway that ends at weathered brick stairs. Harry lightly placed his hands on your waist as you ascended the three steps, knowing you tended to be on the clumsy side. 

“Porch is nice, innit?” Harry says to you, lowering his gaze so he’s looking square in your eyes. “I can see us ‘avin a cup of coffee in the mornin’ while lookin’ out at the street.”

Your husband-to-be was trying to sell you on the home more than your real estate agent was––you weren’t mad at it. You simply hum in agreement, not wanting to fully give into Harry just yet.

The real estate agent unlocks the door and ushers the both of you ahead of her, wiping her feet on the mat before entering the home. It was beautiful. The floor plan was open, the living room flowing easily into the kitchen which led into the dining room. Large windows let in plenty of natural sunlight, which you know Harry appreciated. 

You listen attentively as the real estate agent gives her typical spiel, informing you about the history of the house (and how all the wood fixtures were original). Harry is long gone, tucked away in some other part of the house, most likely examining the crown molding or something of the sort.

“...because the floor plan is so open, it’s the perfect space for entertaining.”

“So true,” you respond politely, looking around the space. “I was just thinking that. I’m sure Harry would agree... wherever he ran off to.”

“He’s a fan of this one, I take it?” She’s walking again, leading you to the back of the house.

“Oh, definitely. He’s been telling me we’re “cottage people” to warm me up to the idea of moving in here.”

“Is it working?”

You let out a quiet giggle. “Surprisingly, yes.”

“Babe, come look at this bedroom. S’gonna be ours!” Harry calls out to you from deeper in the house and you furrow your brows as you try to determine what room he ducked into.

“Where are you, love?” 

“‘M in here!”

You roll your eyes at how Harry did nothing to clarify his exact location for you, but you quickly figure it out, anyway. While the house was large, it was nowhere as big as some places you’ve already looked at which you appreciated.

Once reunited with Harry, he immediately reaches for your hand and pulls you into him. The bedroom you’re now standing in has floor-to-ceiling windows, an adjoining bathroom, and even a fireplace. It was stunning.

“This room is nice,” you say quietly, leaning into his touch. Harry nods.

“S’our room. Can’t you just picture us sleepin’ in here? Relaxin’?” He leans in close to your ear. “Fuckin’?”

A shiver immediately runs through your body at your fiancé’s vulgarity, but you try your best to play off your reaction as you turn to face the real estate agent. “Let’s see the rest of the place, yeah?”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

No one warned you about how much work went into actually closing on a home.

It was a long process. You were glad you had Harry, who had financial advisors, to help you close on the deal. You and Harry ended up going with the cottage home, of course, which ultimately was the best choice for what the two of you needed at the moment. 

Waiting to move in seemed like it took a lifetime, even though it was only a couple weeks. Your apartment was a mess of boxes and packing tape, and you were glad you had your roommate to help you gather the things you still had left there (since you had basically already moved in with Harry as it was).

When the day finally came to move all your boxes into your new home, you were more than ready to get it over with. You weren’t sure how Harry could remain in such high spirits engaging in such an arduous task (you were honestly feeling quite crabby), so you let Harry deal with the movers lest you accidentally lose your cool and snap at someone. He kept offering to help them move things, feeling guilty for just standing around while they heaved your extensive amount of belongings around, but they kept insisting they were fine. Your fiancé opted to contribute by going to the kitchen and making them lemonade and little sandwiches, instead.

“We have a lot of stuff, don’t we?” Harry glances up at you as you walk into the kitchen, a mischievous look on his face.

“What’s this we? Pretty sure they’re struggling to carry your things around, not mine,” you snake your arms around Harry’s waist. “Maybe we can have a garage sale? Get to know some neighbors too, hmm?”

“Weird to sell Gucci at a garage sale, innit?” Harry cuts a sandwich into four perfect triangles and sets them beside him on a platter he must’ve dug out of some box. You shrug.

“I’m sure you’re not the only person in this neighborhood who can afford Gucci.”

Harry hums in response, continuing to slather spread onto the sandwiches he was making. “Can you go offer these to the movers? Ask ‘em if they want lemonade or water, too.” He tilts his head toward the tray on the other side of the counter and you reach around him to grab it.

“Look at you makin’ everyone snacks and whatnot. So domestic,” you tease, grabbing Harry’s cheek and pinching firmly. “It’s getting me all hot.”

“Yeah?” He questions, going along with your playful pestering. “Y’like it?”

“Fuckin’ love it,” you coo, giving him bedroom eyes. Harry throws his head back, letting out a loud guffaw. You exit the kitchen and go from person to person, kindly offering them sandwiches which they are more than happy to accept.

The movers finish a couple of hours later, your beautiful home still just as beautiful, but now a myriad of boxes and trash bags. The two of you had absolutely no furniture yet, seeing as Harry wanted to buy everything new instead of bringing the furniture from his old home for reasons you were still unsure of.

Harry settled on making the two of you sandwiches for supper, seeing as that was the only food you had in the entire house, and neither one of you felt like running to the store to buy anything else. He pours two tall glasses of lemonade before carefully walking to where you sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room.

“Our new home...,” Harry trails off, looking around the cluttered space. “The first thing that’s ours.”

“I could cry,” you reply, voice slightly shaky. “Like, it’s just so surreal. We can really decorate however we want and celebrate holidays–”

“Gonna fight wif’ each other ‘n love on each other,” he adds. “Grow old with each other... so happy you’re all mine and ‘m all yours.”

Your heart swells at Harry’s words. He can always tell when you’re growing emotional––he knows you better than anyone else, after all––and he quickly moves closer to you, pulling you into his side. Neither one of you says anything, there’s nothing that needs to be said. You opt to bask in each other’s company and the comfortable silence that fills the dim living room. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Harry scoot the food and drinks out of the way before he pulls you fully into his lap.

“I can’t wait for all of it,” you wrap your arms around his neck, sucking lightly on the area where the skin of his jaw trails into his neck. “Can’t wait to have it all with you.”

“Know what ‘m lookin’ forward to the most?” You hum. “Lookin’ forward to the baby makin’.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at Harry’s admission. Sure, you’ve discussed children before––you were getting married! Still, he catches you off-guard.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm,” his hand slowly makes its way underneath your shirt, loving how he already had you squirming under him.

“I’ve got it,” you mumble quietly, moving away from him. You expertly unclasp your bra and fling it out of the way, letting it join the rest of the mess that litters the floor of your home.

“This is really the first place we’re gonna shag in, then?” Harry asks breathlessly, sucking roughly against your collarbone. 

You shrug your shoulders before moving to tangle your hands in Harry’s hair. “The entire house is a mess, this is as good a spot as any.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he mutters, trailing his hands down your body until he gets to your bottom. He easily shimmies your tight leggings down your legs, having done this many, many times before. “Gonna help me christen every room in this house, angel?”

“Yeah,” you’re quick to respond. You wish there was more kissing and less talking going on, but your arrogant fiancé loved two things: teasing you, and the sound of his own voice. “Can I have a kiss?”

“Where do ya want that kiss?”

“Get your mind outta the gutter,” you plead, tilting your head to the side so Harry can access your neck easier. “My lips.” 

You know what Harry’s going to say before he says it. “Which ones?”

“H, come on,” you whine, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck. “Gimmie one.” 

Harry finally gives into your requests and presses his lips delicately against yours, humming in pleasure as he feels you sink deeper into the kiss. “I’m messin’ with ya, Y/N. I could never pass on givin’ ya a kiss.” 

“I’m glad,” you answer triumphantly, shamelessly stealing another kiss from him. 

“Gonna go all the way with me on our living room floor? Dirty girl, you are,” Harry says quietly, gently removing you from his lap. He helps you lay back on the floor, but not before bunching up your leggings for you to use as a pillow. 

“All good?” 

“Mmm,” you reach up for him, wanting to feel his lips against yours once again. He doesn’t give in so easily—not this time. Harry allows you to take his plump upper lip into your mouth before pulling away just out of your reach. You let out a pitiful whimper which causes Harry to puff out his chest, his ego getting the best of him. 

“Gonna make ya feel so good,” he says quietly, rubbing his palm against your core. Your underwear was still on and you knew he was approximately four seconds away from ripping them off.

“I know,” you answer quickly. “I know, H.”

“You sound impatient.”

“I just wanna get on with it.”

Harry sits back on his heels. “What’s tha’ rush? Jus’ us, yeah? Jus’ me?”

“I need it,” you say under your breath. You were usually quite vocal in bed with Harry, but something about the way his gaze fixed on you had butterflies fluttering all-around your stomach.

“What do you need?” Harry taps your bum while he’s saying this, signaling for you to lift yourself slightly off the ground so he can get them around your ankles. 

“I need you in me,” you whisper. You knew he knew exactly where you needed him, but you’d stroke his ego a bit if it meant he’d fuck you just how you wanted him to. “Hard. F-fast.”

“I can manage that,” he cheekily replies, giving his hard cock three tugs before pressing himself to your entrance. “Don’t want me to eat ya out or summat?”

“No,” you answer entirely too quickly. “Please just fuck me, H-”

He understands just how needy and desperate you are now and wastes no more time, swiftly entering your tight cunt like he was made just for you. Your body always molded together so perfectly––no one knew you better than he did. When you were really pressed for time, he could get you off in less than five minutes. Although his pace is relentless tonight though, there is no rush. 

You felt full in such a way that only Harry could make happen. You let out a loud moan as he moves your leg ever so slightly to angle you in such a way that he knew would hit your spongy walls deep inside of you.

“Y’like it? Like me fuckin’ into ya like this?”

“Love it,” you moan breathlessly, reaching to cradle your tits. Harry raises his eyebrows, pace faltering slightly.

“What are you bein’ so quiet for? S’no one here except us,” he reaches in between your sweaty bodies to flick your clit. “Can feel you clenchin’ ‘round me–are you gonna come, puppy? Come around my cock?”

His teasing is all it takes for you to cum around him, clenching down so tightly that it takes a surprising deal of strength for him to keep moving. Harry follows shortly behind you, letting out an animalistic groan that sounds downright filthy. In that moment, you were glad that there was no one else in the house because if there was, they definitely would’ve heard you and Harry coming down from your respective highs together. He speaks after a moment, chest still heaving.

“One room down, the rest of the house to go.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

as always, please let me know what you thought here!

[erodasfishtacos]

Not So Easy

prompt: Harry and Y/N have both had a rough week. Ivy is in the prime of her terrible twos. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

word count: 6.2k

warnings: swearing, smut, a little angst

AN: Fulfilling this request ***. This is part of the CEO!Harry verse. If you enjoy please like, reblog, and come chat with me about it x 

*** <--- click for visuals

-----

It was a gorgeous, cool Saturday evening and Y/N had been cooped up in the house all week due to nasty rainstorms that lasted the whole week. All of Y/N’s friends had canceled plans for one reason or another. Anne came down with flu and couldn’t visit like she was suppose to.

Harry had an extra awful week at work - which was saying something - and hadn’t been able to let it go. The frustration and irritation he usually was good at leaving at the office at the end of the workday hadn’t been happening.

Ivy was in the midst of her terrible twos and quite frankly it was disaster for all of them.

They decided on one of their favorite restaurants about an hour outside of London near the beautiful, green countryside. ***

It was a family-owned Italian establishment with outside seating on the patio. The tables were filled but Harry always managed to squeeze himself into a non-existent reservation with his charm (and wallet).

When they’re escorted onto the deck, Ivy had Harry hitched up on his hip and wriggles her into her wooden high-chair with little difficulty - she had just woken up from a nap and was in a seemingly okay mood.

Y/N notices a few pairs of eyes watching them from the table close to theirs but decided that she was just being paranoid. And if she brought it up to Harry she knows he’d immediately tell them to fuck off and mind their business. 

They get Ivy settled with her favorite little sensory book and her plush baby doll ***, as they look at the menu, “I’m so hungry,” Y/N grumbles, unable to decide what she wants to eat, Ivy literally running her around all day with no time for refueling.

“Me too, y’didn’t let me finish my meal earlier,” Harry murmurs cheekily, looking at his wife over his menu with a raised eyebrow, “Guess I’ll just have to wait for dessert.”

“Baba’s asleep, she was out as soon as her head hit the pillow,” Harry tells his wife, trotting in their bedroom. He’s already stripping the shirt off his head and wriggling his running shorts down his narrow hips.

Y/N’s laying on the bed, too distracted by her romance novel to notice Harry’s actions - well until he yanks at her ankles until her bum skids towards the end of the bed, she lets out a surprise yelp at her husband’s strength.

He plucks the book from her hands and tosses it to the floor with a thump. His hands are hurriedly reaching to pull down her shorts and panties with impatience at having his wife bare before him.

“Someone’s a bit horny,” Y/N teases, raising her hips to let him slide them down before they join the book on the floor. He ducks down to bite at the soft skin of her hip bone, suckling a dark mark there in ownership.

“Have y’seen yourself, pet?” Harry replies lowly, unable to help himself as he dips down and swipes a long, languid lip up her center with no warning. It has her moaning and pushing herself into his mouth.

“We don’t have long, H. Need you in me,” His wife whines, pulling him up by his hair until he’s slipping his tongue right into her mouth, wasting no time to hike her hips up around his waist and pushing in with one strong, directive thrust.

Y/N blushes and darts her eyes back down to the menu, “If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you.”

Harry laughs, eyes wrinkling around the corners, “Y’know even when I’m not good, y’let me.”

It was very very true.

“Oops!” Ivy squeals when her doll falls to the ground. It was one of the new words she’s finally understood in context and it’s unbelievably cute to hear her high, little squeaky voice.

“S’alright, here you go bab,” Harry titters, reaching down to toss it back onto the table for his daughter. She looked so fucking adorable tonight in what Y/N had dressed her in a little Gucci jean jacket with matching jeans. ***

Ivy manages to keep herself pretty occupied until she needs a diaper change. The meals had just arrived, steaming hot and smelling like heaven, but Y/N slings their diaper bag over her shoulder and totes the baby off to the bathroom.

Harry watches them, like the protector he is until they make it to the bathroom safely. He can sense eyes on him (the same group Y/N thought was watching) but unlike his wife, Harry makes eye contact with the table who were staring directly at his wife and then him.

“Can I fuckin’ help you?” Harry asks bluntly, not hesitating to stare down every single person at the table. He didn't want anyone staring at them, staring at Y/N, staring at Ivy. He wanted to enjoy his dinner in peace with his family. He assumed they probably worked for him.

They avert their gaze from the intense man, acting nonchalantly and sipping at their glasses filled with wine as if they weren’t just staring at them. It makes Harry scoff loudly enough so that they can hear it.

When Y/N appears back with Ivy and attempts to plop her back into her seat, her limbs go wiggly and her eyebrow knits with refusal, letting out little kicks, “No mummy, no!”

“Baby, we’ve got to eat now. How ‘bout after we’re done?” Y/N hums in her daughter’s ear, attempting to steady the toddler’s legs to slide into the slots of the chair. 

Y/N knew it was going to be a struggle since Y/N told Ivy she couldn’t have the big stuffed animal that was in the gift shop on the way to the bathroom.

“Mummy! Don’t wanna!” Ivy protests loudly, her face pinched with her terrible twos anger as she squirms and twists in her mother’s grip.

“S’okay, give her to me,” Harry tells his wife, taking Ivy in his lap. She smiles with deep dimples up at her father before going to reach her little fingers into his pasta. “No, Ivy. S’hot, it’s goin’ to burn you.”

Ivy pulls her brows together, decidedly not liking what her dad had to say, because she’s reaching out once again. “Ivy, daddy said ‘no’. Be a good girl and listen.”

“Mine.” Oh god, her favorite word at the moment.

“Ivy Elizabeth, s’not yours. S’daddy’s. Mummy ordered you chicken, which she very nicely cut up for you. You need to eat that, lovie,” Harry uses a bit of a firmer voice with the little girl, pulling her plate of cubed of food over.

“Here, bub,” Y/N takes a small piece, bringing it up to her daughter’s full lips. Only to be met with a hand batting it away until it’s being flung limply to the wood floor with a screech.

“No, want that,” Ivy huffs, once again reaching for her father’s steaming plate. She’s nearly close to getting her finger into the burning sauce so Harry has to scoot his chair out a bit so she can’t reach it anymore.

The parents give each other a knowing look because of what is surely about to come. The baby was struggling with being told ‘no’ as of late, as well as claiming nearly everything as ‘mine’. Tantrums were in their prime right now and they thought the pre-dinner nap would have helped.

Spoiler Alert: It doesn’t.

When Ivy realizes she’s no longer able to reach the food, she furrows her brow and pulls back her little fist, hitting at her father’s shoulder. It wasn’t often she tried to hit, likely because most times it landed her on the step for two minutes, but it’s like she knew they couldn’t do that here.

“Ivy,” Harry takes her small hands between his, “We do not hit, do you understand Daddy? S’not nice. If you can’t behave, you’re not getting ice cream before we go home.”

At that point, the little girl would normally calm down a bit and readjust because she really loved ice cream but it didn’t do anything to quell her anger tonight. She shakes her head, curly hair bouncing, before the tears start rolling.

“Should we just get this to go?” Y/N asks, knowing that the whole restaurant doesn’t want to hear the sobbing baby throwing a fit over not being able to dig her hands into her father’s dinner plate. 

“Probably best,” Harry grunts when Ivy wriggles and twists in her father’s grip with a frustrated whine, “She’s not goin’ to settle.”

“Down, let me down!” Ivy demands against her father’s grip, like she’s the one running the show. 

“Here, give her to me,” Y/N mutters, wrangling the toddler into a tight hold while Harry gets the waiter’s attention to get take away boxes and the check. He’s pulling out his wallet to slide out his black amex and put it on the table.

“Ivy, I’m going to put you down so I can get the diaper bag and your toys. Are you going to stay right next to mummy?” Y/N asks her daughter firmly, making sure her daughter’s little green eyes are meeting hers. 

Ivy nods but as soon as her feet hit the solid ground, she lets out a giggle and dashes from beside her mother. She doesn’t get very far because she’s running straight into the legs of another patron and tumbling on her bum.

She’s not at all hurt but takes it as an advantage to throw herself onto the floor, screaming and tears - the whole dramatic show because she’s not getting her way and well....she’s a two year old - that’s all the reason she needs, right?

Harry’s in full dad mode now, “I’ll get her to the car. Y’got this, love?”

Y/N nods, sighing at the loss of their nice dinner as her daughter has all eyes directed on their family - the last thing she wanted to happen. But she just focuses on shoveling the still hot foot into the plastic containers to take home.

“S’enough of that, Ivy. This isn’t how we act, hmm?” Harry hums, pulling his daughter off the floor and into his arms  - “What’s gotten into you, bug?”

Ivy sniffles, knuckling at her wet eyes,  “Home, daddy.”

“We’re taking you home, don’t you worry,” Harry chuckles, smiling softly when she tucks her head into the crook of his neck, thumb finding her lips. His large palm came to rub at her back and bounce her lightly.

When Y/N finally gets everything together, one of the waitresses - an older woman, stops by the table, “How old is your daughter?”

Y/N smiles, “Just turned two a month ago.”

The grey lady has a kind, knowing grin on her face, “What an age, huh? She looks like a little replica of your husband.”

The girl laughs, they can’t go anywhere without hearing that from someone, “Oh, believe me. They have the same attitude too,” She jokes, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

“I wish you two luck. Two is a very hard age, I have five kids of my own. Just appreciate it, even though the tantrums are a pain in the arse,” She says, patting Y/N on the shoulder before heading back to a table who was waiting on her.

---

Both the parents were frustrated, more so than they usually are with Ivy’s tantrums. They thought she’d simmer down once they’d gotten home but it had just revved up again when she realized she really wasn’t getting any ice cream.

“Shouldn’t have even promised her ice cream in the first place,” Y/N mutters with frustration as they stand near the staircase. Ivy sat on the step for two minutes in timeout, kicking her little feet against the marble.

“Right, because I knew she’d decide to have tantrums all night,” Harry shoots back, matching his wife’s tone. The screaming was echoing through the house, high-pitched and it just made you want to cover your ears from it.

Y/N rolls his eyes at him, motioning towards their daughter, “Well, this is your doing because you reminded her that she wasn’t getting it. You deal with it, I’m going to shower.”

“You’re not doing much to help anyways,” Harry hisses, their voices both low so that their daughter doesn’t hear - not like she would over the screaming match she’s having with herself. 

They rarely fought to be honest. This wasn’t even a fight - really. It was hard raising a two year old and they were learning as they went along. The couple was good at communication and working through their problems most of the time.

“I’m not doing much to help?” Y/N asks in disbelief, “Then if I’m no help at all, why don’t you put her down for bed? You don’t need me, obviously.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her, his hand gripping the railing with a hard grip, “Don’t go twistin’ my words, that’s not what I said. Now you’re just lookin’ for a fight.”

“Yeah, because on top of a fussy two year old - I want to deal with a childish husband. I’m surprised you're not on the stairs, cryin’ about ice cream too with how you’re acting,” Y/N laughs - the sound crawling under Harry’s skin with irritation at her fake carefree attitude when she’s just as annoyed as him.

“You’re being an even bigger brat than our daughter right now,” Harry tells her, trying to keep his voice at a low volume but it comes out louder than intended. He felt himself straighten up and kept direct eye contact with his wife.

Y/N’s lips form into a tight line before gritting out, “Do not raise your voice at me. We agreed that no matter how frustrated we got we wouldn’t do that in front of our daughter.”

“Then don’t act so immature, ever think of tha’?” Harry bites, hating the he hears his work voice being directed at his wife when he never wants that. 

“How am I being immature? You promised her something that she didn’t get, then reminded her that she’s not getting it. I’m allowed to be frustrated with you!” Y/N whisper-shouts, Ivy is now distracted by taking her little shoes off and watching them tumble down the stairs.

“I have so many better things I could be doing right now than stand here and fight with you over our daughter having a stupid tantrum. I’ll be in my office,” Harry replies, because when he doesn’t know what to do and refuses to admit he’s wrong - he falls back to his best excuse, work.

And he automatically regrets it when he sees a flash of hurt cross his wife’s face. Harry wants to swallow back those words and wrap his wife up into a hug. Never wanting to make her feel like his work is worth more of his time.

Deep down, they both know she knows that it’s not the truth but in the midst of the fight it doesn’t sting any less. He opens his mouth to apologize, to tell her that he’d rather put their daughter to bed together any night than be in his office.

But he can tell she’s already past the point of being pissed when she replies calmly, “I’ll put our baby to bed. Go work on whatever is more important than us, Mr. Styles.”

Harry wants to reach out and grab at her arm, tug her into his chest, and murmur in her hair how much he loves her more than anything. He said that because he knows it’s hurtful and it’s his only way to win an argument with her.

However, she’s moving up the stairs, scooping the somewhat calmed down baby into her arms and trudging up  without another look at her still brooding husband.

Harry hears Ivy shout back down the stairs, “Daddy, come on!” 

He hears his wife tell his daughter, “Daddy’s too busy with work, Ivy. S’just mummy.”

But that has Harry absolutely fuming, storming up the stairs after then, “Do not make it seem like I’m ever too busy for my daughter. That’s completely uncalled for, Y/N.”

Y/N doesn’t turn back to face him, instead keeps walking, and says with a monotone voice, “Oh, but you just said you had better things to be doing than dealing with your family. So go take care of your work, hot shot. I’ll take care of our daughter.”

“Why are you making it seem like I put my work before Ivy? I’ve literally never let that happen and you know that. You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion because Ivy’s been having tantrums and you can’t put on your big girl pants and deal with them.”

That’s when Y/N spins around on her heel, letting Ivy down and encouraging her to go play in her room for a little before bedtime. Her face is turning red - which rarely happens unless they’re really about to get in an argument. 

“Big girl pants? Really, I’m at home dealing with her tantrums twenty-four seven. You get to come home from work and only deal with it half on the time. Do not act like you know how stressful it is to stay at home with a toddler in their terrible twos all day.”

“Do not act like it’s harder than running a multi-billion pound business,” Harry scoffs, his voice becoming lower with frustration with an argument that was going nowhere. He had a cocky lift to his voice that made her want to scream.

“Oh, because it’s so difficult half the time?  Last week, you got to go on your private jet to Paris for three days for business aka dinner and golfing while I sat at home alone!” Y/N raises her voice, angry tears forming over her lids.

“Sat in our 35 million pound house with a pool, playground, plenty of shops in town, unlimited money doesn’t sound like a hardship, love,” Harry replies, jaw clenching but his fingers itching to brush the tears away.

“You know what? It’s Sunday tomorrow. I’m going out. You watch her for the whole fucking day and see how easy it is. For now, enjoy the guest room,” Y/N spits out, storming down the hall to Ivy’s room to get her ready for bed.

“With pleasure,” He tells her, retreating back into his office and slamming the door. He wasn’t a fucking inadequate father. 

He never put work before his family. He knew it wasn’t easy being at home and as soon as he sat his arse in his leather chair - he realized what a douchebag he was being to his stressed out wife. 

Harry didn’t want to sleep in the guest room, he wanted to be spooned up next to his wife, whispering apologies for letting the stress of the week get to him. Remind her what an amazing partner and mum she is to him. How lucky he is.

The issue was - Harry had pride issues. He wasn’t one to admit defeat even when he should. He thrived on challenges so he was eager to show his wife that he’d have no problem taking on his terrible twos daughter.

He sneaks into his daughter’s room after she’s fast asleep in her crib, checking on her to make sure she’s okay before hesitantly entering their bedroom where his wife is fast asleep but a pile of clean clothes for him on the floor tells him she was serious about him sleeping in the guest room.

It was torture, not being able to be in the same bed as his wife. The love of his life. He thought about it multiple times - going in and groveling but his stubborn brain wouldn’t allow it. After such a long week, he was looking forward to sleeping in and his head hit the pillow in no time.

--

“Rise and shine,” His wife's voice wakes him up, it wasn’t with her normally cheery tone but with the same irritation as the night before. She definitely hadn’t magically forgiven him yet - dammit. Her voice is nearly drowned out by a fussy curly-haired baby.

“Wha’s wrong?” Harry grunts, sitting up to see Ivy still in her pajamas with sheet wrinkles across her face. Skin pink and warm from her nice, peaceful sleep. 

However, she decided to wake up today with a massive chip on her shoulder.

“Ivy’s upset because she can’t find her ballerina doll,” Y/N replies.

 Harry notices she is already fully dressed *** and made up for the day. “Might want to get up and help her find it. I’m heading out  like we agreed on.”

“Fine,” Harry replies with a tight lip, rubbing his eyes as he’s still half asleep. “Y’look pretty.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replies nonchalantly, leaning over to kiss Ivy on the forehead, “I’ll see you later bug, I love you.”

Ivy looks at her mother in betrayal as she leaves Harry to manage their little ball of fury. He tries to tug her in for a big, warm hug but she shrieks and screams at her father, “Ballerina!”

“Ssh, okay. We’ll go look for y’ballerina, dove. No need to yell, s’too early,” Harry grumbles, sitting up and automatically being pulled by the hand off the bed to search for this doll that could be anywhere in this thousands upon thousands of square foot home.

After extensive searches, Harry realizes that he’d left it on the roof of the car when he was tucking her into her carseat last night. The cute little plush doll is now mostly likely roadkill on the country stretch.

“Ivy, y’literally got a whole room dedicated to stuffed animals and dolls. Let’s go pick somethin’ from there, yes?” Harry tries, his daughter’s arms crossed and glaring at Harry like he had just killed her hopes and dreams.

“No! No!” The toddler absolutely wails, plopping her little diaper-clad bum on the ground before kicking her feet against the marble. She had herself worked up until her cheeks were cherry red and tears were staining her shirt.

Harry couldn’t lie - he’d only been watching her for about two hours and he was starting to feel anxiety creep up in his throat over what to do. It wasn’t that he couldn’t parent her, but it was a lot of crying and he hated seeing her upset.

“Why don’t we go eat some breakfast? Does that sound good, lovie?” Harry offers hopefully, having to contain a laugh at how much she looks like him when he’s angry. The little crease between her eyes, the green in her eyes sparkling a little darker than usual.

Her eyes peek up at her father, “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry sighs in relief, scrubbing at hand down his face, taking her into the kitchen, strapping her in the highchair before whipping up some cheesy eggs for her.

When he puts down the plate in front of her, he has to say she’s surprised when she slaps it off the tray and onto the floor, spilling everywhere. “No, want mummy’s breakfast.”

Her father looks at her with a comically bewildered expression before turning on his dad voice, “We do not throw things on the ground. Do you understand me, Ivy Elizabeth?”

Her full little lips are drawn into a tight pout as she tosses her baby fork on the ground to join the still warm eggs in a heap.  

“Mummy’s breakfast.”

The scolding goes in one ear and out the other, she doesn’t acknowledge her father but continues on her demands.

He caves after trying to no avail to decipher what ‘mummy’s breakfast’ means.

Ivy threw her eggs on the ground. She’s demanding mummy’s breakfast.

She’s hated eggs for the past two weeks now. Vanilla yogurt with diced strawberries and blueberries in her red baby bowl.

He does as she says, arranges a nice little bowl of yogurt with the fruit. He couldn’t find the red bowl so he substituted for a blue one. 

It results in the yogurt also being smacked to the ground. 

She threw that on the ground too.

Did you put it in a red bowl?

I couldn’t find it, just put it in a blue bowl

She only wants to eat breakfast out of red bowls right now

Harry groans, he didn’t know his daughter was this difficult about breakfast time. He was usually gone by the time she’d woken up for the day. Y/N usually let him sleep in a bit on the weekends until ten or so.

After digging for the specific red bowl, doing up her breakfast again - Ivy happily begins eating until it drips down her sleep clothes, rubbed all over her cheeks, and it even manages up in her tangled locks.

“S’that just so yummy, Vee?” Harry hums after she’s finished. “Looks like it’s bath time.”

He really should have guessed at this point when she shakes her head and squeaks, “No!”

“Yes, s’bathtime,” Harry says sternly, traipsing upstairs with the wriggling toddler who is doing everything in her power to fight against her father’s hold. 

“No, no, no. Ballerina,” Ivy brings it up again, making it a near impossible task for Harry to wrangle her out of her clothes and diaper. 

While he’s running the bath, she darts from the bathroom and through the hallways, right towards the grand staircase where the baby gate isn’t closed. Harry really really didn’t want to yell at his daughter but she could seriously get hurt.

“Ivy Elizabeth Styles, if you don’t get your little bum over to Daddy right now, you’re going on the step and y’not having playtime at all,” Harry orders loudly, but breathing a sigh of relief when his daughter skids in her tracks to a halt.

The little girl turns on her heels, eyes wide in fright at her dad’s raised voice - which rarely ever happened unless she really wasn’t listening. She begins to cry but not in her now typical anger-induced haze but in a legitimate sad wail.

His heart aches as his daughter toddles obediently back over to him with her little head hung low in regret, “Daddy, hold me?”

Harry can’t deny her so he scoops her up into the crook of his arm, “M’sorry for yellin’, bug. But y’need to be good for Daddy? You could have gotten really hurt and that would have made Daddy sad, okay?”

Her eyes are watery as she looks up at him, her hand curling around his neck before burying her still yogurt-sticky face into his skin, hiccuping with sad whines, “Sad Daddy.”

“Mhm, now are you going to be nice and get a bath f’me? Y’dirty, bubby,” Harry smiles down at her to brighten back up her mood and it works because her dimples pop out of her cheeks and she flashes her small blocky baby teeth.

Ivy surprisingly does well in the bathtub, allowing her father to get her all cleaned up until she accidentally opens her eyes and gets baby soap in them, it’s another round of tears that cannot be controlled.

Harry totes the sobbing toddler into a cute little Moschino onesie and brings her into their bedroom. He’s so fucking exhausted and it was barely noon. His stress level was near a hundred as he couldn’t keep her from being pissed off for more than twenty minutes at a time.

Luckily, it seems like the screaming and crying for the last how many hours had taken a toll on her because as soon as she sprawled on her stomach on Harry’s chest, she’s out like a light. The cutest small snores coming from her as she smacks her lips together while she dreams.

He gives her a few minutes to fall into a deeper sleep before tiptoeing her into her nursery and laying her very carefully into her crib. She doesn’t wake, just whimpers softly and turns on her side, away from her father.

When he’s sure she’ll be okay, he goes back into their bedroom, and well...he just breathes. He didn’t realize how high his anxiety had been up to this point and his whole morning had been nothing but trying to get his daughter calm. He didn’t even have one moment to think about himself.

It really wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Y/N being a stay at home mum - of course, he did. He already knew how bloody amazing and strong she was as a person, he didn’t need this to prove what he already knew. It was his stubbornness to not decline a challenge and they both knew that was the case.

Y/N really didn’t think that Harry doubted her abilities. He nearly spent most of his days telling her how proud he was of her and her abilities as a partner and mum. It doesn’t mean it didn’t sting when he brought up his job compared to hers.

Harry’s in his own world of thoughts that he doesn’t notice a figure leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, “You got everything under control, H?”

His eyes darted up to meet his wife’s, “Not really. She’s a little terror,” He jokes (kind of).

“It’s easy compared to your job, right?” Y/N asks but it’s obviously rhetorical. She drops a few shopping bags on the floor before leaning down to unstrap her high heels, kicking them off along with throwing off the blazer to the floor.

“I never said your job was easy. Y’puttin’ words in my mouth,” Harry argues, sitting up straight and moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No, you’re right. It’s just not as hard as your job,” Y/N huffs, unbuttoning the tight jeans and shucking them off her thighs. She didn’t have any idea what she was doing to him right now, his mouth nearly watering when her thighs jiggle a bit.

“You’re right, it’s not as hard as my job,” Harry replies, studying his wife’s face when she looks up in surprise - that he was really going to take the fight that far.

“Wow, you re-”

“It’s not as hard as my job, it’s harder,” Harry murmurs, reaching out to pull his wife to stand between his legs, her looking down at him with her hands on his shoulders. “

What I’m doin’ is nothin’ compared to your job. Y’raising our little baby, shaping her into a good person, spending every moment of y’day with her, giving up a lot of who you are for her. That’s more difficult than what I do any day.”

“Har-”

“M’sorry, lovie. Y’know I think you’re the most amazing mum and wife. You do everything for the baba and I. I shouldn’t have taken my anger from my week out on you yesterday and then said the things that I did,” Harry apologizes, his face sincere and open as he leans forward to nuzzle at his wife’s stomach.

When her hands come to run through his unruly locks, he knows he’s forgiven, “I appreciate how hard you work too. I really do, H. You’re the best husband and daddy to Ivy we could ask for. I’m sorry I took my frustration out on you as well.”

“Do you ever feel like I put work before you or Ivy?” Harry asks softly against her thin tank top, his hands come to massage at her full hips. There was a hint of insecurity in his tone that made Y/N’s heart sink a bit.

“No, I really don’t. I was just...I was just upset and I knew that would upset you. I’m sorry, baby,” Y/N murmurs softly, leaning down to kiss at the top of his head.

“Y’going to let me show you how sorry I am, how good of a wife and mum you are?” Harry drawls, his hands going to tug up the fabric of her top and humming appreciatively when she lifts her arms to let him do so.

“Yeah, remind why I married your crabby ass,” Y/N teases playfully, reaching behind herself to let her bra fall down to the crooks of her elbows before tossing it to the floor with everything else. As she’s doing that, Harry takes it upon himself to shimmy off her panties.

“Y’sayin’ you just married me ‘cause I fuck you good?” Harry grunts, standing up suddenly and pulling her up into his arms until her legs are wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck.

“Mmm, mostly. Also for your bank account was pretty good-looking too,” She lies blatantly but he still rewards her with a bruising kiss to her lips as he backs her against the wall so he can use one hand to tug down his running shorts.

“I’d still have married you, best decision I’ve ever made,” Harry says, sobering up from their playfulness. He slows down to be careful as he slides up into her warm heat, her head falling back with a thud against the wall.

“Harry,” She moans approvingly, heels of her feet digging into his backside to goad him into moving faster, “Right there.”

“So bloody in love with you. Please tell me y’know that baby, c’mon, tell me,” Harry begs, leaning down to smear kisses against her collarbone.

“I know, H. You’re so good to me, I love you,” Y/N whines and Harry knows that whine like the back of his hand, she needs more. He reaches down to rub tight, rough circles against her swollen bud until she’s tensing and coming.

“You feel so good, every single time. Don’t know how you do it, s’like you were made just for me,” Harry chokes out, stuttering and coming with his lips suckling a deep spot onto her breast as he rides it out.

After they redress and are cuddled on the bed, murmuring sweet little apologizes and affirmations of love, they interrupted by an angry squeak from the baby monitor - signaling their daughter’s woken up.

“Ballerina!”

hope you enjoyed. please inbox me what you think, like, reblog.

[sugawarassoulmate]

by the scruff of your knee socks

happy birthday, suna 🥺🖤

“just pull out, babe, we’ll be fine,” you suggest knowing that it’s no use. suna, as hard as it is to resist you sometimes, refuses to fuck you raw when you forget to take your pill. it’s one part precaution and the other punishment for being so forgetful.

despite your pleading eyes, suna reaches to the nightstand beside your bed and finds the nearly forgotten box of condoms. your face contorts and a pout forms on your lips but suna simply shrugs his shoulders. “you know the rules, bunny.”

words: 2.1k

cw: fem!reader, timeskip!suna, vaginal penetration, breeding kink, degradation, name calling, dumbification, slight dacryphilia, unprotected sex, me overusing italics, minors dni

It wasn’t often that the two of you had so much time to spend with one another. Between your grad school course load and his hectic training schedule, there was barely time to breathe let alone be intimate.

But here you were, grinding on your boyfriend’s lap dressed only in one of his t-shirts and your panties. School was in recess and Suna had the next few days off to rest at home and the two of you were hellbent on getting the most out of them. The movie Suna was watching had been long forgotten the second you pounced on him in bed. His hands reach for your soft skin, nails digging into you to set your pace above him. As lazy as Suna is, he’s always eager to take control when you’re like this.

“Missed this,” he says in between kisses, feeling your smile against his lips. “Been so long since I’ve been in that pretty pussy.”

He chuckles when he hears your little whimpers, “Riiiin”. He could tell how bad you wanted this too. But as things start getting more intense, you pull away for a second, a blank expression crossing your face for a brief moment before a sudden realization hits you. Suna’s completely lost.

“What’s wrong, bunny?” he asks, sudden concern growing.

You fumble with the hem of Suna’s shirt, averting your eyes away from him. “Ahhh,” you let out. A low hum coming out of your mouth as you try to form words.

Suna takes his hand that was originally rubbing circles on your thigh and brings it to your jaw, forcing you to meet his golden eyes. The embarrassment on your face is noticeable — you must’ve done something wrong.

“Use your words,” Suna says strictly. “What’s wrong?”

You fell into his touch, another whine leaving your lips. “Don’t be mad,”

Suna’s brows furrowed. “Why would I be mad, baby?”

“I might have forgotten to take my birth control,” you blurt out. “…again.”

Your boyfriend let out a frustrated groan. Suna loved you more than anyone else in the world. The two of you accepted each other’s faults: you were a morning person (not by choice really, but morning classes were a thing) and Suna liked to sleep in during his days off, you were a stickler for always being on-time whereas Suna didn’t mind he showed up 20 minutes late to an event. You two weren’t perfect but you loved each other in spite of these minor setbacks. But if there was one thing Suna could change about you, it would definitely be your forgetfulness.

If something wasn’t in your line of sight, it was almost like it didn’t even exist. You’d leave your keys by the door and end up locked out of the apartment and he couldn’t even begin to count how many umbrellas you’ve lost because you left them at school or your job or on the subway car. And, of course, there was your birth control. You’d forget a pill every now and then, often having to double up in order to stay on track. But sometimes, usually when Suna was away from home for days at a time, you’d just stop taking it completely and when he’d call you out on it, it was always the same excuse — “I just don’t see a reason to take it when we’re not having sex”

This wouldn’t be that big of a deal if you didn’t bitch every time Suna fucked you with a condom on. You liked feeling Suna’s cum on you. He remembers the first time few times you had sex and the way you’d whine for him to release on you — your back, stomach, face, tits, ass. It didn’t matter to you, you just wanted to feel him — Suna would have to rush to throw the rubber off before he came to meet your needy requests. 

But then Suna fucked you raw for the first time — it was about a year ago when you had visited him during practice and got to formally meet his teammates. One of them got a little too handsy with you which naturally resulted in Suna fucking you in the locker room. He cursed himself for not carrying protection with him but you, already growing dumb from his cock, begged for him to cum inside and who was he to say no? 

That momentary lapse in judgment cost Suna a trip to the pharmacy to get you a Plan B. After that, you immediately went on the pill to avoid any possible pregnancy scares and for the most part, it was great.

Until your scatterbrained memory landed you in a situation like this.

“Just pull out, babe, we’ll be fine,” you suggest knowing that it’s no use. Suna, as hard as it is to resist you sometimes, refuses to fuck you raw when you forget to take your pill. It’s one part precaution and the other punishment for being so forgetful.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to have kids with you — it’s quite the opposite. The thought of you waddling around, swollen with his child has replayed in his mind dozens of times. Each time he fills you up with his seed, a dark part of himself hopes the birth control fails and you’ll show up with a positive pregnancy test in hand. But he pushes those thoughts aside because now isn’t the best time. Your education and his volleyball career are top priority right now. 

It’ll happen someday — you and Suna are finally planning on moving out of the apartment and looking for that “forever home” (which Suna thinks is corny but he’ll do anything to please you) and he started looking at engagement rings last week with Aran (“finally,” Aran said when he heard the news) The life you two have built together was going to change rapidly in the oncoming months but none of it included a baby right now. 

Despite your pleading eyes, Suna reaches to the nightstand beside your bed and finds the nearly forgotten box of condoms. Your face contorts and a pout forms on your lips but Suna simply shrugs his shoulders. 

“You know the rules, bunny.”

The frustrated whines that Suna’s come to know in situations like this begin to start. You cross your arms, watching him fiddle with the wrapper. He offers a word of comfort but you brush him off, scoffing which makes Suna grab at your waist forcing you closer to him. His fingers dig into your skin.

“Don’t get all bitchy with me,” Suna growls, slapping your thighs when you try to squirm out of his grasp. “We can stop if you don’t want me to fuck you.”

But it’s been weeks since you felt Suna’s fat cock in you and you’re just so goddamn needy for him. You furiously shake your head and reach forward to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as possible.

Suna cooed, patronizing you as he finally ripped off the foil and rolled the condom on his aching cock. “My needy little brat wants it bad, doesn’t she?” he forces you to look at him again, waiting for you to nod. “That’s what I thought. Why don’t you be a good little girl and ride my cock, hm?”

And as you sinked yourself down onto his cock, you realize how desperate you were for him. “Ahhhh-” He was right, you did want this bad. It was embarrassing how wet you were despite him barely touching you but after being together for so long, it was hard getting off without him.

Slowly, Suna fills you up to the brim and he waits to give you time to adjust, lifting your shirt up and ghosting his fingertips over your nipples, making you squirm even more. “Bounce for me, pretty girl,” a harsh slap hits your skin. “Maybe then I’ll touch you.” He leans back against the headrest, smug grin on his face, waiting for you to get to work.

You huff in frustration but start moving anyways, using him to get your own pleasure. He refuses to touch you but allows you to wrap your arms around him as leverage. You try your best to start slow, wanting to drag it out as much as possible to drive him insane but your own neediness works against you. It isn’t long before you build a steady pace riding his cock.

Even with the barrier between you two, Suna can feel how wet you are and he loved it so much. Such a good girl you can be when you listen to him. He wanted so badly to feel all of you but you just had to be forgetful. Taking some pity on you, Suna reaches out to cup your cheek. As expected, you lean into his touch.

Always so receptive. He thinks rubbing his thumb along your bottom lip, you allow him entrance letting him open your mouth. My sweet little brat. Suna sits up, forcing himself deeper inside of you. “Ah! Rin!” The sudden intrusion breaks your concentration causing your hips to stutter. Hands suddenly dig into your hips holding you in place. His golden eyes staring at you condescendingly. “Want me to make you cum, bunny?” Suna thrusts his hips upward, knocking the wind from you. “Wanna cum on my cock, yeah?”

But the words couldn’t reach your lips, only a fervent nod which makes your boyfriend swell with pride. “Fucked you dumb, didn’t I?” picking up the pace, Suna has you properly bouncing on him now. His lips biting down on your skin in between his words. “Can’t even form a sentence, huh?”

And nothing — there isn’t a thought in your pretty head. Suna’s mean words don’t even bother you. The only things that matter is Suna’s fat cock stretching your walls and the feeling in the pit of your stomach growing with each thrust. You weren’t going to last very long and Suna could tell. 

In one swift motion, Suna shifted your bodies around so he was on top of you quite literally fucking you into the mattress. “Cum, bunny. Make a mess for me.” And it was all you needed to hear, holding onto him as you cum and gushing around his cock just like he wanted.

Your walls clamp down him even more now and Suna moves even harder, fucking you despite your sensitivity. He can feel your small fists pushing him away but he knows you don’t mean it — he loves it when you fight against him, only makes him want it to hurt even more.

“Fuck, where you do want me to cum, bunny?” he asks, his own release fastly approaching. “Your tummy? Your face?”

But you shake your head, whimpering as the tension starts to build up inside you again. “In me,” is all you say before a particularly hard thrust cuts you off.

“Bunny-” Suna starts knowing full well why he can’t do that for you but then you start bitching again, whining and crying and begging for him to cum inside you. Pushing him away, acting like a complete brat — “Give it to me, please. I want, I want, I want…”

And Suna comes to a full stop, pulling out of you. “You ungrateful, little bitch,” he spits out. “So desperate for my cum when it’s your fault I can’t give it to you.”

“I don’t care,” you cry, reaching up to touch him. “Rin, I don’t care…” 

And he shouldn’t give into your whines. You’ve been such a dumb, forgetful little brat. You should be lucky he even let you cum. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to fill you up. It’s the only way he can be truly satisfied. One look at your dripping cunt, clenching around nothing and Suna’s reaching down, ripping the condom off his cock. 

“Want it that bad, huh?” he asks going balls deep with no warning, relishing in your screams. “What a cum-dump little bitch you are.”

Suna’s words are so mean and it makes you clench down hard around him. You’re getting what you wanted and he’s going to make sure it hurts. But you know he’s not going to last long, it’s only when he’s about to cum does he get like this — he wanted it just as bad.

The pace he set starts wavering, his hips moving sloppily as he reaches his high but it doesn’t soften his words. “It’s almost like you’re trying to trap me,” he says. “Want me to fuck a baby into you, hm? Fine.”

And like always, Suna grunts when he cums breathing heavily against your neck. He pulls out, slowly this time, and rolls over to pull you into his chest. You grimace when you feel his cum dribbling out of you. 

“Don’t whine about it now,” he teases, kissing the side of your face. “Was I too rough?”

He always has to ask — just to make sure.

“Never,” you assure and Suna hums with content.