#i needed slippers and these should be warm
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I just finished these and I want validation
They didn't take long, I'm just impatient with a garter stitch
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Masterlist Phone Sex with Boyfriend!Simon
"Are you home?"
”Are you home?”
That's the signal that you have learned, and the only one Simon gives you, your phone rings as soon as you send your positive answer.
“Hi, Simon.” You say with a singing voice when you pick up the call, pressing your phone against your ear.
“Hi, darling.” His deep voice grumbles through the phone, making you bite your lips as the sound travels down your body.
The indubitable sound of his buckle being toyed with sounds loud and clear in the background.
“Aw, Simon… are you missing me, sweet boy?” You say with a pout in your voice, using your shoulder to hold your phone while you twist off the cap of the nail polish bottle.
“Every bloody second, sweetheart.”
Your heart warms with his shameless declaration, making you smile even though he can't see your face.
“My pretty boy, I miss you too…” The line stays quiet for a minute, only his breathing audible; until you break the silence. “Does your pretty cock hurt, darling?”
“Yeah, fuck, yes it does.” He groans, a squeaky sound of the spring of the mattress sounding under his voice. He must be thrashing around on the bed, desperate. And you thought you had trained him better.
“You should do something about it then, Simon.” You say, raising your foot to rest on the edge of the chair kicking your slipper off. “Don’t you think?”
“Can I?” His breathless voice betrays him, letting you see as clear as day how desperate he is.
Good boy.
“Of course you can, love.” You answer, chuckling to yourself.
The response is immediate. Loud in the silence of the call, you hear how he gets his belt undone, throwing the buckle back carelessly so his aching member can find solace in the harsh wrap-up of his hand.
His first moan comes to life right after the first tug, desperate, to the point it makes you wonder for how long he has fought with himself to not call you only to get conquered by the lustful needs of his body.
The buckle of the belt jangles in the background like a metronome with each flick of his wrist, the telltale sound of the rhythm he is setting.
“Talk to me, pet. Please.” His voice is whiny on your ear, desperation oozing out of each syllable, almost enough to make you feel bad about how unbothered you are by it.
It's not that having your poor boyfriend calling you in desperation to hear your voice so he can actually cum doesn't turn you on, c’mon, you are not made of stone. But it also feeds your voracious ego, filling you with cockiness that you know he will quickly wipe out of you the moment he's back.
But he is away now, and in this situation, you have the upper hand; threatening to close it around his neck knowing he would enjoy it more than yourself. And it would be such a waste of an opportunity if you didn't choke him a little bit.
“Have you been thinking about me, love? Hm? Is that why you are so worked up?” You ask, picking the brush soaked in nail polish and applying it over your thumbnail. His whiny moan of your name is all you get as an answer, choppy breaths surrounding it helping it travel right to your core. “Been thinking about me touching you, hm? Wrapping my lips around your poor weeping cock, Simon?”
“Fuckin’ hell, luv…” He groans back, you hear the springs of the mattress again when he moves.
“Are you lying down, Simon?” You ask when you are on your third nail. A weak, high-pitched whine is all you get as an answer, a yes, you assume. “Stop then.”
queaky queaky queaky
“Simon.”
queaky queaky queaky
“Simon, stop touching yourself.”
…
“What?” He's breathing so hard it is almost difficult to understand him.
“Did I stutter? Stop touching yourself. Hands up, pretty boy.” You almost don't recognise your voice, an authoritative tone improper of a civilian talking to a lieutenant.
But he obliges, immediately, if he wasn't breathing so loud you could have heard the soft thud of his length falling red and angry over his abdomen.
“For god's sake, sweetheart, please.” He groans, but you can no longer hear the mattress squeaking or his buckle being shaken. Obedient little soldier he is.
“Who called me?” You ask, acting incredulous that he would now not let you do your part. He mumbles a tiny “me” making you smile once again. “Then do as I say, love.”
He huffs without a further complaint, waiting for your next words so he can finally move.
“Put me on speaker, and the phone on your chest so your hands are free.” You say, moving to paint your other hand. He does as instructed, hearing the rustling of his shirt as he lays his phone. “Now wrap your hand around your dick, both of them, tight. And move, slowly!”
You punctuate the last word with emphasis, hanging on the line to hear his movements but all you hear are his pretty sighs and puffs. You groan, making him stop in his movements once again. “Not your hands, Simon. Your hips. Move your hips.”
“What? Like-”
“Yeah, Simon. I want you to fuck your fists and imagine it is me the one your fucking.” You say, chuckling when you hear him moan. His voice sounds suddenly loudly and you assume his phone must have slipped up toward his face when he planted his feet on the mattress, thrusting his hips up.
“There you go, good boy, Simon.” You say, melodic voice making Simon shudder as he throws his head back, moaning shamelessly as his hips move faster and faster to meet the tight embrace of his fists.
Every time that an especially loud whine falls from his lips you coo at him, the mental image of him with his eyebrows furrowed, teeth digging into his bottom lip to try and catastrophically fail to keep his voice down making your mouth water.
He calls your name again, begging for your attention as he mumbles incoherent words and you pity him only when you are done with your nails, waiting for them to dry as you turn your attention to him.
“C’mon, darling.” You half-whisper to him. “Give it to me, love… Think that it is not your hands, think that it is my pretty cunt around your dick right now. I know you can.”
A cry of your name.
“Think is my sweet cunt sucking you in, hm? Doing that thing that you love me to do.”
A low groan.
“Think that you are fucking me stupid, Simon. Moaning your name and milking you empty, love.”
A minute-long silence right before a chain of curses starts to spill from his lips, the squeaky sounds of the bed growing irregular as he cums over his own chest in thick spurs making him dizzy.
You blow on your nails, happy with the results and waiting for your dear boyfriend to come down from his high as you sweet talk him. “You did so good, Simon… My darling… My sweet boy… My baby…”
“Watch it, you little minx”
You shiver at the sudden switch, remembering the temporal aspect of your position. Downing on you every single word you just pronounce and every condescending tone you use.
Luckily for you, his deployment is meant to go on for a couple of weeks longer; enough for him to grow desperate enough and not pay you back with the same coin you just used.
No need to worry about the consequences of your actions any time soon.
“And by the way, sweetheart.” He says once his breathing is back to normal, the sound of his buckle jangling again. “The OP was cut short and I'm getting home sooner.”
You swallow. “How much is sooner?”
“Tomorrow's night”
@crashtestbunny @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @waiting-so-long @mothymunson @cod-z
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#lovi writes 🩷#call of duty#ghost simon riley#ghost x reader#cod#call of duty imagine#ghost imagine#cod imagine#ghost x y/n#ghost x you#call of duty smut#simon ghost riley#cod smut#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost#ghost smut#simon ghost riley x you#ghost cod#cod x reader#cod modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty x reader#ghost x female reader#ghost call of duty#simon riley x reader#simon riley x female reader#simon riley#cod mwii#cod mw2#mw2 ghost
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Next Door to Love
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader (Neighbor AU)
Word Count: 3,188
Summary: When you made the move to the city you never expected your new neighbor to be so sweet and helpful...or hot.
Author's Note: Because why not! Moving in across the hall from Bucky would be a dream, one I'd like to live out please and ty haha! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰
Warnings: fun and flirty, teasing and tension, a curse or two or three, Bucky is impatient and cocky in the best way!
Last week
Your tired, fuzzy slipper clad feet drag along the floor as you trudge toward the door across the hall. You’re hoping someone is home. Someone who has sugar. Anyone.
You let out a quick exhale and lift your chin before rapping your knuckles against the wood. A frown starts to mar your forehead when you hear a sleepy mumble come from inside the apartment.
Shit, fuck, shit you woke him up. It’s a guy. Of course it is…because you don’t look like you just rolled off your mattress that still has no bedframe and tripped over twenty-five unopened boxes…etc, etc.
The door swings open revealing said guy…a hot-as-fuck guy. Naked, except for his unbuttoned jeans.
Oh hi neighbor.
Before you can stop it, your gaze instantly drops to the dark trail of hair below his bellybutton, framed by a set of abs that you could dry your laundry on.
You reel yourself in and lift your eyes to his which does nothing to help your declining focus. His hair is perfectly mussed from sleep, his chiseled jaw shadowed with dark stubble and his incredible blue eyes lined by dark lashes.
His hands are planted on either side of the door frame and with every passing second you’re mesmerized by flexing muscles in his chest and arms.
He drags a lazy hand through his unkept hair and smiles. Knowingly. Smugly.
“Can I help you doll?”
“Um…hi. I’m sorry if I woke you…it’s just…I moved in yesterday and haven’t gone shopping yet and I have no sugar. I need my coffee.”
“So you’re my new neighbor,” he croons. “Lucky me.”
You audibly swallow and hold up your coffee cup pleadingly.
“I’ll take care of ya doll.”
With a wink he holds up one long finger.
“Come on in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back with that sugar.”
He spins on his heel and walks toward what you’re guessing is the kitchen and it should be considering your apartments are mirror images of each other.
You step inside and stand by the door to wait. You hear him rummaging around and then hear a crash followed by grumbled curses.
Before you can react the cutest white cat saunters out of the kitchen, looking quite proud with his fluffy tail held high and blue eyes unblinking.
“That’s Alpine,” he yells from the other room. “Don’t let his cuteness fool you. He’s a menace!”
You let your laughter ring out and then kneel down to give Alpine some scratches. The cat instantly warms up to you and presses himself against your leg, purring loudly.
“Ah, of course he likes you.”
You look up at the sound of your neighbors voice and reluctantly give up petting Alpine to take the offering of sugar.
“Thank you….?”
“Bucky,” he finishes for you. “Name’s Bucky.”
“Thanks Bucky,” you say with a smile and then introduce yourself.
You look back down at the cat that is now circling between Bucky’s bare feet. “And Alpine really is cute. I can’t imagine he’s a menace.”
“Just wait until you get to know him,” Bucky says. “Can I get you anything else doll?”
“No. Thank you and again I’m sorry if I woke you.”
“No problem at all. I had a late night at the office and I was just being lazy. If you need anything else just come by. Anytime.”
His lips turn up in a boyish grin and he winks again.
You can feel his eyes on you as you turn and walk out into the hall and toward your apartment. Just as you push your door open you look over your shoulder and catch him staring, his teeth dug deep into his bottom lip.
The knock at your door startles you from your unpacking trance and from your spot on the floor, surrounded by open boxes and a mess of things, you ask, “who is it?”
“It’s Bucky…and I have food.”
Your smile is impossible to hide and you shout back, “come in!”
Bucky appears in the doorway with a pizza box.
“Hiya doll face,” he chimes. “I figured you’d need some fuel.”
You drag yourself out of the mess on the floor and hop up onto the edge of the counter.
“Thanks Bucky. I really appreciate it, but you’re spoiling me. What is it now…the third time this week you’re feeding me?”
He hands you a slice and then stands there, watching while you take a bite.
“And why not? You need to eat and I love to eat, might as well do it together!”
You laugh through your bite. “Then what motivated you to help with my furniture?”
He shrugs and grabs a slice of pizza, shoving half into his mouth before he answers.
“Perfect opportunity to show off my muscles.”
He waggles his brows suggestively and flexes a bicep.
“Double win for me,” you admit, licking your lips. “How will I ever repay you.”
He remains quiet for several moments while he studies you then asks, “how about a real dinner?”
“Pizza is the realest dinner there is!” you state with a mouthful.
“Let me take you out. For something other than pizza.”
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Would you say yes if I were?”
Your legs swing back and forth at the knee as you finish your bite and then place your slice of pizza down. You reach over the box and grab the marker you left out on the counter, placing it between your lips.
Watching him from under your lashes, you take his arm and roll up the sleeve of his Henley and when your fingertips make contact with the sensitive skin on his underside of his forearm you can feel his muscles tighten.
Your mouth curves around the marker at his reaction and you pluck it from between your lips and start writing on his skin.
“Now you’ve got my number. Text me and we’ll pick a date for our date.”
“Thank you,” he says, leaning in close and dropping his eyes to your mouth.
Your lips part with your small gasp of air and when his thumb lifts to brush along the corner of your mouth you let out a rush of air.
“Sauce,” he states before he licks his finger clean, his gaze locked on yours.
You nod as he steps back and pulls out his phone to dial your number on his arm. Your phone rings and he says, “and now you’ve got mine.”
You spend the rest of your weekend unpacking and doing errands, running into Bucky only once in a frantic rush of laundry. He offers to help but you know if you let him you’ll become distracted and never get anything done. The two of you text back and forth, deciding on Saturday for your official date. No pizza involved.
The next morning you get another text from him.
“Morning doll face. Don’t forget an umbrella. Gonna rain later today.”
“Are you the weather man now?” you message back, smiling at your phone.
“Nah. Just a friendly neighbor.”
“Did you tell everyone in the building about the rain and remind them to bring an umbrella.”
“Just you…”
“Thanks, but I’m already half way to work sans umbrella.”
“Damn it. I knew I should have texted earlier. Now if you get caught in the rain it’ll be all my fault.”
“Hardly! I should have checked the weather. Can’t rely on you for everything can I?”
He sends a wink face.
“Is it Saturday yet?”
“Still only Monday morning. What’s Saturday?”
“Don’t tease me doll. I’ve been looking forward to this date since you showed up at my door lookin’ for sugar.”
“Have a good day Bucky.”
“You too doll…stay dry.”
You’re only two blocks from your apartment building when the sky opens up and the rain comes down in buckets. By the time you reach the doors you’re soaked through and cursing at yourself for forgetting an umbrella.
The door attendant lets you in with a sympathetic smile and as you’re sloshing past him and toward the elevator you hear Bucky’s voice.
“Oh doll. Look at you.”
He tugs his mail from the box and slams it shut, rushing toward you and taking your arm.
“Soaked,” you say sadly.
“I can see that,” he muses with a twitch of his perfect lips. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs and dry.”
The elevator doors open and you step inside with a shiver. He immediately starts to pull your jacket from your shoulders.
“What are you doing?” you ask without stopping him.
“You have to get out of this jacket. I’m sure your shirt is….”
He stops speaking when his eyes catch sight of your white button down, soaked through so that you can see the lace of your bra outlined against the fabric.
“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his eyes back to your face. “Here.”
He shrugs off his damp jacket and then takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.
“But it’ll get all wet,” you protest.
“Don’t care. You can’t walk out of the elevator like that.”
His jaw is set in a hard line as his fingers work over the scruff that lines it. The elevator dings at your floor and he takes your hand, leading you out and checking the hallway.
“Why are you looking around like that?” you ask.
He turns back to you and tugs you closer. “I don’t wanna anyone seeing you.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’ll have to kill them,” he states.
“Someone is acting a little jealous,” you giggle.
“Yeah well…we haven’t even had our first date yet. Can’t have someone looking at what’s about to be mine.”
“Yours,” you breathe out, not even realizing you’re now standing in front of your apartment door.
With shaky fingers you start to remove his suit jacket but before you can he stops you with a hand on your wrist.
“Don’t doll. Just keep it for now.”
“But we’re at the door. I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, but if you take that off then I have to see you in your wet shirt again. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself if I do.”
“Control yourself how?” you ask in a breathy whisper.
He responds with a pained groan before his mouth meets yours and he has you pressed against the door.
Even though your shirt is soaked through and your skin is cold you can feel the warmth of his body seep into yours. You wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself and he lifts one hand to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head and deepening the kiss.
Your scrape your nails along his broad shoulders and he moans out your name.
“Fuck, I love having your hands on me.”
The desperation in his voice has you arching into him and you drop your head against the door, giving him access to trail his lips down your neck. Your fingers slide into his hair and tug at the soft strands. He growls into your skin and scrapes his teeth over your pulse point making you gasp his name.
“Oh I like that,” you whisper.
He does it again.
“You’re going to like everything I do to you doll face.”
His lips graze yours and he swallows your whimper, crowding you closer to the door before muttering out a curse and letting you both take a breath.
“Is it Saturday yet?” he asks, still breathless.
“Still Monday,” you answer, feeling just the same.
“Right,” he says, planting his hands on the door above your head and dropping his head forward.
A door down the hall opens and he pauses, straightening his body to hide your own. You both smile at the older lady who walks by with a questioning look.
When Bucky’s eyes return to you they drop to where he spread his jacket open to put his hands on you, your shirt sticking to your wet skin even more now.
He stares before reluctantly dragging his eyes up and taking the sides of the material and pulling them tightly around you.
You tremble.
“Still cold?” he asks, his eyes soft with worry.
“Hardly,” you answer and lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth.
“See you later Bucky.”
“I’m counting on it doll.”
You spend the rest of the week juggling your time between work, texting Bucky and sleeping. You’ve only seen him once since Monday evening and that was for five minutes when he caught you coming home again but this time he had his friend Steve with him and there was no chance for any kissing.
Saturday morning rolls around and you wake up to a text from him.
“It is finally Saturday or am I dreaming?”
“It’s really Saturday!”
“Thank fuck! Can we start our date now?”
“No…I have to do girly things and prepare.”
“What kinds of things….?”
“I’ll see you tonight Buck.”
You can almost hear his groan through the phone.
“I’ll be at your door at 7 sharp.”
Bucky knocks on your apartment door at exactly the same time your phone clock hits 7:00pm. You grin at your best friend Nat before she gets up and walks toward the door.
“Oh girl. He’s hot!” a muffled voice says from the other side.
It isn’t yours so Bucky assumes it’s your friend.
“He’s at least a nine.”
Bucky scoffs, muttering, “a nine?” quietly to himself.
“Hey, I can hear you in there. Are you gonna open the door?” he asks the unknown voice.
The door swings open to reveal a red head who looks him over with two scrutinizing green eyes.
“Hi,” he smiles, holding out his hand. “I’m Bu…”
“Bucky,” she finishes. “I know who you are…question is…do you know who I am?”
“You must be Natasha,” Bucky answers with a smug smile.
“That’s right and I’m a black belt in jiu jitsu so you do anything I don’t like and I will end you.”
Bucky’s eyes light up and he watches Nat as she moves toward the kitchen.
“You almost ready doll face,” he yells, not taking his eyes off Nat in case she goes for a knife.
“I’m right here,” you say.
Bucky turns to find you standing right in front of him. His mouth drops open as his eyes sweep you up and down.
“This is where you say she looks amazing,” Nat admonishes from the kitchen, dangerously close to the knife rack.
However, Bucky’s eyes never leave you and when he steps into your space and wraps you in his arms, pulling you into his chest, you let out a squeal of delight.
“You look fucking gorgeous,” he says, loud enough for Nat to hear, then whispers, only for your ears, “I want to rip this dress off you.”
Your lips spread into a sly smile. “We made the right choice Nat.”
“Of course we did,” she chimes. “Now go. I’ll lock up.”
“I’m so ready,” he says, ushering you toward the door, but not before turning to Nat, still in the kitchen eyeing him warily, and asking, “I’m good with a nine, but just out of curiosity, what did I lose a point for?”
“You’re really gonna make me say it in front of you?” Nat asks.
“I wanna hear it too Nat,” you say, raising an expectant and skeptical brow.
“You didn’t shave.”
He runs the free hand, the one not wrapped around your waist, over his jaw.
“I didn’t get any complaints earlier this week,” Bucky says, eyes now sparkling with mischief.
“He’s right Nat,” you add. “I like it.”
Nat rolls her eyes and shoos you away.
Once you’re safely in the elevator and away from prying eyes Bucky invades your space, plastering you against the cool metal wall and caging you there with his large body.
“It almost killed me to not be kissing you for the past five minutes,” he says against your lips.
When you press into him and slide your body along his it sucks the breath right out of his lungs and fills them with something else. Need.
The kiss pulls a throaty groan from him and his belt buckle digs into your skin, the muscles hidden beneath his clothes, pressing and flexing over the thin material of your dress.
The elevator door dings and begins to slide open, causing you to give his chest a gentle shove.
“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he asks as he lifts a finger and traces your swollen lips.
“That would suck,” you reply. “I kind of like having you as a neighbor.”
After a delicious dinner at a roof top restaurant down town, Bucky walks you along the street, hand in hand, as you listen and laugh to his childhood stories about growing up in Brooklyn.
“Where are we going now?” you ask.
“It’s a surprise,” he says as he twirls you into his side and presses his fingers under your chin to steal a kiss.
As you get closer to your destination the bright lights sparkle and the smell of the ocean is carried on the warm breeze.
“Which bridge is that?” you ask with awe.
“The Brooklyn Bridge,” he tells you and grabs your hand to pull you along. “Come on. I have something to show you.”
When you reach the top of the look out he slides an arm around your waist and pulls your back to his chest.
“This is so beautiful Bucky,” you whisper.
He kisses your cheek and takes your chin between his fingers, turning your face up to his. “I always thought it was the most beautiful thing in the city…but not anymore.”
You’re thankful for his strong arms holding you up and after a sweet kiss you enjoy the view in comfortable silence for a few more minutes but his hands start to wander, soft and sure, and with each passing touch your body aches for more.
His warm breath fans across your neck and his arm moves lower until his hand grasps your hip and he pulls you back to feel the hardness between his legs.
You suck in a breath and fight the urge to move against him.
With a curse he pulls away and grabs your hand, dragging you toward the park under the bridge. The only lights come from the lit-up buildings across the street and when he finds a hidden spot he backs you against the cold stone but you’re too hot to care.
“Bucky,” you whisper as your hands roam over his broad chest.
His mouth brushes yours before he gently nips at your bottom lip.
“I can’t even keep my fucking hands off you long enough to bring you home,” he murmurs.
His fingers find the hem of your dress and he slides them under, slowly teasing the fabric higher until his hand brushes over the wetness on your panties.
“Please, Bucky,” you pant.
“Fuck, I love hearing you say my name like that,” he growls. “I need to get you home so I can hear you scream it for me.”
@hiddles-rose @littleseasiren @randomfandompenguin @blackwidownat2814 @goldylions @buckysdollforlife @lizette50
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EARLY PROMISE
gn!reader | 1.3k words, you see the ring iwaizumi wants to propose with a little (very) early
there’s a box behind shirts that iwaizumi no longer wears in his closet.
maybe that’s why you’ve never seen it before. you never would have, were you not given permission to look for clothes to donate while he went on a run.
it’s small, velvet, and inside there’s a ring that, any other day, you would have lingered to watch for as long as possible at a jewelry store.
but you’re not at the mall, nor are you currently being proposed to. you’re at home, standing alone while your stomach churn, and fingers tremble as you stare at the box in your palm where, right now, it decisively should not be. “fuck.”
“babe?”
the sound of the door and his keys accompany hajime’s voice from the entryway. if you listen closely, above your heartbeat pounding in your ears, you can hear him kick off his shoes—them hitting the step that he’s tripped on a few times after long nights with friends and drinks.
he shouldn’t be home yet.
you will your voice to work. “yeah?”
“you looking through the closet already?”
“...yeah?” there’s a questioning lilt at the end as your eyes scan around, his engagement ring—your engagement ring?—still in your hands.
and you know the pattern of hajime’s walk. you know his usual pace, how the floorboards creak as he walks down the hall toward your bedroom. he’s steady—slippers sometimes dragging across the wood if he’s tired, quiet in the morning when he thinks you’re still asleep.
today his footsteps come closer, a little faster, a little heavier than usual.
you assume it’s from the same nerves as yours.
“i forgot, there’s, uh, some shirts i’m keeping that i don’t want—”
hajime opens the door and spots you easily, standing in the middle of the closet as if you were the worst criminal alive, caught stealing in broad daylight.
you to see.
“to throw away,” he finishes, shoulders dropping. his voice quiets to a whisper, “shit.”
silence circles the both of you.
the velvet feels warm in your palm—much heavier than it was a moment ago. you wish you had an analogue clock in your room instead of hajime’s digital. maybe its ticking could take off some of the weight you feel at the sight of him standing a few feet away. maybe you could stare down its hands, listen to its rhythm, let it guide your breathing instead of standing with bated breath, chest unmoving while hajime’s rises as he catches his own.
seconds pass and you flounder, mouth opening and closing while you stand across from each other, neither sure who should speak first.
you don’t think this is how proposals are supposed to go.
your eyes flicker to the still open drawer to your right.
and you walk over, crouch to put the box where it was, pat the old obscure band t-shirt at the top of the pile in front of it, close the drawer, and go back to stand where you were, hands clenched into fists on your sides.
hajime blinks.
“did you really just put it back?” he asks, a little breathy as if he wants to laugh.
you look to the wall beside him then back at his face, as if you could be confused about his question. “...put what back?”
and this time, hajime really does laugh. and then he shakes his head, the way he does when you ask a silly question. “hon—”
“no, no, i’m not—you—that was—” you shake your head and frown. you wish his laughter would comfort you the way it always does, but you think you need to let guilt stay, gnaw for a little while longer. “this isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”
he tilts his head and smiles, just a little. “you’re telling me.”
“hajime.” you purse your lips. “i’m sorry. i feel like i just ruined whatever you were planning.”
hajime huffs and walks toward you, arms reaching out to hold yours. his hands are cool from the morning air, and goosebumps cover your skin as his touch runs from your elbows to your hands, where his fingers find their place in between yours. he’s looking down at them as he speaks—the ones that had held the box, to be specific. “it’s okay, it’s not your fault i forgot. plus i decided to run back a block instead of just texting or calling.”
“you panicked.”
“obviously.”
letting go of one hand, you lightly push his chest. but his hand follows, this time holding you to his heart. you give him a look. “i would’ve done the same thing if i was as fast as you. and i don’t know, i could’ve checked somewhere else. or closed my eyes. or wiped my memory.”
“you would’ve checked eventually, and closing your eyes is not effective for what you’re doing.”
“mind wipe would’ve been okay?”
“how would i have known?”
“...the mind wipe-y gun in my hand.”
he snorts. “what? it keeps a little history of your memory wipes?”
“i don’t know, maybe they have those. do you have one?”
“we’re getting off topic,” hajime chides, though there’s no real anger behind his lopsided smile and tilt of his head.
you sigh. there’s no average way of dealing with the topic of exposed proposal plans, so the best you can offer is a small, closed mouth smile of your own. “...you really wanna marry me?”
he reaches to squish your cheeks. “no, that’s for the other person i’ve been dating since high school and live with while you’re asleep.” you roll your eyes and clasp your hand over his.
“of course i wanna marry you. i’ve wanted to marry you for years,” he says with ease, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“well,”—you fidget—“that’s good to know.” your reply is soft, and you will yourself to ignore the warmth that creeps up your neck and face. your eyes fall to where hajime’s thumb rubs the back of your hand, if only to avoid his gaze. “i...can i ask how you were thinking of proposing or is that weird? or maybe you shouldn’t tell me so you can still do it.”
he pauses.
you look at him. “hajime?”
he tenses at his name, sucking in his bottom lip before answering. “well, i was kind of leaving that part of the plan for later—”
“i didn’t even let you plan the proposal?”
“—but if you think about it,” he continues, already aware of how you’d react, “you just saved me a bunch of anxiety by implying you’d say yes.”
your mouth falls open, hands moving away from his. “i already knew i fucked up our engagement, but i really did fuck up our engagement.”
“you didn’t fuck up our engagement,” hajime breathes out your name as he moves to hold your shoulders.
your head falls forward, landing against his shoulder. “i fucked up our engagement so bad.”
your boyfriend, your sweet boyfriend who always seems to come out of situations calmer than you, snickers, and you hit his chest half-heartedly.
“why are you laughing, oh my god—”
“i’m not laughing—”
“shut the fuck up, you’re laughing—”
“i’m sorry—you just, you didn’t fuck anything up, okay?” his laughter quiets as his arms wrap around you. “i can still propose and keep it a surprise, and i’m pretty sure it’s better you found out while i wasn’t in the middle of the plan, yeah? we just…know your answer already which, seriously, is a relief, so stop beating yourself up for something that wasn’t your fault.”
silence wraps around the both of you again—softer this time. an extra comfort intertwined with hajime’s voice and arms holding you.
moving away to look at him, you let out a deep breath. “okay, but i still feel bad.”
“babe—”
“as if you wouldn’t feel bad,” you retort, which your boyfriend responds to with nothing but a look that says you’re right. “is there anything i can do to make up for it?’
he hums and taps your hips, thumbs fitting perfectly against you. “promise to say yes when i actually propose?”
and this time it’s your turn to laugh, though it’s more a puff of air followed by rolling eyes and a kiss to his cheek. “i can probably promise that.”
little nia luvring comeback Bc my brain Sounds Like a garbage disposal + nails on a chalkboard And only these fictional characters r keeping me going. Hope u all thought of me for a moment the past 2/3 months
@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @momoewn @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @kuroaka @sunaslay @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @spooky1magazine1bread @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @tooruchiiscribs @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist @libbyistired @milkbreadforlife @itsukkie @sirimirihiro @mylahrins @aria-chikage @heyitstial
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Aaron's Empire
“Yes?” Aaron asked abruptly, seeing that Kirk was calling him yet again.
“He says he’s full already,” Kirk replied. “He’s only had three doughnuts and now he just wants to sit and watch a movie.”
Aaron sighed. As one of his newest recruits, Kirk was more than a little needy when it came to applying the skills that Aaron had tried to instil in him. Every year it seemed like there were more and more guys moving to the city with a kink for fattening up. Although Aaron hadn’t liked it, it had always been necessary for him to outsource to other feeders when he became overrun. He simply did not have the time to tackle all the boys who got in contact with him, desperate to be fattened and submit to him.
“Did you try the trigger words?” Aaron asked. “I made a list of the nicknames Jay gets the most aroused by. They’re all on the file I sent you: ‘Fatso’, ‘Piggy’… I think he even got pretty hard at ‘Lardass’ as well,” he rambled on, trying to recall his observations from the initial feed he had done himself with Jay, three months back.
“I tried them,” Kirk shot back. “Can you come over? I really don’t know what else to do.”
Sighing in frustration, Aaron ended the call. On paper, Kirk looked set to be an awesome feeder: good looking, athletic and masculine-looking. He was one of the star players in the college football team and seemed to have that natural air of authority about him. Feeding a short, little chub like Jay should have been simple. But this was the fourth time he’d got in contact, wanting more support. Perhaps he would make a good feeder one day, but that still seemed like a long way off.
“Thanks for coming,” Kirk smiled, opening the door to Jay’s apartment and seeing that Aaron had picked up a couple of pizzas along the way. He was whispering, having not told Jay that he had needed to get Aaron over to help him.
“Is that what you’re wearing tonight?” Aaron asked, indignantly, seeing the feeder’s attire. “What is with that sweater?”
“It’s cold out tonight,” Kirk mumbled back.
“So?” Aaron grumbled, taking his own shirt and pants off as soon as he was through the door. “If you want these fatties to eat, you sell them the fantasy,” he pointed at his own staggeringly built and athletic body. “They don’t need the wholesome ‘boy next door’ look putting them off,” he sighed, still amazed by how average such a sexy guy could look in something so ill-fitting. “And would it kill you to put some product in your hair?” he continued, noticing that Kirk must have come straight from the showers after his football training.
Kirk nodded, seeming to agree that he hadn’t made enough effort. He followed Aaron’s lead, removing the offending sweater and taking off his pants, despite the slight chill in the apartment. Then he went to the tap and brushed some warm water through his hair to fluff it up a little.
“Hello there, Fatso!” Aaron smiled, leading the way into the lounge area with the pizza boxes.
“I didn’t know you were coming tonight as well!” Jay smiled, actually getting up from his chair. Back when Aaron had been feeding the guy himself, the chub had been well trained to stay sitting on his blubbery glutes the entire time he was there. His shirt wasn’t even off and he was wearing actual slippers on his feet, like an old man. Had Kirk really tried to initiate a kinky feeding session when the pig wasn’t even stripped? Just how many other rules like this had the boy been letting slide?
Aaron pulled Jay into a passionate kiss. He allowed both of their hands to roam freely, and by the time they came out of it, Aaron had successfully removed both Jay’s shirt and pants. “You’re looking so big now!” Aaron smiled, taking in Jay’s fattened physique: 350 lbs of tits, belly rolls and blubber.
“I’ve gained another 2 lbs since I saw you last!” Jay boasted, grinning with pride.
Aaron smiled, despite the irritation he felt. Two pounds in an entire month? Did he really think that was acceptable? Did Kirk not challenge him on such mediocre gains? After all the hours Aaron had put in training up the guy’s appetite, back when he was little more than a twink, a two pound gain should have been just a normal part of life for him now.
“Kirk tells me you’ve not got much of an appetite tonight?” Aaron went on, sitting the fat boy back down in his chair, where he belonged. “Is there any reason why?”
Jay looked a little awkward, but smiled as he saw Kirk coming to stand beside Aaron; his toned athlete’s body now on show. “The truth is,” Jay mumbled, “I’ve got my dad and step-mom coming to stay with me this weekend. My dad’s always been somewhat critical of me since I started getting fat. I guess it sort of dampens the appetite,” he sighed.
Aaron nodded sympathetically. “I understand,” he smiled sweetly. “Thank you for being so open with me. It must be incredibly hard for you. As kinky as it is to get this fat, explaining it to your family is never easy.”
“That’s it,” Jay agreed, visibly relaxing now he had shared his concerns aloud. He sat back a little more in his chair and rubbed his tummy. “It’s hard to eat tonight when I know my dad is going to be even more disappointed in me.”
Again, Aaron smiled. He tapped Kirk’s tight butt, silently ordering him into his position, behind Jay’s chair. The next movement was about to begin.
“I really do understand,” Aaron offered lovingly. “As you can imagine, I see it time and time again with all my boys.”
Jay smiled back, with little comprehension of how many guys across the city were actually fattening up under Aaron’s watchful eye.
“But, do you know who doesn’t care?” Aaron asked next, slipping off his underwear and letting his erection spring out. “This guy here,” he pointed at his already pulsing hardness. “He couldn't give a shit about all that sort of crap. The fat boys whinge about how full they are, or how none of their clothes fit. They bitch about their families, their friends not being supportive. They talk about how much they sweat now, how out of breath they get…” Aaron went on, rubbing his boner and seeing that Jay simply could not take his eyes off it. “But this guy…” Aaron emphasised again, “...he just couldn’t give a fuck! He actually gets off on it; their complaints and genuine concerns. He just wants to see them eat and grow, fatter and fatter every single day.”
Aaron nodded to Kirk, letting him know that it was time to tap the newly aroused fatty on the head, ordering him to start sucking. Then, only a few seconds later, Jay’s mouth enveloped as much of Aaron’s dick as possible, moaning with lust as he did so.
Kirk, who was now rubbing Jay’s back encouragingly, looked across at Aaron, clearly impressed at how quickly he had turned the situation around. However, Aaron merely stared back at him in annoyance. It wasn’t just the fact that Jay had always been so pathetically weak at giving blow jobs, but why hadn’t Kirk done this? How many times had he been told these strategies to get the pigs eating when they were less keen? Sometimes their mouths just needed a little warm up; a little lubricating. “Go get the pizzas,” he ordered sternly, about to begin yet another demonstration of how to stuff a pig to his absolute limit.
After that evening, Aaron assigned Jay to another of his feeders, hoping that Jay was simply a poor fit for him. In his place, he gave Kirk a new and highly motivated second year college student who had impressed him a lot when he’d interviewed him about why he wanted to be fattened up. Perhaps seeing the fattening process from scratch might give Kirk the kick up the ass that he needed.
“Five pounds?” Aaron asked, feeling exasperated. “You’ve had three months and that;s all you’ve done to him? He’ll lose that in no time now he’s gone home for the summer!”
“He had exams and stuff, though,” Kirk tried. “I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“Oh, come on, Kirk! How many times have I talked to you about stress eating? You missed a golden opportunity to really push some weight onto him there! He also tells me he’s working on a farm over the summer. How the hell did you let that happen? You know that’s too much exercise!”
“I didn’t really think it was my place to say anything…” Kirk mumbled, realising that he had messed up yet again.
“You’re the fucking feeder!” Aaron shouted, finally letting his frustration get the better of him. “Of course it’s your place to say these things to the pigs!”
Kirk sighed, disappointed with himself. “I’ll do better when I see him next. I promise.”
Aaron shook his head in disappointment yet again. He liked Kirk, he really did. He had all the hallmarks of a good feeder, with a pretty face that made everyone stop and stare. He had the sex appeal to make a guy eat if he really wanted them to. But his application of the basic feeder principles and training were utterly lost on him.
“Look, let’s just take this time as a little breather,” Aaron suggested. “I have some time off at the end of this month. You can come over to my place and we’ll do some little role plays and scenarios; stuff that should help you when your pig gets back for the new semester.”
Kirk nodded gratefully, knowing that he still had so much to learn.
“So, what is a feeder’s main objective?” Aaron asked a couple of weeks later as he led Kirk into his apartment.
The question clearly caught the football player off guard and a long pause followed before he finally answered. “That the pig eats everything we give them,” he offered, seeming confident.
Aaron shook his head. “You’re thinking too short term,” he shot back. “A feeder’s goal is, and always will be, the results: the tight pants, the fat gains, the number on the scales. That’s all that really matters. There are different ways to get there: meal plans, submission, dominance, you name it. But the feeder’s goal is always in the blubber he can pack onto his prey. Is that clear?”
Kirk nodded.
“That means that it really doesn’t matter if you never even use some of the strategies we’re going to revise today. As long as you get the results, that’s all I care about.”
“Okay. That makes sense,” Kirk agreed.
“Feeding is a sensual exercise,” Aaron began, taking his shirt off and removing his pants; still pumped from his gym workout that morning. “You’re never going to feed a pig to his full capacity unless you get the support you need. So where do you find that support?”
Kirk, who had been following Aaron’s lead and undressing, sat himself down in the guy’s feeding chair and pondered the question. “You mean I should call you?” he asked.
Again, Aaron sighed. None of this information should have been new to him. “No, Kirk! The best feeder a pig’s ever going to have is always right between his legs.” He reached out, holding the football player’s semi. “It’s the reason he first fell into gaining and it’s the thing that led him straight to you, so always make sure that you use it in the most effective way that you can,” he explained, rubbing Kirk’s dick until it stood firm and erect. “If fatty stops eating or starts slowing down, give some attention to this thing and you’ll soon see him getting hungry again.”
“Should I suck it?” Kirk asked keenly.
Aaron frowned at the silly question. “It’s entirely up to you. Just…get it hard and keep it that way. That’s all you need to worry about.”
Kirk settled a little more into his chair, enjoying this training more than the other sessions he had had with Aaron. He’d always done better with practical exercises, rather than trying to memorise the theory behind principles.
“Now, most of the time, your pig will buy his own food that he wants you to feed him. But, if ever you’re doing it, you’ve got to choose it all very carefully, thinking about the feeder’s goal… which is?” he quickly questioned.
“The results!” Kirk parroted back to him, pleased that he had remembered something at last.
“Exactly,” Aaron nodded, now pointing to the vast selection of food he had set up on the coffee table for his date with a long-term fatty who was coming over later. “Everything here is from the list I sent you back when you first started. These particular brands are all staggeringly high in calories and quickly digested.” He looked at Kirk’s blank face. “I’ll email the list over to you again then,” he simply stated, deciding not to pull Kirk up on his lack of studiousness.
“What would you start with?” Kirk asked, seeing it all spread out and presented so nicely.
“Well, that depends on your fatty’s preference. You should know what his favourites are; the things that are best to get him started. For example, what is it that catches your eye the most?”
“The cream cakes,” Kirk replied instantly.
“Very well,” Aaron smiled, picking one up. “Before I start, I look down. Is his dick hard? Yes. Are his eyes fixed on the food? Can I make him salivate?”
At that moment, Kirk swallowed a build up of saliva in his mouth.
“Pigs love to be played with. And, at the start, that’s fine. You can waft it under his nose,” he demonstrated comically. “You can dip your finger in the cream and tap it on his piggy little snout,” he joked, doing just that with Kirk. “But when the time comes to feed, you let them know that you’re serious,” he stated sternly. “Because this isn’t a game, is it? And you can’t let the fat boy treat it like one.”
Kirk slowly nodded his head.
“You get their eyes fixed on you now,” Aaron continued, ensuring that Kirk was doing just that. “They realise, you are the feeder. You are the one they are doing this for. During this time, only the two of you exist in the entire world. Pleasure and greed are the only things that have any consequence now. Nothing else.”
Kirk was absolutely silent, taking all of the information in like never before. He looked entirely fixed within the mindset of the boys he would someday feed. Out of a simple curiosity, Aaron brought the cake a little closer to the guy’s mouth, hardly believing that the jock’s jaws were unhinging. His mouth gaping open, Aaron pushed the cake beyond the point of no return, until it squished and fell upon Kirk’s tongue.
Suddenly Kirk was chewing, with his cheeks filled with cream. Had the guy completely misunderstood the concept of role-playing? Sure, the boy was always prettier than he was intelligent, but feeders didn’t do this. This food wasn’t for him. Yet his hardness throbbed every bit as much as the countless others Aaron had done this to in the past.
“Now you praise your pig,” Aaron explained, deciding to take the strange turn all in his stride and act like this was as he had planned. “You tell him how greedy he’s being; how large and fat this will all make him; how he’s going to struggle to get into his pants tomorrow.”
Kirk moaned with pleasure as the last of the cake was pushed into his mouth. He licked Aaron’s fingers clean; his greedy eyes now turning to the other items on the table. Intuitively, Aaron reached across and found the next item, holding it until it was ready and then pushing it deep inside the athletic boy’s mouth.
“Your pig is going to get thirsty pretty quickly, so you need your drinks to hand. These need to be equally high in calories,” he smiled, cracking open a can of soda. “Not too cold,” he stated cautiously. “Everything should flow. We hit them hard and fast while they’re in the zone.”
Kirk took the can of soda and chugged it in one.
Still determined not to show even the slightest bit of surprise, Aaron simply continued his tuition. “Don’t be tempted to just feed the pig what he likes,” he cautioned, seeing that Kirk’s eyes had fallen back onto the cream cakes. “We want to keep mixing up those flavours and textures, pouring in the liquid calories and making the pig wait for those favourites.”
Kirk nodded, accepting whatever was fed into his mouth.
“Always, ALWAYS keep an eye on his dick,” Aaron insisted, taking his hand to Kirk’s hardness and rubbing it for short, gentle periods. “He’s going to want to climax, but it’s your job to make him wait. You do not let him touch himself! His dick belongs to you. You call the shots. And the pig isn’t getting his pleasure until he’s completely stuffed.”
At this, Kirk seemed to redouble his efforts, eating faster and greedier than even before. He’d slipped perfectly into the role; indistinguishable in his apparent lust to feed. His stomach was bloating up, yet still he feasted.
“By this point, your pig is going to be completely disoriented. He’s lost track of what he’s eaten and he has no idea what’s coming next. He’s already massively overdosed on calories, but because of the speed you’re delivering it all to him, his brain hasn’t caught up yet. This is the stuffing ‘window of opportunity’, and you’ve got to push the fatty hard until it closes.”
The food on the table was quickly disappearing. It had been a few months since Aaron had fed a young athlete of Kirk’s stature; almost forgetting how much boys like this could gorge.
“You’ll know when it’s time to stop. The pace slows and they wince at the stretch. But any sign of heaving and you’ve already taken it too far,” Aaron stated. “You make them look you in the eyes again as you take their dick in your hand. You make them say ‘thank you’ for doing this to them, even though they might, even now, be starting to regret how much they have eaten. You tell them what a greedy pig they have been; what all those calories are going to do to their body.”
Kirk was already pulling a face as he felt his orgasm building.
“Now you make them rub their big ol’ tummy,” Aaron ordered, grabbing at Kirk’s limp wrist and placing the boy’s large hand on the top, and most swollen part, of his bloated stomach.
Immediately, the jock’s hand began to explore that new, tightly-packed and solid shape; all so beautifully timed as his pleasure was about to peak.
“And as tough as it is to admit… this moment… the fatty’s actual climax; it’s really not about the feeder,” Aaron whispered now. “It’s about the pig realising what he’s done to HIMSELF; how completely fucked he is for getting so turned on, eating like he has for you.”
Kirk’s breathing was so erratic, with short, squeaking moans escaping from his lips every couple of seconds.
“You make the fat boy look you in the eye. Do what you want inbetween. You can make him promise to get fatter for you, make him oink like a pig, or force a final doughnut into his greedy little mouth; it really doesn’t matter,” he breathed, holding Kirk’s stare with a vice-like grip. “Just let the pig know that you see him for exactly what he is; that he can’t hide it anymore. That he is, and will always be, your greedy hog.”
A massive jet released from Kirk’s crotch, followed by several others, until an almost unfathomable amount of the boy’s excitement had covered his chest and splashed itself all over Aaron’s feeding chair. Yet more stains that would never come out.
Kirk’s charge was assigned a new feeder when he returned to college after the summer. Aaron had made the decision that the boy, who had been so keen to fatten up when Aaron had interviewed him, had been messed around enough by an inadequate feeder. In fact, Aaron had come to realise that Kirk wasn’t even that. Sure, Aaron had flipped feeders into gainers in the past. He even joked that most feeders came with an expiry date, when it would all become too much for them and they’d long for the blubber to be added to their bodies instead. But, Kirk was such a simple boy. Did he even realise yet that he was destined to become a fatty?
“I’m guessing you’ve played some good football in your time,” remarked Kirk’s football coach, heading over to speak to Aaron after he had seen the guy watching his boys play.
“Is it that obvious?” Aaron smiled, knowing that most people assumed he was some sort of football player, given his statuesque height and build. He shook hands with the guy, knowing just how to handle men like these, immediately inventing a backstory for himself in the game that would give him a lot more credibility with the coach. He folded his arms in the same way as him, mimicking the body language and slowly engaging the man enough so that he visibly relaxed more in his company; believing every word he said.
“So just one little broken ankle and that was your entire future NFL career gone?” the coach asked, full of sympathy.
“I think about it every single day,” Aaron lied, shaking his head bitterly. “But you’ve got some decent talent on the field here,” he smiled, pointing to the spot where all the young guys had last stood before heading in to shower.
“They’re okay,” the coach agreed, sounding unconvinced. “We’ve certainly had stronger teams in the past.”
Aaron nodded, as if he knew what he was talking about. “There was one who really caught my eye; the really tall one who spent most of the time over there,” he pointed.
“Kirk?” the coach asked. “Yeah, he’s a good player. Not necessarily the brightest guy I’ve ever come across. He’s quite versatile and plays in a variety of positions. I wouldn’t say he exactly excels in any of them though.”
“Have you ever thought about playing him as an offensive tackle?” Aaron asked. “From what I saw today, he looks more suited to that than anything.”
At this, the coach winced. “You should see some of the guys from the other teams in our league who play in that position. Kirk may be tall and strong, but he’d be dwarfed if he had to go up against them.”
“Bulk him up then,” Aaron shrugged, deciding to lift his arm and show off his bicep. “It’s what my coach did for me. It was the best thing that ever happened for my career. Before the ankle…” he added.
The two men discussed the idea for a little while longer, but Aaron had no intention of hanging around just in case Kirk came out and came over, giving the game away that they knew each other. Instead, he simply planted the seed and left it there to grow.
“When am I getting a new pig?” Kirk asked a couple of weeks later, settling into Aaron’s feeding chair.
“When I think you’re ready,” Aaron lied. “Which reminds me,” he smiled, pulling out his phone and playing a video to the football hunk. “Your last assignment’s new feeder sent me this. He’s getting great results with your old pig. Look at the blubber in that tummy now. His six pack is completely gone!”
“He looks completely different!” Kirk marvelled.
“That’s not even the best part,” Aaron chuckled, waiting for the section in the video when the pig turned and bounced his butt cheeks. “His new feeder says he’s never seen anything like it. It’s like the muscle just completely vanished and been replaced by pure blubber. Look at those thighs too! He’s going to be so bottom heavy!”
“That can’t be the same guy,” Kirk protested. “He didn’t gain like that for me.”
“Well, it’s all about finding the right technique that works for your pig,” Aaron explained, undressing himself and grabbing the supplies from the kitchen.
Kirk had followed his lead, kicking his shirt, sweatpants and underwear to the side and sitting himself back down again. An obvious coating and ring of light blubber sat around his middle from all the sessions Aaron had conducted with him in the last few weeks, but it wasn’t time to acknowledge that with him just yet.
“This is the shake and suck technique,” Aaron went on. “It’s the method that helped your old pig get that huge ass of his. I made this shake up this morning, so it’s had plenty of time to lose the chill.” Aaron heaved, lifting a huge gallon container of thick liquid and putting it on the coffee table with a bump. “You’ve had it plenty of times before. You know what’s in it,” he smirked.
“Yeah, but…” Kirk mumbled, looking at the size of the container. “I’ve only had the odd flask of it when we’ve been training. No one could drink that much of it.”
“That’s where this funnel comes in so handy,” the feeder smiled, lifting it up for Kirk to see. “It stops the pig from ending the chug the moment he starts to feel a little uncomfortable, and so it gives us a lot more control over how much we want the fat boy to take down.”
Kirk’s erection had returned. His legs twitched and he looked down suggestively at it. “What about the sucking part of this method?” he asked, knowing that no one gave a blow job like Aaron.
“It’s called the ‘shake and suck’ technique,” Aaron laughed. “As in… one BEFORE the other!” he teased, noting that Kirk appeared aroused enough to begin. “All you need to do is hold this flask, like this,” he instructed, resting Kirk’s head backwards into the chair at the same time. “Then just, chug away until the funnel is emptied.”
From his position, standing behind the feeding chair and looking over Kirk, Aaron could fully appreciate the gentle loss of definition in the boy’s stomach muscles. Today’s session was going to do so much more serious damage! He lifted the container and let it glug outwards, filling the funnel held steady by the athlete underneath. Just as instructed, the naive boy began swallowing it all up, even as Aaron continued to pour; never letting it get below half-way.
At the first break, Kirk moaned loudly, rubbing his enlarged stomach. Then he burped, long and coarsely, until he at last felt more comfortable. “Fuck!” he sighed. “How much of that stuff did you just pour in? I thought it was never going to end!”
“There’s plenty more, don’t you worry!” Aaron laughed, turning so that he could feed his own erection into Kirk’s mouth. “This is something you can only do at the start of this technique,” Aaron explained. “And you’ve got to go gentle. You can’t be making your pig gag when there’s all that fattening liquid in his stomach.”
Aaron could tell that Kirk was at last starting to learn some of the blow job skills he’d been taught in recent weeks. Aaron exhaled and felt his eyes widen. Shit, this guy was actually pretty good!
“And that’s enough of that,” Aaron smiled, pulling out before he lost his composure. “Back to business!” he ordered, placing the funnel back into Kirk’s hands. “This second chug has to be shorter, and the next one will be shorter again,” he explained, already pouring from the now considerably lighter container and looking down to check that Kirk’s hardness wasn’t faltering.
At the end of the second chug, Kirk moaned once more and gave off a long fog-horn like burp. However, this time his stomach was so rounded and stretched, actually resembling a belly for the first time. Without even prompting, Kirk’s hands began exploring it as Aaron engaged in a gentle first suck in his crotch. Not that Aaron would ever have told him, but already over two thirds of the gallon of gainer shake was gone.
“Depending on your pig, this method can take all day. And that’s fine,” Aaron nodded. “The main thing is, we want that shake inside them.”
Automatically, Kirk rested his head back again the moment he felt ready. The third session began and Kirk was soon enjoying the rewards of having Aaron’s lips around his erection once more.
“A pretty effective technique, huh?” Aaron laughed, just stopping as Kirk seemed about to climax.
“Let’s finish this thing!” Kirk grunted, throwing his head back and knowing that the end was near. Fuck the consequences. He needed that orgasm soon.
“You want me to take on another pig?” asked Jack, one of Aaron’s most capable feeders, a few weeks later. “That’s two in the last six weeks!”
Aaron nodded apologetically. “I know. I would do it myself, but I just don’t have the time. His name’s Peter; twenty-two, already chubby; great little appetite when I interviewed him. He wants pushing hard, and he’s kinky as fuck. I think you’ll have a lot of fun with him,” he summarised, showing Jack a picture before sending over the contact details.
“Cute!” Jack smiled. “Are you sure you’re okay with letting me have all the fun?”
“I just know you’ll do a great job,” Aaron chuckled, slapping the guy on his back.
Jack simply smiled back knowingly. “I bumped into Kirk the other day. He told me you haven’t given him a pig in months.”
Aaron raised his eyebrows. “Well, there are reasons for that.”
“You’re flipping him, aren’t you?” Jack pressed. “Kirk tried to tell me that his coach is bulking him up to play a new position on the field, but there’s no denying your handiwork on that little paunch of his. That’s where most of your time is going these days, isn’t it?”
“Possibly,” Aaron smirked, liking how direct Jack could be at times. “I’m throwing everything at him and I’ve yet to find a single one of my moves that doesn’t work on him.”
“Does he realise?” Jack asked.
“What do you think?” Aaron laughed, knowing that he didn’t need to hide his wicked side with a guy like Jack. “I’ve even got him writing up an assignment for me on the ‘feeder training’ he’s had in the last few weeks! He’s coming round this evening for the ‘Funnel, Fuck and Flip’ exercise.”
Jack chuckled. He’d only met Kirk a handful of times, so could hardly pity the guy if he had fallen into one of Aaron’s typical games. “So when are you going to make your move on him?” he asked.
“Soon,” Aaron smiled. “He’s almost ready now… Just one last little push!”
Later that evening, Kirk bent himself against the table with his legs stretched. His stomach was hard and swollen with gainer shake, drooping down as his head was held only inches above a decadent three-layered chocolate cake.
“Not many guys can hold an erection like I can,” Aaron explained, having pushed himself inside Kirk’s tight butt hole with a lot less wincing from the athlete than in previous weeks. “So don’t worry if you struggle with this move when you’re feeding a fatty this way.”
“Okay,” Kirk mumbled back, breathing deeply as his body tried to get used to the sheer size of Aaron’s thick hardness inside of him. “I think I’ll be ready in a second,” he whispered.
“Good,” Aaron replied, trying not to laugh. He leaned a little more over Kirk’s broad back. “Now, messy pigs adore this one. All I’m going to do is gently lower your head into the cake before I start fucking you.”
“So the pig has to try and eat whilst he’s getting pounded?” Kirk asked.
“That’s the idea,” Aaron smirked.
“Is that even possible?” Kirk asked again.
“I guess you’ll soon find out,” Aaron chuckled, checking that Kirk was ready and then pushing his head gently into the cake so that his entire face was covered in frosting. “Good Piggy!” he called out, already starting to fuck him. Despite the many fatties he’d worked on over the years, few were ever as thrilling as this!
A few weeks later, Kirk had arrived at Aaron’s in a somewhat distracted mood. “Coach says I’ve put on too much fat in my bulk, and that it’s affected my performance on the field.”
“Of course you have,” Aaron shrugged, getting himself undressed as Kirk did the same. “How else am I supposed to teach you about how to tease a fat ass properly? You can’t make an omelette without cracking a few eggs.”
Kirk seemed to consider this.
“Now is the time when you can really get to grips with your pig’s trigger words. Some of them love being called out on being a pig, whereas others are not keen. Some don’t even like teasing at all.”
“So you ask them what words they like to be called?” Kirk asked.
“No,” Aaron sighed, wondering how he ever thought that Kirk could make a good feeder. He simply had no intuition at all. “You try the words out and see what works best. Which ones suit them? Which ones get them the hardest? That’s the way I figured out yours.”
“I have trigger words?” Kirk shot back in surprise.
“Of course you do. All FAT BOYS do,” Aaron smiled, poking Kirk in his doughy middle, making the guy’s hardness bounce. “‘Fat Boy’: the name works on you every time. I never could have got you to complete that pot of whipping cream last week without it.”
“Fuck!” Kirk marvelled, perhaps realising for the first time just how much Aaron had actually burrowed into his head. “Are there more?”
“Of course there are,” Aaron nodded. “There are movements too. Like when I cup your glutes and give them a little bounce,” he demonstrated, giving Kirk’s butt cheek the lightest of wobbles. “See?” he asked, nodding down at Kirk’s weeping erection. “You’ve been so firm and athletic your whole life, this is a completely new experience for you. The feeling of fresh fat invading your body. It’s why being called a ‘fat ass’ works so well on you too.”
Aaron kissed him deeply as he continued to jiggle the boy’s glutes. Kirk’s breathing was hot and heavy; more aroused than ever he had been so early into their sessions. This was new and exciting.
“Few people would spot it in you; partly because you're so broad and muscular. But you’re also a very submissive boy,” Aaron continued.
“I am?” Kirk asked. “I thought feeders had to be mostly dominant?”
At this Aaron sniggered. “Oh, come on, Kirk!” he smiled, still bouncing the soft glutes. “You’re no feeder.”
Kirk closed his eyes to appreciate the feeling of his jiggling butt cheeks. “What am I then?” he whispered, sounding like he was finally ready to hear the truth.
Aaron placed his mouth right next to Kirk’s ear and whispered back, deploying the boy’s ultimate trigger word.
“You’re my big, fat HOG!”
Just like that, Kirk moaned like he had been shattered into a thousand pieces. He pulled Aaron into him and kissed him with more passion than ever before.
“You’re going to quit football for me,” Aaron demanded, immediately seizing the moment as Kirk had surrendered himself; a part of him released and fully conscious for the first time.
“I’ll do anything!” Kirk agreed, allowing himself to be pushed into the feeding chair; another stuffing about to commence.
“Good!” Aaron grinned. “Because you’re moving in here with me too. I’m taking a six month sabbatical from the other fatties. I want to see what I can do when I just devote myself to one little hog, twenty four hours a day. How far can I take them?”
Kirk looked down at his stout little belly and his eyes filled with lust. “I’m all yours!”
#gainer stories#gainerstory#gayfeedee#gayfeeder#gainer story#gainerstories#gainerfic#gainer fiction#gainer fic#gay feedee
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Jason Todd loves a lazy Sunday morning.
He wakes with his cheek smushed against the pillow. Blinking slowly, he lifts his head to assess his situation. The first rays of morning peek through the weave of the curtains, dousing the bedroom in a soft glow. The comforter bunches around your bodies, insulating your shared warmth. His left arm dangles lazily from your midsection. Your slow, even puffs of breath warm his chest through the thin cotton of his sleep shirt. He tilts his chin to look down at you, and relaxes. You're snuggled close and safe in his arms, right where you should be. His head falls back against the pillow and he closes his eyes. For once, he allows himself the indulgence of falling back asleep.
The second time he wakes, the clock face reflects 10:36. You begin to stir from sleep, slipping your hand from his back to rub at your eyes. He yawns, exhaling the funk of morning breath right into your face. Your nose scrunches and you feign offense before doing the very same right back at him. He recoils playfully, swatting at the air in front of his face.
The two of you lay in bed for another five minutes before he pulls you up from the bed and into the bathroom. He smiles at the way toothbrushes lean against each other in their container. It's the first thing he looks for in the morning, small but tangible proof of the life you've built together. He needs them, sometimes - reminders of the life he's living, the reality he has trouble trusting. Little pinch-me's litter the bathroom: his razor next to your face wash on the counter, two pairs of bathroom slippers tucked neatly against the wall, the mingled medicine cabinet. He smiles at them all as he brushes his teeth next to you. The two of you make eye contact in the mirror and exchange sleepy grins, sudsy mouths and all. He hums contentedly when you rope him into your morning routine, dutifully rubbing in the various serums and creams you dab onto his face.
He follows you into the kitchen afterwards to perform your respective morning tasks. It's a mutual compromise: Jason decides food, and you decide beverage of the morning. Today calls for tea, you think, reaching for the tin of lapsang souchong in the pull-out drawer. The pan sizzles softly behind you and you turn, interested. The sight of Jason, bedheaded and domestic, makes your heart squeeze in your chest. You can't help but walk over and press a kiss between his shoulder blades on your way to fill the kettle. He turns, gesturing at you to kiss him proper before going about your way.
A comfortable silence hangs between the both of you as you eat, intermittently broken by the scraping of silverware and sounds of eating. Diffused sunlight warms your skin to a glow, swathing your body golden against the shadows of the apartment. Jason admires you over the tilt of his coffee mug. He loves you like this, tousled and swallowed by your sleep shirt. He loves watching you eat the food he makes you. It helps him reconcile with the hands that made it, that they’re still capable of loving and nurturing despite the brutal take, take, take of his night job. You catch his stare and slow your chews, swallowing.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just lookin’ at you.”
“Something on my face?” You brush off the sides of your mouth.
“No, dumbass. I just think you’re pretty.”
You blink, your brain lagging in a response to dumbass and pretty said in succession.
Your face reflects your hesitation, and he laughs. He takes the opportunity to reach for your hand, kissing the inside of your palm and cupping his face. The display warms your heart and numbs your retort. You exhale through your nose, quirking your lips. It’s impossible to be miffed at him when he blinks slowly at you with those stupidly gorgeous eyes, blue and gleaming with mirth like burnished sea glass. He flutters his eyelashes at you, and all your remaining fight acquiesces.
“Was there anything you wanted to do today?”
He hums, considering. His head shakes no.
“Lazy day in, then?”
His head tilts, interested.
“What do you have in mind?” he asks.
“Well… we could finally do that read-a-thon thing we’ve been wanting to do for a while.”
You pause, considering. “I read your favorite, you read mine, and we can live react to each other?”
His face splits into a wide grin. “Deal.”
The rest of the day is spent on the couch with his head on your lap and a book in his hands. You mirror him in an upright position, fingers threading lazily through his hair in between flipping pages. Every so often, you look down at your hulking lap cat of a boyfriend to check in. Each time, you find contentment resting soft and easy on his face. Your heart squeezes with affection, proud of the little slice of heaven you’ve carved out of his day off.
Peace looks good on him, you think.
#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd imagine#red hood x reader#red hood x you#red hood imagine#jason todd/reader#jason todd fanfic#jason todd fanfiction#red hood fanfiction#red hood/reader
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OMG HAVE YOU SEEN CH260?? kaiser my baby :(( i always assumed his backstory would be kinda dark but i didnt expect this... 🤒 anyways can you do angst with reader waking up in the middle of the night and seeing kaiser having a panic attack remembering his childhood?
many kisses xx 🫶
I did not expect that either... my poor baby, no one should be put into a situation like that. If you do know someone who is put in a situation similar to his, please do not hesitate to reach out to someone you can trust!
Cw: please do not read if you cannot stomach reading about prior physical abuse, choking, and alcohol abuse! Panic attack, reverse comfort, cuddling, crying, 1.1k words
a/n: this isn't as angsty as I thought it would be. I just wanna give Kaiser a big ass hug, baby boy deserves it :( also i feel like I Bet on Losing Dogs is my song to him :(
Your eyes open, a yawn parting your lips as you stretch your legs a little. You know it's late, you don't have to look at the window to confirm. But still, you decide to check the alarm clock on the nightstand, and you realize that it's three in the morning. Your boyfriend, Kaiser, is sleeping right next to you, and he has early practice in the morning.
I'll just get some water and try to sleep, you thought as your hand reached towards the nightstand. But all you feel is air, no cup next to the clock where you usually put it before bed. You groan lightly, you don't want to get out of bed but your mouth feels like the Sahara desert.
Another yawn leaves your mouth as you make your way out of the bed and onto the cold floor. You slip your feet into some warm slippers and walk to the kitchen.
Should I bring it to the bedroom? You looked at the ceiling as you thought of what to do. Shrugging, you decide to bring the full glass to the bedroom. You never know if you're going to wake up again.
"Stop..." You hear your boyfriend whine when you step into the bedroom. "No, I said stop." His hands come up to his throat, clawing at the air.
Usually, you would coo at how cute Kaiser is when he sleep-talks, but you know better. He's not having a dream, more like a nightmare. You set the cup down next to his side of the bed and get onto your knees so you're facing him as he sleeps. Your hands run through his hair, wondering if you should try to wake him up or not.
A sharp gasp pulls you out of your thoughts, your eyes fix to his widened ones. "Hey, hey it's okay," you continue to run your hands through his hair. His breathing quickens and he looks around the room.
It's like he's searching for something that isn't there. "Baby, it's okay. Deep breaths." His eyes finally land on yours, however his breathing doesn't slow. "Come on, in," you take a deep breath in, "And out." You let it out. Michael follows your actions, taking a deep breath in and out.
"Good job, baby," you coo as you smooth your thumb on his cheek. "It's okay, everything's okay." Your free hand comes up to his other cheek to wipe some of his tears.
Your face softens, my poor baby, you want to say. Instead, you try to pull him in for a hug. But he pulls himself back, his arms keeping you at a distance. "I-I don't want..." He trails off, but you understand. You nod your head, immediately understanding why. It took almost 6 months for Kaiser to actually receive your touch without tensing, so you understand why he said no.
"Okay, that's okay." You sympathize with him. You don't want him to feel pressured. "Remember what I taught you, baby."
Kaiser always claimed that he never needed help. Until you saw him struggling one day after a hard game. He beat himself up for it, and you knew that you should give him some space. However, the first person he went to was you. He felt stupid, but also very vulnerable. He trusted you, so he went to you. And just like he thought, you held him and told him that it's okay, it's the cycle of life to lose.
After spending a relaxing day with you, he decided to tell you about his childhood. About why he doesn't like physical touch very much. You learned that his mother left when he was just a baby, his father grew depressed and turned to alcohol. And Kaiser was the outlet for his father's harboring anger. Kaiser looked so much like his mother when he was a kid, and his father grew disgusted. He would drink all day, tell Kaiser to steal for the family, he wouldn't work, he would unleash his anger in the most violent ways.
You learned that Kaiser was almost killed when he was a young child. His father would choke him until he sobbed and cried. And when he was a little older, he was framed for a break-in at a jewelry store. The police searched his home and found money. And of course, his father tried to hurt Kaiser again for storing money.
Out of anger, Kaiser knocked his father out, then the police that were at his home. Because of that, he was sent to jail.
You learned so much in less than an hour. You learned that the reason Kaiser chokes himself before a game is because of his twisted father. You cried for him, you grew angry for him. You were there for him, and he felt so...safe. And for the first time, he didn't tense up when you pulled him in for a hug. He cried when you told him, "Thank you. Thank you for sharing and thank you for being so brave, my love. Thank you for trusting me." For the first time in Kaiser's life, he felt safe and happy.
After telling you what happened, he started to show more emotion around you. And one of these emotions was his anxiety. But you knew what to do, thanks to you having so many panic attacks in the past.
"4-7-8 method, baby," you told him in a gentle tone. "Can you do that for me?" He nodded and started to do what you had asked of him. Breathe in for 4 seconds, hold for 7, and out for 8.
"Good," you give him a small smile. "Do you want some water?" He nodded and you handed him the cup. After taking a few sips, he handed it back to you. "I had a nightmare." His breathing quickened again.
"Slow baby, slow." You remind him, "I had a nightmare about my past. It..." He didn't finish the rest of his sentence, but you understood just fine. It scared him.
"It's okay. You're not living there anymore, you're not alone anymore. Everything's okay."
His breathing calmed and so did his emotions. He finally let you hug him, basking in each other's warmth. He hid his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing evening out until you heard soft snores. You almost wanted to coo at his childlike behavior.
As carefully as you could, you laid his head against his pillows and climbed into the bed. But before you could even put the blanket on yourself, Kaiser snuggled up to you. His head rested against your chest, his arms around your waist. He had a content look on his face, as if he didn't just have a panic attack.
You almost wanted to take a picture, but you thought better of it. This was only for your eyes, his downs, and his ups.
#bllk#bllk x reader#bllk x you#blue lock#bllk fluff#bllk angst#bllk anime#bllk manga#bllk kaiser#kaiser x reader#michael kaiser x reader#blue lock kaiser#michael kaiser#angst with a happy ending#light angst#blue lock angst#angst#one shot#bllk comfort#comfort#warmth#rest#comforting#cuddling
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part ii of this ♡︎ (+18)
notes: dbf! james kelly… reader is in her early 20s & james is 36, dddne, reader’s dad is a drunk & kinda sexist. reader is a virgin. slight daddy kink if you squint… this part is longer! there’s a buildup!
(i was not expecting people to want a part two! omg! thank y’all so dearly & i hope y’all enjoy ♥︎) (if you see any grammar mistakes… no you didn’t… 😇 #englishmajor)
when the door opened, you were holding two beers, doe-like eyes wide and skin flushed warm. “james?” your tone was quiet, shy… whiny? he looked down at you, eyebrows knitting together as he parted his lips to speak, fearing you heard him. but before the tension could even be fully formed, frankie yelled some incoherent bullshit from the kitchen—somethin’ about a beer, and he pulled his gaze away from you. fuck, he jus’ couldn’t do this. not right now. so like any sensible man out there who fantasizes about fucking his friend’s young and sweet daughter, james excuses himself. shaking his head slightly, eyeing you one last time, his legs move—fast. he goes straight for the front door ‘n leaves, the screen door slamming shut behind him.
that was three days ago, and you haven’t seen james come ‘round. you lie on your bed, kicking your legs gently as you stare at the photo on your dresser. you, james, and your dad. james… you wanted to cry, wondering why he left like that after seein’ you. you can’t help but wonder if you did something. he appeared so conflicted… so disgusted, but the way he looked at you? james looked at you as if you were delicious, like a sweet apple pie on a summer’s day. did he… find you pretty? the thought alone makes your body melt into the bed, your thighs clenching together gently. it’s such a conflicting concept that you can’t ignore now.
it’s been a week now, but you know he’ll be over soon. seven days without seeing him… without james. even your dad was confused, given he was always a little hazy, of the absence of james kelly. a lot of time to think, to pick apart interactions and behaviors, time to have your hand trace your body, play with your sensitive lil’ clit and pretend it’s him. time to imagine him above you, tellin’ you things that would need to be confessed to a priest. you lingered around your dad, mentioning james every once in a while, asking when he’ll be over for the game. ‘so… when does the game start again? and he’ll be over before that, right?’ already three beers in, your dad just smiles and tells you he should be here in an hour.
you spend the next hour dolling yourself up for a thirty-six year old. a thirty-six year old who practically helped raise you—which should disgust you, it really should, but he cared for you so deeply. by the time you had finished your hair and makeup, picking out another slip dress—shorter, pink, and lacy—james was helping himself into your home. you heard him, calling out for your dad and telling him to ‘turn the damn TV on!’ you slipped on your pink slippers and made your way downstairs, trying to control your breathing.
your dad was already seated on the couch, finishing the beer in his hand. and james? he must’ve been in the bathroom, because the six pack he brought was sittin’ on the table and he was nowhere to be found. so, you took it upon yourself to unbox the beers and put them in the fridge, bending over as you do so—your dress riding up your thighs. you hear the bathroom door open and click shut, shoes hitting the floor as james walked and it forced you to stand upright and turn around. he was lookin’ at you, a disapproving expression on his face. “what are you doing?” his voice was quiet, and he licks his lips as he looks over to the couch. “‘m putting the beers away…? sorry—was i not supposed to?” and he wants to rip his hair out, his gaze back on you and traveling down your body. “this… this is the problem,” he starts, large hands reaching to adjust your dress that had ridden up. “d’you usually have your panties on full display?”
and it clicks. it finally sets into place… you were right. james did think you were pretty. but it was more than that. james wanted you, with the way his hands lingered and how he swallowed real hard when he pulled back and put distance between you two. you blink, processing the hundreds of thoughts consuming your mind. you can play this game, you decide—and you can play it good. you shake your head softly, a small pout gracing your lips as you hand james a beer. “sorry, i don’t know what you’re talking about… i’ve always dressed like this.” closing the fridge, you walk over to the couch to sit in the middle.
james—poor, poor james—he was fed up already. he watched as you made yourself comfortable on the couch, crossing your legs as you stared at the TV with that fuckin’ smile on your face. oh, he wanted to put you in your place, have your mouth be useful for once as you choked on his cock. it was a thought that made his stomach hurt. irritated, he walked over and sat next to you, eyes never once meeting yours as he opened his canned beer. it didn’t take long for the game to start, and as much as you didn’t care about football, both your dad and james were immersed. yelling at the screen, throwing their hands up… you jus’ rolled your eyes.
“there’s a reason girls like you don’t enjoy football,” your dad slurred out, patting you on the shoulder. “it’s because men like these are big, strong, and dominant—y’all don’t like that shit anymore.” he isn’t making any sense, but it was enough to make you snappy. “seriously? that guy?” you point at the screen, giggling as you side eye your dad. “he’s smaller than james… i could take it.” and james nearly chokes on his cheap beer, eyebrows knitting together as his head snaps to look at you. he just wants to get up and leave at this point, but all your dad does is shrug and say, “ain’t that right, jimmy?!”
“hey, be a peach ‘n get another beer for your old man.” your dad mumbles after a silent ten minutes, eyes heavy as he mindlessly stares at the television. he unabashedly adds, “see, this is what women are made for! to please—and my sweet has always been a big pleaser… surprised no man has snatched her up…” you stand up, slippers quietly pattering against the floor as you walk to the kitchen to grab another can. when you return, two beers in hand for your dad—because ‘another’ usually means two—you dramatically sigh. “‘m surprised, too… i mean, i am the sweetest girl in town. right, daddy?” but you weren’t lookin’ at your dad. no, you were staring at james with that innocent little smile adorning your beautiful face, and he had the grip the handle of the couch because he was fucking exasperated.
“well… ‘m gonna go now. this is extremely boring,” you chew on your bottom lip in an attempt to hide how pleased you were with james’ reactions. turning on your toes, you walk down the hall to the stairs as you sway your hips. and james has had enough, moving on his feet quickly and waving off your barely conscious father as he followed you to the bottom of the stairs. he corners you into a wall, forcing a small gasp out of your lips. “you don’t even,” he inhales sharply, stepping closer as he points a finger at you. his jaw clenches, his voice low and accusatory. “you don’t even know what you’re doin’, doll.” the tip of his finger digs into your chest as he leans in closer. and you bat your eyelashes at him, your back pressed against the wall as you stutter over your words. “don’t know what you’re talking about…”
and he laughs in your face, all frustrated ‘n deep and your legs nearly give out. your face feels like it’s on fire, and your thighs clench together because you’re so, so wet for him. “what? you’re gonna act as if you didn’t just call me ‘daddy’ like some cheap hooker?” after a moment, he sighs out your name, his knee moving to slowly spread your legs apart. “you’re makin’ me feel crazy.” and it nearly makes you whine, the way he says it—deep and breathy. leaning down, his lips meet your neck gently, before he quickly pulls away to look down the hall. your father was already snoring, how perfect.
“james,” you whimper quietly, both of you staring at each other before the tension finally breaks—and he leans in to kiss you. it’s rough and passionate, just like james. he groans against your lips—soft and plump—and he was losing it. his hands come up to cup your cheeks, and you flutter your eyes shut at how breathless he’s already left you, your heartbeat pounding against your chest. he furrows his eyebrows, his lips moving aggressively against yours as your hands grip at his unbuttoned over-shirt, creating fists as you pull him closer to you. his tatted hand moves down from your cheek to the curves of your breasts, to your stomach, and slipping underneath your slip dress. he pulls away, barely so, his lips ghosting yours as he opens his mouth to let out a strained, “fuck, baby…”
his fingers gently trace the damp spot of your panties, and he sharply inhales through his nose. “this all f’me? so fuckin’ wet,” his eyes are half-lidded as he gazes down at you, taking in the way you can barely form a coherent thought as he slowly slips the fabric aside to run his fingers through your soaked folds. “you ever been touched like this?” he asks in a whisper and you shake your head, your eyes opening to look into his and james swears this is what an angel looks like. your eyes are so heavenly, wide and doe-like, your plump and stained red lips are parted as you let out shaky puffs of air. and your body, fuck, he cannot get enough. his other hand, still on your cheek, moves until his thumb is running along your bottom lip. “do you wanna stop?” you shake your head again.
he nods his head slowly, his lips curling up. and suddenly his hand, large and scented strongly of cigarettes and oil, is covering your mouth. his fingers move slowly, sliding between your slicked folds and teasing your clit—your eyelashes fluttering at the feeling. “sorry, doll… as much as i’d love to hear your voice, we don’t wanna wake up your real daddy.” your moan is muffled when his fingers rub against your clit, his calloused fingers moving so perfectly that you swear you see stars, and james moves so close that he’s caged you against him and the wall. your grip on his shirt tightens, your eyes on his—deep, blue, and piercing—as he finally slips a finger in your tight, sopping cunt.
you watch as james grits his teeth, muttering something about being ‘so fuckin’ tight,’ as he stuffs another finger inside your heat, slowly moving them so you can feel his long fingers reach places that yours could never. it was too much, yet so little. he needed to be inside you, needed to taste you… to fuck you proper. but he was nice, having a soft spot for you, and wouldn’t let your first time be against a wall while your dad was passed out on the couch down the hall. james’ cock was straining against his pants, hard and throbbing and begging to abuse that little pussy of yours, but he was nice. for now, he’s content with fingering you, giving you a sweet taste of what it’s like to be treated right.
“next time,” he starts, his movements faster and more punctuated, “‘m gonna use my cock… it’ll feel s’good, bein’ stretched out and taken care of.” next time? your heart flutters at the thought, your mewls and begs quieted as you feel the warmth low in your stomach grow. your legs begin to tremble, the stimulation of both his touch and words leaving you drooling against his hand. james leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “you gonna come, doll? that’s it. come on my fingers, be good for me. you’re always such a pleaser, right?” and your walls clench tightly around his digits as your body tenses up, your orgasm leaving you lightheaded and soundless.
his fingers slow down before completely pulling out—leaving you feelin’ empty—but instead of giving you the chance to calm down, he rubs your puffy clit, your hips trying to squirm away from the sensation. you breathe heavily through your nose, one of your hands quickly moving to grip james’ wrist as you feel yourself become overstimulated, whining softly and eyes pleading. he licks his lips, before hesitantly stepping back from you, taking his hand away from your mouth as you slump against the wall. “james,” you whine dumbly, tone high-pitched and so fuckin’ sweet; your mind hazy as you look up at him through your lashes. he can’t help himself, of course he can’t, not when it comes to you. he closes the distance once more, kissing you quiet.
when he pulls away, he adjusts your dress, tapping your thigh gently. “go upstairs and rest,” he mutters, his breathing just as ragged as yours. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”
and you will… ❤︎︎
#kel’s concepts ♡︎#james kelly#james kelly x reader#james kelly x you#james kelly smut#anakin skywalker#anakin skywalker x you#anakin x you#anakin skywalker x reader#anakin x reader#anakin smut#james kelly is my man#i need to repent#and pray
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GymRat!Miguel Part 5
content warning: very fluffy, PDA ➡️ something in which the reader is shy about and Miguel is hungry for, Miguel’s bday is 10/13 here, it gets suggestive so MINORS BEWARE, George O’Hara is NOT abusive in this story and he will be Mexican here idc idc idc, some mentions of food (deer meat at one point), some of the gym photos are white men (my deepest apologies, I just want y’all to have an idea of the pose 😔)
word count: 4.3k (just nod and smile. she's thicc like me😗)
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GymRat!Miguel who learns your schedule front to back. He’s always there to walk you to your classes and carry your heavy bags and purses. Sometimes he’ll meet you outside of your dorm, sometimes you’ll send him your location and he’ll come running. Now, you both walk into the lab building hand in hand and leave the building swinging hands. You used to despise those lovey-dovey couples who were stuck in their own world, but now you could understand them completely. They were still a little annoying, though.
GymRat!Miguel who makes a habit of sending you post workout pictures in the early mornings. His go-to poses are the worm’s eye under-chest, the standing mirror, the bench mirror, and the back mirror. The last one was specific to his dorm bathroom, too shy to take his shirt completely off. Your thorough praises made him feel warm, but sometimes you let more silly things slip.
“You could probably choke me with your thighs and I’d be thankful”
“Baby don’t say that. :(( I would never hurt you”
“Oh so you can want me to sit and lay on you but I can’t ask for the same? Wow. The double standards”
“That’s not fair. You should sit on me. I can take it and I want it. Thoroughly.”
“Oh! So you’re saying I’m not strong enough. Got it.”
“Baby I never said that!”
“Whatever Miguel 🙄”
“ㅜㅜ”
“You never answered me though. Will you sit on me?”
“Go get ready for class 😒”
“😞”
GymRat!Miguel who tells you that his birthday is coming up at the last minute possible. You berate him for telling you so late and kick yourself for not asking sooner, but you still manage to get a reservation at one of the fancy local restaurants.
You pull out all of the stops you could. A gift card from Smoothie King, a pair of slippers to match yours, the newest Final Fantasy game, and a muscle bunny keychain to match your muscle bear keychain. He was your big teddy bear, after all.
You handed him the gifts after the staff brought out a chocolate cake with sparklers on it while singing at the top of their lungs. The chocolate syrup read “Happy Birthday Miguel 🤎” around the plate.
Miguel’s smile got bigger as he took the gifts out one by one. He paused when he got to the cards: one a birthday card and the other a thick “open when…” manilla envelope.
The birthday card was simple and sweet. It was the other stuff you were worried about. You found these cute ideas about letters and notes to leave for your significant other. You had one for anger, sadness, needing a hug, sickness, boredom, and even one for wanting a kiss. You remember Jess walking in on you with your lips smashed against the cardstock, trying to get a bunch of kiss marks to cut out. She just sighed out a “young love” and carried on to her side of the room.
“It’s only been a short time since we’ve been dating, but Thanksgiving and Christmas break are coming up so I wanted to leave you with something for when you can’t reach me.”
Your heart is thumping as Miguel takes the cards out, reading their envelopes.
What you don’t expect is for Miguel to start crying.
You startle a bit, scared that the gift is awful, but he lets out a watery thank you, flustered from everything.
You quickly make your way to his side of the table and hug him. You wipe at his eyes and chuckle at his cuteness, telling him you were afraid he didn’t like it.
He shakes his head, breathes deep and slow to calm his emotions.
“No, I will definitely be using all of these. I really appreciate this. Everything. I’m not sure how you were able to do all of this, but I’m thankful that you did.”
You couldn’t take it. Here he was with dewey eyes and red tinting his cheeks. It was cuteness overload.
You face him towards you and lean forward, connecting his lips to yours.
GymRat!Miguel who stares at you stunned when you lean back. That was your first kiss with him. His first kiss with you and he was sitting here with his cheeks damp and nose sniffling away.
“I-” his heart picks up and he’s opening and closing his mouth. He was short circuiting.
“Can we- I mean if it’s ok, can we do that again?” Miguel stutters out.
You simply nod your head and lean in again, this time tilting your head.
The cards in Miguel’s hands drop to the table and his breathing stops. Your lips were soft and full. Another fraction of his dreams that were nothing compared to the real thing.
He could only hear his heartbeat and the soft jazz music in the restaurant when he let up for air.
This was definitely the best gift of the night.
GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t have the capacity to be embarrassed when the waiter comes and asks if you two need anything while he’s leaning down for another kiss.
He just got to kiss his dream girl. Who cares if the waiter saw him kiss you some more?
You jump when the waiter’s hands come close to you two as he picks up an empty dinner plate. You look to the waiter awkwardly to apologize and ask for the check.
This just makes Miguel want to pull you in his lap and kiss you as the entire staff goes by.
GymRat!Miguel who wants you to feed him bites of his cake. You happily agree, especially since he was the birthday boy. His eyes never leave you the whole time.
GymRat!Miguel who grabs the check before you can pick it up. He doesn’t want you to pay for the meal.
“Miguel, it’s your birthday. I picked the restaurant and reserved the seats,” you say a little whiney.
“But I want to pay for the dinner,” Miguel pouts as he holds the check out of your reach.
When he got like this, it was hard to change his mind.
“If you let me pay, I’ll give you another kiss.”
“Just one?” Miguel brings the check back to your level, squinting at you.
You sigh, “I’ll give you ten.”
“Deal.”
Miguel gives you the check with a giddy smile and you slap your card on it.
The kisses still don’t stop him from taking over the tip.
So stubborn.
GymRat!Miguel who texts Gabriel once he’s back in his dorm. He sends pictures of everything from the food to the cake to the gifts.
“Look at what my baby did for me 🤪”
“The same one you left at the party even tho you blew up my phone about her for weeks? 😕”
“Yes…I didn’t do it on purpose. Me and her talked about it already”
“jk jk it wasn’t your fault”
“No way she got you final fantasy. Dana barely got me a cupcake”
“This just proves that my gf is better”
“Tbf tho you and Dana are still in high school”
“Ohhhh my god. You turn one more year older than me and all of a sudden you have the wisdom of a sage. SHUT UP 😭”
“I’ll literally be in college next year”
“AND ANYWAY you’ve never shown me this so-called gf. How do Ik you haven’t gone insane?”
Miguel clicked the back of his teeth in annoyance. Peter walked by him with his eyebrow raised and Miguel just waved his hand.
He sent a picture he took of you from tonight. You looked amazing in that dress and your eyes were beautiful and deep. You were smiling at him from across the table.
“First you try to steal Dana from me and now you get her”
“It’s crazy how this world is so anti-Gabriel”
“What are you yapping about”
“And I didn’t take ANYTHING from you 🫵🏽”
“We were 6 and 7 and you couldn’t push her hard enough on the swings. When will you get over that?”
“It burns all the same”
“You should give me her number and I can let you experience that feeling”
“Gabriel.”
“Show her what a real O’Hara is like”
“Cabrón”
“You’re so lucky I’m not next to you right now”
“THE BIG C WORD?”
“I’m telling mom you called me that btw”
“All because I wanted to meet your gf ☹️”
“Bastard”
“I’M TELLING MOM YOU CALLED ME THAT! WTF?”
It wasn’t long before Miguel’s mom was calling his phone to berate him. He pressed the green button, air pushing out of his nose as his mom’s face filled up the screen.
Peter looked bug eyed as Conchata’s rapid fire words filled the room.
“Ma! That’s so not fair! Gabri called me a bastard!”
There was a quick pause as his mom made a face that he knew all too well. Miguel heard Gabriel yelp as a sandal made a loud impact with his skin.
Miguel heard Gabriel cry out as his mom took off her other shoe, ready to aim, “MIGUEL HAS A GIRLFRIEND!”
Miguel just threw his phone on the bed and groaned. He could hear Peter snickering from his desk.
“What girlfriend? Miguel! Where are you? Come back and answer me,” Conchata’s voice got louder and louder. “I can’t believe you two! You would think this distance meant that you two wouldn’t fight like you’re still sleeping in the same room.”
“We’re not fighting,” Gabriel said. He smirks as he gets in the camera next to his mom. “Miguel is still hiding things from you, though.”
Miguel picked the phone up again with a frown on his face. Gabriel just stuck his tongue out like the brat he was.
“Mijo, what’s going on?” his mom asked, concern in her voice. “First, it was the party and now this. Do you need to come home?”
“No, ma,” Miguel sighed. “Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine now. Great even.”
“Then why haven’t you told me about this girlfriend of yours?”
“We just started dating. It’s still very new,” Miguel chose his words carefully. Ever since his second seamster in high school, she’s been super sensitive towards him and his feelings. Knowing her, she might give you a hard time. He didn’t want that for you just yet. “I didn’t want to introduce you to her until we were more solid.”
“I think a girl that helps to organize the take down of a sorority in your honor is pretty solid,” Gabriel comments off camera.
“She did that?!” Conchata stares at Miguel with furrowed brows.
Miguel only nods, lips wound in a tight line.
“Oh well, mijo, I have to meet this girl!”
“I don’t think-”
“Let me know when she’s free to come home with you! Maybe over Thanksgiving?”
“Ma, she has her own family-”
“Ok I have to go now! I have to catch my shows. Call me more often or I’ll have to come up there!”
The room fell silent as the call ended and Miguel was met with his messages with Gabriel again.
“CHECKMATE!”
Miguel still wanted to throttle him.
GymRat!Miguel who’s super excited when Halloween comes and you want to wear couple costumes. He hasn’t done costumes since early middle school. Growing up meant realizing that some people your age want to grow up. Fast. No one wanted to dress up in silly costumes anymore or go trick-or-treating. Sure, the scary stories were fun but at that age, he wanted to eat candy all night, not teepee houses and run in the woods.
He’s hanging out on his bed chatting with Mary Jane and Peter while you get ready in the bathroom. The theater and art department collaborated together to host a costume party. This time, Miguel wouldn’t leave your side. Maybe if you had to pee, he would consider waiting awkwardly by the door. He didn’t want the same mistake to happen.
The two of you decide to go as Starfire and Nightwing grouping up with MJ and Peter who dress up as Raven and Beast Boy for a Teen Titans theme.
The costume is pretty tight but he has to admit, it looks great on his build.
You walk out of the bathroom with a cheery “I’m ready!”
It’s definitely not ideal that his suit is so tight.
The skirt is hugging your body in every which way. The cut-outs at your hips had his fingers twitching. To top it off, the diamond cut out for your chest left him internally screaming.
Peter whistled from his desk and MJ hollered about how good you looked. You smiled bashfully, doing a 360.
Miguel wanted to shove MJ and Peter out of the room to reenact what Starfire and Nightwing actually got up to when they were by themselves.
You walk up to him and flip your flaming hair back playfully.
“Do you like it?” you ask, peering up at him.
“I think he more than likes it,” Peter mumbles out in a stage whisper. MJ elbows him softly in the stomach.
Miguel spins you around, “Fuck yeah.”
Your laugh falls out of you, surprised at his curt reaction.
“Honestly, you two can go ahead to the party and we’ll just hang out here,” Miguel said, face as serious as ever as he wrapped himself around you from behind.
“No, no, no! You can do whatever you want after the party. Keep it in, buddy,” Peter says as he starts to guide everyone to the door.
Miguel keeps himself attached to you all night.
GymRat!Miguel who helps you bring your things to your car for Thanksgiving break. It’ll only be a week but he feels like he might not make it.
“You’ll see me again next Sunday, Miggy” you say to him as he’s bent over you with the biggest pout out ever.
“I’m still gonna miss you,” Miguel leans further with his forehead on yours. “Wish you could come with me.”
“Maybe over the winter break we can plan a time to meet outside of school.”
Miguel just sighs dramatically.
You decide to say fuck it and kiss him in the middle of the almost empty parking garage.
Miguel doesn’t let up now that you’ve given him an inch. He’s holding you by your hips, your face, your waist, anything to get closer. He moans a bit into your mouth as you open up.
You wrap your arms around his neck and whisper, “I really have to get on the road now, baby. And so do you.”
Miguel slumps as he guides you to your driver’s seat. You roll the window down and pucker your lips for another kiss.
Miguel obliges easily and asks, “Call me when you get there?”
“Of course,” you say.
He stands and watches you drive off, missing you already.
GymRat!Miguel who is almost knocked down when he opens the door to his home. Gabriel is wrapped around him like a koala, squeezing away.
Miguel laughs and rubs his back, relieved that he’s not heavy enough to knock him over.
“It’s good to see you too, Gabri,” Miguel laughs.
Conchata peaks around the corner and almost cries at the sight.
“My boys!” She coos while coming to the door. “George! Come help Miguel with his bags!”
Miguel waddles in with Gabriel still clinging to him. He’s glad to be home.
GymRat!Miguel who gets your call in the middle of Gabriel watching him play Final Fantasy. He pauses the game and runs to his room, Gabriel yelling at him to come back and unpause the game.
You tell that you made it home and that you’ll call him later.
You blow a kiss at the screen and he catches it with glee before you end the call.
Miguel is glad you left before Gabriel opens his door like that one big bird meme.
“Was that her?” he asks, voice excited. “Is she still on the phone?”
“Yes. No. Why are you eavesdropping like a creep?”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping! It just dawned on me a little too late that you left to go talk to her.”
“Whatever,” Miguel groaned. “Let’s just get back to the game.”
“You know you can’t hide her from me forever, right?” Gabriel says, skipping next to Miguel.
“I’m not trying to. But you being a weirdo will make me want to.”
Conchata passes by them with a laundry basket on her hip, “Who’s hiding something?”
“Nobody!” Both Miguel and Gabriel shout in her direction and run back to their game.
Conchata rolls her eyes and continues to her bedroom.
GymRat!Miguel who becomes overwhelmed on Thanksgiving Day. It’s as if every close and distant relative was here. The first floor was full of people. As much as Miguel puts on, he’s never been an much of an extrovert.
He’s up in his room taking a breather. He pulls out one of the cards you gifted him. The one for when he missed your kisses.
He opens and pulls out a letter. There’s instructions on it.
“Each shade is for a different feeling!”
There was a cute chibi doodle of you kissing him on the cheeks at the bottom of the letter. He saw that there was a shade for nervousness/being overwhelmed.
He pulls out a polaroid of you and opens the bag of glossy paper kisses. He flips one and it reads, “Breathe slow and steady 10 times. Kiss me when you’re done.”
He does as you say and brings the paper to his lips. It even smells like you. Sweet. Fruity.
He smiles to himself and takes out one more.
GymRat!Miguel who finally lets Gabriel talk to you on Friday.
“He can be a bit annoying. I’m warning you now,” Miguel says.
“Don’t say that, Miggy. He’s your brother! He’s allowed to bother you at least a little. ”
Miguel yells for Gabriel to come in and he’s running to snatch Miguel’s phone.
“Hi! My name is Gabriel, the better O’Hara. It’s so nice to finally meet you!”
“Oh my gosh,” Miguel watches as you gasp. “It’s like another Miguel!”
Miguel snickers as Gabriel groans loudly in annoyance.
“I don’t look like him. He looks like me!” Gabriel pouts.
“Well, you both sport that same O’Hara pout.”
Gabriel and you chat for a long time. Miguel had to cut the conversation short when Gabriel started to tell embarrassing stories from their childhood.
“Alright, you’re done,” Miguel says and snatches the phone back.
“Aw, but we were just getting to the good stuff!”
“Yeah!” you say. “I wanna know how you messed up the science lab in middle school!”
“Nuh uh, Gabri is running his mouth too much. Get out.”
“I can’t wait to see you in person!” Gabriel shouts as Miguel pushes him towards the door. “You can meet my girlfriend too! She’ll love you!”
“I can’t wait,” you say, laughing as Miguel struggles to detach Gabriel’s fingers from the doorway.
GymRat!Miguel who talks to you on the phone until you fall asleep. You look adorable as you’re blissful to the outside world. Your cheek is squished on your pillow.
He has the urge to bite it like it’s mochi.
“Buenas noches, mi amor,” he whispers before he closes his eyes, falling asleep to the sound of your breaths.
He didn’t know that you were still partially awake to hear him.
GymRat!Miguel who picks you up and spins you around after the break. You squeal in shock, surprised that he could pick you up in the first place.
“Baby, I lift much heavier weights at the gym. This is nothing,” Miguel stares at you as if you have two heads when you comment on it.
You’re in a daydream the rest of the day because of that fact.
GymRat!Miguel who joins you on your late study nights in the library closer to finals. You two always sit at one of the tables hidden by the giant bookshelves.
It was nice and cozy. Quiet and roomy.
It was also a great place to makeout.
Every time you got a set of flashcards memorized, Miguel would pull you in his lap and devour you with kisses. It was a great motivation and a welcomed distraction.
It always ended up getting a little too heated and Miguel would have to excuse himself to go to the bathroom.
Sometimes you would feel so delirious that you wanted him to stay so you could crawl under the table and take care of his problems for him.
That was definitely the multiple late nights talking.
GymRat!Miguel who is super bummed out by the time Christmas break starts because you two can’t find a proper time to meet.
You have to visit several other family member’s houses and his biological dad wants his family to join him and his family at some ski resort before the week of Christmas.
George O’Hara was not turning down a free vacation.
You told him to cheer up and enjoy the snow and jacuzzis. Miguel couldn’t help but to think that the jacuzzi would be better with you on top of him in it.
And when Gabriel annoys him, he didn’t mind all that much because that was his baby brother whom he loves dearly. It was when Kron, his step-brother, would run his mouth that Miguel would seriously get annoyed.
He’s been competing with Miguel ever since he caught on to the fact that his dad had a secret love child.
Right now though, he was pissing Miguel off.
First, it was fighting Miguel over a snowboard. Then, it was taking the last elk burger and not even finishing it. Next, trying to knock him off balance right as he got off of the ski lift.
It was as if he was 8 and not 20.
His final straw was when he was being a dick towards Gabriel. All Gabriel was trying to do was bring them together and Kron cursed at him.
Even Miguel doesn’t tell Gabriel to fuck off.
“What is up with you? Don’t cuss at him. He didn’t do anything to you,” Miguel unlocks himself from his snowboard, ready to leave.
“It’s ok, Migs,” Gabriel held his hand out, knowing how this could end.
“No it’s not. He’s been nothing but a dickhead to you, to us, this entire trip. I’m sick of it. Go be annoying somewhere else, Kron.”
“Dad,” Miguel shouts out. Both George and Tyler looked over at him in concern. Miguel didn’t feel like directing himself towards a specific person. “I’m going to the room, I’ll be back down for dinner.”
Tyler wanted to run after him. George was eyeing Tyler for even reacting to Miguel’s cries. Nancy and Conchata just stood in confusion.
“He, uh, he probably just needs a breather. Maybe he’ll talk to his girlfriend!” Gabriel said trying to lighten the mood.
“Girlfriend? What girlfriend? I didn’t hear about any girlfriend,” Tyler says, saddened that he was being left out.
“Shit,” Gabriel mumbled to himself.
“You don’t live in our home, Tyler. Of course you don’t know,” George says, a bit peeved.
“What George means to say is that it’s all new. Fresh! Even I haven’t met the girl,” Conchata slides in matter of factly.
“Tyler should know her, being that she was the one who emailed him with our son’s case,” George grumbled out.
Tyler turned to Gabriel, “Jessica?”
“Uh, no.”
Tyler then says your name with a fondness. As if he knew you like an old friend. “She was quite compelling with her words!”
“So the two of you know of her and I still don’t even know what she looks like. I never thought this day would come,” Conchata held her gloved hand over her forehead like she was about to faint.
“Why don’t we host a small dinner next year? We can get to know her that way,” Nancy chimes in.
“Guys, I really don’t think that’s necessary-”
“Nonsense, Gabriel. If this girl was willing to do something so brave for Miguel we have to meet her,” Tyler grips Gabriel’s shoulder tight. A grip that could rival his brother’s.
“That’s a great idea, Tyler! Nice co-parenting move!” Conchata holds her fist out for him to bump. He does it proudly and they walk towards one of the cabins while Nancy follows behind, discussing dinner ideas.
George only scoffs and stomps off to his room mirroring Miguel’s mannerisms.
Gabriel was screwed once Miguel finds out.
GymRat!Miguel who waits until Christmas night in his bedroom to open the gift you sent to him. He smiles at your cute message and unfolds the paper to so much. It’s a Spider-man lego mask, a customized hoodie with a doodle of you and him, two picture frames with the two of you from his birthday dinner and the Halloween party, and some polaroids that you warned him to look at by himself later.
His breath shuttered as he took him in. They were all of you in your dorm room. They started off innocent. You were smiling, laughing, staring at the camera. Then they got a little more explicit.
You had on a tank top with no bra. Your cleavage was on display. Some showed your entire body on the bed. Some showed your torso and hips, curvy and full.
Miguel felt faint.
His final straw was the last picture in the stack. It was a picture of you from behind, “Merry Christmas XX” written in cursive across the top. You had on briefs but your ass was still readable, peaking out from the bottom. There was an arch in your back as you looked over your shoulder seductively. What a tease.
You were going to send him to an early grave. And who took these pictures?
All Miguel remembers was shuddering, hips lifting off the bed as he held one of pictures high. He had to bite his shirt as to not startle the entire house.
After he cleans up, he spreads the pictures across his bare chest and clicks a photo with a lazy yet satisfied smile.
You respond back with voice memos, so happy that he loved his gift. You also send some sounding a bit needy.
Miguel calls you and talks with you all night.
This Christmas wasn’t so bad after all.
dividers by: @plutism 🩵
a/n: This one was really fun to write!! I dove deep into my lover girl brain for this. Like full on immersing myself into the reader’s position. I hope you enjoyed! 🩵
As always likes and reblogs are super appreciated. PLEASE COMMENT OMG. 😭 Let me know how you feel or I get nervous 😭😭😭!
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#love lab drabbles 💊#GymRat!Miguel 💪🏾#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x plussize!reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x chubby!reader#miguel o'hara x reader#x plus size reader#x chubby reader#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara x fem!reader#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel ohara x reader#miguel x you#miguel o'hara au#miguel o'hara imagine
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That’s bullshit if I’ve heard of any (Lando Norris)
Lando finally had enough of seeing you hurt like that
Note: english is not my first language. I've been writing this one for a little bit and today felt like the day to finish it ✨️ this also felt close to home, but good to write it out, too!
Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!
my masterlist
Tw: reader's self-doubt and low self esteem, loneliness, curse words, mentions a bad date with a rude person
Tag list: @myloverjk-blog
"Are you sure you want me to come over?", you asked your best friend over the phone, refusing to accept that he had no better plans for his Friday night now that he was not racing.
"Is this your way of telling me you don't want to come over? Because that's fine, I'll stay in - are you going somewhere though? Like a date?", Lando said over the phoneline.
"Bold of you to assume I would have plans, and with a date nonetheless", you muttered, "all I'm saying is if you have something better to do, you should go do it!", you explained, not wanting to get into the topic too deeply.
"There's nothing better than spending time with my bestfriend! Do you need me to pick you up or do you feel comfortable driving at this time of night?", he wondered, "I'll be there in 10 then", you chatted off, ending the call.
Looking around your room, you found clothes that were both comfortable and presentable in case, with your usual luck, you were pulled over by the police and had to come out of your car.
Lando finally had some time off before the season began and he wanted to spend it with you. While you were usually able to fly out to most of the European races and even travel the long distance to other race tracks, this season you had more responsibilities to juggle between your internship, your studies and your family.
He arranged the pillows on the sofa and brought out your favourite snacks, getting his place ready while occupying the time until you rang his doorbell, walking up to the door so he could let you inside, "hey!", he greeted, excited to finally have you with him after weeks where you both had been busy.
"Hey", you said, nudging his hip slightly with yours as you went to the shoe cabinet, leaving your shoes there and putting on your slippers you kept at his house.
Following him silently to the living room, you watched him sit down as you took in the comfort his place made you feel.
"You're not okay", Lando stated, "I noticed when we were on the phone".
"So this is a pity visit?", you wondered, "That's why you called me over?", you grumbled, feeling the blush erupt on your cheeks along with a little annoyance.
"I never said that! I, I called you and then noticed you weren't okay! Scoot, scoot, I got a tray full of goodies for us to eat", Lando urged, pushing the blanket to the side so you could get in the warm cocoon he created with the soft fabric along with pillows in various shapes and sizes you had insisted he needed to make the place feel more home-y.
"Are you going to talk about what's on your mind or do you want to watch this new show in silence?", he wondered, pointing the remote at the TV.
"I don't want to talk about it, not now anyway", you grumbled, finding your perfect position as you laid against your bestfriend, his arm going around your shoulders as you snuggled your legs under the blanket.
The new show ended up involving a romantic couple which only heightened your feelings. Lately, it was all you could see. Everyone around you seemed to have something romantic going on and they were happy with it. One of your friends was even convinced that she would be proposed to within the next few months, and you were single. Soon enough after you entered these thoughts, they pulled you to questions like why won't people love me? why am I single? what is it that doesn't attract people to me? and the one that you had yet to find a proper answer to, the list becoming too long for your own good am I unlovable?
"Can we watch something else, please?", you asked after debating for a few minutes wether or not you should interrupt, "I'm sorry, but I'm not enjoying it that much", you mumbled.
"That's okay, Y/N, I'll just put on one of our reruns", he smiled, changing the streaming platform and looking for the square on the screen, "if you want to just lay here, that's fine, too", he encouraged.
"At least I'm not alone with my thoughts", you mumbled again, looking at the ceiling as Lando moved his neck to join you, "I'm not sure what you mean, but I'm here for you anyway", he squeezed your hand that found its way to his own.
"It's just, - I've been reflecting? I don't even know if that's the word, but I've been feeling lonely", you blurted, still unsure if you were voicing all of it.
Lando hummed, urging you to continue, "like, I'm craving to have somebody there for me, someone who I know is in my corner, who I feel totally comfortable with. My brother was telling me all about the stuffed bunny his girlfriend asked him to take care off! I want that with someone", you pouted.
Lando tensed, rearranging his position on the sofa to look at you softly as you kept looking at his white ceiling.
"Maybe I should be less opinionated, less vocal about what I think and feel", you mused.
You'd lose your essence, Lando thought as he heard you rant on and on about the traits you wanted to change about yourself.
"Changing something physical is harder, but maybe I can change that, right? Be a bit quieter with what I say, measure my opinions, say yes and agree with things more", you shrugged, shaking the whole thing off of your body, wanting to rid yourself of the thought, "I can't, I won't be able to do that, they'd notice it straight away", you sighed.
As the night went on, Lando quickly changing the subject, you spoke about anything that came to mind until you looked at your watch, "Fuck, it's so late, I have to go", you stood up quickly, bending to pick your slippers up from the floor when he stopped you, "stay in the guest bedroom for tonight. Sleep here", he tried.
"Is it because I said I was lonely? I was just venting it out, you don't need to worry about me being a loner", you tried your best to assure it.
"No, you muppet. I'm doing it because I don't like the idea of you having to drive all the way back at this time of night", he reasoned, getting up himself and walking with you to the guest bedroom.
"Is this still made from the last time I was here?", you wondered, looking at the sheets.
"I made it before you came here! And I've washed the sheets, thank you very much. You have a fresh bed to sleep on", he smiled charmingly.
"Thanks", you smiled back, grabbing the clothes you usually wore to sleep when you stayed over from the drawer, "those have been washed, too", he pointed, "if you need anything, I'm in my usual spot", he winked, "Good night, Y/N, sleep tight!".
"Thanks for this", you gestured, "Good night, Lando", you said before he saluted you playfully, closing the door behind him.
Using the ensuite for your night routine, you changed into the shorts and Lando's t-shirt, noticing that all of the washes had made it smell less of his cologne and more of the scented fabric softener he uses.
The t-shirt fit snug against your hips, embracing your curvy body as you got under the sheets, letting the weight of them lull you to sleep and slow down your thoughts.
.
Lando was driving to a restaurant he knew well enough. He had had a few dates there before, one team dinner and a few family birthdays too whenever they were in town.
But right now, he was picking you up. From a date that apparently wasn't going well since he got a text from you asking him to pick you up.
"Hey, gorgeous girl", he said once he opened the car window as he parked in front of the restaurant, thankful that it wasn't too busy and no one seemed to notice or care that he was there.
"Thanks for picking me up", you mumbled as you sat down, pulling on your seatbelt and nothing your bestfriend's gaze on you, silently questioning you.
"He was an asshole", you explained, "kept asking me if I was sure of what I was doing, if I knew any Formula One drivers - don't worry, didn't out anything - and then he just kept being rude to me, to the waiter, who was wonderful by the way".
"I didn't mean him. I don't care about him, I care about you", Lando said, driving back to his place, assuming you'd want to have someone close by that wouldn't ask too many questions.
"It was just another one where it didn't go well", you mumbled, letting your head rest on the window and looking out at the lights illuminating the city.
"Do you want to go to my place?", Lando asked, knowing you wouldn't want to be pushed about the subject, "yes, please", you said.
As soon as you got inside his place, you took your shoes off, walking up to the spare bedroom to leave your bag in there, "thank you for picking me up, you're the best, Lando", you smiled as you rested against the door frame.
"No worries, okay? Sleep tight, I have good plans for tomorrow so this will be out of your mind", he smiled a small one.
"Night night, Lando", you said back, closing the door behind you and letting the tears finally fall.
It was horrible. The way he treated other people should have been the first clue and red flag, but somehow it still surprised you how he conducted the whole date. You weren't expecting a prince or a gentleman, but you expected human decency and it turns out you were not afforded that. He kept leaving snarky comments about his exes. He was rude, sexist and definitely not your type, and after splitting the bill, you informed him that someone would come to pick you up.
Could someone be unlovable? Not worthy of love to the point where anyone they attracted to their presence just wasn't a match and they had to be content with the bare minimum?
Splashing some water on your face and wiping it with the towel, you took one good look in the mirror. It looks like it's going to be you for a while, so you might as well get used to it, Y/N.
.
When morning rolled around, Lando was the first to wake up, getting ready and heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the two of you. He wanted to make something special, because even though you had your tough shell on yesterday, he knew you were feeling it deeply and painfully.
This quest of yours was doing you more harm than good. And it wasn't helping him either. For a few years, Lando figured, he has loved you. At first, it wasn't a clear sentiment. You were best friends, obviously there was a deeper connection. But then it felt so much all the time, there was never a break for the butterflies on his stomach or for the jealous green eyed monster whenever you so much as mentioned anyone else. He wouldn't dare say it, but he's so glad your date last night sucked.
As he prepared your coffee, your footsteps approached, "Good morning", you croaked out. You looked like you hadn't slept well, which Lando figured was a given considering the heard you move a lot during the night.
"Good morning, I made this for you. The balcony had nice sunlight right now, I figured you'd enjoy breakfast there", he attempted, bringing a small smile to your lips as you thanked him for the mug, "I'll bring the rest shortly", he called.
As you looked out to the always busy streets, you took in their quickness and rush. How it was all fleeting and momentary.
Lando placed the tray on the table, arranging it so you both could reach everything.
"I heard you crying last night", he began, his fist clenched at the memory as he sat down.
"I'm fine", you shrugged.
"I don't think you are, and I don't want you to suffer, Y/N", he insisted, unusually bold considering he knew which territory he was stepping into.
"It's not easy to come to terms with the fact that I'm single and that it might look like that for a bit, and who even knows how long that 'bit' might actually be", you chuckled, looking at him expecting his understanding gaze but being face with furrowed brows instead along with a scoff. "What? It's not like I'm being unreasonable, I'm just stating the facts", you squinted.
"That's not how it works, and you know that Y/N", he sternly spoke, straightening his back and facing you completely.
It was your time to laugh and scoff a little, "unless something changes within me, I'm sure this is how I'll find myself in the foreseeable", you shock your head.
"All of those things you want to change about yourself? Or that you say you should change to make you more likeable and lovable? That's dimming your light and your spark", Lando bit back, having had enough of it, "if someone loved you after all of those changes, they wouldn't love you for who you are, they would love a fabricated version of you. You're not unlovable", he smiled at the irony of it all. How after all these years, he still hadn't plucked up the courage to tell you how he felt about you.
"How can you say that when you have everyone falling at your feet? Women see you and they're ready to have anything you'll give them! You don't have to change who you are because someone made you feel like you couldn't be loved because of who you are and what you do!", you bit back, sensing a tone in him that was unusual and certainly not comfortable.
“I just need to know who the fuck told you you don’t deserve to be loved, because I’m about to beat their asses up", Lando called, elbows supported on the chair's arms as he looked at you.
"No one's ever told me, I'm probably the one saying it to myself, the rest of the people just make me feel like I'm unlovable, so if you want to hit me, I would prefer you didn't, I bruise quite easily", you tried to joke, not wanting to let your mind wander to the parallel utopian reality where your bestfriend feels the same way about you.
"Then it's all the people that made you feel unloved", Lando said, "none of them deserved a second of your attention, but I can give them a second of mine just for that".
“That’s a lot of people you’re gonna have to beat up, then, and I’m not sure if I want to bail you out of jail for that. We can't all have full bank accounts like yours", you joked again, watching him as he kept on with the subject.
"Stop joking about this! I'm being serious with you, Y/N! You deserve all of the love in the world - and even that wouldn't be enough!", he got up.
“Please, I think we have both realised and reached the conclusion that maybe I’m just not meant to be loved", you added.
“That’s bullshit if I’ve heard of any! No one’s not meant to be loved. There’s someone out there for you, and I think I’ve made it clear that, if it’s really not anyone else, then that someone’s me”, he stopped in front of you. There it was. Out in the open for everyone to hear. His balcony was covered and closed, something he was grateful about as he confessed his love for you.
"You can't joke about this", it was your turn to mention it, getting up as he took your hand in his.
"I'm not, Y/N, I'm really not", he whispered, resting his forehead in yours.
"Kiss me", you pleaded. He was quick to comply to your request, hand cupping your cheek as he tasted the bitter coffee from your lips and felt you unravel to him in a way he didn't think was possible anymore.
"I have loved you for so long, Lando", you whispered once you pulled away for air, "and I couldn't imagine a world where anyone would love me back, let alone you", you admitted, looking into his beautiful orbs.
"You don't have to make any effort to imagine it anymore, baby. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. You're so loved and I'll be damned if I don't show you how much everyday of our lives", he smiled, kissing your lips again as your hands travelled to his messy curls.
#lando norris imagine#lando norris fluff#lando norris x reader#lando norris fanfic#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1 fluff
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𝐃𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒
characters: diluc, wanderer, childe
content: sfw, modern au, established relationship, fluff !!
a/n: i was scouring pinterest looking the most fitting inspo rooms for each of them hehe
Diluc
Your shared home is an old-fashioned but charming house with a tiled roof and a brick archway leading to the entrance of the door. Diluc has a good eye for style — all the furniture pieces you select together are warm and elegant, perfectly matching with the vintage style home.
He’s a bit of a craftsman, and when you moved in he custom built bookshelves just for you. Your house has traces of Diluc’s handiwork: a wooden tissue box cover, tile coasters, a ceramic chess set.
Being a peak acts of service man, if he notices that there’s something inconveniencing you that can be mended, he’ll try to find a way to fix it. That wooden chair that wobbled yesterday when you sat down on it? The next day, it’s miraculously levelled. Always struggling to find your keys before you leave the house? There are now little hooks on the wall where you can easily hang them. He doesn’t make a huge show of it, but you’ll always kiss him on the cheek and say that you should repay him with something.
“There’s no need. Seeing you happy is more than enough for me.” He replies, running a hand through his hair, the tips of his ears turning red.
The house is IMPECCABLY cleaned — the chores are shared out between the two of you, and the both of you work like a well-oiled machine. He’ll insist that you shouldn’t carry anything too heavy though! He doesn’t want you to hurt yourself :(
One of the things that Diluc wouldn’t ever trade is getting the chance to cuddle with you in the evening on the couch. He’ll let you play with his hair and try out different styles, comforted by the feeling of your fingers running through it.
Sometimes, he’ll come home late from work tired and perhaps a bit grumpy, but the sight of you will change his mood completely.
At the sound of jangling keys and the front door creaking shut, you rush out of the bathroom and down the stairs.
“(Y/N), I’m home!” You hear Diluc’s voice call out to you.
The day had felt far too long for him, and with far too many headaches for him to deal with. The only thing that he looked forward to at the end of it all was to see you again.
Hearing the patter of your slippers, he looks up. It takes everything within him to keep composed at your appearance. Having just gotten out of a hot shower, your cheeks were tinted pink, hair still damp and slicked. Diluc’s eyes trailed to your clothes, a matching pair of flannel shirt and shorts. He loosens his tie, suddenly finding his breath stuck in his throat. It baffled him how gorgeous you were even in pyjamas.
Wordlessly, he reaches towards you. You look down at his hands and see as they fasten the remaining top two buttons of your sleeping shirt. In your hurry to greet him at the door, you forgot to dress properly.
“I can’t believe I missed that...” You sheepishly say, observing his hands as they linger on your shirt. Your senses told you something was off. “Did you have troubles at work today?”
The worry in your eyes melts his heart. Of course you were the one to peer through him and know exactly how he was feeling.
“A few clientele at the bar today were-” He sighs, still fidgeting with the fabric of your shirt, recalling the events of the day, “-difficult to manage to say the least.” He lifts his head to meet his gaze. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”
Your arms instinctually wrap around him and he collapses into them. Tightening your embrace, he rests his head on your shoulder.
“Diluc, I just took a shower.” You say with a light giggle, trying to pull your hair away from his face.
He feels your breath close to his ear and he wishes he could have recorded that laugh for himself to hear it over and over again.
“I could tell.” He breathes deeply. “Is this a new shampoo?”
“Well yes, but what I meant from that is that my hair is still wet!”
You feel him smile against you. “It doesn’t bother me. Just a few more seconds, please. I need to recharge.”
Wanderer
You share an apartment together since you travel to and from the same university. Although you’re studying different degrees and have different schedules, you’ll both make an effort to spend time together at home during the weekdays.
You and Wanderer leave little notes cheering each other on and stick them to the walls or the fridge before you leave, or sneak them into pencil cases or onto laptop screens. He has a small box on his desk where he collects all your notes, neatly folding them up to preserve them.
Wanderer enjoys having the home quite minimalist. Just the essentials will do, but the two of you do splurge a bit more on your study space — the comfiest chairs, wide desks, tactile keyboards — anything to liven up having to do assignments all the time.
When you’re feeling too tired or distracted from your own studies, you’ll walk over to his desk and try to sit on his lap while he works. He’ll attempt to exert some self-control and reject your wishes, but eventually gives in after seeing your pout.
“Just because you’re distracted doesn’t give you any right to bother me.” He grumbles, resting his chin on your head.
He warns you that if you do decide to put plants in the house, you are responsible for them. Little do you know that he’s secretly also invested in their health. On mornings when you’re in a rush and forget to water them, he’ll spritz them with your spray bottle thinking to himself: If you died (Y/N) would be devastated, so don’t even think about it.
His favourite room is the bedroom. It’s a place for both of you to escape the stresses of being a student and relax together.
The alarm clock beeps and you wiggle in bed, reaching over a hand to quickly silence it. Bright sun filters in through the curtains, its light diffusing into the room.
You force your eyes open and sit up, your body bent over like a crooked branch. Movement beside you pulls your attention as Wanderer shifts in his sleep. You can’t deny how pretty he looks even at rest. His long lashes fanned out under closed eyes, the steady rise and fall of his chest with each deep breath. His expression is that of pure peace. You know that’ll soon disappear when you both need to properly wake up and prepare for classes.
“Hey, it’s time to wake up,” you whisper, carefully coaxing him from slumber.
Wanderer opens his bleary eyes ever so slightly, then immediately closes them. He mumbles something of refusal. You roll your eyes in resignation. When it comes to sleep, he acts like a child sometimes. You turn to get out of bed.
Two arms wrap around your waist and yank you back. You stumble into the sheets with a yelp. Wanderer adjusts the blanket over you and pulls you closer to him with one hand.
“Not yet.” His voice is low and scratchy, his words slurred. “Want more time in bed… with you.”
You sigh softly, absentmindedly running a hand through his hair to detangle it. “You do this almost every morning. You’re never going to attend your lectures on time.”
He replies by nuzzling into your neck, and you hear nothing but his slow breaths. His peers would have sooner called identity fraud than believe the stony and scholarly Wanderer to be this clingy and affectionate in the morning. However, in the privacy of just you, it’s become easy for him to let down his guard.
“Don’t try to get out of this by pretending to be asleep.” You say, deadpan.
There’s a stutter in his breathing as you catch his obvious charade.
“Stop worrying. I’ll just watch the recording.” He finally responds.
You realise in a fluster just how close your faces are, barely inches apart. As if sensing this, Wanderer opens his eyes once again, this time there’s a glint of mischief in them.
He taps his forehead lightly against your own. “And besides, why would I want to spend my mornings in a noisy lecture hall when I can be with you in peace and quiet?”
Childe
You’ve been living together for a while now, and your home has transformed into what can only be described as organised chaos.
If Childe kept up with his interior designing eagerness, it would have been complete maximalism, but you were there to contain his excitement and still ensure your home was still practical.
The two of you love collecting pillows, plushies and blankets, which adds even more to the cosiness! However, one day you tried to sit down on the couch and realised it was more pillows than actual seat space. In a fit of laughter, you and Childe ruled that you would rotate between different cushions every so often so you could get your couch back.
Childe will still come home with flowers or sweets (sometimes both) as gifts for you on random nights. He’ll stand on the doorstep looking like a lovesick teenage boy asking his crush out on a date. Taking them from his hands, you’ll ask what the occasion is.
“Well, there isn’t a particular occasion.” He kisses you on the forehead. “Celebrating you should be an everyday thing.”
Board game nights are taken very seriously. You have a bookshelf filled with different types of them. Whether it’s a classic game of UNO or Jenga, or something a little more strategic, he's always hyper-competitive. You also have special punishments for if one of you loses, which are harmless but maybe a little embarrassing (One of his favourite punishments for you is ‘For the entire day tomorrow, Childe will only call (Y/N) by the cheesiest pet names’).
MASSIVE kitchen since he loves to cook. He keeps a book of recipes from his mum and has since added new ones of his own that he has shared with you.
“Could you come over here, baby?”
You follow your partner’s voice and the scent of something freshly baked into the kitchen.
Childe is standing behind the counter, his face in deep focus. He takes one of an array of heart-shaped biscuits and dips half of it in a bowl of chocolate before placing it on a lined baking sheet. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, exposing his forearms. His muscular build is sharply juxtaposed by the cream-coloured apron tied around himself, which has a little teddy bear embroidered in its centre.
You approach the kitchen bench, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Are they ready yet? Can I try one?” You eagerly ask.
“Not quite, I need help dipping the rest of these into chocolate.” He stretches his arms out in front of him, shaking the tension out of them.
“That being said,” he grins, extending a hand towards you across the kitchen bench as an offer, “would you do me the honour of being my baking assistant for a little?”
Chuckling at his dramatics, you delicately place your hand in his like royalty. “I’d be delighted to help.”
Childe guides you to his side and helps you put on your apron. As he ties the strings together, he relays the instructions to you.
“You just need to dip half of the biscuit into chocolate, and then add some sprinkles on top before it sets.” He tightens the bow around your waist to secure it.
How hard could that be? You think, nodding along to his words.
Demoing an example, Childe deftly coats half of the biscuit. Angling it just right, the chocolate drips off and evens itself out, leaving a perfect covered half. After placing it on the tray and adding the finishing touch of sprinkles, he gestures for you to try it yourself.
You confidently take one biscuit and dunk it.
“Ah!”
Underestimating its consistency, when you lift the biscuit, the chocolate slowly spreads onto the other half of the heart and drips onto your fingers. You quickly place it onto the baking sheet. Childe stifles his laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.
“My one looks so much worse compared to yours…” you mutter, licking your fingers to remove the evidence of your unsuccessful attempt.
Seeing the frown on your face, he gently bumps your shoulder with his own in encouragement. “Don’t say that! I think your one has a lot more charm.” He says, adding the sprinkles onto your heart. “I’ll run some extra baking classes with you to build up your skills, how does that sound?”
#the domestic trope will always be so dear to me <3#genshin impact#genshin#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin x you#genshin headcanons#genshin impact diluc#genshin diluc#genshin diluc x reader#diluc x reader#diluc x you#diluc x y/n#genshin impact wanderer#genshin wanderer#genshin wanderer x reader#wanderer x reader#wanderer x you#wanderer x y/n#genshin impact childe#genshin impact tartaglia#genshin childe#genshin childe x reader#childe x reader#childe x you#childe x y/n#genshin modern au#✏️〰odorawrites
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play fighting — chrollo lucilfer.
Hot cocoa is a staple when cooler weather starts setting in.
By your reckoning, it could find a place on every tier of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. A warm, decadent cup with wisps of steam rising from the swirling surface. This mouthwatering mental image is what led you to the kitchenette. Dutifully following the package’s instructions, you rip into the chocolatey package by the serrated edge and get to work.
All the while, a pair of inquisitive eyes track your every movement. You can’t imagine why the sight of you in fluffy pajamas pulling milk from the fridge has Chrollo’s rapt attention. He’s leaning against the counter, sipping on his own concoction. Earl gray tea, if the scent is of any indication.
Your masterpiece is almost complete. Now, for the finishing touch — marshmallows.
Alas. You’ve encountered a problem. The marshmallows are stored in a cabinet that evades your reach. To make matters worse, Chrollo has perched himself right where you’d need to climb up. Should you list clairvoyance among his many capabilities? Logically, you know that feat eludes him, but your suspicions remain.
“Is something the matter, dear?”
Ah, you forgot that you’ve been silently squinting at him while the gears in your head spin. Round and round they go, never producing a viable solution.
“No, not at all,” you dismiss. His gaze never leaves yours, even as he takes another sip of his drink. You can see it in his eyes, that ‘oh, really?’ look. You don’t appreciate that look, for you receive it often, thanks to your shenanigans.
“Your drink’s getting cold,” he points out.
Very astute of him.
The way you see it, this can go a few ways. One, you could ask for his help in procuring your garnish. You could, but… he regards you with such bemusement, finding pleasure in every little thing you do. You’re tired of the court jester role. Asking him for something almost always guarantees that you’ll be putting on a metaphorical cap and bells.
So you cling to your pride. You stand close enough for your shoulder to brush against his, as your target necessitates such sacrifice. Straining while on your tiptoes, your fingertips brush against the damnable cabinet handle, gold and mocking. Vigilant as your efforts are, they’re ultimately fruitless. Your prize remains just out of reach.
Huffing, you turn to face Chrollo, who has no right to look as innocent as he does.
“Could you…” you trail off and shoo him with your hands. You hope that gets the message across.
“Can I ask why? I feel perfectly content here.”
Of course he does.
You’re unsure what spurs on your next action. Pettiness? Irritation? Righteous anger? Who knows. You rest both your palms flat against his bicep and push, as if he were nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle, which, in truth, is a fitting description. He doesn’t so much as budge. The full weight of your body and strength combined amounts to nothing. You can’t comprehend how hard his muscles feel beneath his shirt, it’s like you’re touching a wall.
Although it’s quiet, you hear it. A breathy chuckle escapes his lips.
Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as you go from your nice, secure spot on the floor to being lifted high. Two large hands settle right above your hips, holding you in place. Your reflexes kick in and you squirm. Fortunately, Chrollo’s grasp doesn’t falter. You realize what he’s getting at and make quick work of opening the cabinet and getting your stupid marshmallows. He brings you down. You only relax when your soles touch solid ground.
Chrollo gives your hips a playful squeeze.
“Try again,” he whispers near your ear.
You want nothing more than to scamper off, but his body envelops you, cutting off any escape. You’re caught between a rock and a hard place, clutching a bag of marshmallows, your Hello Kitty slippers askew.
You sigh.
Life certainly has its challenges.
Should you start with elbowing him or stomping down on his feet…?
#this isn't even play fighting. darling is ready to throw hands for real#yandere chrollo x reader#hxh x reader#chrollo brainrot#scara and blade will be next .#my stuff
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Balance
Mob!Azriel x reader AU
A/n: I reread @thehighladywrites professor Eris series and it inspired this lil mob Az blurb. Ruhn week day 1 post will be out later today, love you guys 💕
Warnings: guns, cold medicine
Cracking your eyes open, the sting of dryness made you blink rapidly. The coolness of the bed and room made your runny nose worse along with your cough. Your chest constricted, that dry cough ripping at your throat.
You reached for Azriel, desperate to absorb his warmth to stop your shivering. Touching the cold sheets on his side of the massive bed your hand shakes.
Wiping the sleep from your eyes you see the digital clock on Az’s nightstand blares two in the morning in red numbers. Letting out a groan you pull the covers tight around your shoulders. You swear he was here when you fell asleep, maybe it was a fever dream? You were still fending off a one hundred degree fever so it’s entirely possible.
Azriel was probably working, like he always was. It never bothered you unless you truly needed him like right now. There was only one thing to do now. Make your boyfriend feel guilty by wearing your cutest tired pout and wrapping yourself in a fluff blanket.
Doing exactly that (wearing your extra fluffy slippers for good measure) you head downstairs to Az’s office.
You heard arguing through the cracked door, making you second guess your decision to interrupt Azriel’s work. But, you already walked all the way down here, so there was no turning back now.
Padding over to the door you peek through the opening to assess what you were about to interrupt. Azriel was fully dressed with Rhysand and Cassian flanking him, along with a few other ‘employees’. They all faced someone you couldn’t see. A man, clearly begging for his life, vehemently insisting he did not have the information Azriel was seeking.
You should leave. This isn’t something Azriel would want you near.
But he was right there. And you were desperate for him to comfort you.
The interrogation continued as you stayed hidden behind the oak double doors, your thoughts still warring on whether to stay or leave. As one of Azriel’s men hands him his gun, your body makes the decision for you, of all things a sneeze gives you away. A small squeak coming from you as you try to hold it in. Everyone in the office freezes, shocked by the little noise. Azriel shoves the gun into Cassian’s chest, making his way to doors, his demeanor completely changing into the loving, caring Azriel you know. Pulling the door open lightly you stare up innocently at your boyfriend. Azriel’s concerned face staring back at you, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Were you sick again?” His tone was soft and worried. You step to move into him but Azriel forces you back a little, confirming that he didn’t want you to see whatever was unfolding in his office.
You shake your head, “No, I just woke up cold and needed you.” Azriel lets out a sympathetic hum, pressing his lips to your forehead. You felt his frown at your still too warm temperature and your trembling shoulders under his arms.
Turning to his men Azriel orders them to finish working. Scooping you into his arms, Az makes sure to angle you to not see inside. Mother above, if must be gruesome in there.
On the way back to your bedroom Azriel whispers calming words to you, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up, my love. I thought the medicine would keep you asleep. We’ll get you some more before you go back to sleep.” He punctuates each sentence with a soft kiss to your temple.
Placing you on the bed with all the care in the world, Azriel slips the blanket from your shoulders, draping it over the end of the bed. Getting another pill from the bathroom he places it on your tongue, holding a glass of water to your lips as you take small sips.
Taking his suit off for the second time that night, leaving him in a pair of black boxers, Azriel climbs into bed pulling you close to his chest. You immediately feel relaxed. Your arms feel heavy as you wrap them around Azriel’s shoulder, sleep creeping back into your body thanks to the meds. “Thank you Azzy, love you s’much.” You babble.
“I love you more, sweetheart. Rest now, I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.” His focus is fully on you now. His work downstairs is long forgotten.
#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar reader fic#acotar reader imagine#acotar imagine#azriel x reader#azriel acotar#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x you#azriel fic#azriel imagine#azriel fanfic#azriel au#acotar azriel#azriel#azriel fluff#mob!azriel au#mob!azriel
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౨ৎ 3:37 AM — csc
synopsis you need to pee but there’s a slight issue…
pairing seungcheol x reader
genre fluff, timestamp
note i just fucking miss this man so much. it’s 4:37am. i miss you, scoups :c
word count 0.9k
you need to pee. like really bad. one small issue: there’s a thick & heavy arm over the middle of your torso which is making it difficult for you to move because if you just tried to push it off, you might wake the sleeping bear in human form next to you. aka, your boyfriend.
seungcheol’s fingers twitch a little from where they’re tucked between your body and the mattress, he always twitched a little when very deep in his sleep. you found it sort of…endearing, causing you to go absolutely heart-eyes at his sleeping form.
your boyfriend was a deep sleeper — especially when he’s had a long & tiring day — which is why you started contemplating whether you should just shove his arm off you & go pee or just forget about that option so that he doesn’t wake up with a pout (although you love to see it).
at first, you decided with the latter option & tried to fall back asleep…it didn’t work, the urge to relieve yourself intensified. so you decided to go with the other option. slowly placing your hands on seungcheol’s forearm, you push it away as carefully as you can in order to not wake him up. he stirs, mumbling a quiet ‘hm, cinnamon buns’ and a giggle begins to build in the back of your throat because is this man seriously dreaming about cinnamon buns? you might just have to go out & buy him some tomorrow.
nevertheless, you carry on with your mission. gently, you push his arm away inch by inch until it’s no longer resting on you but the tiny space between you & him.
the blanket, you slide it off your body & sneak out of your bed after slotting your feet into the fluffy cow slippers seungcheol bought for you (he saw you browsing them & ordered them secretly). mouthing a small ‘phew’ as you reach the bathroom, you quickly look back before shutting the door & doing what you came to do.
when you were done, you quickly slinked back to your & seungcheol’s bedroom to get back into bed. but you jump as soon as you turn around after closing the door because there’s seungcheol…sitting up against the headboard of your bed, with the comforter wrapping him up.
“why are you awake? did i wake you up? sorry, cherry, i didn’t mean to…” you voice out after gathering yourself.
“where did you go? it was warm but then all of a sudden it got cold” his voice was heavy & thick with sleep. you walked closer & he lifted a corner of the comforter, giving you access to get under the covers.
“i just went to the bathroom, cherry, and i didn’t wanna wake you,” you replied, “come on, let’s get back to sleep.”
“mm, s’okay. just missed holding you in my arms”, he pulls you down into his embrace & burying his nose into your hair.
“you were holding onto me so tight, you know. and i needed to pee so bad but i thought ‘leave it, i’ll pee in the morning’ and then you tightened your hold on me, you monster!” with fake annoyance in your voice, you nudged him a little & watched as a lazy smile appeared on his face, dimples peeking out faintly. you adored his dimples, loved seeing them, too.
“sorry, baby, just wanted to hold you…” his body became lax in your reciprocating hold the more you snuggled into him, “but, baby, why do you keep calling me cherry?”
“hm? you don’t like it? okay, let’s try somethi—”
“no! i mean, no, i didn’t say that…just answer the question.” your left brow goes up as you stare at him with amusement.
“okay. well, i don’t know, it just came to my head. maybe it’s because of your cute lips, cherry coloured and cherry flavoured. they’re just so pretty, i just wanna kiss you all the time!” your pointer finger goes to poke his plush lips & his pout reappears once more.
“and that pout! you’re so” you pinch his cheeks with your pointer finger & thumb, “so adorable, my silly cherry!” now, you pull and squish his cheeks. a giggle falls from his squished lips & it’s contagious. his laugh is so beautiful & contagious, it makes you laugh too.
“hm, if they’re so pretty to you then why don’t you kiss them?” he says slowly while stopping your finger & thumb from pinching any further while moving closer to you. you pretend to think it over before giving him a sweet kiss on the very lips you love & adore, pulling away with a ‘mwah!’.
seungcheol loves it when you do that. he loves dearly the random yet fitting nicknames you give him, the warmth you give him on a cold & rainy day, the hugs you give him after trudging up behind him on a lazy sunday morning, watching him cook scrambled eggs — just the way you like them. seungcheol loves you.
seungcheol lets out a yawn and moves closer to you — if that’s possible, given how close he was to you already.
“m’ sleepy ‘nd warm now, let’s sleep.” he says quietly, replacing that same arm around your torso that got you into this cutesy situation.
“goodnight, my silly cherry.” you kiss his forehead and bring your head back down to his chest. his heartbeat is fast, it makes you smile knowing you can still do that to him.
“mm, night night, my silly girl.”
author’s note: no this not me self indulging, what are you talking about??? sigh i just wanna be his silly girl, cooped up in his arms in our bed on a rainy day while we watch a movie we took 15 minutes to pick. i miss him. a lot. like more than i can explain through text. my cherry :(
btw i actually needed to pee & then thought of this & bam. this happened. I MISS HIM wanna kiss his cheeks & cute lips so bad & wanna hug him sm.
#hani writes!#hani writes: csc#hani writes: svt#caratsland#scoups i miss you soooooo much#come back healthy and strong my cherry#seventeen fluff#scoups#choi seungcheol#scoups imagines#scoups x reader#seungcheol x reader#seungcheol fluff#seventeen#seventeen imagines
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Let It Snow
Pietro Maximoff x Reader
Fandom: MCU
Summary: When the power goes out at the Facility, Pietro makes sure you’re keeping warm.
Note: Takes place in an “Everybody is alive and lives at the Avengers Facility” AU. Wanted to kick out one more Christmas/Winter imagine before getting into the New Year’s stuff.
Warnings: None?
Word Count: 1.5k
Reader Is: Gender Neutral, an Avenger.
To be honest, you didn’t notice it at first, the slight chill in the air. You continued your work, typing away on the loud, typewriter-style keyboard on the fancy, expensive computer Bruce had built for you (with Tony’s money, of course).
And then it got…worse.
Your toes were numb and you were shivering, despite the long sleeves you were wearing.
You slid your feet into some slippers and walked out into the hallway, arms huddled around yourself as you wandered from your room, down the hall to where the thermostat was. You gave the up button a cursory press, waiting for the screen to blink to life and tell you what it was set to, but it didn’t.
Huh. Well, that was something, wasn’t it?
“(Y/N). Hello.” Vision materialized beside you, causing you to jolt in shock. “My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine, Vision. Do you know what this is all about?” You asked, shivering and motioning to the busted thermostat.
“It appears the furnace is broken. Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner are attempting repairs now, but it may take quite some time.”
“Oh. Gotcha.” You nodded, “Thanks for the info.”
“Of course. I do recommend you bundle up. It seems your body temperature is steadily decreasing.”
“Will do.” You saluted and pivoted on your heel, just in time to catch a face full of Pietro as he sped down the hall, sliding to a stop.
You ever so gracefully fell on the floor, staring up at him, disgruntled. “Nice one, Sonic.”
He chuckled, offering a hand, but you got up on your own, dusting yourself off. “What is the problem?”
“Furnace is busted.” You explained, patting his arm as you began walking away.
Pietro started walking backwards, keeping pace with you. “Where are you going?”
“To get into something warmer. Might be a while.”
One of his eyebrows quirked up. “Well, you know, I’ve heard skin to skin contact is the fastest way to warm up, if you need some help with that. I do have ‘improved homeostasis,’ as Banner puts it.”
“I’m good, thanks.” You deadpanned, shutting your door in his face. You could feel him lingering there for a moment before running back down the hall to his room, you presumed. You chuckled and rolled your eyes. Pietro was a flirt. Always had been. But things like this never worked out with people like him. Not in your experience, at least.
You changed into a cozy, zip-up onesie, feeling a lot warmer than before, especially with the hood over your head. You got back to your tying for a while. A few hours at least…until the lights went out.
“Great!” You threw your hands up, rolling away from the desk in your dark room.
In a huff, you stood up and walked to your window. It was a blizzard out there, inches and inches of snow on the ground. There was a knock on the door and whirled around to answer it. Part of you expected it to be Pietro standing there, but instead, it was Steve with a flashlight.
“Oh, hey. Is this because of the blizzard?”
“No, Tony says he snipped the wrong wire.” Steve shook his head. “Or something. Might be a while before it gets fixed.”
It was already getting late, and you were planning on going to sleep soon, but now, you weren’t so sure you should if you didn’t want to wake up a popsicle. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”
You said, turning back to grab your phone and your water bottle to refill it before you figured out exactly what it was you should do in the meantime.
***
About an hour later, Pietro found you on the couch in the living room, shivering and reading a book by the light of a tiny, battery powered reading light. You were bundled up and, due to the lack of windows, you were pretty sure it was the warmest room in the facility. But as the temperature continued to drop, it didn’t seem to matter where you were.
“(Y/N), what are you doing in here?” He said, concern etched deep into his accented words. You met his eyes, wrought with worry and only offered a shaking shrug.
“I don’t want to g-go to sleep until the h-heat comes back on.”
He shook his head, crossing the room slowly for once, taking his time with each step. He sat beside you, not even bundled up beyond a hoodie and some sweatpants. For the first time in your life, you envied his powers. Carefully, giving you every opportunity to shove him off of you, he gently lifted your blanket, guided your book to the coffee table, and crawled on top of you, settling his body atop yours and sandwiching you between himself and the couch. He pulled the blanket back on top of the both of you, adjusting his head into the crook of your neck.
You were stiff at first, but at his warmth, you all but melted, eyes closing in bliss, your arms relaxing around him as you chased that feeling. His warmth. His scent, that sharp, woodsy cologne he was so infatuated with.
“Is this alright?” He asked, voice low and raspy.
You nodded, relaxing further into his hold, letting him warm you up. You pulled him closer, relishing in the feeling of your shivers slowly stopping. “Pietro…”
“I won’t say anything. The others don’t have to know.” He assured you, meeting your eyes before settling down again.
“I’m not too worried about that.” You whispered, suddenly overcome by it all. His proximity, his voice, the way his body felt melded against yours. It was right, what they said. Fitting like puzzle pieces.
“You’re not?” He asked, mischief at the edge of his tone. “Who are you and what have you done with (Y/N)?”
You scoffed. “You know, contrary to popular belief, I don’t dislike you, Pietro.”
“I don’t dislike you either.” He replied with a chuckle. “Kind of the opposite, in fact.”
Your heart picked up a quicker rhythm, cheeks flushing. You were kind of thankful the two of you were cuddled up in the dark. You hoped nightvision wasn’t one of his secret powers, or you were sure you’d never see the end of it.
“Please say something.” He murmured at the silence.
“You…”
“I thought it was obvious.” He muttered, words quick, flat at the edges.
You let another moment pass, choosing your words.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to—”
You touched his face with a cold hand, guiding his chin so you could attempt to look him in the eyes in the silvery rays of light streaming in the window. “I like you, too.”
He grinned, breath catching in his throat. “You mean it?”
“I have for a while.” You confessed. “Since that first training session when you bulldozed me on the track.”
“I did not bulldoze you!”
“I don’t know, I felt pretty bulldozed, laying there, flat on my back, feet knocked out from under me.”
He chuckled. “I was trying to impress you.”
“Mission accomplished.” You laughed at the way frustration crept into his words. “I could never forget about it. My very first week on the team and already, someone was out to get me.”
“Oh my God.” He rolled his eyes, the words sounding unsure on his tongue. He shook his head, gaze softening as he reached up, a careful hand brushing the hair out of your face. “Are you warmer now, drága?”
“Much.” You nodded, brushing the tip of your nose against his. “I do have another idea for warming up, though…”
He smirked. “Such as?”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Please do.”
You rolled your eyes, and looped an arm around his neck, tugging him down to you and crushing your lips to his. He hummed in agreement, calloused fingers hooking your jaw, keeping you close as his kissed you tenderly, passionately, lips soft and perfect and experienced. He was the perfect distraction from the freezing room around you.
Then, suddenly, there was a loud thrum and the power kicked back on, bathing the room in light. You squinted, the appliances in the kitchen all beeping as they came back to life.
Pietro shielded his eyes with a hand, still hovering over you. You stared up at him for a long, quiet moment, still not entirely sure it had happened until he dipped back down and pressed a long kiss to your cheek, his stubble tickling your skin.
“Now let’s get you to bed, hmm?” He asked, helping you off of the couch as the facility gradually warmed back up. The two of you walked down the hall together and you yawned.
“What were you two doing down there?” Bucky asked, standing in his doorway. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“I was just letting (Y/N) know the heat was back on.” Pietro shrugged. “I am the quickest, you know.”
“Uh-huh. Right.” Bucky nodded, suspicious, but backing away into his room anyway.
You got to your door and stopped in the doorway, turning to look at Pietro. His hand grabbed at your waist, tugging you in for a kiss that you gladly returned. When you parted, you watched him speed down the hall, hoping that when you woke, it wouldn’t all be some sweet, winter dream.
#marvel imagine#pietro imagine#pietro maximoff imagine#pietro maximoff x reader#pietro x reader#pietro maximoff#winter imagines
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Cherry Pie Kiss
Slice One
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader
Summary: The pie thief has struck again. You know who it is but how to prove it? The answer is on the tip of his tongue.
Words: ~900
A/N: So this is SPN fic number two. The idea of Dean being such a pie fiend that he would steal someone else's pie from the fridge and deny it afterwards, really amused me. I obviously didn't get the desire to kiss him out of my system after the first SPN fic I wrote so here's another one 😂 It's not smut but there is mild adult themes which is why I ask minors not to read or interact. Reader is as generic as I can make but I have referenced as female. I hope you enjoy, and as always, I value your feedback and comments 💖
Warnings: kissing, mild violence, bad language as standard. Dean is an asshole. Reader is a bit of an asshole too. They're probably made for each other.
*** Minors do not read or interact ***
Dean Winchester. You hate him. His arrogance, his smug superiority, the way he always acts like he’s untouchable… his goddamn pretty mouth. Ugh! Asshole!
You didn’t always hate him – you had known him for years, one hunter to another – but, since you had been forced to stay with both he and Sam in the bunker these last couple of months, he had really grated on your nerves.
After your hunt of a large nest of vampires had gone wrong, you had become the hunted. Your home decimated, your family too precious to put at risk by you staying with them; you had needed help.
Sam had insisted, so you agreed to stay with them until your vamp problem could be solved. Only the nest turned out to be much bigger and far wider spread than you had first thought, and it was taking time for even the infamous Winchester brothers to put an end to.
The light in the refrigerator is stark as you stare inside. It’s gone. You slam the door, raging internally. Why can you not have anything to yourself in this goddamn place?
“DEAN!” You shout angrily at the top of your lungs, knowing he can hear you from his room down the hall, even with his music playing.
He won’t respond to you. He never does. Why should he? You’re just some girl he’s got to put up with for a while. Some girl he made a pass at that first week you were here, but you shut him down and he’s been an asshole to you ever since.
You storm up to his door and bray your fist against the wood as hard as you can. “I know you’re in there! Get your ass out here now!” You shout and hammer your fist against the door until you hear him moving inside.
The door clunks as he unlocks it, and it swings open to reveal him stood in the doorway in a navy blue robe and slippers. The light from his lamp is dim but warm, his music a moderate volume for the late hour. He looks irritated that you’ve disturbed him, that quizzical frown and pout are a dead giveaway. Good.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” He smirks at you.
“You!” You push past him, and he doesn’t try to block you.
“What now?”
This isn’t the first time you’ve had this argument and it probably won’t be the last. Whenever Sam isn’t around, Dean always does something to piss you off, like he’s trying to bait you.
“You ate my pie! AGAIN!”
His expression is schooled into that self-righteous assuredness it always is when you confront him. His hands go to his hips – which looks ridiculous because of the robe – and he shifts his weight onto his other foot.
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He says with a frown, and it’s entirely plausible that you’ve made a mistake, except it’s just the two of you here and you didn’t eat the damn pie. “I haven’t seen any damn pie.”
“Oh yeah?!” You square up to him, looking up into his eyes, unblinking, unphased.
“Yeah!” He doubles down, firmly meeting your stare, leaning closer as if you would be intimidated by that.
It’s a short distance you need to cover and he is unprepared. You expect him to push you away but he flounders, arms flailing and uncoordinated when you grip the lapels of his robe and pull him towards you.
When your lips meet he puckers up and blinks in shock, but you don’t give him time to realise what’s happening. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him tight as you slip your tongue between his lips, plundering his mouth.
It takes a beat, but he responds by gripping your hips and holding you against him, moaning into your mouth as he opens up to you. The heat of his response takes you by surprise, but it shouldn’t have, really. He’d wanted this since the first few days you were here. Wanted you.
You ravage his mouth, your hands in his hair, making it messy as you practically melt into his arms. His tongue plays perfectly with yours, his lips soft and yielding. Dean Winchester is an exceptional kisser. This fact makes you hate him even more.
As you pull back, breathless, Dean grins at you. He looks happy and care-free, like the cat that got the cream. Your face, however, holds a scowl.
“What’s wrong, darlin’?” His expression changes to concern.
You lick your lips and it’s just as you thought, the sweet buttery goodness of pie crust and the pleasant tartness of sour cherry. You slap him across the face – not hard but just enough to get his attention – and stride to the door leaving him confused.
“What the hell?!” He rounds on you, his arousal tenting his robe.
“Don’t you dare eat my pie again.”
You leave your warning hanging in the air along with his frustration. A smirk playing on your lips at the sight you had just left behind you; Dean Winchester with kiss-swollen lips and a hard-on for you. It isn’t the worst thing you’ve seen but you still hate him, even if there’s now something else there along side it.
#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester fic#dean winchester kiss#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x reader kiss#spn#spn fanfic#dean winchester x you#dean winchester#dean winchester fanfic#dean x reader#cloudy's writing
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