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sports-on-sundays · 6 hours

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lucky strike / CL16

Summary: Charles x American!female!reader - F1 comes to Sin City and you unexpectedly run into a certain someone.

Warnings: gambling, alcohol, cussing, use of pet names (A LOT), flirting, one moment of implied jealousy

Requested?: Sort of! Thank you to everyone who voted for Charles in the poll!

Author's Note: Charles won out in the poll, so here you go, everybody! (Of course I HAD to use The Charles Vegas Podium Picture). Also, I listened to Lucky Strike by Maroon 5 while writing.

one in a million ; my lucky strike

Well, you thought the whole F1 thing was absolutely ridiculous. You couldn't care an ounce less about Formula 1, so you certainly weren't happy about all the complications of it coming to your city.

You would call yourself an all American girl, and you're proud of it. If any racing, NASCAR. Football is the sport with the brown ball you throw- NFL, not the white and black ball you kick. That's soccer. You have the greatest food, the greatest mix of cultures, the greatest weather. If you didn't know better, you'd say you have the greatest country, too.

You watched a Formula 1 race when you realized the whole Las Vegas Grand Prix thing was actual, and when you saw that (firstly) it was honestly pretty boring, and (secondly) the only American driver is basically the most sucky one, you decided it would be pretty hard to get into it.

You're a Vegas girl, and you're proud of it. You're actually from Los Angeles, California, but you moved to Vegas to chase your dreams and live the life you dreamed of a year ago with your boyfriend, and it was so worth it.

Now you identify yourself with Vegas even more than you do with the Los Angeles Rams, despite the fact that your boyfriend broke up with you seven months ago and left to go be a prodigal son in New York City.

You decided Vegas was perfect enough for your clever hand, and you'd continue to be a prodigal daughter right where you're at.

But now the Grand Prix is the newest thing, and you don't like it at all. All these people flooding in, like as if there's not already enough people. Just to watch some cars drive around in circles, closing up main roads? No, you're not into it.

Your girl friends all seem to think this is just the best thing, and you discuss it across the table with two of them. One says, "Honestly, the McLaren duo are the hottest."

"No way- Ferrari! Have you seen Charles Leclerc?" your other friend disagrees.

You snort in disbelief and say sarcastically, "How about neither? So you guys only care about this because the racers are hot? Give me a break."

"Well," one of your friends starts, crossing her arms across her chest, "They are hot. At first, I wasn't so sure, but, I mean, come on! Maybe we could get glimpses of them when they're in Vegas!"

"Or meet them!" your other friend pipes in.

You scoff. "Good luck with that. Aren't these guys self-focused millionaires with too much money for their own good? Probably all greedy idiots who hook up with every half-sexy girl who comes along. So if you're into that, sure, waste your time trying to meet some hot plutocrats, with the one percent chance you might get f*cked like crazy for a night before they forget about you and move back to their mansions across the world! F*ck, is race car driving even a real sport? It's f*cking driving cars. I could do that!"

Your friends don't really argue with you, because you're right. And clearly, they do only care about the hot racers, because you figure any real fan of the sport would argue with you.

Two days before the Strip is supposed to be closed up for the Grand Prix, you find yourself submerged in the vibrant energy of Wynn Las Vegas, the dazzling lights and sounds of the casino floor swirling around you. The scent of alcohol lingers in the air, a reminder of the drinks you've indulged in throughout the night.

You slip between two people to reach the roulette wheel, holding your newly bought chips, with money you've earned earlier in the night.

Bets are placed around the table over and over, as you earn more and more chips. You feel someone nudge your shoulder, and a cocky male voice comments next to you, "You're having a good night, huh?"

"Every night is a good night," you remark back, not even glancing up at the man talking with you. He seems to have some sort of accent that you can't place. Perhaps French?

Which means he's probably from Louisiana. Possibly Quebec.

Probably some rich idiot F1 fan who can afford to travel half way across the country for the Grand Prix.

You don't plan to even give him the light of day.

"Until it's not," he says as you watch the roulette wheel spin once more.

You smirk and feel his eyes on you as you collect more chips.

The game goes on, and you think he's gotten the message that you don't care to converse with him, because does shut up.

But now it's the last bet of the game. You take a sip from your glass and feel a stupid, risky streak in you.

Some idiot part of you that's drunk and wants to push her luck way too far.

You place a straight-up bet, all your chips on the number sixteen.

You can feel eyes on you, and the same man next to you from earlier says, "Are you stupid?"

You chuckle. "Possibly."

"You're going to lose all your-"

"No, I won't." You straighten your back, staring at the wheel. It's true, you've earned a lot of money throughout this game.

And honest, it is true that you're stupid.

But it's also true that for some reason, you're confident.

"So you're overconfident and risky? I like that," comments the guy next to you. "But you're going to lose all your money. All that good luck for nothing..."

"You'll see," you breathe, ignoring his little flirt. "It's going to land on sixteen."

"Sixteen, huh?" This man's hazel eyes sparkle, and something in you tells you that you've seen this guy's brown locks, bright dimples, and perfect stubble before.

You've seen him somewhere. Recently. Like some guy you could haven't been drunk with, but the memory is fuzzy.

But you weren't drunk with him.

Despite being sure you've seen this guy before, you're also sure you've never met him before, either.

"Yeah," you nod, looking away, staring as the roulette wheel begins spinning. "It's my lucky number."

You're not looking at him, but you can feel him grin next to you. "Your lucky number, huh? Just so happens, it's mine, too."

You snort, rolling your eyes. "Is that some lame attempt of a flirt?"

"No. It really is my lucky number." By his tone, you can tell that grin has downgraded to a smirk. "But if you'd like to see a lame attempt of a flirt, that's an option, too..." His voice lowers as you feel his arm snake around you, and his hand land on your waist.

You gently shove it off as the wheel begins to slow. You hold your breath, watching, this stupid French boy no longer even a fraction of your concerns. All focus is on your slight potential lucky strike.

And then the world stops as the wheel stops, too.

On sixteen.

And then it all comes flooding back. "Oh my God!" you squeal stupidly, covering your mouth as there's rounds of, "You've got to be kidding me," "No way," "It's impossible!" and "How lucky is this girl?"

You feel surges of shock and pride as you collect all your money. Once you've received it, after such luck, and earning a fortune, you decide you're going to have a drink. Or more than just one.

But when you turn, there's that guy again.

"What's up?" you ask, the grin on your face impossible to wipe off.

"How did you know it was going to stop on sixteen?" he questions, and he looks a little more handsome than he did before as this time he succeeds in taking your waist.

"Are you trying to pick my pocket?" you question warily, though, shoving his hand away.

"Not at all," he chuckles, "But you're a smart girl, aren't you? And I think I might be a lucky boy. Come on- I'll buy you a drink."

You snort. "No way, pretty boy! I can buy my own drink, after what just happened! How cocky are you?"

"Call me cocky, or call me rich, but either way, you're too sexy to have to pay for your own drink."

You scoff at this, but figure that you can't really let down an offer of free stuff. You'll be the first to admit you're greedy. Once of the biggest reasons why you gamble is because you want money- duh- and as much of it as you can get.

So soon, you're sitting at a table with this random guy, looking into his eyes, holding your drink in your hand. After barely a moment of hesitation, your curiosity finally gets to you, and you ask, "Who are you, anyway? I could have sworn I've seen you somewhere recently."

He gets a smug look on his face, which you don't like, before he says, "You really don't know?"

Your nose crinkles up in confusion, and for a second you feel ultra worried. Is this someone that I've met, that I should remember? Am I a terrible person for not knowing who this is...?

But then he says simply, "My first name is Charles. Charles Leclerc."

You stare at the taller individual, knowing you've heard that name, trying desperately to wrack your brain of it.

And then, suddenly, it hits you.

Loudly, in your head, in your friend's voice, in the exact tone she said it, 'No way- Ferrari! Have you seen Charles Leclerc?'

"Wait-!" you say in shock. You can see the satisfaction on the man's face, Charles, as you realize. "So, you're one of those F1 racers? Like, you race for the Ferrari team?"

He snorts and nods. "I'm surprised you didn't recognize me right away. Do you live here in Vegas?"

"Yeah," you say simply, taking a sip of your drink.

"So I take it you hate Formula 1, then? Because how else are you living in Vegas right now and don't know my name, or recognize my face?"

"You sound awfully prideful."

Suddenly, he smirks, and drags his finger across your jawline, pulling your face to look up at him in the process. "Maybe so. But clearly you're not so much better yourself, Miss Bet It All On Sixteen."

You cock an eyebrow at him and return his smirk with a challenging grin. "Sure, but I was right. I won what I wanted."

"Hmm... Well, what if I'm about to win what I want?"

"Oh, yeah? And what is it that you want?"

He leans in closer, so you can feel his hot breath tickle your ear as he utters simply, "You, baby."

You smirk. "We just met, buddy. I'm not that stupid."

"I think you're just playing hard to get."

"Or maybe it's just hard for you to get me," you counter.

"Well, I like your spunk. And your good luck. I think I might need a little bit more of that." He leans away a bit, and comments, "And I think I foresee a little bit more of luck in your future."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," he smirks, leaning in closer. In barely any second, his lips meet yours, and though you know you should, there's no way you're pulling away now. He wraps his arm around you, urging you to lean into the kiss. You melt, letting him.

You don't know what it is.

But in this moment, you gently let your lips part, inviting his tongue to slip in between your lips, allowing yourself to, yes, make out with basically a stranger.

It wouldn't be the first time, but it also isn't something you do for fun whenever you feel.

When you finally force yourself to pull away, the first thing you breathe is, "How did you do that?"

He grins, and is clearly red in the face. But there's a look of shock on his face, too. As if his flirty cover was just confidence, and not because he gets tons of girls like this...?

Or maybe you're just reading too much into his expression.

Either way, he responds with, stroking your cheek, "No idea. Maybe I just have a way with you?"

You roll your eyes as you check your purse. No, he didn't pickpocket. He meant to kiss you. You stand up and say simply, "Well, I better get going n-"

"Sorry, what?" he suddenly snatches your arm back, pulling you back down to sit again with a surprised chuckle. "You just met a famous millionaire race car driver who bought you a drink after you won big money in roulette, let him make out with you, loved it, and now you're just going to casually walk off?"

You grin. "What? Do you think I was impressed by you? Think again, honey. Just because you drive cars fast and make ridiculous amounts of stupid money for it, and that you're insanely handsome- none of that means I'm any more impressed with you than I am with any other guys I meet on my night outs."

"Hm," he raises an eyebrow, and says, "What if you could get more from me, missy? Clearly, you're out for yourself and will do anything for a good deal. And you're f*cking sexy about it, too. So what if I had something else to offer you?"

You let yourself sit down at this, looking at him expectantly.

He smirks, clearly loving that he's 'won you over,' before saying simply, "Would like a free pass to the whole weekend, and a pass for the paddock?"

Your eyebrows scrunch together, and your eyes widen. "I- what?"

His smirk grows even bigger. "You heard me."

You inhale sharply, but cross your arms across your chest and come out sharply saying, "Unfortunately for you, I couldn't care less about Formula 1. In fact, I'm starting to dislike it a lot. But thanks for the offer."

His jaw drops, and his eyes practically pops out of his head, which gets a chuckle from you. For a moment, he's actually speechless, before he finally gets out, "Are you aware of the offer you just refused?"

You raise an eyebrow, not able to keep the cheeky grin off your face. "Probably not, but that's okay. Why, anyways, would you give a stranger such an opportunity in the first place? You probably have ulterior motives, and I think I can pretty much guess what they are, mister. You don't even know my name yet."

"Oh, God, you're right," he laughs, taking another sip of his drink. "Well, what's your name, princess?"

You roll your eyes, and tell him.

He grins. "It's been wonderful meeting you." He digs in the pocket of his light blue jeans, and pulls out a pen and a restaurant receipt. "I know you think you'll be able to forget me so easily, princess," he starts, scribbling something on the receipt, "but trust me- you'll be wanting this." He takes your hand and presses the receipt into it, before standing up just like that, and saying with a wave as he turns to walk off, "I'll talk to you later, angel."

You look down at the receipt to see a phone number scribbled on it in chicken scratch. But the numbers are clear. And though you walk out that night rolling your eyes at this Charles's boldness and cockiness, with an abundance of money you've earned that's a lot more worth the stupid grease-stained receipt, the moment you get back to your apartment, the first thing you intend to is putting that stupid number into your phone.

"This is stupid," you comment as you slide into the backseat, next to Charles.

He just rolls his eyes. "You won't be saying that by the end of this experience. Besides, you were the one who decided to text me, like I said you would. You were just playing hard to get."

You scoff. "Oh, shut up."

"You look lovely, by the way," he comments in a lower voice. "I like that skirt." You look down at yourself. You're wearing a matching crop top shirt and short skirt, your sunglasses holding your hair back away from your face, and brown sandals.

"Thanks," you snort, crossing your arms and looking out the window, turning your gaze away from the Monégasque driver. (Yes, you did, despite yourself, look him up last night, just to know who the heck this guy even is.)

(You also were sure to look up his salary.)

(Ridiculous.)

(But also intriguing.)

Soon enough, before you know it, you're walking alongside him, about to enter the 'paddock.'

Makes it sound like a bunch of horses racing.

But when you're there, surrounded by it, in the moment, you don't think rude comments like that.

You stop, taking in the high life atmosphere. The revving car noises, the lights of The Strip on the 'racetrack,' the crowds, the music, the richness, and the challenge.

Your breathing falters, and your heart beat quickens as your hand involuntarily finds Charles's wrist and grips it as you gasp, "It's... extraordinary."

You glance to Charles's face to see him softly grinning. His hand slips down to hold yours as he comments, "You seemed like the type of girl to love it."

Your smile widens. "I've been here so many times. On The Strip. But... it's not the same. How did they do it?"

He begins walking, pulling you along by your hand as you look around. "That's just Formula 1 for you. There's nothing in the world quite like it, Y/n."

He leads you by the hand toward the Ferrari garage. Once you're there, he says, "Want to meet my teammate, Carlos?"

"Don't know who Carlos is, but sure..." you say vaguely, taking in the large piece of machinery- the Formula 1 car- in front of you.

He chuckles. "You're f*cking adorable," he murmurs, before leading you away to see Carlos.

He's a well-built man with fluffy dark hair, tan skin, big brown cow eyes, and stubble. Pretty much looks like exactly how you'd imagine a Formula 1 driver to look.

He nods respectfully. "Hey, Charles," he says, and shakes your hand with a friendly wink. "This your new girlfriend?"

You look up to see Charles smirk. "Not yet."

One of Carlos's thick, dark eyebrows cocks up, and the suggestion of an amused smirk travels on his lips for a second. "Ah, I see."

"Charles!" you snap, your eyebrows scrunches together. "Not ever."

"Well, we'll see about that. So far, I've been the right one, now, princess, haven't I?"

"Pfft. I was right about sixteen, wasn't I?"

He rolls his eyes as Carlos says with a chuckle, "Well, it will sure be interesting to see how this plays out," before moving on with his life.

Charles takes the time to show you around, and halfway through the tour, you blurt suddenly, "So, this is all the Italian team and stuff. Isn't there an American team?"

"Hmmm," Charles snorts as his eyebrows travel farther up and he fights off a seemingly somewhat mocking smirk. "There is."

"Why don't you show me them? Don't they have an American driver? Like, Carlos is Italian, right? Isn't it protocol or somethin'? Anyway, isn't it called Williams, the American team, or something? Some guy named Logan something that's an American racer on there-"

At this, Charles can't seem to hold it together anymore, and doubles over laughing, essentially, at you.

"What?!" you demand indignantly.

"You really are clueless!"

"I-"

"Alright, alright, Y/n. Haas is the American team. They don't have an American driver- German and Danish. No, Carlos is not Italian; he's from Spain. Williams is British, and yes, Logan Sargeant races for Williams, and he is American. About the only thing you got right."

You roll your eyes with a shrug. "I told you I don't give a damn about this stupid sport."

"Whatever you say, Miss Starry Eyes."

So, first Charles takes you to Haas, where you learn, surprisingly, that not all the racers are young hotshots like Charles and Carlos at least seem to be. They're friendly enough there, but really don't care much to give you any of their time, so then Charles suggests to go to the Williams garage and see if there's Logan to bother. You agree to that, so soon, you're entering Williams.

As soon as you see Logan, you know he's the American. You can see it in his stance. You can see it in his golden blond slightly sweeped hair, gray blue eyes, and strong jawline. "That's Logan, isn't it?"

"How'd you know?"

You shrug, breaking off from Charles to Logan. "Hey! You're the only American 'round here?!" you ask with a friendly grin.

"Huh?" he asks, looking up, in the most United States of America way. "Oh, hi," he says in what you perceive as dumbly, with a friendly smile. Ah, that's more like it. None of these posh Monacan boys and hot Spanish men- this guy is just like home sweet home!

You can practically hear the eagles cawing over the Rocky Mountains!

"You're Logan Sargeant?"

He nods. "I am. And you are...?"

"Just some Vegas girl dragged here by Charles."

"Ah... so you know him?"

"Well, now, unfortunately, yes."

His eyebrows furrow, but he chuckles at the same time. Though this guy isn't nearly as handsome or charming as Charles, there's something about him you like a bit more-

Suddenly, a hand is on your waist, and hot breath says in your ear, "Got to be getting back to Ferrari now. Come on with me?"

You blush and nod. "Right, Charles."

You have no idea what to think of him.

"Podium?! Uh- is a podium good?!" you ask, eyes wide as Charles brings it home in second.

"Yeah, yeah, it's good!" some guy you don't know wearing red near you says.

"Oh- Alright, well- That's good, I suppose!" you respond a little manically.

As soon as Charles as the chance, he finds you. He still has champagne on his race suit and his face is glistening with sweat, and there's no way you can deny it- he's sexy. When he reaches you, he wraps his arms around you, and his stunning eyes seem to burn into you. He can't fight the grin off his face as he says lowly, "Get why my lucky number is sixteen, baby girl?"

"Ah, stop with that," you snap, your voice cracking. You don't know, but this seems- all this seems-

Way too important.

You reach up to touch the number sixteen on his hat, before taking it off his head and slipping it on your own, backwards, on impulse.

He grins. "You can keep it. Not like you'll need a keepsake. You won't forget me."

You bite your lip, giving a quick nod, still studying his handsome face. Your eyes linger on his light pink lips, which arch into a perfect cupid's bow, as you murmur absently, "You seem pretty confident about that, huh?"

"Of course I do. Looks like you might be my little good luck charm, hm? Can't be letting you run away from me, can I?"

"Hm. Well, we'll see about that."

"Still playing hard to get?"

"Not playing. I just am hard to get."

"Whatever you say, darling," he comments with a shrug, walking off.

The French accent is pretty sexy.

Your eyes flutter open, and the first thing you see are the big earnest eyes of Charles Leclerc, staring back into your eyes. "Morning sunsh-"

Your immediate reaction is to scream and promptly slap him across his pretty face.

He grunts as his hand flies to his cheek to cover it up, and he says, "Hey, hey, calm down!"

But your eyes scan the room. It's clearly a hotel room. There's only one bed: the one you and Charles are laying in right at this moment. You're wearing a large black T-shirt and big blue gym shorts very tightly tied to fit your waist. Charles is dressed in a grey hoodie and jeans with a white T-shirt underneath, his regular jewelry, and white sneakers. So clearly, he's already showered and gotten dressed. He smells like his rich cologne, and his hair is all washed and fluffy and clean. If you weren't in a slight panic right now, you'd have wondered if you could touch his hair and feel how soft it is.

But!

As you're about to gasp out questions, Charles sits up and gently sets his hand on top of yours. You become aware of the pounding in your head as you bite your lip nervously. Charles looks at you earnestly, and says calmly, "Hey, you don't have to worry. It's okay."

"What happened?" you exhale.

"Nothing," he soothes. "We went out. You got more drunk than any of us though you should. I didn't know where you lived, so I took you to my hotel room. Gave you clothes to change into, and we went to sleep. Nothing more."

You swallow an anxious lump in your throat. "How do I know I can trust you? Please, just be honest with me. I won't be mad. You didn't know any bet-"

"I didn't do anything. We didn't do anything. Okay?" he leans in closer, and reaches to cup your cheeks in his hands. "'Kay? Can you just trust me?"

You bite your lip, but slowly nod. "I suppose that's the only thing I can do."

Over six months later, you stand on the boat, staring out at the Mediterranean Sea, smelling the salty breeze in the air, feeling content, wearing a loose button down, light blue jean shorts with a brown belt, your slew of bracelets, white sneakers, and a headband holding back your hair.

Suddenly, Charles is up next to you. "Hey, princess." For months, you've had what you stubbornly call a 'situationship,' whilst Charles calls you his girlfriend.

Because you love Vegas more than you love Charles (or at least that's what you like to say), you refused to leave when Charles did. You like taking risks. Just not the 'travelling halfway across the world for a hot guy' kind of risks.

But you stayed in touch. Charles made sure of that.

Well, he meant it when he said he'd make sure you'll never forget him.

But then Formula 1 came back to the States, to Miami, and you knew you'd have to make the trip. The flirty comments and romantic tension thick enough to cut ensued as soon as you and Charles set eyes upon each other, like as if it hadn't been six months or so since you'd last seen each other last.

It just felt like-

Somehow fate is involved.

Well, when Charles invited you to the Monaco Grand Prix, that was an offer you felt you couldn't let down.

And, boy, was that the best descision of your life.

To see Charles win his home race like that, and to be there? Just thinking about it now gives you goosebumps. Charles had wrapped his arms around you after the race, his eyes a little damp, and you felt something more.

Like he really cared.

If you didn't know better, you'd say it was like he really loved.

Loved you.

But, no. Of course not. That can't be.

Can it?

Well, all night you partied. You were in on the fun. You also made sure to pay a visit to the Monte Carlo casino, as you obviously must.

You had amazing luck, once again.

On this thought, as you feel Charles approaching from behind you, you comment into the wind, "You know, I'm starting to think you're my lucky charm, honey."

He chuckles, coming up next to you. "Oh, yeah? That's what I said six months ago when I first met you, you know. I've been starting to think the same thing about you."

You snort. "Maybe so, Monaco race winner."

He smirks, and you can feel the pure joy radiating off him. He slips his hand into yours as he murmurs, "I was so lucky to meet you."

I smirk. "I am pretty awesome."

He rolls his eyes, but squeezes your hand. "So, do you like it here in Monaco?"

You nod vigorously. "Gosh, Charles, it's amazing."

"Better than Vegas?"

"Well- I don't know if anything is better than Vegas..."

He leans in closer and speaks lower. "Well, would Monaco be better if your good luck charm just so happens to reside here?"

"Hm..." you smirk, flushing a bit. "I'd have to think about that, prince."

"Yeah," he nod, his tone softer. "Why don't you."

There's some silence, as you watch the sun begin to set, reflecting off the sparkling water.

Charles leans even closer to you, his hands gliding around your waist, pulling you towards him. He leans down, gazing deeply into your eyes. Then that stupid flirty grin appears on his face again. "F*cking gorgeous you are, one in a million. I struck lucky with you. My lucky strike."

He closes the distance between you, his soft lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The heat of his body against yours sends shivers down your spine, igniting a spark between you as your tongues dance together in a sensual embrace. Connected.

Maybe it's not fate.

But it is most certainly luck.

And in this moment, with the lips of the winner of Monaco sucking on yours, you feel like the one who struck it lucky.

59 notes · View notes

aleskyyy · 15 hours

Text

Second Choice — John Price x Fem!reader

You found out the secret that your husband has been hiding all this time.

Warnings — fem!reader, cheating, second choice reader, reader blame herself, Price is asshole in this fic, angst, angst, ANGST, no happy end, etc.

1,3k words.

Main Masterlist COD Masterlist

You open the car trunk and start taking out your groceries. You try to carry the groceries you bought with both hands and close the trunk door of your car. You don't realize that you have bought this much, considering that today is the day your husband comes back, you are excited to cook a delicious meal for him.

You walk into the house where you pass many of your wedding photos. You smile as you look at them, it's been two years of your marriage and you are so happy living with your husband.

You put your groceries down and start arranging them in the cupboards and fridge. After that you walk around to see if each room in your house is clean or not. You smile as you head towards your husband's study. You are rarely there unless your husband is home.

You check the room and see that it is a bit messy with books on the table. You enter and start tidying up the books. You smile at the picture of your husband when he was young. He looks dashing in his military uniform. You read the writing in the corner of the photo. John Price.

You return to tidying up your husband's desk, you bend down to pick up the book that fell under the desk. As you try to get up, you bump your head on the underside of your husband's desk and soon you hear what sounds like a drawer lock opening. You see an open drawer and check it. Your hand stops for a moment, unsure whether to open it or not.

But you're his wife, there's no way he could have kept anything from you except his confidential work files. Your hand moves to open the drawer, if it was his confidential work file you would return it quickly. But what you get is not a confidential file but a black book with your husband's name on the end.

You laugh softly at the thought of your husband having a diary. You sit on his chair and scrutinize the diary.

"Why is he so cute? I can't imagine how serious he is about writing this," you say to yourself.

You start to open the diary and read it slowly. The first few pages are all about how happy he is to be in the military and the missions he went on. In the middle he starts to describe how he feels about being a captain.

You keep smiling reading your husband's diary. You are so happy to see how happy he is pouring his feelings into every word he writes. You smile even more when you see the date of the diary which turns out to be two years before you got married. Which means four years ago.

Your smile slowly fades as you read what's written there.

I love her, a very new feeling for me. And I will try to get her heart.

You haven't met yet on that date. You open the next page which turns out he wrote after a few months from the last page.

She was so beautiful in that dress, and she smiled so beautifully that night. I'm so glad she agreed to go on a date with me.

This was written seven months before you met. You're turning over another page.

I was so happy to wake up with her in my arms every morning.

Written two months before you and your husband met. You close the diary, afraid to read it. But you have to make sure of something. You take a deep breath and open the diary again.

We've been in a relationship for almost two years, but we both know we can't get married if one of us is still in the military. And neither of us wants to give it up.

You turned over a new page.

I found a girl, I thought she could be the 'someone' that could cover my relationship with her.

You see the date written, one day after your meeting. And in less than a year he said he wanted to marry you because he loved you so much and didn't want to waste too much time because of his job that sometimes took him away for a long time. You hold your chest which feels tight. You try to breathe properly and open the next page.

One year into our marriage, and I still don't feel anything. Sleeping with her only makes me think of my lover at the base.

Tears fall down your husband's diary. You quickly skipped through the pages until you reached the last page.

I felt a little guilty because I lied about being on an important mission. My darling wanted to go to Paris, and with the time off we went there together.

You choke as you feel the tightness in your chest. All this time you've been trying to be a good wife to him, trying to serve him well. It turns out that what he had been imagining was his lover. And right now he is with his woman.

You laugh out loud with tears rolling down your cheeks. You pat your chest so hard hoping that the pain you feel will go away. You sob while patting your chest. Why does it hurt so much? Why did this happen to you? What did you do wrong?

Question after question spins in your head. You try to calm yourself down even though it's hard. The husband you have been proud of, the husband who has been smiling in front of you, who has been hugging you every night. What did you do wrong? What did you do to deserve this?

You get up and walk out of your husband's study. Your gaze is blank with messed up thoughts. You really don't know what you did wrong. Even after being married for two years they keep in touch behind your back. What is wrong with all this? Are you not being a good wife to him?

You walk towards your bedroom and look at the photo that is displayed there. You examine the photo, you study your husband's face clearly. Then you remember the photo in his study. Your husband's smile, it turns out that the smile he has been giving you is different.

How naive you were. You feel the tightness again. You pick up your photos with your husband and throw them all on the floor. You feel a shard of glass that hurts your leg. You scream as you pull your hair. Why does this hurt so much? Why is your chest so tight?

You walk to the living room where your wedding photos are. You throw them on the floor one by one. No wonder John always refused to do a couple portrait with the excuse that there were already too many wedding photos. You sit by the shattered glass on the floor with a blank look. How could someone destroy someone else's life so easily?

You hear the sound of a door opening and footsteps approaching you. You look up and see John who stands staring at you with an unreadable look. You stare at him with a hate filled gaze.

"How was your vacation, John? Was it fun?"

"Sweetheart—"

You raise your hand for him to stop talking. Even hearing his voice makes you want to vomit.

"I know everything. How could you do all this to me, John? What did I do wrong?" you ask through sobs.

You try to get up, John who sees you tries to help. Before he can hold your hand you stop him.

"Don't touch me with your filthy hands."

You walk towards your bedroom with John following, you grab your suitcase and put your belongings in.

"Sweetheart, please let me explain everything. I–I know I was wrong but let me explain everything—"

You laugh at his words. What is there to explain?

"I'll send the divorce papers as soon as possible. Don't worry, I won't stand in the way of your love story with her. I think I'm too worthy for someone like you, John."

And you hope he'll feel the way you feel because of him. I hope he feel how hurt it feels.

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x female reader #john price x female reader #captain john price imagine #captain john price #captain john price angst #john price angst #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty

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artsyunderstudy · 27 days

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bad news gang im hella cursed

#personal #got into a 7 car pile-up a little over a month ago #car totalled #had to pay a deductible because apparently that shit is complex and i wont get reimbursement for a while from the person who was at fault #because it was SEVEN CARS and they might not even have enough coverage #took weeks but i got a new car #and then today i was driving to work #for only the second time since the first accident occurred #and a cement truck merged into my lane and right into my driver side #took off my door handle and side mirror #and it might be totalled #and if its fucking totalled the car isnt worth what i still owe on it #because i bought it less than a month ago #guys #im so fucking cursed #i am not injured tho sorry i should have put that sooner #dont worry i still have all my bits and bobs #except perhaps my sanity and happiness #cw car accident

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mollypaup · 10 months

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this is my phone “thing i spent $50 on that just needs to be able to take photos of my cat, hold podcasts and music, and send texts”, she is in a protective case and also has every disease known to man. She has fallen down several flights of stairs 45 times (25 times i also fell down the stairs in solidarity), been spiked directly into the ground by me on accident 94 times, and fallen in the sink 6 times. I have replaced her screen 2 times. Her current screen has cracked 3 separate times and one crack resembles the legs and body of a spider.

#she died today #(spiked her directly into the floor again on accident)#i have to update to a newer phone because i cannot buy a replacement screen for it anymore #which is less bad because i actually bought a new phone three months ago and put all the apps i use on it and changed the settings and such #but phones are getting too fucking big for my hands #why is every new phone bigger than the last #stop this #i want to use one phone for the rest of my life it isn't my fault i am the world's clumsiest creature

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fingertipsmp3 · 9 months

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Finally wiping my old windows laptop that I hate. Why did I not know it was going to be this easy

#i should’ve done this literally months ago but anyway #it’s SO simple. i put all my files (which weren’t a lot because i quite literally have always hated working on this thing) onto a usb #and reset the laptop. it’s removing all apps and files and my account #i’m going to trade it in to a place that’ll give me £200 for it and use that towards a macbook #yes i knowww but consider: i like macs and i don’t want to learn linux and windows 11 is actually toxic waste #and i need a laptop so fuck me i guess #i should’ve just bought a new macbook instead of this one but i was like ‘oh windows are cheaper; it’ll save me money’#literally no. getting a Good windows laptop set me back £600. which is still less than the mac i want #but i’ve barely used this thing and i can only sell it for £200 #which means i’ve lost £400. which is the difference between the mac i wanted and the windows laptop anyway #at least i can put this cash towards a new laptop. and i have saved enough for it #i’m just annoyed that i didn’t buy the macbook last year. i’d be sitting right now with a beautiful computer instead of this absolute pile #of crap that i have to wipe and drop off at an electronics store #it’s irritating #personal

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starlit-meloncholia · 1 year

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I would rather be anywhere else doing anything else than work today

#hate capitalism #i hate my job some days #admittedly I only hate it rn because Talent Acquisition decided to procrastinate until the very last minute on something #and so now we have less than 30 days to prep some 700 hires to start #while these same hires still haven't even been given job offers and are refusing to do anything without them #which like. mood! i support you! but please just schedule your fucking physical so I can cross you off my list #talent's gonna wait until the week before and I'm going to have to clear 60 people in 3 days #this bs was fine two months ago but C'MON #this has been the most disorganized and poorly thought-out acquisition I have ever fucking seen #WE BOUGHT THIS PLACE IN FUCKING EARLY MARCH WHAT DO YOU *MEAN* WE HAVEN'T SENT HALF OF THEM JOB OFFERS YET

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literaila · 6 months

Note

I'd love to request a reader who's obsessed with love languages (me fr) and is trying to figure out what peter's is without directly asking him

obviously r gets caught in the act

Thank you so much!!

-🔮

stalemate

tasm!peter x reader

warnings: teasing, fluff, complex relationship issues (lying)

a/n: i do believe peter’s love language is physical touch/words of affirmation but that’s a conversation for a different time

“would you rather run errands with someone and hold hands, or run errands with someone and get kicked out of the store cause you’re ‘disturbing the other customers?’”

peter momentarily pauses his chewing, raising an eyebrow at you. “one of these scenarios involves me getting escorted out of the grocery store.”

“yeah, but because you’re having too much fun.”

he shakes his head. “no such thing.”

“clearly, there is.”

he rifles through the remainder of his food, like digging for gold, but his cheek is twitching, and his eyes are thoughtful as he looks down. “why cant i have fun and hold hands with you?”

“okay,” you point at him, leaning back. peter, though you’d put his food across the kitchen table, so you could sit face to face, was adamant that you were too far. so now there’s only a table corner separating the two of you. and these questions, of course, building up a careful foundation. “first of all, i didn’t say it was me—“

“who else would get us kicked out of a grocery store?”

“and second of all, because that’s not the question. holding hands or ribs-hurt laughing?”

“both of those sound equally painful,” peter keeps leaning towards you like he knows something you don’t. which he doesn’t.

you lean forward too, undeterred by his challenge. “so you’re a completely-silent-errand-running-with-a-healthy-five-foot-distance kinda guy?”

“we literally went shopping today.” peter gestures back to the kitchen, where bags of produce and sugary containers (peter’s pickings) remain. after dinner, you’d both swore, but you’re having a hard time finishing your food. “you know what kinda guy i am.”

so it goes, on and on. you asking peter the same type of hypothetical questions you’d been all day. he hasn’t seemed to question it, besides a couple of ill-fated looks.

and you do. know, that is. peter did almost get you kicked out of the store today, when he’d tripped over a sign and knocked down a whole shelf of boxes. this, he claimed, was the crime of a faulty layout. though, he’d bumped into the sign in the first place because he refused to let go of your hand, even when it was less than conscientious.

this, though, you don’t bring up.

“if i bought you a gift,” you continue, ignoring his carefully planned out bantering techniques. “would you want something expensive, or something heart-felt?”

“why is that a question?”

you stare at him, nonchalant, gesturing for him to continue.

“are you buying me a gift?” he asks, rolling his eyes at you.

“maybe. your birthday’s coming up.”

“it is november,” he says, dryly.

“good memory.”

peter snorts. “my birthday is in august. you know, like, two months ago?”

“hmm…” you lean your chin on a hand, staring into hard honeysuckle eyes with feigned confusion. “i must’ve missed it.”

“you got me a spider-man calendar.”

“don’t recall.”

“i can go get it,” he points over his shoulder, leaning, again, towards you. enough so that you can feel his breath, smooth and challenging. “it’s just in the bedroom.”

“answer the question.”

he sighs and leans back again, almost laughing. “heartfelt, obviously. like my very cherished spider-man calendar. which is for this year, i might add.”

��what a wonderful gift,” you smile too, adoringly, “you should thank whoever got it for you.”

peter furrows his brows, though not in confusion. “i did,” he says, softly, trying to break you.

but you remain where you are, smiling as cool as you’ve been all day.

which is to say, of course, that you’ve been dancing circles around peter and hoping that he hasn’t noticed.

you hadn’t even thought of it until two days ago, when out to lunch with your friend and she mentioned a book—fabled and probably recommended by some hot-shot magazine—about how to connect with your partner.

“love languages,” she’d said to you, “are the basis to every relationship.”

and this must have been true because despite a rough patch between her and her girlfriend, they were now as solid as always. and you could tell this, just from how at ease she’d seemed.

which, naturally, put you on edge.

not that you doubted peter, or your relationship with him. besides some run of the mill insecurities, peter was probably the loveliest person you’d ever met. so it was probably a bad thing that you had no clue—not a single suspicion, or thought—what his love language was.

thus, the questions began. and peter’s dubiousness doubled with every one you asked.

evident because he was still watching you. “are we acting out a scenario in which you need a visa and i agree to marry you?”

you kick him under the table. “what? i cant ask you questions?”

“i think this is the fortieth one today.”

“i’ve asked, like, three, and you haven’t even tried to answer any of them properly.”

“you know we’re in a real relationship, right? i know your favorite color and everything.”

you stand up from the table, grabbing your take-out container, and his, and walking to the kitchen.

peter trails after you, clearly noticing your evasion. “do you actually need a visa?” he asks, leaning against a counter, almost knocking over one of the grocery bags. “cause i think you’re supposed to tell the person you’re getting married to. so i can ask you some questions.”

“doesn’t seem like you’re having any problems with that.”

peter snorts and comes behind you while you grab something out of the first bag. his hands are warm as they wrap around your waist, resting on your stomach like a possession. “what’s up with you?”

“i’m unbagging the groceries.”

“you’ve been acting weird all day. do you need to talk to me about something?”

“no.” you pull away from him, putting some apples in the fruit bowl. “you’re crazy.”

“yes. i am the crazy one.”

you hum and walk around him, carefully not meeting his eyes.

after a couple minutes of this, with peter pretending to put things away, you break, uncomfortable with the silence.

“painting a room together,” you start, “or cuddling?”

peter pushes off of the counter, his teeth peaking behind his lips. “cuddling, obviously. you’re a terrible painter.”

he moves about a foot away from you, staring, again, like he knows something you don’t.

“what?” you ask him, closing a drawer. you cross your arms.

“nothing. nothing.”

but peter is grinning at you.

“what’s with your face?”

“what’s with yours?”

you roll your eyes at him, not moving. peter copies your stance, and the two of you remain as still as statues, testing one another.

finally, peter laughs. “you think i don’t know what you’re doing?”

“posing hypothetical questions?”

“i know what love languages are, baby,” peter steps closer to you. his hands just lingering by the seam of your shirt. “you’d make a terrible detective.”

despite the heat running through your body at being caught, you narrow your eyes at him. “me? it only took you all day to figure it out.”

“that’s cause i was giving you the benefit of the doubt. i thought you really wanted to know.”

“i do,” you cross your arms, bumping into him, offended. “i would’ve given up like three hours ago if i didn’t.”

“you’re crazy,” he says, simply. his look is amorous. “you could’ve just asked me.”

“no. i should know just from spending time with you. that’s couple 101.”

peter actually laughs. right in your face. he leans down, resting his chin against your head for support. “cant say i’ve ever taken that class.”

“well you should. it’s very informative.”

“okay, professor, then what’s my love language?”

you open your mouth. then close it. you push him back. “i’m not telling you.”

“oh,” peter tilts his head. “why not?”

“cause that’s cheating. figure out your own love language.”

“you think i don’t know what i like?”

“nope.”

peter shakes his head at you. “you just don’t know.”

“you just don’t know,” you poke his cheek. “you couldn’t even decide which cereal to get. we have three boxes now.”

“that’s called choice paralysis,” he informs you, as if you didn’t have this conversation earlier. “and you agreed to that.”

“sure,” you say to him, turning away.

“you’re a sore loser.”

“we’re not playing a game.”

“the elaborate ‘would you rather’ scheme wasn’t a game?” he asks.

“it was an informative questionnaire.”

peter gets in your way as you try to walk out of the kitchen. “then why hasn’t it informed you?”

you roll your eyes at him again. “c’mon, peter, you know that data can take weeks to process.”

he runs a hand up to your face, easily trapping you. “you just don’t know” he repeats softly.

he’s getting close again; resuming the game he’d lost earlier.

“you don’t know,” you say, stubbornly, not meeting his eyes.

“i know i like you,” he answers, breath marring your reaction skills.

and before you can even smile in response, peter is kissing you.

his lips are soft, pushing at you like he wants you to admit defeat. consoling you into a loss. convincing you to back down.

but you refuse.

you pull away, pushing his hand off of you. “that’s cheating.”

“we never set any rules.”

“well you’re breaking one.”

peter leans and let’s it go, crossing his arms as he looks at you, very arrogantly. “that’s okay,” he shrugs.

you attempt to catch your breath while peter stares at you, clearly thinking that he’s won.

“okay,” you say, pouting. “tell me. what’s your love language?”

peter smiles voraciously at this. he takes a step towards you, molding his body heat into yours.

then he shakes his head, his smile falling into something sweeter. “i don’t know,” he whispers to you, hand reaching down for yours, hair in his eyes. “physical touch, probably, before. but i like everything with you. i always want more, doesn’t matter what it is.”

you brush the hair out of his eyes, smiling.

though your intents are less than straightforward, there’s still a part of you that curls under this confession, like it just can’t take it.

“that’s sweet,” you whisper, leaning into him. he’s bent down so his nose is to yours.

peter hums, breathing in the smell of your skin, and pulling you closer and he stands there, lingering on the briefest of touches.

he tilts his head a bit, lips lined up with yours.

and you smile. “i’m not telling you mine,” you whisper to him, quickly pulling away and moving to the table, whistling as you do so.

you start to collect the trash you’d left there, hearing nothing for a moment, but peter’s heavy breathing.

you smile at the sound of his defeat.

“now that’s cheating,” he says, and you laugh.

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t-lostinworlds · 2 months

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Big, Hormonal Heart | Bucky Barnes

》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x pregnant!female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: established relationship (marriage), fluff fluff fluff

》 SUMMARY: It'd probably take more than one lifetime for Bucky to list reasons why he was so lucky to call you his wife. He was certain your big heart was one of them. One that grew even more with pregnancy hormones. It was sweet, how you to got so upset when they got his order wrong. Your meal was perfectly fine. But when his wasn't? Oh it was a crime.

》 WARNINGS: pregnancy, a dog named Snow and Alpine the cat, pet names (doll, baby, my love, sweetheart), emotional!r (she cries. like, most of the fic), husband!bucky being the sweetest, domesticity and just overall fluff (pretty tame fic ngl)

》 WORD COUNT: 2.5k+

A/N: this idea was super random. i saw an insta reel of a pregnant woman having mood swings over some food and then everyone was sharing their experiences in the comments and i got inspired so here ya go alksalkss. DISCLAIMER! I'm not pregnant nor have i ever been lol. I did as much research as i could but still, don't count on me to be 100% accurate.

++ ALSO this was written in just a few hours. this isn't my best work. just something i wanted to write as an exercise since i haven't written anything in months. anyways, i hope you enjoy!

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ B. BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Bucky Barnes was one lucky man.

If someone had told him years ago that he was going to live in a quaint home in the suburbs, a lovely backyard space for a dog and a cat to enjoy, and that he'd be married to the absolute love of life, an angel on earth who was now carrying his first child—

He honestly would've stared at them dead in the eye, wondering how someone could make such a cruel joke.

Yet here he was, actually living it, a life that seemed so much like a dream.

Though he was quickly reminded of how real this was as he stood in the nursery, glaring at the manual that came with the crib you two had bought from the furniture store.

It looked simple enough at first—putting together ready-made pieces should be easy, right?

Wrong.

Not when you have countless amounts of screws that more or less looked the same but were actually not because each served a different purpose.

He was in the middle of figuring out how to install the legs to the main base when you walked into the room with your two bodyguards—Alpine the Cat and Snow the five-year-old Samoyed—in tow.

"How's it going, handsome?" you hummed as you reached his side, arms wrapping around his waist, your warmth immediately easing the frustration he had about this goddamn crib.

"It's…" he sighed, gesturing at the wooden pieces scattered around the floor. "Going."

You laughed at that, kissing his clothed shoulder before standing in front of him.

Bucky held your waist then, pulling you as close as he could given that your baby bump was in the middle of you both.

He honestly couldn't begin to express how much comfort and warmth covered his whole being every time he was met with the absolute love in your eyes.

And Bucky was sure his gaze shined the same.

So many people have pointed it out on numerous occasions, the twinkle in his eyes every time they land on you—his beautiful wife.

"I was thinking," you murmured, resting your hands on his chest, moving up his shoulder and down again in a sweet caress. "How about a quick break while we order some food?"

It was only about an hour after lunch, so Bucky wasn't particularly keen on filling his stomach some more.

But you, on the other hand, were nearing the end of your second trimester. It wasn't out of the norm for you to be hungry at this time, given you were eating for two. Plus, there was an added layer that your little peanut probably had some super soldier serum in their DNA—the baby's appetite could be enhanced for all he knew.

Other than that, the last thing Bucky wanted was an angry and hungry pregnant wife. So it wasn't really a hard decision to make.

"Okay, let's get you something to eat," he said.

Ever the observant person that you were, you quickly noticed his choice of words.

"For me?" you asked, brows furrowed. "You're not hungry?"

Bucky shook his head. "Not really."

Your bottom lip went.

He instantly knew he said the wrong thing.

"But I'm hungry," you murmured, eyes starting to glisten.

He could never explain it even if he tried, but whenever you got upset, your bodyguards always seemed to notice it. The two have always been protective of you and that only grew tenfold when you got pregnant.

Today wasn't an exception.

Snow barked at him, whining his complaints as he put his fifty-pound body between your legs, slightly pushing Bucky back. The furball was well trained though, so his protectiveness never went too far beyond being vocal about it. Alpine, on the other hand, was sitting a foot away, glaring at Bucky—quite the traitor given that she was supposed to be his cat, but he couldn't blame her for loving you, either—as if she knew it was his fault you were upset.

But still, Bucky wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong.

"I know, sweetheart," he said slowly, a little confused, trying to navigate around Snow who was pawing at his leg as if trying to push him further away. "I'll order some food for you."

"But you're not hungry," you repeated, body slumping with sadness.

"I'm not," he agreed, quickly cupping your face when a tear slipped from your eyes. "But hey, hey, that doesn't mean we can't still order food for you, doll."

"No, I know," you sniffled.

"So, what's making you upset, hmm?"

You buried your face in his chest with a shaky breath as you said,

"I don't want to eat alone."

Bucky paused, pressing his lips and swallowing down a laugh because he couldn't have you thinking he was making fun of you. He wasn't. But you were so adorable it made his chest ache.

"Okay, okay," he hummed, kissing the side of your head as he rubbed your back in comfort. "I'll order something for me, too."

•••

A few minutes later, your little family migrated to the living room. You both were sitting on the couch together, the two furballs sprawled at your feet as a random show played on TV. Various take-out bags covered the coffee table, way too many for two people but hey, that's what fridges and microwaves are for.

Fondness filled Bucky's bones as he watched you settle your food on your lap, doing what he called your Cravings Satisfied Wiggle.

He couldn't contain his chuckle.

You looked at him with furrowed brows, words a little muffled with your mouth full. "What?"

"Happy?" he asked, reaching over to wipe the sauce on the corner of your mouth.

"Very much," you giggled, eyes wrinkling at the corners.

Even after all these years, the sight of your pure joy still made his heart stutter, chest growing warmer when you leaned closer with a pout.

Bucky met you halfway for a short yet sweet kiss.

"Thank you," you hummed, even though there was no need for you to thank him for ordering you food.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

Reaching over the table, he took the one and only paper bag that was for him, because again, he wasn't that hungry.

"Oh."

"What's wrong?" You turned to him in concern.

"It's not a big deal," he reassured with a smile, shrugging because it really wasn't. "They got mine wrong."

You frowned. "You didn't get the nuggets?"

"No, they give me the burger meal," he said. "They must've misheard me.

Bucky immediately perked up when your lips started to tremble.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly, cupping your face to wipe away your tears.

"You—" you sniffled. "You didn't get your nuggets."

Bucky pressed his lips to stop a smile.

God you were so fucking cute.

"It's okay, baby," he soothed. "I'm fine with a burger, too."

You cried even harder.

Snow and Alpine quickly stood, all alert and concerned as they nudged your leg.

"You wanted the nuggets, Bucky," you insisted, choking back a sob. "But you didn't get it."

He carefully pulled you closer, rubbing your back in comfort as you laid your head on his shoulder. "I know, but it's okay—"

"No, it's not!" you protested, all teary and frustrated, pulling away to glare at him. "You deserve to get what you want. Y-You deserve all the good things after e-everything."

Bucky might honestly start crying too with how sweet you were being.

"Oh doll, come here," he placated, pulling you in for a hug while trying to navigate the food on your lap.

He could take it away for safety, but he'd already learned his lesson the hard way. Taking food away from a pregnant woman was a death sentence.

"I want you to be happy," you sniffled, burying your face against his neck. "You wanted the nuggets and they disrespected that."

It took so much for him not to let out a chuckle. Because as much as Bucky hated to see you crying and upset, he couldn't deny how adorably funny this whole conversation was.

But you'd always had the biggest heart. Whether that was crying over those rescue animal videos, emotional scenes in movies, to feeling upset over something he was experiencing—your empathy was always high.

What more with the pregnancy hormones in the mix?

"How about I ask them to change it?"

Again, wrong thing to say.

He needed to get better at this.

"But they're probably so stressed and overworked already," you sobbed. "A-And it's about to rain. I don't want the delivery guy to get wet in the rain. T-They already don't get paid enough."

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he hummed, rubbing your back. "Will you look at me, my love?"

You lifted your head then, Bucky's heart aching at the absolute distress on your features—pout in full play, eyes a little bloodshot with tear stains on your skin.

He cupped your cheeks with a soft smile, placing gentle kisses all over your face, unrelenting until you let out a whine of protest. He stopped then, thankful to see that you'd calmed down now.

"I promise you, the burger meal is perfectly fine with me. I'm not mad or upset about it. I don't mind it at all," he said.

You took a calming deep breath and nodded. It only took a second for you to look at him sheepishly.

"Sorry I overreacted," you whispered, embarrassed.

"Hey, none of that," he lightly scolded. "All the emotions you're feeling will always be valid."

You smiled, small yet sweet, leaning in and kissing him with as much gratitude as you could muster.

"Besides, it makes me feel so honored to know that you're willing to fight for my chicken nugget rights."

"Shut up, Barnes."

•••

You and Bucky always had a nightly routine and it usually consisted of the two of you getting ready for bed in your own different ways. They were intertwined, but not exactly the same. Like you'd be doing some skin care in the bathroom while he would be brushing his teeth.

But ever since you got pregnant, your routine became more in sync.

It usually started with a bath that he'd run for you. Most of the time he'd end up joining you, the length of said bath varying since that usually depended on what mood you were in. Bucky was always at the service of meeting his wife's needs, after all.

Recently, now that your bump wasn't particularly easy to navigate, he'd helped you get ready for bed. From getting dressed to your skin care, including rubbing some moisturizer on your stomach. That part was one of his favorite things to do.

Then it was the typical things, getting dressed, brushing your teeth—this one you stopped him from doing it for you even though he was more than willing—and overall just getting ready for bed.

Once you’d settled on the pregnancy pillow that Bucky fluffed up for you, he'd sit near the foot of the bed to give your sore feet a massage while you read a book.

Tonight, right when he was in the middle of doing that, he heard you sniffle.

Bucky looked up in concern, catching you already staring at him with tears already in your eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking you over. "Does something hurt?"

"No, I-I'm okay. I just—" You cut yourself off with a sob.

Bucky quickly moved beside you, pulling you onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your form. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, body shaking as you cried.

"Hey, hey, talk to me," he murmured against your hair. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's just—" You let out a shaky breath. "You're always taking care of me."

"Of course, sweetheart, you're my wife," he said. "And not only because it's my duty as your husband, but because I love you so much."

That made you cry even harder.

"I l-love you too, so much," you sobbed. "But I haven't been able to take care of you lately and that's not f-fair."

Bucky felt his heart grow as if it wasn't already bursting at the seams.

How could someone be so selfless and sweet?

"You're pregnant, my love," he stated the obvious reason as to why. "Besides, I'm capable of taking care of myself. It's alright."

"No, it's not," you argued, pulling away slightly to face him. "You deserve to be taken care of, too! You deserve to get pampered a-and a break but you're always fussing over me and taking care of me instead. I'm not helping with any of it. I'm just making it harder for you."

"No, absolutely not," he stated firmly, holding your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. "I love taking care of you. It honestly makes me feel so fulfilled and happy when I do."

"Really?" you sniffled.

"Yes. It's the least I could do with everything that you've been going through right now," he said truthfully, adding with a chuckle, "Hell, if I could carry our baby so you wouldn't have to go through all the pain I would."

That earned him a small laugh.

"But I want to take care of you, too," you admitted after a deep breath.

"You already are," he hummed, thumb stroking your cheek lovingly. "You're taking care of our baby and my heart, and those are very important to me."

You scrunched up your nose adorably.

"That was so cheesy."

"But it's true, though."

You smiled, cupping his face. Bucky turned his head to kiss your palm.

"Thank you," you sighed fondly. "For putting up with me and for everything."

"First off, I'm not putting up with anything," he reassured, kissing your other palm before adding, "Second, you never have to thank me for taking care of you. Never."

You nodded, leaning closer to press your lips against his, pouring all your love and gratitude into it. Bucky kissed you back with the same fervor, never needing words to express what you truly feel for each other.

He felt so content—feeling your lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, and your little peanut asking for attention too, kicking the second Bucky rested hand on your bump.

When you let out a soft, needy whine, he was ready to take the kiss even further.

That was until a wet tongue met his cheek.

Bucky groaned in annoyance, pulling away to see Snow giving you a kiss, too. He couldn't be angry at the dog for ruining the moment when your lovely laugh echoed in the air. Alpine jumped on the bed a second later, nudging her head against Bucky's chin before walking over to place a loving paw on your bump.

His smile was as bright as it could be as he watched the scene before him.

A wonderful home, a wholesome family that involved his beautiful, loving wife and two furballs, his family that was only getting bigger in a few months—

Yeah.

Bucky Barnes was one lucky man.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

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#bhh #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes reader insert #sebastian stan #my writing

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bunny584 · 1 month

Note

Thinking about our boys this fine evening,,

What would their reactions be if you bought them a present?

TURNING TABLES

A/N: My love, I’ve been sitting on this ask for MONTHS. Just chomping at the bit to do it justice. I hope it’s everything you wanted. Enjoy this fluffy fluffy drabble with a lil sprinkle of angst 💕

C/W: Nada, the boys just being adorable. Established relationship. I hope this gives y’all as many delulus as it did me.

GETO

“You’re never going to guess what I got you for your birthday, dimples!”

Your pretty finger digs into the crater in his left cheek that you’re so fond of.

Suguru swallows a grin.

Two things.

One, you’re the only human in this lifetime and the next, who could call him that and wake up the next morning.

Two, he knows exactly what you got him.

Because you’re oblivious in a way that made him fall for you in the first place.

To you, birthdays are sacred. And must be treated like National holidays. All week you’ve been padding around the apartment, glee in your footsteps.

You’ve been staring at him. A whole galaxy in your eyes. Precious little giggles escape you at every turn. Because there’s a secret only you are privy to.

Or so you think.

Suguru has heard you badgering someone over the phone.

“No no, it can’t be purple. His favorite color isn’t purple. It’s indigo. The shade between royal blue and violet. Blue. Indigo. Violet. ROY-G-BIV. Rainbows. Indigo.”

You almost flung your laptop off the balcony two mornings ago.

Instead of just closing the browser displaying shipment confirmation for the silver analogue watch with the indigo face and chrome bezel. You tossed the entire laptop away and Suguru had to lunge to catch it from shattering.

You are clumsy.

And terrible at surprises.

And he adores you.

More than he knew possible.

Suguru shrugs out of his grey peacoat. Dinner was phenomenal, yes. But now he needs you on his tongue for dessert.

He watches you step out of your heels, somewhat upset you didn’t let him take them off for you.

“On the couch and close your eyes!!” You squeal before disappearing into your bedroom.

“Yes ma’am.” Low chuckle spilling from his lips.

You’ll be the one following orders in a second.

Suguru does as he is instructed. Back against the plush couch. Legs spread a little further than usual.

You’ve had him stiff as a board the whole night. Doting over him. Petting his thigh. Pretty lips full of quick kisses and “Happy Birthday baby” and “I love you.” He almost took you at the dinner table.

But he’s a gentleman.

At least, before you get behind closed doors.

“Are you ready for me, birthday boy?” You call out. And your voice alone strips him of manners.

“I’m ready to be inside you, gorgeous.” Suguru palms the length of his shaft.

“Suguru!!! Behave.”

In a matter of seconds, your full body weight lands on his lap. You straddle him and his hands fly to your rounded hips.

You are wearing significantly less clothes than you were 2 minutes ago.

Suguru eyes flare open. The zipper on his suit pants nearly breaks.

“Ohhh, my pretty girl.”

His eyes violate every inch of your negligée. Lacy. Delicate. Riding the gentle dips and curves of your beautiful frame. Saliva pools in his mouth. You have no idea what he’s going—

“Eyes closed!” Your tiny palm can barely span his face.

“Alright, alright.” Suguru hikes you further onto his hips. His rod thundering against his fabric.

“Before you start, baby. Reach into my jacket pocket for me?”

“What?” Suguru always loved how pretty you sound when you’re shocked.

“Do it.”

Your fingers scramble to follow his order. Always so compliant. His name, tangled with an airy little gasp escapes next.

“Suguru Geto, what is this?!”

Eyes still closed, Suguru flashes a mischievous grin. You’re so pretty when you’re stern with him. You punish (reward) him with a quick slap on his chest.

Suguru pulls his lids open. He finds you holding 2 nearly identical boxes. A bigger one in the right, a demure one in the left.

You’re flushed up to your ears and Suguru hasn’t ever seen a woman so beautiful.

“What is this?” You probe again, eyes glossed over.

Suguru gently works the smaller box out of your hand.

“A present,” he plants a chaste kiss on your pouty little lips.

“But it’s your birthday. And I wanted to surprise you. I saw this—“

“—silver analog watch with an indigo face and chrome bezel, I know baby.” Suguru’s lips find your flushed, warm cheeks.

“Suguru…”

“So I got one for you too.” He opens the smaller box, just as you reveal his surprise.

Yours is daintier. Scaled down to your small wrist. Both of your initials inscribed at the base of your watch.

“Baby.”

Mist coats your eyes the way it does. The way your love coats him. In all places. All at once. Gentle. Refreshing.

A blessing.

“You are the love of my life. In this lifetime and the next. Thank you for the birthday gift, sweet girl.”

——

GOJO

“Satoru, Jesus Chri—are you kidding me right now?”

“What’s the matter, baby?”

Your boyfriend was born with a silver spoon and a silver tongue.

An expert at rolling, whipping and twisting words until they’re saltwater taffy. Sweet on the mouth. Sticky in reality. And at its worst, kryptonite to the person consuming them.

As if he didn’t just steal the pink satin bow, from your head. And your hair falls in a slow cascade around your face.

Satoru slides into the seat across the dinner table. Candlelight kissing his high cheekbones. Tonight makes it three years from the day he asked you to be his.

Not that it matters, really. Because time crumbles to stardust around him.

Every minute, every second with Satoru feels like the first. Your heart can’t tell the difference, and you’ve stopped trying to.

A mischievous grin reaches his 10-carat diamond eyes. Razor sharp, and a reminder to everyone within a 1 mile radius that he’s not of this world.

“You’re gorgeous.” Satoru toys with your hair tie. Deftly knotting it into a bow on his wrist — an egregious accessory next to his cuff links.

“Save the pillow talk, Satoru!”

“What?” He retorts, slinging his elbow over the back of his chair. Dangling his newest prized possession in your face.

“Is it so bad that your boyfriend wants to feel close to you? You won’t let me sit next to you — I’m desperate.”

You feign a gasp and lean over. Hushed because what you’re about to say is sacrilegious.

“The Strongest Sorcerer in the modern era won’t survive sitting across from his girlfriend instead of next to her? Don’t let the bad guys hear that.”

Bellowing laughter erupts. His base low and clear as an alpine lake. Your soprano a feather light harmony.

Unbridled joy that is so unique to your relationship echoes throughout the dining room. Waiters and waitresses send fond smiles your way because the restaurant is dedicated to your celebration.

Satoru’s lips find the back of your hand. Embers from the candle catch the golden flecks of sunset in his Mediterranean Sea. Eyes with still waters, tonight.

He’s beautiful, your boy.

“Happy anniversary, princess.”

“Happy anniversary, my love. I have something for you.”

You glide your hand out of his grasp before he locks it in. Eyebrows already crawling to the center of his face.

“I told you not to get—“

“Hush!”

Always one to give, never one to receive, Satoru narrows his gaze. You know that look — he’s planning on tripling his retaliation gift.

Satoru reluctantly takes the box out of your hands, while you watch on bated breath.

His full lips hang open. Cotton candy dusting the tip of his nose, blooming to his ears. He’s never like this. Taken aback. Full of surprise.

Your full name tumbles out of his mouth. Almost foreign to your ears, but indulgent when coated in his rich, loving tone.

Satoru pulls the leather bracelet out of the box. An infinity symbol woven in the center with your initials and his initials flanking either side.

Before you get a chance to breathe again you’re standing in his arms. In the middle of the empty room. Face nearly eclipsed by his large hands.

“Baby,” Is all that escapes him before he crashes his lips onto yours.

His tongue immediately begs for entry. Faint taste of mint chocolate ghosting your taste buds.

It’s comforting. It’s dizzying. It’s Satoru.

“L-let me explain the gift.” Panting out of his embrace. A light sheen already coating his eyes. He’s statuesque except for his thumbs that strum the apples of your cheeks.

“Of course.”

“You’ll probably live forever, fighting demons and such—“

“Curses, baby. The demons are just personal.” He laughs.

Satoru flashes another smile, but this one is blue. Melancholy in a way that tugs on your heart strings. You draw him in for a quick kiss.

A mere bandaid on a lifetime of third degree burns.

“I know I’m not invincible like you and your friends. And you spend an inordinate amount of time dealing with the fact that I’m a Normie.”

Satoru’s nose crinkles. “It’s not a crime to not see curses.”

“I rather you not see them. I don’t want you subjected to that.” Grit in his voice and his eyes glaze over. You know that Satoru is watching gruesome memories on his mind’s big screen.

“I know, handsome.”Your hand cups his face and he subconsciously unravels in it. All but purring into your warmth.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that the world needs you for far greater things than it needs me.”

“Do not talk like—“

Your finger presses against his lips. Your boyfriend has a real habit of cutting you off and at this rate you two will never get to enjoy your dinner.

A small chuckle escapes him. He’s sorry. And you continue.

“I got you that bracelet…because..” Suddenly shy under his undivided attention, you drop your gaze. Thumbing his new gift instead.

You pause. He pauses. Everything around you halts.

Then it all tumbles out at once.

“You’re it for me, Satoru. The One. Forever and always. In every life we’re reborn in, even if I can’t stick around as long as you can in this one.”

Cheeks incinerated by your confession, you muster the courage to lock eyes with him once more. Nearly flat lined at what you see.

A crystal tear sliding down one side of his face. All of his sharp lines and angles, like melted butter. Mouth ajar. Moused. Imperfect. Like his heart is splayed open on his chest for the world to see.

“Satoru…?”

Hearing his name jumpstarts his engine. Satoru lifts you into his arms and strides toward the exit in milliseconds.

You toss your head back. Full of breathy giggles because this is the man you know and love. The modus operandi that made you fall so deeply for him in the first place.

“Dinner! Baby our dinner!” You squeal a little too late, given that he’s 4 more long strides away from the door.

“It’s taken care of. I’ll have them send it to the house.” Eyes straight ahead. A man on a special grade mission.

The two of you come to an abrupt stop just shy of the front door. Satoru rakes his glassy eyes over your flushed face.

“I would die for you. You know that, right?” His voice cracks. Actively staving off the flood threatening the rim of his eyes.

“You and me…you know that I…I lo—, I’ve…you’re the only…fuck.”

Satoru draws in a frustrated sigh. Tossing his head to the side. Hopeful that looking at anything else in the room would make this easier.

“You know why I cant.. I can’t say it baby I—“

“I know, Satoru. I know.”

‘Because love is the most twisted curse of all.’

And he believes that the moment it falls off his tongue, you’ll be taken from him.

Your lover’s presence is grandiose. Demanding. Loud. Noticed from miles away. Earth shifted on its axis when he was born.

A loan from Heaven’s stash. He’s a gift to mankind and your personal Moon.

But his love is the opposite.

Found only in quiet moments. Moments when his shield, breast plate and sword clamor against the hardwood floor after saving lives time and time again.

When you wake up to him staring at you, caressing your cheeks. A gentle wake up call because he needs a kiss. A temporary reprieve from his nightmares. The demons that haunt him day in and day out.

When he comes home early from every single mission. Just to get back to where his heart is.

His love is woven into your satin pillow cases, that hold his triumphs with students, his frustration from work, his regrets.

His love is painted on walls of your apartment. The walls that could barely contain his grief. Wails loud enough to shift earth’s tectonic plates. That heard him scream in your arms. For months. All because he lost his first love at his own hands.

His love glows under the moonlight. When he is buried deep inside you. Rambling about giving you a son first, then a daughter. Because he has to teach his boy to be strong. Strong enough to keep up with him. Strong enough to watch the world burn for his sister if it has to.

Satoru Gojo is not soft, but he loves you softly.

Another tear glides down his porcelain skin. Somewhat ashamed that he can’t swipe it way with his hands full of you, he flashes a lopsided smile. It makes his otherwise ethereal coalescence of features so boyish. Tangible.

Human.

Satoru presses a salty kiss against your lips. And it’s the sweetest he’s ever tasted. Pulling away briefly, to affirm you in a way that only he can.

“Infinity, baby?”

“Infinity, baby.”

531 notes · View notes

everythingne · 6 months

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ wing damage, chapter one (mv1)

Eldest of the Halliwell girls, Y/n (or Nadine) gets her heart broken by the man she’s supposed to wed in six months. Four years of love slipping down the drain faster than she can try and grasp at the remaining water droplets.

But... not all hope is lost as far as the f1 community is concerned and they might be right, since Max seems to be trying to get a little closer to his team owners eldest daughter.

max verstappen x influencer!halliwell!reader / fc: sophia la corte (and various ginger women on pinterest.)

warnings & notes: cheating, mentions of alcohol, small age gap (24-27), strong language, probably inaccurate f1 information, using a name as a placeholder for y/n bc i’m not typing that every time, dates are off by two days in the beginning. deal.

EDIT: I love nadine too much to scrap her story even tho christians a BITCH, so for all intents and purposes in this fic, congrats! a spice girl now owns oracle red bull racing 😭

(part two!)

“Do you want me to confront him?” Max asks, sitting down next to me in the paddock. His hand comes to squeeze my knee, my father rubbing my back as he deletes every photo—every memory of Jacob Taylor from my phone.

Four years down the drain.

My friends back home at my apartment are currently bagging up his stuff. Both Mona and Ally will move in with me, just like college again, once his stuff is empty. My bare apartment will soon be filled with our old nick nacks but i can hardly be happy about it.

Cheated.

The man who spent 50k on an emerald cut four karat ring with a real gold band, cheated? The man who cried when his mom told him she loved me, cheated? The man who cancelled an entire film set because it conflicted with my schedule, cheated? The man who won over the hearts of not only Geri Horner, but Christian Horner? He was the one who cheated?

Jacob was (strong emphasis on the was) the highest standard I ever held. Now, I didn’t even know what standards to have anymore. Anyone could be a cheater. I never stood a chance.

“It’s fine, Max.” I say softly, wiping at my face again to try and make it look less like I’ve been sobbing since I found out as soon as the plane touched down two days ago. The paddock is buzzing, qualifiers getting ready to start for the first GP. The warm Bahraini sun beats down on the track and I can see the heat wiggling above it. Even in March it’s as hot as summer over here, and part of me misses the gloomy, smoggy streets of London right now.

“It’s not fine!” Max groans at me, throwing his head back in exclamation. I know he’s sick and tired of hearing me say it for the thousandth time, but if I say it’s not fine, I’ll break down. And we can’t have that.

“Max,” GP's voice calls before Max can go on another tirade about killing Jacob. Max turns and I can see the hesitance in him to leave my side. He’s been like this since I met him the first day he raced with Red Bull years back—instantly the two of us clicked. When the days got hard, or his dad got on his back a bit too much, I would appear by his side and with a tiny smile somehow I'd fix everything. After I became his sort of 'chauffeur' when one of our drivers got sick in Abu Dhabi his first year, and we got stuck in an hour of traffic with nothing to do but talk, we became basically glued to each others sides.

I think having my unwavering support made a lot of the transition into Red Bull easier for him. And in moments like these, where he's watching me with a keen eye, I don’t know how I lived so long without his calm presence at my side. I was only a five years old when my Mom bought Red Bull Racing, it’s been my entire life, and every racer who has passed through our team has never stuck to my side like Max Verstappen has.

“Go.” I nudge his knee when I see his hand twitch and hover by his helmet, eyes darting to me and then GP who waits in the doorway, so I supply, “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Max nods, giving me a departing hug before he gets up and starts tugging his racing suit on. Immediately my mother replaces him, turning my head to card his hands through my hair.

“Oh, honey.” Geri coos, squeezing my arms as she lets me lean into her, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong, Mama.” I sigh, leaning into him and letting his wrap his arms tight around me.

“No, I trusted that boy. That’s what I did wrong.” She says back, before handing me back my phone. We sit like that for a long time, people passing us without asking. Everyone knew. I had found out the same way they all did—on social media. Jacob didn’t even have the balls to tell me himself. Fucking coward.

Eventually someone calls my mother away for some celebrity, sp I force myself to sulk off to a hidden corner where I can munch on chocolates and watch Max from a little tv. Not as good as my usual perch next to my Mom, but I don’t need the public seeing me the day I find out my fiancé of several years had been cheating almost the whole time. With his co-star.

Fucking hell.

nadinehalliwell

liked by maxverstappen, danielricciardo, charlesleclerc, and 124k others...

nadinehalliwell: before and after max won

tagged: bbhalliwell

gerihalliwell: love u lots mini ginger spice!!!!

⤷ nadinehalliwell: mama ill cry </3

charlesleclerc: maman says hello and that she will have wine for you when you come to monaco

⤷ arthurleclec: nadine you are very beautiful do not let a man win -- maman

⤷ thenadinehorner: OMGGGG <3<3<3 XOXO MAMAN JE VOUS AIME TELLEMENT

bbhalliwell: bahrain was NOT ready for the halliwell girls !!

maxverstappen: you and your sister together is recipe for disaster

⤷ danielricciardo: bet they're planning ur downfall.

⤷ nadinehalliwell: beware both of u 🔪

I knew returning home to my apartment was going to be hard. I had spent a few days with my mom and Bluebell home in Nottingham.

Being in my mothers had been refreshing enough to start and heal my heart. I also learned that my mom was really fucking good at healing, it involved a lot of wine and a lot of cursing.

My apartment in Monaco had been a home full of happy memories of moving in with Jacob, and our time living together everyday I wasn’t at grand prixs and he wasn’t on set. Memories of our families and friends together with us, and now it would be just me.

So empty. Alone. White walls with no decorations anymore. Just staring at me, closing in slowly.

Opening the door I sucked in a breath of pure agony. My mother's warm hand around my shoulder a soft reminder that even if I felt abandoned, I wasn’t alone. Not by a long shot. And as the door clicks open, my hand finds the lights instinctually, and my eyes widen to dinner plates.

“Welcome home!” a chorus cheers and I laugh, all my of old friends circled around the end of the foyers hallway, wine glasses and soju bottles in hand. I can’t even speak as tears fill my eyes and the girls run to me, waving my mother off. She kisses my hairline, tells me she'll text me when she gets home, and shuts the door as my friends cart me into the kitchen and wipe my tears and fix up my messy hair with giggles.

“Tonight!” One of my friends—eventually I source the drunken giggles to Ally, “we will make you so hot and sexy, he will regret it.”

“And if he comes crawling back!” It’s Mona now.

“We will rip his dick off!” Marija shouts and the girls raise shots to me.

“Guys—what is all of this?” I can’t help but laugh, and then the three look at each other and smile.

“So… you’ve heard of a revenge dress, right?” Ally says slowly, and it all clicks.

nadinehalliwell

liked by maxverstappen, charlesleclerc, christianhorner and 976k others..

nadinehalliwell: ‘little black dress, who you doin it for?’ 🖤

tagged: monanotlisa, allycameragirl, marijaswrld

maxverstappen: Is this that ‘hot girl era’ thing?

⤷ charlesleclerc: i think so.

monanotlisa: absolutely sexy. as per usual.

allycameragirl: FUCKKK UR HOT 🖤🖤

landonorris: one direction???

⤷ nadinehalliwell: ofc you know it’s one direction.

⤷ landonorris: cannot tell if this is a compliment or not but thanks ?

marijaswrld: 🧎‍♀️ < me

#my fic #formula one fic #formula 1 fic #formula one smau #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen smau

865 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Eddie’s voice rang out through Steve’s bedroom.

Steve jumped because, well, he was completely alone in his house less than a minute ago, and now Eddie Munson was standing in his doorway staring at him.

In a skirt.

Not like, a short one. Just one of Robin’s that she let him borrow with no explanation.

She kind of gave him a knowing look, but she didn’t say anything. She probably didn’t want to scare him or make him second guess himself or feel any of the shame he finally buried deep enough to even ask her for it.

It’s just when he first saw it in her closet, he fell in love with it. The way it flowed in just the right spots, how it hit above the hips (or he thought it would if he ever was brave enough to try it on), how the color was the exact shade of blue he always preferred.

And Robin never even wore it.

It was shoved in the back of her closet like a forgotten thing, never to see the light of day because then Robin would have to acknowledge something other than jeans or stupid pleated pants that were apparently “all the rage for lesbians, Steve!”

So he spent months picturing himself in it, touching the soft fabric any time he had to grab something from her closet, practicing asking to borrow it “for a girlfriend.” Practiced telling himself that skirts were only gendered because of society, or whatever bullshit spiel Robin had gone into when they saw a guy getting teased for wearing a dress in Indy.

And he believed it just fine when it came to others. Doesn’t make any man who is a man less of a man and all that.

But for him?

It’s just not allowed.

Until it was.

He was staying the night at Robin’s because they had to close and then open the next morning. She was showing him her new sweater she’d bought for her first date with Nancy that she refused to actually ask Nancy out on. When she opened the closet, he saw the edge of it.

“Can I borrow that?”

Robin looked at him like he’d gained ten heads.

“Borrow what? The sweater? No. This sweater cost more than most of my closet combined. It’s gonna be my magical confidence booster.”

“Not the sweater.” Steve took a deep breath. “The skirt.”

“Uh.”

“I mean. Not for me. Obviously. For someone else.”

Robin raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

“Uh. Do I know her?”

“Nope.”

“Does she need clothes or something? I can do a closet clean out to help.”

Steve loved Robin. She wasn’t exactly well-off, but she’d literally give the shirt off her back if it meant someone else would have clothes who needed them.

He only felt a little guilty about lying to her.

“No, no. Uh. Just the skirt. She saw one like it the other day and loved it so much. She couldn’t get that one so I think if she can just wear this one once she’ll get it out of her system, ya know?”

If he was talking about himself, that was only for him to know.

But he saw the way Robin was looking at him. She knew. No amount of coverup was going to make her not know. He could only hope she wouldn’t ask questions.

“Sure. She can try it and see if it gets out of her system. She could also keep it if it doesn’t though.”

Steve gulped.

“Really?”

Robin gave him a small smile, encouraging when he felt like he was going to throw up all over her ugly bedroom carpet.

“Yeah. God knows I won’t ever wear it unless I’m being forced to.”

“Okay.” Steve smiled and walked over to the closet. “I…she’s gonna be really excited about this. Thanks, Robs.”

“Anytime Dingus.”

He turned to look at Eddie standing in his doorway, face flush with embarrassment and shame. He didn’t want this to be the end of whatever was going on between him and Eddie.

They were dancing around each other according to Robin and Will and Dustin and Max.

They were being ridiculous according to Nancy and Jonathan and Wayne.

They were being cautious according to Eddie.

They were just taking it slow.

Steve hated it.

But he knew why Eddie wanted to be cautious; Rushing into a relationship built on shared trauma is probably worth taking a little time on.

And even if they have been basically dating for months, it’s totally fine that they haven’t even kissed.

And now they probably never will because Eddie just walked in while he was wearing the skirt.

He loved this skirt. He felt pretty. He loved that when he turned in a circle, it fluttered out just enough to look cute, but not enough to show a bunch of skin. He loved the way the color made his tanned skin just a bit lighter, and he glowed a little in the mirror.

But now he would always think of Eddie leaving him in the dust because of it.

“I just. I. Sorry.”

Steve looked down at his feet, trying to feel for the zipper along the side of the skirt to take it off before he made things worse. His hands were shaking, adrenaline pouring through him so quickly he couldn’t find where the zipper began.

He felt a hand on top of his, holding it firmly to keep it from moving anymore.

“Stevie. Look at me.”

As hard as it was to do it, Steve looked up at Eddie, tears already forming in his eyes.

“You look beautiful. Keep it on, let me see you.”

And even though the words were so kind and made Steve feel so much better, he let the tears fall from his eyes.

Hearing Eddie say it out loud, that he was beautiful and allowed to wear this if it made him feel beautiful, was almost too much for him to handle. His last set of scars had really done a number on his self-confidence, but this skirt had given him hope for the first time in almost a year that he’d feel good in his skin again. Eddie had the power to tear him back down, but of course he hadn’t. He made it better, like he always did.

Eddie pulled his hand away from the skirt, holding it up and twirling him in a circle.

Steve giggled.

When was the last time he did that?

Never, maybe.

Eddie’s smile was contagious as they looked at each other with matching beaming smiles. He was staring at Steve’s face now.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy, sweetheart.” Eddie reached his unoccupied hand out to touch the waistline of the skirt. “I don’t think you know how incredible you look when you’re happy.”

What does a person even do with a compliment like that?

Pass out? Kiss? Die?

Steve settled on kissing Eddie.

It was time to move beyond whatever they’d been doing. Steve couldn’t wait any more.

If Eddie was going to not only accept this part of Steve that Steve had barely even accepted of himself, but also encourage him to feel beautiful, then Steve was going headfirst into this.

Their lips met harshly at first, Steve being a bit overzealous and misjudging how close they already were.

But within seconds, Eddie was slowing it down, placing both hands on Steve’s cheeks to control the pace better. He was licking along Steve’s bottom lip, silently asking for entrance, but not moving and faster or demanding anything more than what Steve wanted.

When they parted for air, Eddie rested his forehead against Steve’s, eyes blinking open slowly.

“You like the skirt?” Steve asked with a smirk.

“I love the person in it. I like whatever he feels best in.”

Steve sat with that for a moment, but recovered quickly.

“You love me?”

“Can’t imagine how you didn’t know, sweetheart.”

“Just didn’t know it was like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like the real kind. The kind where you love someone enough to love the things they love even if you aren’t sure what to do with it.”

“I love you the real kind.”

Eddie was smiling at him when he pulled away and left a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I love you the most kind.”

“I love you the best kind.”

Steve laughed.

“Can we dance?”

“If you want.”

“I wanna take the skirt for a test drive.”

Eddie settled his hands on Steve’s hips and started humming a song that was definitely not usually for a slow dance, but sounded nice enough for them.

When Eddie spun Steve out and twirled him back into his arms, and his skirt moved in just the right ways, he felt more like himself than he ever had before.

And when Eddie bought him his own skirt from a store in Indy the next time they had a date night, he let himself feel pretty in a way he didn’t think was possible.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #tumblr drabbles #headcanon #babygirl steve harrington #Steve deserves to feel pretty #and Eddie tells him so!!!#this was sitting in my notes for two weeks and I forgot about it lmao #maybe I should clean out my stuff more often

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xo2dee · 5 months

Text

𝐉𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐬

𝐣𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

❦ Pairing: Nanami Kento x (Fem)Reader

❦ Warnings: MDNI/18+ only. oral sex (fem receiving), vaginal fingering, edging (fem receiving), dirty talk, vaginal sex, rough sex, orgasm delay/denial, light bondage, unprotected sex, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy, creampie

❦ Word Count: 6051

❦ Summary: Jingle all the way.

❦ A/N: i wrote this two years ago around christmas time and have revised it like twice, so it's only fair i share this one here first given how it's still in season

❦ twitter - ao3

In retrospect, you hadn’t thought you would gander the attention you had gotten from him. At least, not so soon.

(But it wasn't like you didn't always have his attention anyway.)

Nanami Kento was an exceedingly busy man, and returning to his job as a Jujutsu Sorcerer was almost just as busy as his time spent as a salaryman; albeit he did admit to you that perhaps it was less stressful, but he still had his headaches whenever Gojo Satoru decided to pester him with annoying antics to tell him about an investigation rather than just telling him straight up (he had been subjected to more than enough crude drawings of the male and female reproductive anatomy to speak for that accusation). And because of that, it was increasingly hard for you and him to ever spend time together since he always seemed to work well into overtime no matter how times he grouched about how much he hated it.

Dates were often hard to come by with him, but alas, it was like they said it being a ‘Christmas Miracle’ whenever a seemingly extremely happy and yearned for event happened in the month of December that Kento found some time off for the holidays even if it wasn’t necessarily celebrated as much. Because of that, you were able to enjoy more time with him and take time decorating for the corresponding holiday later in the month as well as plan a nice dinner night with him since you two really hadn’t sat down and enjoyed each other’s company like that in a long while.

You two also hadn’t had sex in a while. And perhaps that was why when Kento had asked you if you were going out to buy stockings to hang above the fireplace, you bought another more suggestive type of stockings as well.

Maybe it was the pent-up sexual frustration from that feeling of not touching each other like that in so long that got him so riled up, but fuck, from the way he eyed you as you stepped out in it for what was supposed to be a somewhat formal dinner between you two in your shared apartment…

You patted yourself on the back for buying the number because as much as you liked it, so did he.

Dinner with Kento at a restaurant or not was always a gracious occasion, he was composed and polite in matters of enjoying a fine cuisine with you and treasured that time he got with you. You liked the domesticity of it as you two chatted over glasses of burgundy wine, watching the glinting of your silverware in the light as you bit into your meal, and overall, just enjoyed his presence because it was hard to come by to get him like that.

You often told him you preferred his cooking over going out to eat, knowing from experience that he personally made the food just right whenever you were eating it. He had been taking his time in baking as well, the cake of your favorite flavor with strawberries on top he had made sitting on the counter in your kitchen for the romantic occasion something you had been looking forward to trying as well when you told him you were ready for dessert.

Honestly you had meant the cake as a dessert, but Kento was dead set on indulging himself in another type of dessert beforehand. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint where and when he finally snapped, you knew he was already teetering on a fine line to keep a strong hold onto his will whenever you first walked out in the little Christmas Elf ensemble.

The outfit itself was probably enough to nearly make him combust; the Christmas green, velvet, negligee combined with a jagged, jingle-bell trim that barely covered your ass and the plunging neckline that had your breasts pushed up and ready to pop out of the top of it had his dark eyes homing in on the parts of your flesh exposed. Your hat was something you hadn’t thought to really keep on since it was already in the floor next to dinner table, but you were beginning to think that perhaps his favorite part of the outfit was the thigh-high stockings lining up your legs and your red thong that matched the color of his tie for the night.

(Of course, he had matching ties for the holidays, it was just so him.)

The stocking themselves were green and white-striped topped off with their own little jingle-bell positioned neatly into the middle of your thighs, that which with every moment you made, they jingled. You had noticed his eyes mainly gravitate down towards there, mouth thinning and a vein throbbing in his temple with each step you made in them walking towards him in those damn fuzzy little kitten heels he had bought you that one time. Kento wasn’t so discreet in pulling his collar away from his neck and tugging at his tie as you both sat down to eat in an action of frustration and probable horniness, and he wasn’t so discreet with the rough tone his voice held every time he tried to engage in any conversation with you.

You knew that you would get fucked after dinner anyway considering the dilated, alluring gaze he was throwing at you from underneath his eyelashes that you normally got whenever he was in the mood, but you being you wanted to indulge in your own fun to see how far you could push him.

After all, it had been so long since you two touched each other so intimately.

Like you had been thinking beforehand, you weren’t too sure where and when Kento decided to say fuck it and bend you over the table, but you had some possible guesses. Perhaps when you licked a slow stripe on your fork with a sighing moan talking about how good it tasted. Or maybe when you purposefully kept pushing your arms together to let your tits strain against the bra that your nipples were about to spill out of for his view, talking about how tight the outfit was. Though if you really had to pick one of the guesses, it was when both of you had finished the actual dinner and then you sighed about how you wanted to be stuffed full right as you ate that dessert.

That really was the last thing you had really said to each other, the only thing coming out his mouth after had been a curse and some concealed grunts while you on the other hand were alternating with filthy praises and moans mixed with whines while Kento had his own dessert.

At that moment in time, you were bent over the dining table, hands clutching onto the tablecloth in tight fists and your chest squished into the hard surface with one leg Kento had hoisted up onto the table in a harsh grip on your thigh. Your other leg was balancing up on your tiptoes while your lover had fallen onto his knees after all but tearing your thong off and throwing it onto the table just above your head and used his other hand to spread the ass cheek of your leg that wasn’t on the table to bury his face nose-deep into your pussy.

You had already been getting wet with your own teasing, but Kento’s tongue was fast to let you start nearly dripping onto the floor and the tablecloth while delivering slow, fat licks with the base of his tongue up the entirety of your wet folds. His fingers dug into your ass of what he could with a squeeze, his hot breath and grunts vibrating through the opening of your cunt whenever you wiggled from a particular stimulated swipe of his tongue and moaned into the tablecloth.

Trying to sit up on your elbows to look back at him he was quick to force you back down with a hand placed onto your lower back, a slap to your ass afterwards for trying to move your pussy away for his ‘meal’. You whined and scratched at tablecloth that was nearly falling off the dinner table in a fashion Kento would’ve normally sighed at and pinched the bridge of his nose for, wriggling your hips harder against his nose for him to stop with the torturous licking and to just really devour your cunt like a man starved.

“Kento, please, go faster,” you huffed against the cloth, cheeks as hot as the temperature of the room. The fireplace in the living room had been lit to help set the romantic mood and to help fight the cold weather freezing the windows, and above the fireplace was the two cute stockings you had bought for the both of you. You watched the fire flicker in a drunk-like state, almost reminiscent of the hot sensation behind your naval growing every time your lover let the tip of his tongue jab at your clit. Everything was so hot, and you felt so warm.

Kento delivered another smack to your ass cheek, no doubt the skin beginning to redden from the repeated hits he had been giving you since he bent you over the damn table and started eating your pussy like it was his last meal. You moaned again as the sting morphed and grew alongside of your heightened pleasure, but you knew the slap was his own way of saying he wanted to hear something better than that.

You arched your back to deliberately rock your hips back into his face, his tongue sliding faster up your slit as he turned to slurping and sucking around the area with a groan from your eagerness, “Just… I wanna feel it, I wanna cum on your tongue and your face, please.”

That rewarded you a louder groan that vibrated your pussy again, his hand on your thigh holding you up moving to grasp your hip as the other grabbed the thigh of your leg desperately trying to remain on the ground to spread it wider for his liking. Once you were situated like he wanted, he changed his course of action: that hand holding your thigh disappeared to let two fingers begin a slow, rotating rub onto your clit, and his face delved deeper into your cunt with the tip of his tongue wiggling around until he had your lips spread open far enough to push the organ inside of you some. All the while the hand on your hip coasted you back and forth, encouraging you to rock back and grind against his face as he continued eating you out.

Your reaction was instantaneous; a keening, louder moan past through your lips as your eyes slightly rolled whenever his tongue made quick work to map out the inside of your dripping cunt. You eagerly followed his instruction of rolling your hips every time he swiped up the inside of you, coating your insides with his own saliva and at the same time greedily letting your fluids soak up into his taste buds.

God, Kento was one of the best pussy eaters you had ever had the pleasure coming of across, and it really doubled down onto that fact since he always wanted to indulge in it every time you two had sex.

“God, Kento, your mouth…” you broke off into whimper whenever he picked up the speed of rubbing your clit, switching from the circles to a steady back and forth, pressing down every time he repeated the process. You pressed your forehead into the table below you, almost wanting to just shred the white cloth from how fucking good it felt each time you rolled back onto his tongue and whenever he curled the tip of his tongue to lick up a side of you while pressing harder onto your clit, and ohfuckinghell –

Kento groaned again and his fingers flexed harder on your hip whenever you started to clench and unclench around his slick, hot tongue, his lips pressing over the lower parts of your pussy in a kiss to lap up any escaping fluids that his tongue wasn’t able to catch. The appendage felt insane, and you didn’t know how he managed to do it, but every time you two got to fucking he made it better each time around.

“S-Shit, just like that, please. Fuck, I’m so close,” you whimpered again as you dug your face harder into the tablecloth to fight back a horribly loud, pornographic moan. He answered back by smacking off your cunt and sliding his tongue out of you to give you another slow, almost lazy lick on the outer parts of you, deliberately teasing at your clit in a quick jab before he was diving back in with a hot exhale to put his tongue back in your warm pussy.

You bit into the cloth at that, eyes shutting in a squeeze as the coil behind lathering up in your lower abdomen pushed harder against you. Your brain had blocked out everything that wasn’t him, just giving all focus of letting your hips swing back and forth from his face and letting your cunt constrict and press around his tongue to get a feel of the greedy organ swirling around inside of you to feel every curl and swipe it made against your insides. Your back arched further inwards and your toes curled as well; the all-telling sign you were so fucking close to cumming.

God, you wanted it so bad.

The leg on the ground started to shake as Kento picked up his darts and jabs against your soft cunt and his fingers started move more rapidly on your clit. You were getting desperate then after that, his tongue-fucking making you rock back eagerly like you were fucking back on his dick those so many times he had you face down into your mattress. His fingers digging into your hip only added to the intensity behind abdomen and growing in your pussy that was rapidly approaching each time he groaned sending a vibration up all the towards your clit and cervix alike, your pleas getting jumbled together in praises and just broken whines of his name.

“Please, fuck –” you squealed when he hummed and pinched your clit – “Kento, it feels so good, I’m gonna cum, keep going…” your back arched hard whenever he slapped your ass again, nails really starting to rip into the tablecloth when his tongue slithered up out of you and he decided to let the slick organ join the movement on your clit.

However when he closed his lips around your swollen clit and sucked, you jerked hard with your cunt beginning to spasm as you were on the cusp of finally cumming all over his fucking face and he just needed to keep sucking and groaning while he did it as you continued to fuck back into his face and you were so close, just right there, right there, right there, fuck –

When the all-telling loud whine of his name finally left your lips that he fucking knew meant you were about to cum, he abruptly backed off of you, taking his tongue, his mouth and his fingers altogether and leaving you edged up and your cunt leaking from all the fluids of his saliva and yours combined. A groan left you and you banged your forehead onto the table whenever you felt his presence leave your entire body for a few moments, leaving your pussy gaping open and your hips still desperately rocking for any type of friction to let you cum.

He was in that mood.

Well… it was too be expected when you had really set him over the edge that time.

“Kento –” you started off, but quickly his name trailed off into a squeal whenever he gripped both your hips and flipped you back over upwards to face him, letting you get the full, hazy sight of him already jerking his tie out of its knot rather aggressively and throwing it onto the table next to you. He didn’t waste any time after doing that, the clanking of his belt coming undone as he only undid his pants far enough to pull his hard cock out and let it sit snugly on your clit as he slowly began to rock onto it.

Your toes curled again as he pulled you down lower onto the table, hooking your legs over his hips as you watched his flushed face follow the movements of his dick rubbing up on your clit until you started squirming and bucking up towards him in a wordless beg to just fuck you. Your orgasm was well gone by then, the throbbing of your clit and his grinding slowly picking it back up until he decided he had enough of your little wriggling around and just wanted to be inside of you once and for all.

Kento surprisingly didn’t take it slow then, his cockhead lining up with your opening for a few seconds until he was pushing his hips forward into one good thrust and bottoming out inside of you. You always gasped every time he got inside of you, the girth of him enough to knock the breath out of you and make you grip onto his forearms. He did the same too, a long shuddering exhale leaving his glistening lips covered in your fluids as his hands moved to grip onto the tablecloth beside of your head and he started to shallowly thrust into you.

“I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you,” he grunted out, sounding just as out of breathe as you felt, “You’re always so wet, so easy for me to just slip in… It’s been so long, I almost want to just take this slow and savor every way you moan and the way you feel right now gripping me,” his hips started to move faster, your body beginning bounce each time he slid out far enough and pushed back in.

His talking and voice alone had you clenching around him, ready to just fucking gush on his cock if he so much as asked. However, your interest was piqued by his explanation of ‘almost wanting to go slow’, eagerly looking up at him through your lidded eyes with your sighing lips as your hands left his arms to tug at the buttons of his shirt.

Once you got his shirt done and the view of his muscled body in sight, he spoke again with a rougher, sharp edge in his tone, “You remember what you said earlier?”

“Mmm." He was picking up his pace, the bells on your negligee and your stockings beginning to jingle each time your body slid up and back down on the dinner table, “What’d I say?” you breathily asked, hands hungrily running down the planes of his sculpted abdomen.

“You said you wanted to be ‘stuffed full’ of the dessert I made,” he groaned out whenever you pinched a nipple, one of his hands curling long fingers around your wrists as the other made way for his tie next you. He made quick work wrapping the fabric of it around your wrists, not tight enough to cut your circulation off, but tight enough to keep your hands secured, and topped it off with its own little bow as he pushed your tied-up hands in-between your cleavage.

Almost like you were his present.

“Behave,” he warned when you snickered, and afterwards letting his fingers tugging the straps of your negligee down onto your upper arms before returning his hands to fist at the tablecloth next to your ribs. “As I was saying, you said you wanted to be stuffed full,” his hips were picking speed up again, the sound of your clothing jingling louder and the cold steel of his belt clanking and pressing against your skin adding to the noise in the room. “Tell me, did you mean you wanted to be stuffed full of my cock or stuffed full of my cum?”

The words sent a frenzy into your brain that shot down your spine and tingled into your clit, your thighs squeezing around his hips in tune to how your pussy squeezed over his dick each time it rolled back inside of you. Your fingers curled and your joints popped as you craved to grab onto something, pants slipping out of your mouth as you tried to answer him, “I – mmm, I want, fuck –”

A slap landed onto the side of your thigh, “Tell me… I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

God, every time he talked to you like that your pussy was already drenching and ready to just beg him for whatever. The words alone had you moaning again as you heard the table below you two start to creak and the wine glasses beginning to shake in tune with his thrusting. Your head rolled back as you shut your eyes, the building pressure in your abdomen already weighing you back down as the babbling was already falling off your lips for affirmation to get him to actually finally fuck you.

“Both! Please just fuck me until I’m full of cum. IwantitsobadpleaseKentoplease!”

You got what you wanted at least.

At first, he groaned at your whines with his fingers ripping the tablecloth at how you sounded, your moans for him the sweetest and the most tempting sounds in the world to him as they sent chills through his body just from how he and he alone was blessed to hear them. After that, he very nearly lethargically pulled his cock out until his swollen and reddened cockhead skimmed your folds in a kiss, and then it was whole other side of him you were so goddamn happy to see when he snapped back into your cunt and set himself off with a devastating pace.

Your back instantly arched once you were thrown into the haven of ecstasy that was him ferociously fucking you, a choked out moan from his tenaciousness as your body really began to bounce and slide onto the dinner table.

Fuck, you loved pushing his buttons.

The table then was really creaking, the glasses above you two tipping back and forth with each jab of his cock he sent pressed into the deepest part of your pussy and the wine bottle almost rolling off into the floor if his fast reflexes hadn’t caught it and placed it into the chair behind him. The other noises you were able to hear were your own moans and pants all jumbled sorts of his name, and his own grunting and groaning low in his chest combined with the obscene sound of your pussy getting smacked into every time he pulled out far enough and dove back in with hard snaps.

But there was another noise that you would’ve laughed at if you weren’t currently getting the shit fucked out of you by your lover, who had not once felt the touch of your pussy in what seemed to be months.

The little bells on your stockings and at the bottom of your negligee that had been pushed up past your hips were tinkling so loud and so in a tune, it nearly sounded like it was being played by an orchestra entirely made up of sleigh bells. You had half a mind to think it nearly could be paired with the knocking of the table to add in the effect of hooves signaling the sign of reindeer arriving, but you were so caught up with focusing on how fucking good Kento felt you only thought about it for brief moments.

His cock deep diving into your cunt was gut-curling and left you gasping out each time he found home inside of you so bad that it started to line up with how your words came out of you. You were mesmerized by his face as always; red and his forehead sweaty enough to let tendrils of his blonde locks curl onto the surface of while his dark brows were scrunched into a furrow and at times, he bit his lip to keep himself from moaning louder than you. At other times you knew he liked to watch your face; his brown eyes heavily dilated and boring into your own to watch every expression you made to commit it to his memory, however then…

His eyes were acutely focused on watching his cock leave you as your cunt twitched and gaped open awaiting his return, and watching it so easily enter you again and how your pussy would stretch to accommodate his size and it was a perfect fit –

Kento’s nostrils flared as another harsh exhale left him, his strokes picking up a fraction letting you know that he was getting close rather quickly. You couldn’t blame him, it had been so long and you were ready to cum all over him as well.

Your back knocking into the table had your tits bouncing out of your built-in bra, the gasping sounds of your words bringing his eyes back to your own as you spoke with each harsh thrust, “You haven’t – been – like this – in a while – God – last time – you were like – this – it was the – first – time I let you – cum inside of me – oh fuck.”

Kento eyes narrowed into your own before they briefly dropped to watch your breasts bounce with each thrust, your hardened nipples catching his attention as he reached up and tweaked one. You squealed and wiggled your hips, but he didn’t let up as he leant down closer and the upwards angle of his cock inside of you had your eyes crossing while his mouth found your ear. His gravelly voice sent a new wave shivers down your spine, “Need I remind you that you begged for it? You whined and cried about how much you wanted me to finally ‘fuck you’ and let you feel me cum in you. How shameful you are begging to be filled like that, but I can’t say I’m surprised since you beg me for it every time.”

At the angle he was at practically lying on top of you it allowed you to scratch at his chest, another round of fiery words coming out in response to his hypocriticalness that he was the one telling you that he’d cum inside of you so much that it was incredible you hadn’t gotten pregnant, “You love it – you love – fucking me full – don’t you? You love – the idea of me – being at risk – and you do it – mmm – every single time.”

That got you a hoarse groan, Kento leaning back far away from you with a grunt and aggressively tearing off his blazer to throw into the floor where you little hat laid as well. Something about his eyes changed, his shoulders hunching forward as his hands slid down past your hips and over your thighs until he was twirling three fingers around the top of your stockings. His strokes had stopped and you had a moment of clarity not having the breath fucked out of you until he started back up again. Though that time –

Shitshitshitshitshit.

Kento had taken upon himself to use the leverage he had on your stockings to pull your body to fuck into him. The pace wasn’t as fast and desperate beforehand, but it was deep and with the hard meaning behind it thick with ferocity of what he wanted to do to you.

But really it was what you both wanted.

“Ohhhholyshit, fuck I’m gonna cum,” you wailed out throwing your head back again with a gaping mouth, legs tightening of what they could as they began to shake around his hips. There had been few times you genuinely felt like Kento was guts-deep into you, aside from always being balls deep in your pussy, and that moment as you bounced and nearly hiccupped with every tug at your thighs to let your sopping insides completely engulf his cock, you truly felt like he was in your stomach. Your cunt then was pulsing, clenching and unclenching as best as it could to all but engrave each vein and groove on his cock to the walls of you, the new pace and angle crossing and rolling your eyes back as you started to slip back down into your orgasm once more.

However, he wasn’t about to let you off for your little backtalk.

“Don’t be so coy, you like it as much as I do whenever you feel me cum inside of you,” his hold tightened as you heard parts of your stockings rip from his behavior and he began to slowly fuck back into you, meeting you thrust for thrust, “You – want – to tell me – what it is? What is it you want done to you so badly?”

Your head rolled, your pussy growing wetter and impossibly tighter at each word he groaned at you. The coil behind your naval was too hard to ignore, your mind desperately clawing to reach for it, to finally feel that sweet sense of relief, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to have it unless you told him what you wanted. He knew you were about cum, he could feel it with each stroke that you constricted around and each pant that grew louder and louder when you bucked your hips up to meet him.

You indulged him. “I want you to cum inside of me –”

Your stockings ripped more, a bell on one flying off to jingle as it rolled onto the floor. “That’s not what I want to hear.”

Everything was hot; him, his cock, you. “Fuck, just… stuff me full of your cum like I said wanted you to!”

“Tempting,” he grunted out and you watched him flick the one little bell on your stocking still, the others still jingling as the table slid in tune with his pulling, “but you can do better than that.”

You were getting frustrated; you had been denied cumming once, and with the throbbing of your clit and the ‘itch you couldn’t scratch’ feeling, you were very nearly ready to fuck into him and cum before you told him anything. However, it was the pulsing of his hot cock inside of you with each dive back into you and the edge his octave took when he spoke to you that stopped from doing so; he was close. He was close and wanted to hear what you were going to say to let himself get off and you knew he knew that him alone cumming was enough make you cum too. The feeling of his warm cum spurting out along your walls and keeping it inside of you feeling so good it made you insatiable, and you wanted so much more.

Kento’s tip was brushing against that one sensitive spot again, the area not unknown to him since he loved to fuck up into you there to have you crying and babbling for him. Your eyes rolled back a fraction and your toes curled while your nerves lit up as you grew so fucking close, the muscles in your body tensing and the awareness in your brain turning foggy while the pressure in your cunt grew tenfold and you started squeezing desperately around him. With his heavy breaths and harsh groans, you knew was getting at his limit; he was getting closer.

But you wanted it, you wanted it so damn bad that you regained a bit of clarity for a brief moment to really push at his resolve. You blinked and rolled your eyes back to him, finding his own dark eyes already watching you, then narrowing inwards as you let a lewd grin light up your face.

“It’s called breeding.”

His grip tightened.

“You have a breeding kink.”

His pace quickened; harder and faster, and you locked your ankles at his back.

“I want you to breed me, Kento.”

His nostrils flared and a hissing exhale left him, hands slamming down onto the table in favor of just fucking hard into you instead.

“C’mon, breed me.”

A long, winding groan left him as his fingers found your clit again with a deliberate rub, the rest of your plea coming off in a high-pitched whine as you starting cumming the moment you said it.

“Fuck a baby into me, Kento!”

You got the satisfaction for a brief second to watch his eyes roll back at the last words before your head lulled back from the harsh release of your orgasm. You shut your eyes as your vision had busted into shades of all colors and strong release of endorphins flooded both sides of your brain, your hips sporadically trying to grind and buck to keep up with his still thrusting body as he fucked you through and you tried to ride through it. It was useless though, the lock you had around his back breaking with your shaking legs and your trembling cunt squeezing around him to desperately keep him inside of you. Your chest heaved with the harsh breaths as you began to jerk and try to find your way back to lucidity, but you weren’t so lucky whenever you moaned aloud again when you felt him cum.

His last thrust was a harsh jab he combined with a thigh-clenching groan that slid the table and you up inches before you sighed longingly as you felt the familiar warmth of his cum spurting out inside of you. You got your wish of getting stuffed full as well, his cum almost seemingly never-ending as each sudden stab of his hips in you had another stream of it filling up your pussy. The new heat in you had you sighing once more in contentment as you felt it slowly slide down through you and pass into your womb, not doubt him fulfilling that possible useless wish of wanting him to fuck a baby into you. Kento’s thrusts finally came to still as he sat inside of you to keep any of his cum from leaking out your still convulsing cunt, only leaving you as both of your breaths finally settled into a steadier rate.

You could feel it slowly begin to slide out of your gaping hole after he carefully pulled out, almost literally feeling your body deflate and trying to push itself back into place as his cock left you in the process. But ever the man not to want to make a ‘mess’, Kento brushed the tip of himself alongside your folds to catch the cum that oozed out of you. You whimpered and gasped whenever you felt him push what had escaped you back into your sensitive pussy, a slow roll of his hips fucking his cum back into you to make sure it stayed there.

“I’m only keeping my word,” he huffed out, keeping himself busy for the moment with slow, mouthwatering rocks of his own sensitive body part to make sure you were stuffed full of his cum like you and he both wanted.

It was only a few moments of that before he stopped his rocking and he was freeing your hands of the bondage he placed on you, lifting your wrists to deliver two kisses to them until you lazily slid an arm around his neck and locked your ankles around his back again keep him snugly inside of you and to pull him on top of you again for a slow kiss.

It was a lot more sensual and chaste compared to your previous activities, all sighs and mingling breath tasting of sweet wine before you broke off and kissed at his cheek, “Thanks for the dessert.”

Kento snorted at your choice of words, wrapping his arms around your back and burying his face into your shoulder, “…We made a mess.”

“You’re telling me.”

“And I have to buy a new tablecloth.”

“And new stockings, you ripped both of them.”

“I’ll buy you the same pair –”

His hand slid down to flick at the one bell still attached to you and you giggled at his corniness whenever he whispered his next words into your ear.

"– because I like the way they jingled when I fucked you.”

#nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x y/n #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kasien #nanami kento x you #source: animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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iamasaddie · 3 months

Text

consequences

paring: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: explicit warnings: explicit sexual content, light pain!kink, daddy!kink, daddy!dom!Joel/sub!reader, no use of Y/N a/n: the continuation of my writing challenge fic sprinkled with the valentine's day prompt i posted a month ago! thanks to sweetest person in the world for coming to my rescue and bing a beta to this fic @janaispunk ily more than pedro loves frozen pizza 🍕💛 word count: 2k masterlist

After Joel’s call you’d been buzzing all night, tossing and turning in your bed until the early hours of the morning. You hid under the blanket from the mockingly cheerful chirping of the birds that felt like pebbles being thrown at you. The darkness and heavy weight of the blanket soothed you into dreamless sleep until you were once again torn out of it by the buzzing of your phone. You wouldn’t have heard it on any other day ignoring every sound until you got your fill of sleep, but you were too wound up for that right now.

Your hand slid under the pillow, retracting your phone and checking the messages. Just like you thought, there was only one short text from Joel.

’I just left the house, be ready.’

Sleep has quickly left your body, giving way to excitement and anxiety. You jumped out of bed, stopping for a second when your head went dizzy and your eyes unfocused. Taking a couple deep breaths you hurried to the bathroom; if Joel just left that meant you had approximately twenty minutes to shower, shave where needed, moisturize and pick pretty lingerie. You looked at the big cotton panties you eventually wore to bed yesterday and shrugged. Joel had seen you in all kinds of clothes, in all kinds of states, and found you attractive both in your sweatpants and an oversized ratty t-shirt, and in a silk nightgown you were gifted for Valentine’s day. Still, you felt like you might get off easy if you were extra sexy. Maybe Joel’s mind would stop working as soon as he saw you and his dick went hard.

You lathered your body in shower gel, the smell of sweet white peaches filling the small room. You scrubbed yourself squeaky clean, humming a song that was stuck in your head, your toothpaste foaming out of your mouth. Before climbing out of the shower you slowly traced your hand over the parts of your body that you shaved, making sure there weren’t any traitorous hairs that you didn’t catch. Happy with the result, your skin smooth and smelling like summer, you checked your phone. Judging by the clock, you had no more than five minutes left, so you quickly dried yourself off and skipped to pick out the killer panties and bra set.

You settled on a cute black one, the almost transparent material of bra cups and panties was embroidered with pretty red hearts. It made you feel sexy and bold, and it made Joel lose his pants in less than three minutes.

Giggling to yourself, you straightened the bed and laid down on top of your simple pink sheets when you heard your door opening downstairs. As usual, Joel used the key you kept under the flower pot outside to let himself in. He joked about the amount of flower pots in your garden on more than one occasion, considering the fact that you killed any plant you bought within a couple of weeks. You even managed to kill a cactus and that was the last victim of your plant-killing spree that left behind too much evidence in the form of dozens of clay pots.

With a smirk, you listened to his footsteps growing louder as he made his way up the stairs, your heart pounding in your ears. As the door creaked open, Joel's voice called out.

“I hope you're ready, because you’re not escaping your punishment.”

His eyes settled on you sprawled on your bed and his brows furrowed, his jaw going slack. The unmistakable fiery passion you saw in his eyes sent shivers down your spine as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. In that moment, you realized that there would indeed be consequences for your playful teasing, but you were more than ready to face them head-on.

“Why aren’t you naked, baby?” He didn’t let your little trick affect his plans like you hoped, your mouth dropped open and you tried to stutter out a reply while Joel rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. You were surprised that he decided to wear something so formal, he usually wore sweatpants or shorts and an old t-shirt when he visited your house. Your mouth filled with saliva as more and more of his thick tanned forearms showed. This time, there was no escaping the threatening notes in Joel's voice as he took a deliberate step closer, his unwavering gaze locking with yours. You knew exactly what kind of mood he was in and your insides shivered with excitement, arousal already staining the gusset of your panties.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” your voice was anything but remorseful, little devils dancing in your eyes, “I just wanted to be pretty for you.”

“You wanted to be bratty for me, and you succeeded. Your little whore self thought you’d get off easy if you met me in this number? Well, lucky for me I rubbed one out before coming here, sweetheart."

“But…”

“Do you really want to finish this sentence, baby?”

You shook your head and Joel leaned down over you, taking your face in his palms, “good girl.”

You got rid of your underwear while you saw him fumbling with his phone and strategically placing it so the camera was facing you.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was suddenly surprisingly shy, nipples hardened from the exposure and anticipation.

“We’re gonna make a little video lesson for you, so that you know how to please your pretty pussy when I’m not around.” Joel said matter of factly. He checked the angle on the screen, “move a little to the right, baby, and spread that pretty pussy.”

You abided him immediately, without question. It was something you were used to. Not shooting porn with Joel, no, in fact, that was the first time; but trusting him blindly. What he says goes, because somehow he always knew what made you feel best.

Your fingers slowly traced down your body, pinching your nipples on the way and getting a warning glare from Joel. Going lower you let your legs spread further apart before parting your pussy lips with your index fingers. Arousal covered your burning flesh, and you felt your digits slipping.

“What a gorgeous fucking cunt,” Joel lowered himself on his knees before the bed and dragged you by your ankles so your thighs framed his shoulders. “If only she didn’t have a mind of her own, hm? One that makes my perfect little girl act like the brattiest slut in a Vegas whorehouse.”

He didn’t let you say anything, biting into the soft flesh of your thigh with vigor so that the word you tried to push out was broken by a half scream-half moan. Whatever you thought your punishment would be, you definitely didn’t consider Joel going down on you and recording it. If that was the case you’d have to misbehave more often, you smirked to yourself as you felt your man’s wet and hot tongue sliding through your folds.

“Sweet as sin,” he mumbled, grazing your throbbing clit with his upper lip,”and twice as dangerous.”

Joel knew your body well, sometimes you felt like he knew it too well, dangerously well. He knew your ticks, and pleasure points, and pain spots and all of the erogenous zones, some of which you didn’t even know existed. He possessed a power over you that would make a normal person terrified, but you were too fucked up in the head, too hungry for the love he’s been giving you to care one bit.

His tongue drew tight circles around your pulsing clit dropping from time to time to lick the arousal where it leaked around his fingers. The upcoming orgasm made you numb to everything but pleasure and you almost didn’t catch it when first one, then two and then the burning stretch of three fingers started plunging into you and coaxing the release from you.

It didn’t take you long, the movements just right, the pace perfect, and in a couple of moments you were squeezing Joel’s fingers with your contracting muscles, panting heavily.

You tried to catch your breath, but Joel didn’t stop. None of his movements changed and you thought that maybe he didn’t notice you cumming.

“Daddy, I came,” you whispered, your trembling hands sliding into his hair, gripping the curly strands that were more salt than pepper.

Joel’s hums into your pussy were quiet, but the sensitive skin of your pussy felt the vibrations zap through it. His tongue continued torturing you, never giving you a chance to calm down before ripping another orgasm out of you. Your back snapped, arching so hard you thought you’d heard your spine crack. When you stopped shaking, but Joel was still stubbornly nipping and licking your clit, spitting on it after getting a long inhale with his nose pressed into the soft skin of your pussy and diving back in, you finally understood your punishment.

Joel was uncharacteristically quiet, usually he would spew all kinds of filth in your ear, but now he didn’t spare a second to mutter anything so as not to give your poor pussy any rest. The only sounds coming out of him were pleased hums and moans that spread from your cunt and to your brain in electric shocks.

By the fifth orgasm you forgot about everything. You forgot the camera that was still recording you becoming less and less coherent, you forgot the place you were at, you even forgot your own name, the only thing you knew was raw pleasure on the verge of pain that made your eyes water and your mouth plead.

“It hurts, Daddy, I can’t do it anymore,” you cried, trying to move away from his death grip. Your vision was blurry with tears but you still saw Joel’s head appear from between your legs, smacking his lips intentionally loud. He looked satisfied, a cat that just managed to steal and eat thanksgiving turkey, but two of his meaty fingers continued pushing in and out of your tender cunt.

“Baby, you know Daddy only hurts you because you look so pretty when you cry.”

You felt another orgasm sending electric pulses through your body. It was a constant state of painful bliss, your body was both tired and wound up. You let your tears stream freely down your cheeks, salty water collecting in the shells of your ears but you were too out of it to be bothered or even pay attention. Your voice was hoarse from screaming and whining and begging, unintentional whimpers flowing out of you with every breath. Your eyes dropped closed for what you thought was just a moment but turned out to be way longer.

The next time you opened your eyes it was already dark in your room. Your body was hot, sweat sticking to your back that was pressed into the man spooning you from behind. You started shifting when you realized something about you was different. Squeezing your thighs you quickly realized what that was exactly. Nestled deep inside you was a throbbing hard shaft of Joel’s cock. It felt so right spreading your soft and aching walls that you didn’t feel any discomfort at all, if you ignored the burning sting of your swollen pussy and clit.

When Joel’s hand traveled to your sternum and cupped your left tit, your pussy squeezed him once again, both of you moaning in tandem.

“The punishment is over, baby, now let Daddy give you a reward.” He whispered, pressing a wet kiss to the back of your neck as you hummed in agreement.

#iamasaddie fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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everyonewooeverywhere · 3 months

Text

MDNI 18+ BLOG -> ageless blogs and minors WILL BE BLOCKED

pairing ✭ bf!jongho x f!reader

synopsis ✭ when you come home from a less-than-perfect day, your boyfriend is nowhere to be found, but you don't want to call him and ask him to come home while he's out with friends. even though he'd drop everything if he knew you were struggling.

content/genre ✭ smut 18+ MDNI, established relationship, non-idol!au, hurt to comfort, slightly angsty, relatively fluffy (certainly the fluffiest thing i've ever written here)

word count ✭ 2.5k

note ✭ so this was something i really needed to write for myself, i think. for those who don't know (which is all of you lol) i have adhd. where i see it the most in my own life is chronic procrastination. it's something i've had to learn to cope with a lot throughout my life. a lot of times, when i feel the need to avoid feeling the stress of my personal life, i'll scroll on instagram or tumblr forever. which then leads to a heaping ton of guilt in the following hours as i try to make up for lost time. it's a wonderful cycle.

anyway, this is to say, that coping alone can be incredibly difficult. don't get me wrong, i have a handful of wonderful friends (who go to school across the country) and an angel of a therapist, but i often romanticize having someone there to help drag me out of those hopeless cycles. and not because i think i need someone to do it for me, but having that person is a really comforting thought. and, today, that is jongho i guess 😀

that being said, this mc doesn't necessarily have adhd, but they are certainly experiencing something that i experience very frequently as a byproduct of it.

like, is this smut? yeah, but im allowed to be emotional 😗

warnings ✭ mc is stressed af, protected sex, really soft sex (they're in love 😤)

✭✭✭✭

It was a terrible day. One of the worst you’d had in a while. Nothing seemed to be going your way. You’d ripped your favorite pair of tights this morning when getting ready in a hurry after waking up super late. You’d locked yourself out of the apartment. The seven dollar coffee you’d bought for yourself to cope with aforementioned events had spilt all over your desk, ruining the book you had just received as a gift from a coworker. And, to top it all off, your boss had demanded you to stay late to finish what was supposed to be his job.

So when you finally made it back to your apartment, after waiting in the lobby forever waiting for your landlord to let you in, you wanted nothing more than to collapse on the couch with your boyfriend and fall asleep in his arms.

You were plagued with fatigue as you slipped out of your work shoes and made your way through the kitchen and into the living room, not finding him anywhere. The bedroom the two of you shared was also completely vacant. Nothing had changed since you’d left this morning. He hadn’t been home all day.

Maybe he’s just working late, you thought, slightly defeated knowing you’d have to wait for him, not knowing how long it would take.

Trying to take your mind off of it, you scrolled on your phone for a completely indiscernible amount of time, feeling completely defeated with the day you’d had. Moving in with Jongho months ago has been an incredibly helpful step for you. Before the two of you had lived together, you were a master of procrastinating your own feelings. Constantly letting yourself rot away in your bed and letting the day pass you by. Only to be plagued by that crushing guilt that came with letting a day go by unproductively. Living with Jongho had given you someone to hold you accountable. To pull you out of bed because sometimes it was impossible to do it on your own.

But on nights like these, where your boyfriend was nowhere to be found, which was not a common occurrence, you felt yourself slipping back into the endless cycle of losing yourself in your phone for countless hours.

Hours passed and the sun was almost completely down before you received a text from your boyfriend.

| jongho 🐻🤎: hey love, sorry i had to stay late for work today. i’m gonna go get some drinks with my coworkers.

| jongho 🐻🤎: that ok?

God, you felt so helpless. How horrible and controlling of a partner would you be to tell him ‘no?’ Did he ask? Yes, but you desperately didn’t want to be the girl who always needed to be by her boyfriend’s side. Telling him he couldn’t go out with his friends would make you feel like such a nuisance. You stared at the screen for a good two minutes, biting your thumb, trying to think of how to respond.

| jongho 🐻🤎: y/n?

| jongho 🐻🤎: i can see you read the message. is everything alright?

Before you could even draft a response, his name flashed across the screen. Taking a deep breath, you slid your thumb across the screen, answering the call.

“Hi,” you picked up.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You could hear some of his coworkers in the background. He must already be at the bar.

You held in a sigh, “Nothing, I’m alright. Why?”

“Y/n, you read and didn’t respond to my message. Like you were overthinking a response."

You didn’t say anything. Overthinking yet another response.

“Love, I don’t even want to be here that badly. If you need me to come home, I will. But you’ve gotta tell me.” He was being so patient with you. So much more patient than you thought you deserved, though he would certainly disagree with that.

You took a deep breath, nearing tears, “I–” this was so incredibly hard, “Can you please come home? I didn’t really have a great day.”

“Of course, I’ll be there in about thirty minutes. Do you want me to stay on the phone?”

“No, it’s alright. I just need to see you.”

“Ok, just hang in there alright. Why don’t you hop in the shower, and we can watch a movie when I get back. I’ll pick up some takeout on my way, too.”

When you hang up, you force yourself to get out of bed and get in the shower. It’s so rewarding and feels so relaxing that you can’t imagine why you ever couldn’t get out of the bed in the first place. But, of course, you say that every time.

✭✭✭✭

By the time you had gotten out of the shower and dried your hair, Jongho had made it home with the takeout he’d promised in hand.

When you left your bedroom, you saw him sitting on the floor in your living room. He’d lit a candle on the coffee table and set the food down with it. You could tell he’d changed out of his work clothes into a hoodie and basketball shorts, mirroring your almost identical outfit. He didn’t notice you at first. He was chatting to someone on the phone, seemingly a friendly conversation, and not one you wanted to interrupt. When he saw you, though, you heard him say goodbye to whoever was on the line.

Throwing his phone down on the couch, he got up from the floor and met you at the door of your bedroom. Pulling you into a big hug, he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“No pressure, but, if you wanna talk about your day, we can.”

You shook your head, “Not really. I just wanna eat, I think.”

The two of you ate, sitting in comfortable silence on the floor in your living room. You noticed as you took in the scene around you, that Jongho had turned off all the overhead lights in the room. Leaving only the candlelight and the string lights around the ceiling to illuminate the room. There was something about warm lighting that made everything feel so much more cozy and comfortable.

Your boyfriend wasn’t the most physically affectionate individual, but he never failed to make you feel loved. He always noticed the small things. He was hyper aware of your emotions in the least patronizing way possible. It was little moments like bringing home food for you and turning the cool-toned overhead lights off that reminded you that this man knew you better than anyone.

And that wasn’t something that happened overnight. He tried harder than anyone you’d ever met to know you. Your likes, dislikes, discomforts, phobias, and even your little habits. He knew it all. What he knew most is that you desired so bad to have someone to pull you out of your slump. Which is why he had come home early.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t stay out with your friends,” you whispered, staying focused on the food in front of you.

“I didn’t come home because I felt any obligation to. It’s not that I couldn’t stay out with my friends. It’s that you needed me here at home, and I wanted to come home and comfort you.” He ran a hand over your hair as he finished up his own food.

That was another thing you loved about him. He wasn’t saying this because he wanted to make you feel better. He wanted you to know that you were not alone. That you were free to feel your feelings, and he’d always be right beside you to comfort you through them.

“Thank you,” you looked up at him, “I love you, you know that, right?”

“How could I ever forget? I love you, too, y/n.”

✭✭✭✭

After the food was gone and the coffee table was cleared, Jongho had put on a movie laid down on the couch, holding out his arms for you. When you finally sat between his legs and leaned into his chest, he pulled a quilted blanket over the two of you, wrapping his arms around you.

You paid very little mind to the movie playing on the TV. Instead you were focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the steady beating of his heart, and the minor movements his chest would make when he let out a soft laugh whatever he was watching.

He played with your hair, running his fingers through the strands, softly brushing his fingers over your neck with each pass. This position couldn’t have been more comfortable. Being with the man you loved as he comforted you in the way he knew best with absolutely no complaint was more than you could’ve ever dreamed of.

Jongho would claim that it was the bare minimum, but you always felt the need to let him know how much he really amazed you.

When you reached your hand up to his cheek to brush your thumb over the skin, he looked down at you, completely forgetting about the movie playing. He grabbed your hand from his cheek and kissed your fingers, your palm, the back of your hand, the inside of your wrist.

Pulling yourself up to his face, you kissed him as softly as he’d done to your hand. Everything was so soft. From the way he kissed you to the way he caressed the skin under your hoodie right above the waistband of your shorts. From the hand you had in his hair to the way he lifted you to sit more comfortably in his lap.

He kissed your neck just as softly. You sighed contently. Fully basking in the way he took care of you. His movie was fully disregarded at this point as he gripped the bottom of your shirt.

Looking into your eyes he asked, “can I take care of you, love?” You nodded, helping him lift the sweatshirt over your head.

Before you could even comprehend the nakedness of your chest, he lifted you into his arms and carried you to your shared bed. Laying you on your back. Your bare skin taking immense comfort in the softness of your sheet. He pulled his shirt over his head and threw his pants off to the side.

He immediately went back to kissing you. Hands moving from your cheeks, down your neck. His thumbs caressed your collarbone as his lips brushed the crook of your neck and then your shoulder. You shuddered when one of his hands took your breast. His lips met the other one, causing you to let out a breathy moan and weave your fingers through his dark hair.

He continued to kiss and touch every inch of your torso. When he got to your waistband, he left a small kiss under your belly button. His big brown eyes meeting your own as he pulled your shorts and underwear off together. Tossing them to the side of the bed.

Lifting one of your legs onto his shoulder, he kissed your inner thigh, still meeting your eyes. The eye contact wasn’t broken until his thumb met your clit. Brushing over it slightly, making you toss your head back into the pillows under you. His mouth replaced his thumb, slowly teasing you.

With his free hand, he took your own hand, the one that wasn’t gripping his hair, and threaded his fingers through yours. Thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

He felt so good. His tongue working so hard to make you feel pleasure. Everything was so gentle, but felt so euphoric. His fingers pumping in and out of you as he sucked on your clit. You felt like you could’ve floated away with the way he caressed your hand and your thigh. It wasn’t long before you were washed with a wave of pleasure. Everything was hot. You felt it rush through you from your ears down to your cunt. He kissed your thigh one more time after you came, fingers pushing you through the finale of your orgasm.

Your breathing was ragged when he made it back up to your face, kissing you tenderly. Reaching a hand beneath the pillow under your head. He pulled out a condom. Before he could open it, you plucked it out of his hands, tearing it open as he stripped himself of his own underwear before you rolled the rubber onto his length. He groaned at the touch.

“You ready?” He asked, grabbing your arm and kissing your wrist.

You nodded, smiling, “yes. please, baby.”

When he pushed into you, you gasped and threw your head back again. He kissed your neck and shoulder, slowly thrusting into you. On most occasions, you’d beg him to go faster, but his subdued nature in this moment was so incredibly comforting. His thumb massaged your clit.

He kissed you deeply as he thrust into you. Completely overtaking your lips with his own. His kisses were so full of passion that your head spun. His adoration for you was so evident from the way he looked into your eyes when he stopped kissing you. Your foreheads pressed together, separated only by a thin layer of sweat.

“I love you so much, y/n,” he says, just above a whisper. So close that you can feel his breath tickle your lips when he says it.

You moan softly, feeling yourself reach a second high, “I love you, too.”

It’s only a matter of minutes before you reach your orgasm. You grip his shoulders tight as he coaxes you through your climax. Walls fluttering around him as he finishes inside the condom.

He kisses your lips once more before pulling out. He pushes himself off the bed to throw it away. When he comes back, he slides back into bed with you. Breath still slightly ragged.

You laid on his chest, listening to his heart beat once more.

Running a hand over his stomach, you said, “Thanks for coming home early today.”

“Of course, love. You know I’d drop anything to come home to you if you were struggling.”

“I just feel like such a nuisance asking for you to come home,” you groaned.

He ran a hand over your hair, “I will never ever see you asking for help as a nuisance. Sometimes you just need a little push. Or sometimes you just need to lay in someone’s arms. I will always be there to do that for you. No matter the circumstance, ok?”

You wanted to protest, tell him he was too much, too good to you, but he kept going, “I trust you. I know that when you ask me to come home, it’s not because you're insecure or controlling. It’s because you need help, and I want you to always feel comfortable asking for it.”

He’d left you just a little bit speechless. All you could respond with was a gentle kiss on his lips.

For him, though, that was more than enough.

✭✭✭✭

note ✭ ok this shit got really personal 💀 but i did really enjoy writing it. it's not often that i write a whole oneshot in one sitting but i did today (other than my minor break to eat dinner).

also, i was actually between writing this for vernon or jongho because i felt like they both kinda fit the vibe (sorry if the knowledge that this could have been a hansol fic makes anyone sad), but maybe i'll write something similar for him next time i'm feeling it

again, i hope you enjoyed this! thank you so much for reading 💗

mwah~

#ateez #ateez x reader #jongho x reader #choi jongho x reader #jongho smut #jongho scenario #ateez angst #everyonewooeverywhere

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