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s4lv4tions · 7 months

Text

labour of love; nsfw

pairing; nanami kento x reader summary; something is on your husband's mind — nothing that can't be solved with a morning in bed, you're sure. wc; 4.6k cw; smut, largely vanilla, nanami kento is a loving husband etc

You’ve long since grown used to the press of knees against the mattress rousing you from your sleep. The gentle dip of the bed, the steady — if not stilted — breathing, the sudden waft of his cologne as he tries to settle himself beside you without waking you. It doesn’t work most nights, but Kento still tries.

He smells like the cleanliness of shower gel and the spicy goodness of his favourite fragrance, all nutmeg and saffron and warmth. It’s enough to have you rolling over to face him, half-lidded and half-asleep, hooking your leg over his waist and burying your nose into his neck. There’s a rough puff of air as he realises he’s failed to be stealthy — not for the first time, either. But he pulls you closer anyways, hands smoothing up your back as if to memorise the curve of your spine, or to cajole you back to dreamland.

If there was a way to become one with him you would’ve figured it out by now. Some days, in this bed, it feels like you’re close enough to discovery. Perhaps if you press every possible inch of yourself against him, share the same air, let your minds float away to the same place, it'll happen. Alas, you wake as two separate people, forced to peel yourselves apart when the sun rises and he's off to work. It’s always accompanied by disappointment, but for now you revel in the feeling of his firmness beneath you, and the beat of his pulse in your ears.

“Sorry for waking you up.”

He always says it, and you never mind, but you reply anyway. “It’s okay. I like seeing you.”

Kento’s arms tighten around you, and he says nothing back. The shaky breath muffled against your hair is enough to tell you how his day went, but you won’t ask him about it. Not yet, not when it’s still fresh in his mind. It’s enough of a blessing that he was able to return home at all tonight, instead of sleeping at his desk with only his jacket to fend off the cold. Still, even a good night’s sleep won’t solve everything. You can deal with it tomorrow.

“Did you eat?” You mumble, trying to ignore the seductive hands of sleep pulling at your brain. “I left… hamburger steak. In the fridge.”

“Mm.” His lips brush your hair, and you feel yourself slipping away, further and further into dreamland. “Don’t worry, darling. Just sleep.”

“O…kay… Sweet dreams… Kento…”

You always sleep best when you’re with Kento. You know this because, without fail, you end up drooling all over him like a dog. It's something that never happens when you’re bundled up alone, but it’s as if every muscle in your body relaxes something fierce when you’re with him. It’s embarrassing, and gross, but somehow he never minds. Just chuckles and watches you fuss over wiping it all away, teasing you about how deep you must’ve been sleeping. This morning is no different.

You’d woken with the sun. The curtains you’d forgotten to close shed honeyed sunlight across every fold of your blankets, every inch of skin, every tiny piece of dust floating in the still of the air. Hair tousled and mouth dry, you were so warm it almost made you fall right back asleep. Any part of you not covered in a blanket was wrapped, in some way, in Kento’s arms. The perfect morning. No longing looks as he rose to go to work; no cold side of the bed if he’d stayed in the office. Just perfection and warmth and… a drool stain on his arm.

Whether your cheeks are now warmed by the sun or a persisting feeling of embarrassment, you cannot say, but his hands are even warmer where they cup your face. You attempt to ignore him, scrubbing at his skin. “I need to tape my mouth shut.”

His thumb begins to smooth back and forth. If you were a cat you’d be purring. “Dramatic.”

A glare that’s far too soft. You push away the corner of the duvet you’d haphazardly chosen as your rag, cursing yourself for your weakness as you abandon your task and instead lean into him. “Oh, and I suppose you enjoy waking up every morning with a sticky bicep, Kento?”

“Mm.” The way he urges you towards him is not lost on you; it’s not until your noses brush and your lips part that he says: “I love it.”

“You’re gross.” Your smile betrays you, but you can’t help yourself. You let your graze trail over the handsome planes of his face; from his strong, pointed nose to his chiselled cheekbones, his thin, expressive eyes and tousled morning hair.

“Mhm. And you married me regardless.”

"Hm. I guess I did."

It's like two giggling children sharing the silliest inside joke. Your laughter is soft and breathless, still muddled with sleep, and it's natural the way that you fall into each other so easily. Your head falls back against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear; your legs intertwine, and your arms hook under his. Close enough to the point where you don’t know where one of you ends and the other starts. If only every day could start like this one, but you're the sort of person who cherishes rarity. And oh, how rare it is to wake up with him — speaking of which…

"You don't have work today?" You ask, trying (and failing) to keep the hope out of your voice.

"No." There's a little pause, before: "I finished up my latest project, so I took the day off."

You haven't forgotten the pledge you made to yourself yesterday: the promise to ease whatever may ail him, or at least to get to the bottom of it. “Woah. You passed up a chance to make money?”

“I suppose I did.”

"Hm, I don’t mind. I like having you to myself." Breakfast, that goes without saying. Maybe he'd prefer to go out for it, or maybe you could cuddle until brunch. Maybe he'd like to take the rare opportunity to stay in all day — and if you're in all day, you may as well do a little more than cuddle...

“You’ll have to share me with the laundry.”

“Mm.” As if drawn there, bolstered by the knowledge that you essentially have all the time in the world, your lips meet the side of his neck. You feel him swallow as you do, but Kento’s nothing if not poised; even as you dare to scrape your teeth along his skin, there’s no other reaction that’s quite so visceral. “I’m a jealous woman, you know.”

“I know.”

Those hands that had cupped your face start to trail down your back — warm and slightly calloused, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Brushing over the elasticated waistband of your panties, lingering just enough to be suggestive, but no more. You pretend that even the slightest whisper of his touch doesn’t make your stomach twist pleasantly, but you suppose you’re long past coyness, considering you are husband and wife. “And you married me, so you know I can’t share you.”

“Even with the laundry?”

“Oh, especially with the laundry.” You finally lift yourself from nipping at his pulse point, flushed and arching into his hands, and stare at him straight on. His gaze is half-lidded, but his eyes — oh, his eyes. So clear and sharp and fixed on you like he wants to print your image onto his eyelids. And his body is so firm beneath you, broad and muscular (you’ve never questioned how a salaryman who has no time to go to the gym is so incredibly fit, but you aren’t about to start now) — even on top of him you feel almost dwarfed. “But, speaking of laundry — we should probably get our money’s worth from the washing machine, then, shouldn’t we?”

An eyebrow quirks. “Oh?”

“Mhm. If we’re gonna wash the sheets, they may as well be as dirty as they can possibly be. Filthy, even.” No use in playing innocent. It’ll be killing two birds with one stone — multiple birds with one stone, even. You can treat your hardworking Kento to an orgasm or two, comfort him after what was no doubt a long, hard day — all the while you enjoy yourself in his arms, and save time and money with the laundry. Perfect.

You’re practically kneading his biceps at this point. The manicure he pays for bi-weekly digs in just slightly, leaving half-moon dents in his otherwise perfect skin. You don't worry about it too much; if there’s one thing you know about Kento it’s that he treasures those little marks above all else.

“How do you propose we do that?” He says, face purposefully blank.

Groaning, you give his arm a light slap. “C’mon, don’t make me say it, Ken.”

“I was joking, darling.” With a smile that sends your tummy flipping, he threads one hand in your hair, large palm flat against your skull, and urges you closer to him. The other settles itself against your jaw, keeping your head firmly in his hands, and it’s with very little shame that you melt into him. It’s hard not to — and besides, why starve yourself of something you’ve waited so long for? “I’m not that cruel.”

A liar he is not; with little fanfare, his lips meet yours, and it’s like every time before and every time after. His lips are smooth, his nose slanted to press against yours, and every movement is deep. His tongue licks into your mouth, lips moving against yours in such a way that you can’t help but moan. It's interesting to experience first-hand how much your relationship with Kento has changed over the years. When you first met him, he baulked at even the mere idea of tongue — this Kento, though, is some measure of depraved, and takes great pleasure in the way you squirm underneath him when his tongue runs over yours.

It’s the type of kiss that, inevitably, makes you want more. You’ve long since parted your legs to hug either side of his hips, and you whine at the press of his growing bulge against your panty-covered clit. It’s that dull sort of pleasure — not enough, never enough, and you’ll curl and arch and flex yourself until it feels like it might be, grinding down on the shape of him. At some point his hands move from your head to your waist — or are they at your back, your ass, your hips? You’re not keeping track. You only know that they sear the skin that they touch and set your nerves aflame, and that’s all that matters.

You’ve just broken apart to catch your breath, prepared to peel off your panties and have your way with him — but in the blink of an eye you’re weightless, and the world twists and warps and you’re under him, suddenly, with the wind knocked out of you. “Kento!”

“Sorry, love.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, the words are barely out of his mouth before he descends on you again, this time laying the entirety of his body against you. It’s all you can do to desperately follow the movement of his lips, the rocking his hips — and you’re clutching at his arms all the while, mind dizzied and chest heaving. You’re liable to let him have his way with you just like this, with your legs around his waist and your ankles pressing against his ass, but—

“Wait, I—” Panting, your grip on his biceps tightens, and you frown up at him— “I wanted to be on top, y’know. I wanted to give you a break.”

His laugh is gentle, breathy. In the haze of the morning every sharp edge of him is cotton-soft, his hair this honey sort of blonde wherever the light hits it — mind twisting juxtaposition to the red-hot pleasure broiling in the pit of your tummy. “It’s a husband's duty to worship his wife, is it not?”

“I—” His head dips to the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your skin in such a way that you shiver in his grasp. It’s sweet and indulgent and him, all him; his weight atop you, his hands on you, his scent around you. “I… Oh, You’re playing dirty, Kento.”

His answer is a hum that reverberates all throughout you. “Am I?”

You’re not expected to answer, and you doubt you have enough control over your muscles to do so, because just as you open your mouth, his fingers slip underneath your panties and slip over the hot, slick skin of your pussy. He’s always purposeful with you, and this time is no different — he does not fumble and flounder, unsure of where to put his hands. He has learned you well enough to know what brings you pleasure, and oh, does he want to bring you pleasure. He makes a glutton of you; gives you far too much, buys into your every whim. He can’t help himself.

You’re wet enough that he can slip a finger in with little difficulty — embarrassingly little difficulty, and you squeak as he slides it all in at one go. His fingers are thick, that goes without saying, but what makes Kento especially dangerous is his skill. He’s too attentive — watches everything, notes every shiver, the pitch of your voice when you whimper his name. He knows just what he needs to do to make you lose your mind — at that, as if he’s read your mind, another finger joins the first, jutting upwards to grind against that spongy spot that makes your legs jerk.

“O—oh,” you breathe, “That’s — okay, that’s good.”

“Is it?” Kento sounds far too amused for your liking, but you’re hardly in a position to scold him, not with your legs spread and your hips rolling up into his hand. “You're like wet velvet.”

“Don’t say things like that!” You whine, slapping a hand over your face. Your cheeks are red-hot, and it only adds to the overwhelming overstimulation — the sheets and Kento against your skin, the coolness of the pillows beneath your neck, the sounds that leave nothing to the imagination.

Sometimes you can’t believe your luck. Almost every partner before him was his complete and utter opposite, caring little for your pleasure and simply using you as a means to an end, but — with Kento, it’s so different. He centres you in everything. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, especially when he wants only for you to lay there and do nothing. It’s hard not to feel a bit lazy, like you have to offer something in return — he says you’ve already given him everything he wants, and it’s enough to make you scream. You suppose you have little to complain about, though, considering you’re regularly being fucked through the mattress.

When you gain enough lucidity to unscrew your eyes, he’s already watching you — like you knew he would be. Somewhere along the way Kento had migrated from on top of you to beside you; he propped himself above you on one elbow, cradling your head. If you were to only glance at him, you’d think him wholly unaffected by your whining, squirming self — but you allow yourself a stare, and are pleased to find the tips of his ears pink and flushed.

“I wanted to take my time,” says Kento, as if reading your mind. “But I’m too impatient when it comes to you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say — breathe — adding: “We have the whole day. You can fuck me slow later.”

It’s as if he was waiting for you to say it. Almost as soon as the words leave your mouth he’s pushing himself up, gently slipping his fingers out of you. You mourn their loss, but you know you won’t be untended for long. Sure enough, he pulls off the sweatpants and briefs that hang low at his hips, and settles himself between your legs once more. His cock is hot and heavy against you, pressed right between your lips, and you shiver as it’s nudged right against your swollen clit — but nothing more. Not yet.

Kento has endless patience — or so it may seem. His impatience, though rare, manifests itself only in his accidental roughness — as if he doesn't know his own strength. Your legs parted with strong hands, your body tugged further down the bed before you can even register the movement... Still, despite such impatience, he takes the time to rest the tips of his fingers against the shiny plushness of your bottom lip. He watches with sharpened eyes as your mouth opens and accepts them in, your tongue all too eager to lave over them, licking over the tanginess of your own juices. His voice is laboured — almost hoarse — when he breathes: “You’re vulgar.”

With a pop, his fingers are removed, glossy and wet and slimy. He wipes them on the blanket as you huff: “You put them there.”

His large hands grasp the back of your knees and push your legs up, until they hook high up on his waist and around him. “Because I knew you were vulgar enough to take them in your mouth.”

“Touché. But—”

Kento’s lips silence any half-baked argument that was about to leave you — this kiss is gentle, almost innocent. Somehow it’s enough to make your cheeks heat up more than any other racy gesture he’s shown you thus far. It’s made even worse when he reaches across your chest to intertwine your fingers — both hands housing a wedding ring.

(And it’s not surprising how romantic he is. Perhaps when you first started dating you were convinced that his blunt mannerisms and professionalism would extend to every facet of his life — and in many ways, it does. He’s the perfect gentleman in public, hands never straying too low, words rarely crossing the boundaries of polite-speak. But here, in your marriage bed, with more than a measly three hours of sleep and the sun casting shadows across your bodies, Kento is softened. Whatever exists outside your room that scares him so much no longer has any place in his mind.)

“I’m going to make love to you now,” he says. It’s just above a whisper, heated and heady against your lips. The gravel in his voice that had attracted you from the moment he’d opened his mouth is enough to make your knees turn to jelly — lucky, then, that they’re kept compacted by the barrel of his torso. “Is that okay?”

Your brain short circuits. Any smart comment or cheeky quip you could respond with is lost, and you’re left staring up at him, wide-eyed and willing. “Yes, please.”

His lips twitch upwards, the ghost of a smile, but he doesn’t attempt to tease — simply connects your lips again, and guides himself to your entrance with that free hand of his. The blunt head of his cock is silky smooth and slippery with your arousal, and barely catches on you before it presses in — the stretch dull and only slightly uncomfortable, but entirely familiar. It’s like stepping into a warm shower after a cold day — not just sexual, not just to scratch an itch or a means to an end — it’s this. Feeling the heat of him inside you; the way his breath catches in his throat as you squeeze around him. Knowing that you’re the only person in the world who has the privilege of having him like this.

It’s with a breathless sigh that he bottoms out inside you, hips flush against yours. On either side of your head, his arms bulge with the weight of his own body, muscles hardened and tensed — and as his hips begin to move, that neatly trimmed patch of hair around his cock grinding against his clit, you can’t help but reach out, anchoring yourself to them. There’s little else you can do except lay there and take it, shuddering all the while, mouth agape in wonder.

“Is this — okay?” Kento asks. His voice is strained, and you try to hide the smug smile it elicits in the bulk of his arm — there’s no point. He’s far too focused on staring at where he splits you open, anyways, watching how your lips split around him, crested by the sweet little pearl of your clit. And he calls you vulgar.

“Mhm. You can — you can go faster, if you want.”

A laugh. “If I want, hm?”

“Please, Kento,” you whine, humping up towards him. It’s embarrassing how much he makes you want him. It should be, at least, though you find you’ve gotten a little shameless as of late — shameless enough to press your feet hard against his ass, pulling him in deeper. “Don’t make me wait.”

Never let anyone proclaim he doesn’t treat you right, because at your request, he does just that. His pace quickens, pulling out to the tip and slamming all the way back in — the rhythm straightens out quickly, and that’ll be your downfall. If it isn’t enough that his hips grind down against your clit with every thrust, Kento (predictably) knows how to use his cock. The mushroom shaped head bullies against your g-spot in that dizzying rhythm — back, forth, back, forth, building you up until you’re gasping for air.

You wonder if it’s like this for everyone. You wonder if everyone in the world is lucky enough to find someone who fits them this perfectly, who listens to them this intently, who isn’t afraid to show such unerring devotion. You wonder if you will ever feel safer, more loved, than you do when you’re in his arms — if you will ever feel such deep, persistent pleasure at the hands of another. Then again, what good does wondering do? When you have all you need at your disposal, there’s little need for wondering. When you’re taken care of so thoroughly, there’s little need for anything else. And God, are you being taken care of.

“Oh — fuck, Ken, I’m—” Words escape you. All that matters is that building heat, the involuntary trembles of your walls around him, the electricity zipping from neuron to neuron; his eyes on you, the furrow of his brow, the comforting weight of him pressing you down. It’s all so much. You could lose your mind. You are losing your mind. “I’m—”

You can’t even finish the sentence. All you know is that your toes curl and your back arches and you squeeze his arms a little too hard but you can’t control it, you can’t control anything, not the way you’re squeezing him in a vice grip, not the way you’re dripping down around his cock, wet and sticky and messy—

“That’s it,” Kento urges, voice ragged as he fucks you through it. Through hazy eyes you see him — strands of hair hanging low over his face, his skin dewy with sweat. Ruined. “Good, that’s it. There you go — damn it—”

When he cums, he very nearly collapses on you, breathing heavily and sweat dripping from his brow. He presses himself to the hilt — of course he does, he can’t help himself — panting lowly as he thrusts with every wave of his orgasm. You can feel him against your cervix, that once-strange sensation of being filled.

In the midst of his pleasure, and fortified by his fatigue, his movements begin to slow. It’s that inevitable syrupy slowness that comes after an orgasm, where desperation is eventually traded for an easy languidness. His head bows to place a sloppy, messy kiss on your mouth, one he’d normally eschew, and you accept it with all the eagerness of a woman in love. One, two, three — another one to your cheek, then, and then to your brow.

That frantic, charged energy finally slips away. Kento holds you tightly to him — he always does, when all is said and done — but something about the way he’s hunched over you makes your stomach twist. You don’t know what is — some sixth sense, perhaps, that blooms into a sense of dread in your chest. The supernatural powers of a wife to know when there’s something wrong with her husband, and coupled with his demeanour the previous night...

“Kento,” you whisper, petting your hands over your head. “Is everything alright?”

“Mm.” A beat of silence, before he pushes himself up again, and — with some difficulty — pulls himself out of you. He kisses your forehead and sits himself up, sheets pooled around the hard lines of his abdomen. With worried eyes you watch as he reaches for his glasses, and then the wristwatch he’d left on the bedside table last night (almost 800,000 yen, one of the few things he’s splurged on himself) and deftly begins to clip it on. He's still avoiding your eyes when, at last, he says: “I… I was thinking of changing jobs.”

You shoot up — or sit up, rather, with what little energy you have left. “Hm? Oh, Kento, that’s wonderful!”

“Mm. It is.” But something’s bothering him. He doesn’t sound as elated as he should, considering he despises the job that he currently has. “It’s a smaller agency. An old… friend of mine runs it. The work is hard, but I won’t have to work much overtime, and… well, it’s better work, I suppose.”

You run a comforting hand over his covered thigh. “But?”

Kento exhales, slow and tired. “But I thought I left that work behind a long time ago.”

You shift, humming to yourself thoughtfully. “The work is hard, you say?”

He nods. “But… rewarding.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t know too much about finance, but I think that as long as it gives you purpose, it’s good, right?”

His head falls back against the headboard, and tired eyes trail over you. “It’s so simple for you.”

“Well, one of us has to simplify stuff, and I doubt it’ll be you. Look — you hate your job now, don’t you?”

“...Mm.”

“Then change it,” you say, rolling over on your side to face him. Your features soften at the sight of him — uncharacteristically unsure of himself, staring at his hands with furrowed brows. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so deeply torn, but then again, you know how hard he’s worked for this job. His career — especially before you met him — was of the utmost importance to him. Money, money, and more money. That’s what he’d told you. He was obsessive. He slept even less than he does now, barely used the fancy apartment he paid extortionate rent for... How do you turn your back on years and years of commitment, of obsession?

You reach a hand up and take his hand in yours once more. The silver of your rings glint and glimmer in the morning light, the garnet stone in the centre of yours a bloody red.

“For better or for worse, Kento,” you say quietly. “That’s what we promised. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll be here with you through it all.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles that one smile of his — the small, wistful, sad one. The one that hints at a far more tragic past than he’s let on, one of misfortune and melancholy. That’s okay. He doesn’t have to tell you, and you would never press him to. In much the same way, you pretend not to see the glassiness of his eyes when he raises your joined hands to his lips, and pretend not to hear the lump in his throat when he tells you he loves you — dearly, more than life itself.

"Yeah, yeah," you say, smiling. "Just don't forget about that retirement to Malaysia, okay? I want a beach house."

He huffs a laugh, and the cast of despondency shatters. Then, a thoughtful hum. "Mm. A beach house... that sounds good."

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #nanami kento fic #anime x reader #smut x reader #i dont think we focus enough on how hard it was for nanami to return to jujutsu tee bee haytch #i want to hold his hand etc etc #cheeky little mention of malaysia of course couldnt help myself x #my fics

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number1jeonginstan · 6 months

Note

Sucking on Minhos fingers while he's got you in a headlock... Hehe

A/N: THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD REQUEST!!! At first, I didn't know what to write, so that's why I took so long to fulfill it. I usually try and imagine scenarios in my head and then play them out in my writing, and it finally hit me while I was re-watching Chainsaw Man today. I really hope I did you justice and you enjoy it because I think this might be my favorite fic to write to this day!!!

WC: 2.7k (1.6 is literally smut...)

Minors don't interact, 18+

Pairing: Roomate!Lee Know x afab!reader

Warnings: Lee Know calls the reader a slut, cum eating, mirror sex (just a bit), head lock, protected sex (for the first time ever), idk what else?

It was a normal night between you and your roommate Minho, he would spend every Friday cooking for the both of you guys while you caught up on assignments. It was a good arrangement because you hated cooking, and it was his favorite pastime. In return, you would wash all the dishes and make dessert for the both of you. Baking had always been your favorite, and you loved trying new recipes with him, and he did the same when it came to new dishes.

This week, he wanted to try out a sous vide steak. “Can you pass me the butter please?” Minho said across the kitchen. “Yeah of course!” you said, walking across the kitchen to pass it to him. “Thank you!” he replied back, basting the steak that he had searing on the stove with the butter you just passed him.

You went back to sitting on the barstool, continuing to work on the assignment you had due for your Journalism class at midnight. As you continued to work, Minho continued to cook. He was making a side of vegetables but needed your opinion on whether or not they were seasoned enough.

“I need you to taste this,” he said, holding up a fork in front of you. You were so immersed in your assignment that you just opened your mouth, waiting for him to put it in your mouth. He did so, and before you could notice how he stared at the fork leaving your mouth you said “I think it needs more salt, just a pinch, but it’s good.”

He just coughed and nodded, turning away, not letting you see how his ears turned a bit red at the tips. “Yeah, let me add some more salt and then we can sit down and eat.”

“That works for me!” you replied, finishing up the assignment at hand and submitting it. You close your laptop, pick up the plates, and place them on the table in the middle of your apartment. “What kind of wine do you want to drink tonight?” you asked him, looking in the fridge. “Red would go best with today’s steak,” he replied cutting up the steak into pieces on the cutting board.

“Alright got it”

As you took the first bite, you moaned to him how good it was. “I think this is your best recipe yet,” you told him while taking a bite of the vegetables. You didn’t realize that your little moan caused him to cough up a bit of his wine.

To distract himself from what just happened, he told you how Jisung had accidentally spilled coffee all over himself at work and he laughed so hard that he spilled some on himself too. You told him about your week too, how classes were kicking your ass too.

“Oh, and this dude in my literature class asked me for his number.” You took another bite of the steak. He was fuming a bit, but not wanting to show it he casually asked “Did you give it to him?”

“I didn’t want to be impolite, plus he seemed nice so I did. He invited me to get dinner with him tomorrow.” You said while taking a sip of your wine.

“Did you say yes?” he asked, annoyed you were giving your number out to total strangers.

“I told him I would most likely be able to, but if something came up I would have to cancel and he said that was totally fine, why?” you replied, a bit confused as to why he was so interested.

“Oh, I was just wondering, it’s been a while since you’ve been on a date.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I wanted to go out. I’m tired of being stuck at home constantly.” Before he could interject, you quickly spoke up again. “Not that I’m tired of hanging out with you, I love spending time with you. I just want to look pretty for someone, get all dressed up,” pointing down at yourself, “not just in sweats all the time.”

“That makes sense,” Minho scoffed, and you could hear a bit of undertone in his voice.

You decided to ignore it, collecting both of your dishes as you finished them. “Do you wanna play the new episode of Chainsaw Man while I bring the flan?” you asked

“You made flan again?” he asked while walking over to the couch. “Yeah, I knew how much you liked it last time, plus my friend gave me this recipe to perfect it.”

“Oh, that’s nice, thanks for thinking about me.” he was already sitting down so you couldn’t see the grin that was plastered on his face. “Hey, don’t be so egotistical, I liked it too,” you said while bringing over two bowls of it.

You guys sat in silence, eating the flan while the episode played in the background. Minho would occasionally look at you, watching your little reactions to what was playing on the screen in front of the both of you.

“Damn, I wish I was Denji,” you said loud enough for Minho to hear. It was a scene of Himeno putting him in a headlock. “You want to be choked?” Minho asked, not sure if he understood you correctly.

“I mean, it seems weird, but also, I really want to try it,” you shrugged to Minho.

“If you want to try it, I can put you in a headlock” he replied back with no hesitation. “I mean, I don’t think it will choke you or anything, but I am pretty strong so if you want to…”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you quickly replied with a “Yes!”

“I mean only if you are comfortable with it, if you don’t want to I mean we don’t have to” you rambled on.

“I don’t mind as long as you are comfortable with it, just tap my arm if it’s too much.” He said, pausing the show and patting the spot next to him. You crawled to him, sitting on your knees right next to him. What you didn’t realize was how flushed Minho had become, he could feel his pants tighten a bit at the thought of him in his arms.

“Can I sit in your lap you can do it from behind?” you asked innocently, your doe eyes looking up at him. He swore he groaned out loud, but he stopped himself, composing himself and just nodding.

You climbed into his lap, your back facing his chest. You felt his arm wrap around your throat, your bicep slowly squeezing it. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay kitten?” and you just whimpered in response. This is the first time he’s ever called you that and you can feel yourself getting wet in his lap.

You began to squirm, causing him to groan behind you. “Fuck, don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“What if I want to start something?” you tilt your head up, trying to get a good look at your roommate's face.

You had never realized how beautiful he was, you knew he was attractive. It was evident, he was one of the best-looking men you had ever met, but his beauty astonished you in that moment.

Before you could even say something, he flipped you around. “Fuck kitten, you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this. Seeing you in your tiny shorts and big t-shirts around the apartment. That one time you took my shirt and wore it around the house, I swear I was hard that entire day after seeing you.”

You just giggled at him, “Oh baby, this is no laughing matter, maybe I should shut you up?”

You just nodded up at him, as he slipped his fingers in your mouth. You began sucking on them, wrapping your tongue around both digits, wetting them with your saliva and he just groaned above you. “Fuck baby” he just groaned thinking about how well you would take his cock in your mouth.

He slipped his digits out of your mouth, placing a kiss on your lips. One kiss became another and another, and then it turned into a heated make-out session. In the process, he had flipped you on top of him and you began grinding on his semi-hard cock.

“Fuck baby you feel so good, but let’s get off the couch okay?” you just nodded at him, still feeling lightheaded from his mouth on yours.

You both got up, him picking you up, tossing you onto his shoulder. Before you could protest, he began walking to his room. You began writhing on his shoulder, wanting to be put down. “Stop acting like a brat,” he said while smacking your ass.

“Minho!” you shouted, eliciting a chuckle from him. “If you act good, I’ll take care of you, but if you act like a brat, I won’t let you cum.” You quickly shut up, allowing him to throw you on the bed. He hovered above you, placing kisses on your neck, and moving down to your thighs.

He took off your sweatpants, leaving you only in your oversized shirt and panties. He began to lift your shirt only to see you not wearing a bra. “Had these out just for me, and I had no clue? What else are you hiding from me, baby?” He asked, sucking on one of your nipples causing you to moan. “You just wanted to act like a slut, hoping we did this, is that why?”

“Yes Minho, just wanted you” you moaned again as he moved onto the other breast. He just groaned, you were good to him, too good. He moved down, kissing your stomach and then your thighs. You rubbed them together, wanting some sort of friction.

“No, keep these open for me kitten, I want to see your sweet little cunt.” He said while pulling down your panties. “Fuck baby, this pussy is so wet, tell me who’s doing this to you.”

“You are Minho, only you can do this to me.” you moaned as he liked a stripe against your pussy. His lips catch your clit, sucking on it causing your legs to shut. “Kitten, what did I just say?”

“To keep my legs open for you.” You were hiding your face behind your hands, a bit ashamed of how wet you were for him, how much he turned you on. “So, let’s keep them open okay? You can be a good girl and do that for me can’t you?”

You just nodded, opening your legs again. “Fuck, you taste better than any dessert you’ve ever made me.” He said while licking your pussy another time. “You are going to let me eat you for dessert whenever I need it aren’t you?”

“Yes Minho, I’ll let you do anything to me” you moaned as he started putting his veiny fingers inside of you. He began fucking his fingers inside at a quick pace, still sucking on your clit and all you could do was moan.

He hadn’t even put his cock in you and you could already feel yourself cumming. “Please Minho, too much, I’m gonna cum.”

“Then be a good kitten and cum on my fingers, then I’ll make you cum on my cock. You can take more than one round, can’t you baby?”

“Yes, can be a good girl for Minho, please can I cum, please sir let me cum” you moaned as his fingers hit that particular spot in you causing you to go over the edge, your entire body shaking as you came over the edge, cumming on his fingers.

“Minho, need your cock, please need it inside of me.” you pleaded and he was in awe. You had just cum, but you were still begging for his cock. He was going to have fun with you.

“You just came and already need my cock? How much of a needy slut are you? You just want your hole filled at all times?” He scoffed at you. He was still fully dressed as you were fully naked underneath him. You pawed at his shirt and he just laughed. He took it off, along with his sweats.

You could see how hard his dick was through his boxers, your eyes widening a bit, trying to hide your reaction by covering. He chuckled at your reaction, releasing his fat cock from his boxers, taking a condom out of his drawer, and tearing the foil with his mouth.

“Yes, just a slut for you sir, I need you, need you in me.” You spread your cunt apart with your fingers, trying to show him where you needed him most and he just groaned.

He slowly pushed his tip inside of you, knowing how eager you were. He was also eager, his dick hard as soon as you moaned his name the first time. “Fuck baby, this pussy is so tight, don’t know why I didn’t fuck it beforehand.”

He slowly pushed his dick inside of you, your cunt squeezing it tight, making it hard for him to fully still inside of you. “Baby I need you to relax so you can take my cock. You can be a good kitten for me and do that right?”

You simply nodded, taking his fingers into your mouth once again, wrapping your lips around his digits, causing him to groan as he finally entered you fully. “Fuck baby, you feel even better than you taste.” You simply moaned, feeling so full as he was fully inside of you.

“So good Minho, feel so full” you moaned, feeling so full of him you couldn’t help but clench around him. “Please move, I need you” You looked up at him, his fingers going back into your mouth and he couldn’t control himself. He began thrusting into you, causing you to moan around his fingers.

“Fuck this pussy is so tight, gonna fuck you all around the apartment from now on. This pussy is mine and mine only, you got it?” You just nodded as he began thrusting into you faster.

You were on the verge of cumming, but Minho pulled out before you could. Before you could protest, he flipped you around, your ass up and face at the end of his bed looking straight at the mirror in front of you. “I want you to see how pretty you look on my cock, how my cock is making you dumb, how good it is making you feel.”

You felt yourself going dumb, the only thing on your mind was Minho and his cock. “Minho, fuck it feels so good.” you moaned, feeling him hit that spot inside of you. “Yeah, kitten? Look at who’s making you cum, look at who’s making you dumb on their cock.”

“You are, you are making me feel this good” you moaned as his thrusts got harder. With one more thrust, you were cumming on his cock.

“Fuck, this pussy is to die for” he groaned, continuing to thrust into you trying to get to his own high. After a few more thrusts, he could feel himself getting ready to cum. “Where do you want me baby?”

“In my mouth,” you said with no hesitation. You wanted to taste him like he tasted out. “Fuck kitten, you are going to be the death of me” he took off the condom, wrapping his hand around his cock. With a tug of his cock, he came into your mouth. You swallowed all of it, showing him and he kissed your lips.

You both fell back on his bed, him wrapping his arms around you as he covered you both with his blanket. Both of your clothes still splayed on the floor of his room. “That was… unexpected,” you said.

“A good unexpected or bad?” he asked a bit scared of your response. “Definitely good,” you said while kissing his lips. He grinned, “You better cancel that date tomorrow because I’m the one taking you out tomorrow.” You just hummed, playing with his hair.

Minho didn’t need to know that no one had actually asked for your number, you were just trying to make him make the first move.

taglist: @sclassstay @minhosify

(my perm taglist is open, also sorry for forgetting to add my tag list, it just slipped my mind, so sorry)

#skz #stray kids #straykids x reader #skz smut #skz x reader #straykids smut #ju <3 answers #skz lee minho #skz lee know #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know #lee minho #ju <3 writes

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adriennebarnes · 1 month

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Little Bit of Food

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Y/N sees a TikTok video of couple where the women serves her partner more food on his plate than on hers. For research purposes, she just wants to see how he would react.

Warning: no translated Spanish, spelling and grammar errors, SHORT

A/N: since I am Mexican and Peruvian, the foods mentioned are typical foods that I grew up eating, I LOVE these foods so much, if any other Latine readers have suggestions of what dishes should be mentioned, comment below and I’ll tag you when I use them in another one shot. Also, sorry if it’s short, I don’t think I can build off a lot of “story material” over a TikTok trend, you know?

Y/N was watching TikTok and she saw a video that was interesting to her.

It was of a couple and a woman served her husband more food on his plate than on her own. The husband insisted that his wife should have more food and that he could eat something later.

Y/N knew that Henry was going to busy at the gym for a few hours so that gave her plenty of time to make one of Henry’s favorite meals that Y/N introduced him to, and that’s bistec a lo pobre. She bought sliced New York steaks from the Mexican grocery store (there’s always a butcher there), also some tortillas and 2 avocados to make guacamole or a sandwich later. When she went back to Henry’s house, she started cutting up tomatoes and onions so it would give the steak flavor. She put the onions and tomatoes aside in a bowl and got out the white rice in the pantry to wash the rice.

Half an hour later, Henry was came through the door sweaty and with a happy Kal.

“Ay hola, Kal, como te fue con tu papi, hm?” Y/N asked, kneeling to pet Kal.

“You call me papi?” Henry asked, drinking water from his sports bottle.

“When I’m talking about you to Kal, yes. Ain’t no way I’m calling you that though, it’s weird because I call my actual dad, papi. So don’t even think about it.” Y/N warned Henry as she washed her hands in the kitchen sink.

“Too late, I’m already thinking about, my lady.” Henry said, kissing her cheek as he hugged her from behind.

“Stop it. I’m making your favorite so please take a quick shower and then I’ll call you when it’s ready. Do you want one or two eggs?” Y/N asked.

“Two please, thanks love.” Henry said, kissing her lips before heading upstairs for his shower.

Y/N began sautéing the onions and tomatoes in the pan before adding in two pieces of steak for Henry, we’ll, one and a half, she cut a half piece for her plate. She got a plate out of the pantry to serve two ‘scoops’ of rice, adding the cooked steaks with tomatoes and onions on top of it, and preceded to fry two eggs on a different pan.

“Toro, food!” Y/N shouted and Kal calming running. “I said ‘toro’, not ‘oso’, you need to practice your Spanish, Kal.” Y/N said and placed Henry’s plate on his side of the table. Henry came running downstairs with his hair wet but he’s dressed in some shorts and a t-shirt.

“Thanks love, it looks amazing.” Henry said, kissing her.

“That’s good, now eat up, you’ve had a long workout.” Y/N said and that’s when she got a smaller plate, served herself a half scoop of rice, her half steak with 3 pieces of tomatoes and onions, and no eggs. When she sat down and said “let’s eat”, Henry looked at Y/N’s plate, then at his own.

“Darling, were you snacking while you were cooking again?” Henry asked, trying to find a reasonable explanation for the lack of food on his girlfriend’s plate.

“No, no, I didn’t snack at all. Eat before the eggs become cold.” Y/N pointed at him with her fork.

“Are you sick? You didn’t have to cook if you weren’t feeling well, love.” Henry said in a concerned voice.

“I’m fine Henry, I went to Fernando’s market today but the steak was too expensive so I only bought 2.” Y/N lied, she buys like half a pound of steak, there’s still 3 or 4 pieces in the fridge. Henry got up and grabbed his keys. “Where are you going?”

“To the market to buy more steak, what cut do you order a again? Med-ee-ya Libra de what?” Henry asked, opening the door,

“No no no, Henry, there’s no need for that, I can survive without bistec, please sit down and eat.” Y/N said, Henry closed the door, put down his keys, and sat back down.

“What about the eggs or the rice? I’m sure you could fill up on that, you told me you ate that when you were younger when there was nothing to eat.” Henry said.

“The last eggs were used on you, Toro. Now please eat before your food gets cold. You want something to drink? I got chicha (It’s a purple corn drink) if you don’t want soda.” Y/N said.

“Yeah, that’s fine, darling.” Henry said, when Y/N walked into the kitchen, Henry switched his plate for Y/N’s. When Y/N came back with chicha for Henry and soda for her, she saw what Henry did.

“Toro! You weren’t supposed to do that. You had a big workout, you’re bigger than me, you need all the protein you can get from this.” Y/N said, trying to switch the plates back but Henry refused.

“Nope, you cooked all this, you deserve to eat your delicious food. I could find something later.” Henry said,

“But you must be hungry, just eat it, I can make myself some potato quesadillas later.” Y/N said, attempting to get the plate back from Henry but he swatted her hand. “Toro!”

“I’m sorry love, but it’s for your good.” Henry said.

“I Don’t want you to be starving,” Y/N said,

“I won’t starve, my love. Watching you enjoy your food is filling enough for me.” Henry said and Y/N’s heart melted. She got out of her seat to sit on Henry’s lag, placing her hands on his neck to hug him.

“Amor, it’s a prank. There’s more steak in the fridge that I can fry up, there’s a lot of rice on the stove and plenty of eggs. Now please eat while I go serve myself more food.” Y/N said getting off him and grabbing her plate to do exactly that.

“You scared me, love. I was about to head over to the market…where is it by the way?” Henry asked,

“Haha, i can’t even tell you, I just know how to get there.” Y/N said, placing her steak in the pan and she watched Henry eat his meal.

“Delicious! This might even be better than your bistec empanado, did I pronounce that right?” Henry asked,

“Yes you did, Toro, but bistec empanado with sopita aguada is comfort food, along with quesadilla de papas, which I will be making tomorrow, I’ve been craving it,” Y/N said.

“That sounds so good, I have to make sure I work out even more. When I made you my girlfriend, I had no idea you would try to fatten me up.” Henry said and Y/N gasped, flipping the steak.

“I would never, how dare you accuse me. I’m gonna make flan for my friend’s birthday on Saturday so I’m gonna make another one just for us.” Y/N said and that made Henry laugh.

“I love your flan, darling. Your cooking skills put mine to shame.” Henry said. Y/N placed her steak on her place, serving more rice, and began frying an egg.

“I was born with that sazón, Toro.” Y/N said teasingly. She finished frying the egg, served it on her plate, and went to sit down. “Better?” Y/n asked, showing Henry her plate.

“Much better, my lady.” Henry said, kissing her. Kal barked. “Yes bear, you can have some steak too.” Henry said,

The End

Taglist: @warriormirkwood

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavil x y/n #henry cavill fic #henry cavill fanfiction

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shakirawastaken · 11 months

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dsmp if... you were a romance trope

i got inspiration (sapnap, dream, george, karl, quackiy, wilbur)

sapnap (hockey x figure skater): - im in the middle of heartbreaker rn and SHUT UP - i LOVE THIS TROPE - IM NOT EVEN A FIGURE SKATER I DO TAEKWONDO BUT I STILL FROTH OVER THIS SHIT - and then in addition to that one tommyinnit is a figure skater and everyone else is on a hockey team “ice these hurts” or smt h like that - i love this trope. - anyway i think that this trope comes hand in hand with enemies to lovers - his hockey team and ur figure skating group are at the same winter sports competiton - and you have to share a rink - booooo - so everyday you end practice with the sight of a bunch of hockey buffs roughhousing in the stands, waiting for you to finish - and everyday a certain brunette one sneers and smirks at you as you walk off the ice - “had a nice practice ice queen/king?” he asks you teasingly - “shut up, yeti” you mutter back gratingly as you bump your shoulder into his build as you pass him - and he comes up with a new one everyday - and you quip right back at him, unphased - one day, he comes into practice early just to spite you - what he wasn’t expecting is to see how good you actually were on the ice - he sat there like “ :O” and just watche dyou glide across the ice with what seemed like barely any effort - and he watched how passionate you were in your craft and the dance - and bro was whipped right then and there - so that day as you were leaving he said “you were amazing out there” and it took u jumpscared - you were like “no insult today?” - and he was like “dang, didnt know u liked them that much ;) but not today, not for something as beautiful as that” - and i think you can guess where it went from there... :)

dream (ceo and employee romance): - AKAIAKAKAHAKH TELL ME YOU SEE THE VISION - i mean hes a ceo alr so its like one step in the door you know - anyway hes a ceo - bro wears those fancy ass suits everyday and has like a wine cellar mini fridge shit thing in his office - any way you pull up to his headquarters one day for like an interview and you were so fucking nervous - you ran into him in the elevator (and no clue who he was) - and you basically vented to him for the 30 second elevator ride before scurrying off to your interview - bro didnt even get dreams name or anything - he kinda just smiled and wished you well as you ran away - he thought you were so cute - and you thought dude was hot as fuck - anyway you got the JOB!! LETS GOO - the next day, your supervisor is like taking u around showing u the works - ....and you meet the ceo - its dream - and youre like :0 and he’s like *smirk wink* ;) “hey” - and youre like “well fuck hes the ceo i cant be in love with him” - and you avoid him - but he makes it his life’s mission to get on ur radar - in the break room, in ur cubicle, in the cafeteria, in the parking lot man is ON YOU LIKE A MOTH TO A LIGHT - eventually he convinces you to go to fancy dinner - and WOW hes paying?? so that shit was FIREEEE - fancy wagyu steak and 102379182 year old wine i mean cmon - it was good ok - he asks you out after dinner and assures u ur job wont be at risk and everything - ba da bing ba da boom - now youre dating happily and he spoils the FUCK outta you - lmk if you want this one as a big fic with dialogue

george (neighbors): - tell me why whenever i have my delulu daydreams with george he’s always a neighbor - very much boy next door vibes - omg HES YOUR COLLEGE ROOMMATE NEXT DOOR - stoppppp - on move in day he pulls up with his family and u with urs and youre like - “hi ! nice to meet you im so exicted to move in!” and bros like “same!” - sometimes hes loud bc hes talking to his friends but you dont mind - hes a cs major and ur whatever u want major - one day you decided to start singing rlly loud while cleaning - ur singing taylor swift - and then george could hear you from the room next door to yours - so he writes up a little post it note that was like “loved the concert! when’s the next one?” and stuck in on your door - you found it and started mad blushign - you had a crush on him since day one awwww - anyways you two started communicating via post it notes and songs played loudly through the walls <3 - till one day you hear boyfriend by big time rush - and then you play girlfriend by avril lavigne back - and then he slips you a post it note under the door and you open the door before you could read it - and its an unspoken like thing that you start dating - its so romantic how you can saw you guys starting dating because of taylor swift !!

quackity (academic rivals): - DO NOT GET ME STARTED ON THIS TROPE IT BRINGS ME LIFE ALRIGHT - alright - two law school students FIGHTING IT OUT ACADEMICALLY - you guys met in ur freshman year english class or some shit - clashed together in a discussion group - and its been game on since then - your texts with each other are flaunting texts - “hey alex, guess who got a 97 on the last midterm?” - “guess who got a 99 ;)” - over time, the texts started getting more and more hostile - people started to thing you two actually hated one another’s guts - but in reality it was more for the thrill - but this continued throughout your law school careers - and you both become successful lawyers in the end!! - and when the headmaster calls you both into his office and says - “youre both valedictorian! congrats! you have to give a speech together” - well its like all the hatred faded away - you grinned and cheezed at each other before giving each other the biggest hug ever - so you both wrote a speech together - and soon the day of graduation came - and q goes at the end “i wouldn’t be here without the person who motivated me through it all, so thank you (y/n)” and youre like “hey man *sob* wtf *sob” - and you kiss him on the cheek and cheer to all the graduates - after the ceremony he catches up to you in the parking lot, grabbing your wrist before you could go off with ur family - and blurts out word soup - and ur like what - and hes like “i really like you, and law school wouldn’t have been the same without you. can we be more than friends?” - and youre like “duhhh” and kiss him right there karl (best friends to lovers): - YOU ARE IN LOVE BY TAYLOR SWIFT - that is the song for this SCENARIO - you two met when you were little kids in like first grade - your friends werent there on that day so you hung out with each other - hooked to the other since then and there - it was always “karl and you” and “you and karl” - you came as a packaged deal - through ups and downs you were there together - you graduated high school together and were going to the same college together now - while karl barely got into any romantic relationships, you seemed to be going through a few of them - you were desperate for a love connection and honestly i aint blaming u - one day after a horrible date he came over to your dorm and u had an impromptu sleepover - you were in karls old shirt and some pajama pants and he was in his pajamas - and you two were just watching a movie together - before he turns to you abruptly, and you turn to look at him - and he’s like “you’re my best friend” - and you saw a switch flip in him - since then, the dynamic between you two changed (for the better) - you became more flirty more touchy - you started to act like you were a couple more and more - one day you saw him open his wallet to pull out his card - and u saw that he has a picture of the two of you in his wallet - and then you knew that he was it for you - you ask him out that night - and hes so happy hes picking you up and spinning you around - <3 wilbur (musician x fan trope): - okay this is inspired by those tik toks that are like “did you see the way he looked at me” and its harry styles staring and eyeing down a fan in the audience like YES - and he’s a musician so it fits! - imagine lovejoy is like a HUGE HUGE Band so maybe this is in the future - anyways you and ur friend go to a lovejoy concert - for the sake of the story, youre not that big a fan of lovejoy just familiar with hits like sex sells and one day - the whole time ur friend is like “theyre so good hes so good its all so good” - you two end up a few rows from barricade - and you and ur friend start screaming it up as you should - youre not oblivious to the way the lead singer keeps looking over in your direction, winking and smiling - imagine a sweaty, singing wilbur glancing over at you during sex sells and giving you a smile as he rasps out “you know sex sells i know that” - brb ascending to heaven - anyway a time comes when he stops to speak to the audience - he wastes no time - he struts over to your side of the stage and points at you - “what’s your name?” - and you scream it at him - “what a lovely name!” - the crowd cheers - “ahre you single?” he asks with a grin on his face - the grin grows when u nod at him - “give me ur number!?” he asks and you nod at him as ur friend is dying next to you - he gestures u and ur friend to the front of the stage by the barricade - and he passes you a marker and make syou WRITE YOUR NUMBER ON HIS GUITAR OR HIS SHIRT OR SOMETHING - oh yeahh go you go you thank yoU! let me know if you want any of these to become a bigger story/imagine and LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT A PART 2 WITH OTHER PEOPLE :D reblogs appreciated

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somber-sapphic · 4 months

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Cooking With A Cold

〖500 Follower Prompt: “Oh sweetheart, you’re worse than I thought” + “Sorry, I can’t stop sneezing” + 🏥〗

〖Summary: You hurt yourself while trying to cook a romantic meal for your girlfriend.〗

〖Word Count: 1.5k〗

〖Pairing: Natasha x Sick Reader〗

〖A/N: Hello! So, some of you may know there was a bit of a "situation" last week which threw me off a bit and I decide to postpone posting this. I know, it's been months, but I really needed to recompose and regroup which changed my plan. Sorry, I know this is a bit long but I hope you enjoy!〗

☾Masterlists☽ ☾500 Masterlist☽

Natasha had just gotten home from a long mission and when she had come into the kitchen you’d screeched at her to get out, not wanting to ruin the surprise. She’d left laughing and was currently sitting on the couch in preparation for what she didn't expect to be an incredibly fancy dinner. She knew that you hated to cook and assumed you’d just thrown a few frozen things in the oven and mac and cheese or something on the stove.

Instead, you had taken it upon yourself to make her favorite dinner and a dessert to go with. Over the two weeks that she had been gone, you’d been watching cooking videos and practicing in your spare time. There was a lot of spare time. You had decided to make her a medium-rare steak with baked asparagus and sauteed mushrooms. Following that there was a cheesecake in the fridge that had come out much better than you’d expected.

When planning this fancy meal that you very much didn't know how to cook, you had been so excited. You were thrilled to get to spend real time with your girlfriend and you wanted her to tell you everything about the ocean and beach and blue skies. It hadn't been a particularly dangerous mission, and you were sure that she’d be happy to tell you all of the more fun details.

So of course, your body had decided to throw something at you. Maybe it was the long nights spent awake wishing you weren't alone in your bed, maybe it was the fact that one of the Avengers (Clint) seemed intent on spending time with you even though he was clearly sick (it was probably the second one), but the cause didn't matter because you were sick. Sick sick.

You didn't have a little sniffle that you could push through with a dose of cold medicine and a few tissues, you had a full-on everything hurts, whole body feels hot and cold, stuffy and runny nose, dizziness, chest cough that won't let up kind of cold. Or maybe the flu. You weren't sure, but that didn't particularly matter to you either. For now, all that mattered was you staying upright for long enough to finish this meal.

Between breaks of sitting on the floor and about one million tissues, you’d managed to get down to the last stretches. The steak was done, and ready to be cut. The mushrooms were sitting on the stove covered by a pot lid to keep them warm. All that was left was the asparagus sitting in the oven and the timer for those had just gone off.

You pulled yourself to your feet and stumbled slightly, the world shifting quickly around you as your center of gravity changed. It was all you could do not to grab the hot stovetop and stumble into the counter instead, hoping that you hadn't made too much noise. You may have felt awful, but you didn't need Natasha to know that.

With your brain on autopilot, you stuck your hands into the oven and grabbed the metal pan with a bare hand. You were so out of it and ready to be finished cooking dinner that you hadn't realized you had forgotten the oven mitt until you felt white-hot pain shoot through your hand.

You pulled back with a strangled gasp, catching the back of your hand on one of the oven racks as you did. Tears of pain clouded your vision momentarily and you clutched your hand to your chest, unsure what to do. The gasp led to a fit of coughing that left you doubled over and panicking. If you just kept standing there your dinner would burn, but you were pretty sure that your hand was useless. And the room was still spinning.

Now you’d have to get Natasha and she would be upset because not only had you ruined dinner, but she’d also need to take care of you. You stood there frozen, and to your utter horror, you began to cry. The frustration of it all was too much. All you’d wanted to do was make a nice hot dinner for your incredibly busy girlfriend and now you needed her help.

“Hey Nat?” You called out in a watery voice, congestion seeping into your worlds. You sniffled and brought your tightly clenched hand up to wipe your nose on your sleeve, doing your best not to disturb the burn. A tiny part of your brain was telling you that you should probably be running it under cool water or at least stick it in the fridge, but it hadn't quite caught up to the part that was shutting down the pain.

Natasha, bounced into the room, her smile lighting up her eyes falling as she saw the twisted expression on your face and the protective way you were holding your hand. You could feel your lower lip quivering and your nose might have been running again but you weren't sure, you were just humiliated. To be safe, you swiped your hand against your fist and sniffled.

“Oh dorogory, what happened?” She asked, rushing over to wrap her arms around you. You laid your head against her shoulder and let out a whimper, wishing that you didn't have to admit to your failure out loud. This was all so humiliating.

She pulled back for a moment and cupped your cheek, lips pursed, and eyebrows furrowed. She glanced back at the half-open oven, then at your hand, then back into your eyes and you watched her face go from pure terror for your safety to understanding concern.

“Show me please?” Nat murmured, not wanting to force your hand open and risk hurting you more. You started to nod, but quickly wrenched away to sneeze into your elbow. One sneeze turned into four which turned into a bout of raspy coughing which made you glad you’d managed to turn in time. You didn't want to get her sick too.

You extended your hand at the end of the fit, revealing the blistering burn across your palm.

“Oh, Y/n, I could tell you were sick, but sweetheart, you’re worse than I thought!” She exclaimed, studying your burn intensely as she flicked her eyes up to your mess of a face. You wrinkled your nose and sniffled again, blinking rapidly at her. Black dots had appeared in the corners of your vision in these last few seconds, and you were beginning to wonder how much longer you’d be able to stand up.

“Shit, okay. Let's get you sitting.” You didn't have to say a word, Natasha was right there wrapping her arm around your waist and leading you to the living room. She even managed to turn the oven off as she practically carried you out and set you down on the sofa.

You leaned against the arm of the couch and rested your head on the cushion, another low rumbling cough echoing through your chest. It hurt to breathe, and you could hear a slight wheeze that might be more audible to those with less clogged ears.

“Okay. This hand really doesn't look great baby and I don't like the sound of your breathing. You’re going to hate this, but there’s an Urgent Care a few minutes away and I think we need to go. They might be able to get you something for the pain and something to open up those lungs, okay?” She didn't bother to sugarcoat (much) and her tone made it clear that she wasn't asking. Whether you wanted to or not, you had earned yourself a trip to Urgent Care.

Instead of answering you sneezed again, barely able to direct the sneezes to your lap rather than in her direction. You knew it was gross, but you couldn't seem to make your limbs cooperate the way you wanted them to. Lifting a pinky felt like lifting a thousand tons.

“M’sorry. I can’t stop sneezing.” You mumbled, hoping those words were enough to convey just how sorry you were, not just for the sneezing but for everything. Natasha kissed the top of your head and pressed a tissue to your nose, guiding your uninjured hand to hold it there.

“No apologies my love, just sit tight. I’ll get your shoes and your favorite blanket then we’ll head out, okay?” She soothed, running your fingers through your hair as she talked.

Her voice was the sound of summer rain on a warm night, slow rolling waves on a white sand beach, and birds chirping in a lush green forest. It was every comforting thing anyone could think of plus ten more. She was all that. She never failed to make you feel safe, loved, accepted, and, most importantly, worthy of feeling all of those good things.

You nodded wearily and let yourself melt against the couch as she moved around you, turning off lights and gathering whatever she thought that you would need. You were dreading whatever might happen at Urgent Care, but if she was there you knew that it would be okay. She’d make sure that it was all okay. And when you felt better, you’d make her that damn dinner.

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zorrasucia · 2 months

Text

Teach Me Tonight - Part 7

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] Part 7: [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (3k)

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy, Fluff, Miscommunication, Angry Sex, Nightmares, Domesticity, Morning Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary:

Glimpses of every day life and sharing an apartment with Carmy.

"I'm sorry, okay? I am! I won't use your ingredients without asking- just- please calm the fuck down!"

Your small argument from closing time had escalated on the way home to the point where you were screaming at each other by the time you slammed the apartment door behind you and followed Carmy to the bedroom. You had fought before, of course you had. But this was probably the worst one so far.

Carmy stood on the opposite corner of the room, hands on his hips, breathing heavily.

"Do you know how fucking expensive imported black garlic is?"

"I don't, but I have the feeling you're going to tell me," you spat, petty, the whole sentence leaving a bitter taste inside your mouth. You backtracked."I'm sorry. I'll pay for it, okay?" you tried to appease him even as your blood was boiling. "Listen, when I moved in, I was ready to make some compromises. I downsized my closet, I sold some furniture-"

"I didn't ask you to do any of that," Carmy interrupted you.

"Carm," you gave him a stern look. "I'm only saying that you could be more understanding about shit like this. We share the fridge and the pantry. I'm sorry I assumed I could use the stuff inside without asking, it will not happen again," you repeated, then inhaled deeply. "Just- I can't help feeling this isn't about that."

Carmy looked red in the face, angry like you had only seen him inside the kitchen, pacing and flexing his fingers. You couldn't believe he was actually losing his shit so severely over a steak and some garlic - even if it was a super expensive steak and black garlic.

He looked at the ceiling. "It is about you touching my shit without asking. It is about you leaving your things on the kitchen table when I need it to work-" he clenched his jaw. "I'm sick and tired of not knowing where anything is in my own fucking apartment!"

You had organized the closet to fit your stuff, and put Carmy's vintage denim and your bigger dresses in storage. You still had to get a desk for your sewing machine and work stuff, in the meantime it had stayed on the kitchen table, which, in your defense, had remained unused for most of your stay.

"Why didn't you say anything?" you asked in exasperation. "I've been living here for three weeks! You could have said something instead of bottling it up until it was-" you gestured vaguely in his direction, "whatever this is!"

"I like you being here, I didn't want to scare you off!" Carmy groaned.

"Carm, did you think I would leave if we didn't agree on where the shirts are supposed to go?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Dunno!"

"You can tell me things, Carm!" you crossed the room until he was close enough to touch. His eyes looked like the sky before a storm. "You can tell me anything."

"Then why are you so fucking mad?" he said defiantly.

"Because I don't like when you yell at me like I'm just another chef in your fucking kitchen," you said, it was something you had been keeping quiet since your fight started. "I'm not getting paid to put up with this shit."

It struck Carmy completely quiet. And you regretted it the moment it left your lips. You had almost found some middle ground and you had trampled all over it. He took a step closer and stared at you, his eyes dark and angry, the space between you felt charged.

Before you knew what was going on, he grabbed you by the back of the neck and kissed you roughly, biting on your lips, mouth wide open. You pressed on his chest with your hands - you were still too mad at him. But his hands were strong and his tongue was relentless and you could feel yourself getting wet from the mixture of anger and lust - and who knew those two emotions were so close to each other?

"Fuck, I can stop," he said, barely separating his lips from yours, breathing hard. "You want that?"

You pulled on his shirt, bringing him towards you, kissing him back with just as much fervor. Then, using that same grasp, you moved him to the edge of the bed and pushed him hard, his curls bouncing as he fell on his back.

"I want you to fucking apologize, Carmen," you climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. You leaned over and trapped his wrists with your hands, above his head. Even putting all your strength into it, he could wiggle himself free at any moment, but he didn't; he stayed down and looked at you hungrily.

"I'm sorry," he said, a little too cocky for your taste, a smirk barely hidden on the side of his face.

You ground your hips against his, feeling his cock harden underneath you. He rolled his eyes and arched his neck. He looked beautiful, like a marble statue.

"What was that?" you asked, stopping your movement abruptly and getting close to his face.

He whined. "I'm sorry," and it sounded more truthful this time.

"Mhmm, that's more like it."

You kept holding both of Carmy's wrists with one hand, while the other moved downward, going underneath his shirt and playing with his nipple, massaging and pinching gently until he closed his eyes and hummed in bliss. Then you stopped.

"Fuck you," he said, letting out some leftover venom from your fight.

You smirked - why was this so hot?

You got your answer immediately after, when Carmy got free and turned you over, fast and aggressive, like he rarely was in the bedroom. He caged you with his arms and legs, all taut muscle and shaking breaths.

"What about you?" he said, his voice low.

"What about me?" you tilted your head. "I apologized like ten times, Carm. And I meant it."

"You said some fucked up things just now," his breath tickled your face as he studied you from every angle, like he was a wild animal and you were his prey.

"I did," you admitted. You arched your neck, trying to get close and... What? Kiss him? Bite him? You weren't sure. He put one hand on your throat, not quite a caress, closing his tattooed fingers around it. You squeezed your thighs together, blood flowing with need. "I meant some of that too."

"Which part?"

"That I don't like when you yell at me," you said honestly, the moment a little cheapened with how horny you sounded.

"That all?" Carmy's voice had turned hoarse from screaming and you wished you didn't find it so attractive.

"Yeah," you exhaled.

"Good," he said dryly and got up, freeing you, but you remained immobile.

Suddenly, he yanked hard on your jeans and underwear, leaving you bare in seconds.

"Fuck, Carmy."

You hated how needy you sounded, how wrecked you felt as he licked his hand and finally put his fingers inside you, how good he was at making you crumble... You let out a pleading and pathetic sound as he touched your clit roughly and finger fucked you a little too hard.

Then, he took his fingers out without a warning, leaving you empty and out of breath; his hands ghosted the insides of your thighs. You grabbed at his wrist, begging to be touched again. Carmy climbed on the bed instead, hovering above you, kissing you ferociously.

"Eager?" he teased when you started raising your hips to rub on his jeans.

"Impatient," you replied, trying to wind him up.

It worked - his eyes darkened again.

"Hands above your head," he ordered and you obeyed. He took your shirt off carelessly, your bra was almost spilling out with how forceful he was being but he didn't bother taking it off. The whole thing was angry, urgent, and so fucking hot. Carmy was undoing his belt and you used the pause to scoot backwards, just enough to reach your bedside table.

"Hurry the fuck up!" You threw a condom at him, hitting him square on the face.

Carmy gave you a look that was half exasperation, half amused lust. He unbuttoned his jeans just enough to take his cock out, then threw the empty wrapper back at you. He grabbed your legs and dragged you closer, forcefully, the duvet wrinkling underneath you.

"I swear I'm gonna-"

You didn't let him finish. You fisted the collar of his t-shirt and brought him down to kiss, biting on his lower lip, then soothing with your tongue. You opened your legs wide and tugged at the belt loops of his jeans - there was something arousing about him being almost completely clothed and you being almost naked.

"Fuck me, please, fuck me," you begged into his mouth, way past any sense of pride you had at the beginning of the fight. Carmy wasn't any better, rushing to obey the moment you said it.

"Fucking need it," he groaned as he entered you. It wasn't clear if he was talking about you or him - not that you had time to think about it before he started pounding into you. You felt every inch of Carmy's cock as it went in and out.

"So fucking good," you rasped to the side of his face. It spurred him on and made him go faster and harder - your moans got louder and louder. He covered your mouth with his hand.

"The fucking mouth on you," he mumbled low. You clenched your pussy in retaliation and watched as he rolled his eyes and lost his rhythm. "Holy shit, you're gonna kill me."

You ran your hands under his shirt, tracing the contour of his muscles, feeling them quiver and strain as Carmy tried his damnedest to keep going, one hand on the mattress and the other keeping you quiet. Part of you smiled in satisfaction knowing he was getting tired and wouldn't last.

"Shit. Fuck me," he whined and stopped for a moment, sweating and panting. He finally uncovered your mouth, conceding defeat.

"Want me to take over?" you asked with a chuckle.

Carmy sighed and fell on the mattress beside you. "Still mad at you," he said, the sound pitiful with how hard he was breathing.

"Good to know," you climbed on top of him, straddling, lowering yourself on his cock, making him arch his back with pleasure. "I'm still mad too."

You rode him mercilessly, your hips slamming against his, hands on his chest, his eyes marveling at the bounce of your breasts. You took him right to the edge and left him hanging, the veins of his neck bulging as he groaned in frustration.

You clicked your tongue, swaying gently. "Not coming until I do."

"Yeah?" he arched his eyebrows, taking the challenge for what it was.

His hand moved from gripping your hip to where your bodies connected, his thumb finding your clit and caressing it. Your legs shook involuntarily, a spark going through you.

He grinned.

"Oh, fuck you," you sighed, your neck arched, looking at the ceiling while you bounced on his cock. He knew just what he was doing - making you tremble and moan with every gentle touch.

"Come on," he urged you, meeting your thrusts, fucking into you, hitting your G spot almost by mistake.

"Fuck," you gasped, biting your lip to stop from screaming.

You rode him much faster, something desperate and feral taking over you. Carmy's eyes widened when your walls started fluttering around his cock.

"Are you-? Can I-?" he asked in a choked out voice.

"Yes, yes," you managed to say, squeezing the wrist of the hand that was touching your clit so deliciously as your orgasm started taking over every one of your senses. "Yes, Carmy."

He tensed underneath you, flushed all over, eyes closed, and his lips forming a beautiful 'O'. You stared, waiting patiently for him to open his eyes.

He looked up at you, soft, grateful, a smile curling his lips.

"C'mere," he beckoned you downwards, meeting you with relieved kisses, breathy laughter filling the space between you. He caressed your back, tugging on your bra straps until you were somewhat covered again. The tenderness of the gesture warmed you all over.

"You okay?" Carmy asked and you nodded, nuzzling your nose against his in the process. A pause. "Hey. I am sorry. I was angry and-"

"I know," you fixed his hair, all sweaty and sticking on his forehead. "I'm sorry too."

He kissed your shoulder lovingly.

"I like you being here," he said. "I just- I need time to figure it out. That okay?"

"Yeah," you traced the line of his nose with your finger. "We'll figure it out together, baby."

You kissed him sweetly and he rolled you over to your side.

"I'll go to the thrift store tomorrow," you said, cupping his face. "Buy a desk and shit."

Carmy smiled. "I'll fix the pantry. Put labels on my shit. Make room for your things."

"I think that's the most romantic thing you've said to me," you joked, giggling when he tickled your sides.

"Shut the fuck up!"

He laughed with you, leaving kisses on your face and throat.

You woke up to the sound of Carmy talking in his sleep. Most of it was gibberish, quiet mumbles as he thrashed on the bed, the one word you could make out was 'Mikey' - over and over. He winced and let out a pained sound. You got closer and held him, your arm across his chest.

You knew he had nightmares, you'd been there for a couple of them, but sleeping every night with him meant you saw much more of it. It broke your heart how many you had missed, how bad he hurt...

"It's okay, Carmy," you soothed softly. "I'm here, baby, it's okay."

He woke up with a startle, breathing fast.

"Fuck, sorry," he sat up and ran his hands over his face. "Bad dream."

"I know," you waited for him to settle, giving him space.

After a while, he laid back next to you. You moved slowly, gently, touching the side of his face and caressing his hair, calming him down.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Uh," Carmy looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard, "there was a fire. Just so much smoke," he cleared his throat. "And, uh, Mike was there." There was a long pause. "Did I ever tell you he planned to set the restaurant on fire?"

"What?" you froze.

He hummed. "To cash the insurance money, you know," he reached for your free hand, intertwining your fingers and bringing them close to his chest; his heart was pounding.

"I'm sorry, Carm," you waited for him to say something but he stayed silent, vacant. "It feels so weird that I never met him."

"Probably for the better, to be honest," he said dryly. There was something dark about the way he said it.

"Hey," you squeezed his hand, trying to ground him. "What'd you like about him?"

"About Mike?" he said looking at you. "Uh- He was warm. He told the best stories, took care of Nat and me, gave the best hugs... A real big brother, you know?"

You nodded.

"Started getting tattoos because of him," he said, flexing his hands to show the ink on them. "He was so cool, and I wanted to be that."

"I think you're pretty cool," you said sweetly, kissing his knuckles.

"Thanks," he said through a sad smile. "Richie says he was all wrong by the end of it..."

"Wrong how?"

"He wasn't warm anymore, he was, uh, like a fryer fire, I guess. His stories didn't make sense. Kept forgetting shit. A mess, you know?"

"Maybe that's why he pushed you away," you said softly. You knew Carmy felt guilty for his time in New York. "He wanted you to remember him like he was before."

"Maybe," he conceded, looking up at the ceiling.

You stayed like that for a while, caressing his arm, tracing lines on his skin.

"Would you-" he said, then stopped.

You turned to face him. "Yes?"

"Would you hold me?" Carmy asked, his blue eyes open and vulnerable.

"Of course," you smiled and shifted on the bed to spoon him, his back to your chest, your arms around him, leaving gentle kisses on his shoulder blade. You could feel his heartbeat settle as he went back to sleep.

"Love you, Carm," you said right before you drifted off.

You woke up to the feeling of Carmy kissing your face softly. You hummed, content. When you opened your eyes, the bright light of late morning was all over your bedroom.

"Didn't hear you coming in last night," you said, your voice raspy with sleep.

"Got in late. Bad day," he raised his hand to touch your hair, staring at the way it caught the light. "Nat forced me to take today off."

"That bad?" you asked, a little concerned.

Carmy moved his fingers to the worry lines on your face, soothing.

"Not really. Someone talked about work life balance in her last Al-family meeting and she's all about that shit right now," he smiled. You loved to see how he looked soft with sleep, relaxed for a little while.

"Have I told you I really like her?"

"You might have," he said playfully, then leaned over to kiss you. It was a gentle thing, his lips lazy on yours and his body flushed as he hugged you.

You took his shirt off, not out of lust, just wanting to get more warmth from his skin on yours. You slowly started kissing his tattoos. You liked the ones on his arms and hands; they were familiar, whenever you thought of Carmy it was the image you conjured. But you loved his other tattoos, the ones nobody else saw, the secrets he kept and only shared with you. You left kisses on his shoulder and his chest, running your fingers on the ink on his ribs and right above his hip bone.

"I've missed you, Carm," you confessed.

It had been a hectic couple of weeks. You had barely seen each other, mostly just sleeping on the same bed, saying good night and good morning before each of you left for work.

"Missed you too," he replied.

His hands roamed your body, tugging gently at the fabric of your sleep shirt, helping you out of it, all while kissing you. You melted in his arms, pliant as he rolled you over and started leaving pecks on your skin.

"Carmy," you sighed. His lips left imprints on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, and your chest. He stayed there, kissing the top of your breasts, the side, the valley between them, and your nipples. Your pulse was racing and you wondered whether he could feel it with his mouth.

"You're so soft," he said, his exhale giving you goosebumps. "Smell so nice."

"You smell nice too, baby," you giggled. Carmy's hair still had a lavender-like scent from his night shower.

"Mmm..."

He kept kissing. Your belly, your hip, the wrinkle that formed between your mound and your thigh. There was something so like devotion in the way that he moved; it wasn't about filling some selfish need to get his dick wet, he wanted you to feel loved.

"C’mere," you called him back up, to kiss his lips fervently, your hands buried in his hair. When you parted, he smiled, his eyes were still sleepy. He looked so comfortable, so soft...

Your hand traced again that tattoo on his hip, then moved downward, to the hair on his navel, and lower, touching him over his boxers. He was half hard, his nose buried in your neck. When he groaned, his chest rumbled against yours.

"So nice," he said. "’m too fucking tired to fuck you like you deserve, though."

Your free hand caressed the back of Carmy's neck, holding him closer.

"Just want you to relax, make you feel good," you whispered, moving the hand on his cock back and forth, slow, loving.

He moaned, then shifted a little on the bed. You didn't realize why he was moving until his hand snaked its way inside your shorts.

"Oh," you squirmed a little at the feeling of his fingers.

"Too cold?" Carmy asked.

"No, it's okay," you leaned to kiss him. "It's okay," you repeated.

You kept on touching and kissing, everything in that sort of clumsy haze, one of your legs over his. You needed this: being with him without the rush of being late, no urgency, no fucking as fast as you could before Carmy had to run to the restaurant. You had all the time in the world - you could count the freckles on his face and stare at the blue in his eyes as he mumbled sweet nothings into the morning air.

His free hand touched your wrist, guiding it to the head of his cock, the sluggish rhythm you had set just enough to make him roll his eyes and kiss you hard, drowning a whine against your lips as he released.

"Love you so much," Carmy mumbled.

You kissed the side of his face. "I love you, I love you," your voice came out choked and high.

Without you noticing, the constant massaging between your folds had built up too. You came with a long exhale, closing your eyes for a moment, lightly squeezing his side.

"Wanna stay here forever," he said after a while of just looking at you and caressing your back.

"Just sleeping and fucking all day," you replied tiredly.

"I'd like that."

[Deleted Scene]

[Part 8]

@th3h0nkz @faephoria @wadupppp

#reader moves in with carmy; shenanigans ensue!#it's three separate days/nights in case it wasn't clear lol #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x you #carmy berzatto smut

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nastybuckybarnes · 2 years

Text

Riding Lessons - Two

Pairing: Dbf!Bucky X Reader

Summary: It’s your dad’s summer barbecue and all his friends are there. Including the man who’s spent every moment he can with his head between your thighs. The only problem? He’s brought another woman.

Warnings: Language, Light Angst, Fluff, Smut (oral (f receiving), pussy slapping, choking, degradation, kinda rough, breeding kink, slight voyeurism, name calling), Age Gap (Reader is 21, Bucky is mid-forties),

Word Count: 3.4K

A/n: here’s part two for you guys! I’m shocked at the response to part one, so thank you guys so much!! I love you all and I hope you enjoy this!

Part one

~*~

“C’mon down, Kiddo! Everyone’s here! You gotta make an appearance!” Your dad shouts from the bottom of the stairs, waiting until you finally emerge to head back to the kitchen.

He’s been planning this summer barbecue for weeks, and now the backyard is packed full of people who are all his age, drinking and laughing and having a good time.

And then there’s you.

You’ve been cooped up in your room since the first guest arrived, but it wasn’t his presence that made you hideaway. No, it’s the plus one on his arm.

Bucky showed up an hour early with a blonde woman clinging to his arm and kissing his cheek.

The smirk on his face when his eyes met yours was enough to hurt your heart and bruise your ego, so you took your leave.

Since that first riding lesson, he’s been around far more often, and each time he takes any opportunity to get you alone. Whether that’s to bury his face between your legs or push you to your knees in front of him.

But he hasn’t fucked you since that first night. The night when he ruined all other men for you.

And now he’s showing up with a broad on his arm as if he’s not your property.

As you walk down the stairs you realize that maybe he’s not your property, and if that’s the case then you sure as Hell aren’t his.

“There you are! Everyone’s been asking where you are,” your dad says when you step into the kitchen.

Your eyes dart around the room and relief and disappointment play tug-of-war with your heart when you don’t see Bucky.

Instead, Steve and Sam are there, each of them smiling at you.

“Your dad says you learned how to ride a motorcycle, huh?” Steve asks, stepping forward and offering you a drink.

You take the cool can from him and pop it open, nodding your confirmation.

“Yup! I went on the highway for the first time the other day. I understand why you guys like it so much.”

He chuckles and nods, “we’ll have to take you with us one day. Go for a long ride on a nice day. Nothing beats that.”

You nod again, your smile fading slightly when Bucky walks into the kitchen.

“This is where you guys are? I thought the party was outside?” He jokes, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer.

“Just getting a couple things ready. Sam, you wanna bring the steaks out to the barbecue, and Steve could you grab those two bags of ice for the cooler?”

The two men are quick to help your dad, and you feel your heart drop as you realize that you might be left alone with the man you’re avoiding.

Within seconds, it’s just you and him, and his eyes are burning holes into your forehead.

“If I didn’t know any better, baby girl, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

You purse your lips and shrug, stepping toward the back door only for him to step directly in your path.

You sidestep him and crane your neck back to look up at him, “I don’t see how it concerns you. You brought your own arm candy.”

His eyebrows raise to his hairline as you step outside.

“You jealous, sweetheart?”

You don’t answer, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he has on you, though you’re sure he already knows.

Instead, you head outside and look for anyone you know that would make good conversation.

Settling on Steve and Sam again, you walk in their direction, only for a firm hand to come around your wrist and tug you backwards.

You inhale sharply, looking up at Bucky as he pulls you back into the kitchen and closes the door to the backyard.

“I asked you a question, Princess. You know I don’t like to repeat myself. Or do you not remember?”

You remember.

By God, do you remember.

He’d fucked your throat so hard that you couldn’t speak for two days, and you loved every minute of it.

“Let me go, James. You came here with someone, and I doubt she wants to see your hands on someone else.”

Shock colours his features and he stares at you for a long moment before grabbing you by the waist and shoving you over the counter.

He flips your skirt up and smacks your ass hard, once, twice, three times, until you’re biting your lip to hold back your yelps and whines.

“I don’t like this attitude from you. What happened to my good girl? Huh? Where did she go? Do I need to fuck this attitude out of you? Is that what it is?” His words are whispered harshly and you whimper, your eyes locked on the party outside.

“Y-you brought a girl… it’s not fair…” You’re not sure if it’s not fair for you or for her, but you know that this isn’t right.

Nothing about this is right, but that’s never stopped you before.

“Yeah, and she knows that she’s just arm candy, ‘cause a certain bratty twenty-one-year-old has the best pussy I’ve ever had, and that bratty little bitch has me addicted.”

Your cunt clenches at his words and you hide your face in your hands, hating the fact that everything this man does turns you on.

He slides his fingers over your centre and groans at the feeling of your wet core dripping through your panties.

“These are coming off. They’re mine now.” He yanks them down your legs then brings them up to his face, taking a deep breath through his nose and groaning lowly.

“God, I need to have this pussy in my mouth. Never tasted anything better, honey, I swear.” He drops to his knees behind you and pushes your legs apart slightly, then traces your slit with his tongue.

You pull in a shaky breath and push onto your elbows, dropping your head as his tongue finds your clit.

“Bucky,” you whisper, arching your back slightly to give him better access to your dripping heat.

He devours you like you’re the first meal he’s had in days, drinking up everything you have to offer and paying special attention to your clit.

“Cum on my tongue, pretty girl, c’mon. I wanna feel you cream on my face.”

You let out a choked moan, your eyes snapping open when you hear a voice approaching the kitchen door.

You push up until you’re almost standing straight, but Bucky smacks your ass once harshly in warning.

“Don’t even try to move, sweetheart. I’m not finished with you. Stay quiet, like the good girl I know you can be.”

You nod, reaching across the counter for a phone to make it seem like you’re busy doing something other than getting eaten out by your dad’s best friend.

“You found your way back inside, huh?” Steve asks after sliding the door open, an easy grin on his face.

“Yeah, it’s, uh, it’s really hot outside,” you whisper, terrified of bringing your voice any higher because you know you’ll moan.

Bucky’s lips wrap around your clit, sucking harshly, and you bite your bottom lip so hard you taste blood.

“Yeah, it’s summer. It’s usually pretty hot,” Steve says with a chuckle, reaching into the fridge to grab a bowl of potato salad.

“C’mon, food’s almost ready.”

You nod, squeezing the phone tighter in your hands when Bucky slides two thick fingers inside you.

“I-I’ll be out in a minute. I just gotta... sen a text...” It’s taking all your self-control not to reach behind you and thread your fingers through Bucky’s hair.

You’re so fucking close.

You can feel your legs trembling and your walls fluttering, but Steve is still in the fucking kitchen.

“You kids and your phones.” He shakes his head and leaves the kitchen, and you groan immediately after, pressing your forehead to the counter and leaning your hips back into Bucky's face more.

He fucks his fingers into you faster, massaging your g-spot every time his fingers slide into your heat, and his mouth works your clot in time with his fingers.

“Bucky… Bucky I’m gonna cum, oh fuck, please, please let me cum.”

He groans against your heat and sucks your clit harder, his tongue working over the bud while his fingers assault your walls.

A choppy moan leaves your lips and you bite your forearm to try and suppress the noise as you cream on his face.

Your legs tremble and your cunt flutters around his fingers, and he slurps up every drop of your essence that he can reach with his talented tongue.

“Fuck, you taste like heaven,” he whispers, placing a kiss on your throbbing clit then pulling his fingers from your core. You can hear the filthy sound of him sucking them clean, and then he’s rubbing the backs of your thighs gently in comfort.

“You okay, honey?”

With a soft whimper, you nod, allowing him to pull you into his arms and hug you softly.

“Good. Now, go on and eat.”

You nod again and he smiles before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Good girl.”

~*~

You nibble on a piece of watermelon, eyes focused on Bucky as he talks and laughs with your dad as if he didn’t just have his face buried between your thighs.

“You okay, kid? You seem kinda distracted today,” Steve says gently, nudging your knee with his.

You snap your gaze to his and nod, taking a deep breath then smiling.

“Yeah, I just… I didn’t get a good sleep last night. I’m kinda tired.”

He nods sympathetically and pats your shoulder, ”do you want me to go grab you a red bull or something? Make you some coffee?”

You smile warmly at him and shake your head, “I’m okay, thank you though. I think I just need some water.” You rise to your feet and make your way inside, trying your best to walk normally even though you can feel eyes boring into your back.

When you get inside you go straight to the bathroom to splash cool water on your face.

You can’t keep doing this.

Keep letting him have his way with you and pretend nothing happened. You’re gonna slip up one day and then it’s gonna be game over.

As your mind starts to race to all the worst-case scenarios, the doorknob turns.

“Uh, occupied!” You call.

The doorknob continues turning and then the door is pushed open, and the man who plagued your every thought is standing there.

“Running away again?” He asks, a cocky grin on his face.

Your eyes go wide and you look over his shoulder to make sure no one’s coming.

“You’re gonna get us caught!” You hiss, yanking him into the bathroom and shutting the door.

He only laughs, “yeah, but that’s why you like it so much. Every time we almost get caught, you cum harder,” he says matter-of-factly

“Okay, what if I was peeing? And you just walked in?”

He shrugs, “then I guess I’d just wait till you’re finished to do this.” He spins you around and pushes you toward the bathroom counter, hoisting one of your legs up to rest your knee on the granite.

Your eyes meet his in the mirror as his fingers find your sore centre, rubbing gently.

“B-Bucky we can’t…”

He raises a single brow at your half-hearted protests and slides a finger into your abused heat, chuckling softly when you clamp down on it.

“Yeah, nice try, Princess. This,” he pulls his finger out to slap your pussy, making a startled gasp fall from your lips, “belongs to me. It’s mine. And I’ll use it whenever and however I want, got it?”

You nod your understanding, watching in the mirror as he slowly unbuckles his pants and shoved them down his legs.

His boxers come next, the material stretching over his thick, tanned thighs, and then his cock springs free.

All nine and a half inches -“that half is important, sweetheart, trust me”- of thick, cut, sinful glory, and he’s been saving it for you.

He shoves your dress up until you’re holding it at your chest with one hand, the other braced on the mirror.

You can see his cock sliding through your folds, the weeping tip rubbing against your clit with each pass, and the sight alone is enough to have your mouth watering.

“Yeah, you like that? Hmm?” He asks, his voice low and teasing as he watches your face in the mirror.

Your mouth is slightly open, heavy breaths falling from those fuckable lips, and your eyes are half-closed, focused on where his cock is rubbing against you.

“Gonna let me fuck a baby into you, pretty girl? You gonna be a good girl for me? Let me make you a mommy?”

He feels your cunt flutter and watches the way your brows draw together, a grin on his face.

Bracing himself with one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, he pulls his hips back entirely only to push them forward, spearing into you in one quick thrust.

The breath is knocked from your lungs at the stretch of his fat cock in your heat, and a long moan falls from your mouth.

He slaps his hand across your lips, silencing you as much as he can, and you huff a breath through your nose at the force behind it.

“Sorry, babygirl, but you know you can’t be that loud with so many people around. It’s like you wanna get caught. Like you want someone to walk in while I’m balls deep in your tight snatch. Is that what you want, you filthy slut?”

You shake your head but tears spring to your eyes as he starts moving his hips, each pull and push dragging against your g-spot and making your nerves burst.

“Fuck, you feel so good, babygirl. Like your pussy was made for me. Fuck... tightest little cunt I’ve ever fucked.” His words are whispered in your ear as he pulls your head back to be closer to his, his eyes locked on yours in the mirror.

“Yeah, that’s right. You watch as I fuck your tight little hole. Look at how well you’re taking me, honey. Like a champ.”

You nod desperately, tears falling down your cheeks and dripping into his hand.

A light sheen of sweat covers your body as you meet his thrusts, and the contrast of the cool tile against your knee and the mirror on your hand only add to the sensations running laps through your body.

“Tears again? C’mon, crybaby, I thought you were a big girl.”

Your pussy flutters and you whine into his palm, eyes stuck on where he's fucking you.

There’s a sudden, sharp knock on the door that has your heart in your throat and your cunt squeezing the life out of Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his thrusts not slowing.

“Occupied!” He shouts, his voice masking a vicious smack to your ass that has pain prickling. He soothes the sting, rubs the area, and presses a kiss to the back of your head.

“Hurry up, Buck, you’ve been in there for so long,” Steve’s voice rumbles from behind the door.

Bucky drops his head back and holds back a curse when you clench around him again at the sound of Steve’s voice.

“Yeah, I’m almost done. Can’t finish with you standing there.”

Steve grumbles something under his breath, and then his footsteps trail away from the door.

“You want him to catch you? You want him to know what a desperate cumslut I make you? How you turn into a stupid drool baby the moment you see cock? Is that what you want, crybaby?”

You nod desperately, more tears flowing as the coil in your belly tightens.

“Yeah, I bet you want him to fuck you too, huh? You want his cock in your tight little ass while I fuck this pussy? Or maybe, you want him to fuck that cute face so he can see how pretty you look when you cry.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as your release slams into you like a freight train, sending you spiralling through a tunnel of bliss that has you seeing stars.

Your body goes slack against the counter, chest falling forward only to be caught by Bucky’s strong arms.

“I’m not finished with you yet, crybaby.” The nickname shouldn’t make you gush around him, but it does.

He fucks you through your orgasm, not giving you even a moment to rest as his hips slam into your ass, surely leaving bruises.

You groan softly, rivers rushing down your cheeks and finding a new home in the neckline of your sundress.

He smacks your ass then wraps his hand around your throat, cutting off your air and watching your face in the mirror.

Your mouth opens as you struggle to breathe, the tears never ceasing, and Bucky can’t stop himself from cumming.

His hips stutter to a stop as he paints your walls white, his potent cum coating your cervix and warming you from the inside.

His hand drops away from your throat and you suck in a heavy breath, hiccuping a sob as you lean against him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers, his eyes closed as he holds you tightly against his body.

As he comes down from his high, his eyes find yours in the mirror.

All pretty and puffy and bloodshot, watching him intently.

“You okay, pretty baby? I wasn’t too rough?” He asks softly, his hands moving to cradle you against his body.

You sniffle and nudge him back with your elbow, giving you enough room to scoot off the counter and turn around in his arms.

You nuzzle your nose against his chest and settle in his arms, your tears slowly ceasing.

“You okay, honey?” He asks again, nervous he was too rough with you.

You sniffle and nod, looking up at him when he tilts your chin up.

“Words, Angel. I need words.”

You sniffle and swallow hard, “I'm okay.”

He raises his eyebrows and you nod.

“I’m okay, I promise.”

He watches you for a moment longer before nodding and kissing your lips gently.

“I’m gonna go get you a glass of water, sweet girl. You stay here. I’ll clean you up in a minute.”

You nod and lean against the counter as he fixes his clothes and leaves, still trying to catch your breath and calm your heart down.

A few moments later, the door opens again.

“That was quick,” you whisper, your voice scratchy and hoarse.

“Try again, crybaby.”

Your eyes snap up as Steve steps into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself.

Dread swells in your stomach and you shake your head as his eyes roam your figure.

“I-I...”

He brings his eyes back to yours and cocks his head to the side, giving you a grin.

“C’mon now, you guys weren’t exactly quiet. S’like you were begging me to hear you.”

New tears well up and rain down your face and you shake your head desperately.

“Please don’t tell anyone. Please.”

He shushes you softly and steps closer, one hand cupping your face.

“I won’t, honey. I swear. I just... wanna get in on the action.”

Your brows draw together, and then the door opens again.

Bucky pushes inside, freezing for a moment while taking in the scene before himself.

“Outta the way, punk,” he says easily, coming up beside you and lifting you to sit on the counter.

He brings the glass of water up to your mouth and you drink eagerly, your eyes flickering nervously between the two huge men in the bathroom.

“Was wondering when you’d finally get your head out of your ass,” Bucky says nonchalantly, his gaze never leaving your face.

You choke on the water, coughing and sputtering, and Bucky sets the glass down while Steve pats your back gently, wiping a few drops from your chin then popping his finger into his mouth.

“Didn’t wanna interrupt. You guys sounded pretty busy.”

The brunet smiles, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks again.

“You okay?”

You nod slowly, a million questions in your eyes.

“Steve’s not gonna do anything you don’t want him to, okay? You say stop and he stops. And he won’t breathe a word of this to dear old dad. Scout’s honour.”

You nibble on your bottom lip for a moment then look over at Steve.

“What... what exactly do you want to do?”

He smiles and steps closer to you, pulling you to the edge of the counter then dropping to his knees in front of you.

“Lift up that pretty dress and I’ll show you.”

#bucky x reader #dbf!bucky x reader #daddy!bucky #bucky x innocent!reader #bucky x innocent reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky x reader age gap #bucky x reader lemon #diff!bucky x reader #diff!bucky #Bucky Barnes smut

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arctic monkeys for q magazine, june 2011 (x) (x)

ARCTIC MONKEYS: Inside Alex Turner's Head

Words Sylvia Patterson Portrait John Wright

The day Arctic Monkeys moved into their six bedroom, Spanish-style villa in the Hollywood Hills, where the first-floor balcony looked over the patio swimming pool, they knew exactly what to do.

"From the balcony, you could get on t'roof and jump in't pool," chirps the Monkeys' most gregarious member, drummer Matt Helders, in his homely Yorkshire way. "We looked at it and said, That's definitely gonna happen. So by the end, we did a couple of 'em. Somersaults in t'pool, from the roof. At night time."

In January 2011, as Sheffield and the rest of Britain endured its bitterest winter in a century, Arctic Monkeys capered among the palm trees, eschewing hotels for a millionaire's Hollywood homestead as they recorded and mixed their fourth studio album, Suck It and See.

The four Monkeys, alongside producer James Ford and engineer James Brown, lived what they called the "American man thing": watched Super Bowl on giant TVs, played ping-pong, hired two Mustangs, cooked cartoon Tom And Jerry-sized steaks on barbecues on Sundays, had girlfriends over to visit, all cooking and drinking around the colossal outdoor kitchen area featuring a fridge and two dishwashers. Living atop the Hills, they could see the Pacific Ocean beyond by day, the infinite glittering lights of downtown LA by night.

Every day, en route to Sound City Studios, they'd travel in a seven-seater four-by-four through the mountains, via bohemian 60s enclave Laurel Canyon, blaring out the tunes: The Stones Roses, The Cramps, the Misfits' Hollywood Babylon. For the sometime teenage art-punk renegades whose guitarist, Jamie Cook, was once ejected from London's Met Bar for refusing to pay €22 for two beers, the comedy rock'n'roll life still feels, however, absolutely nothing like reality.

NICK O'MALLEY: "It were really as if we were on holiday. When we came back it's the most post-holiday blues I've ever had!"

JAMIE COOK: "It's hard to comment on that. It were just really good fun."

MATT HELDERS: "We always said, As soon as things like that feel normal, we're in trouble. But it's just funny. You might think it would get more and more serious as you get older but it's getting funnier. We've done four albums now and I'm still only 24, I'm still immature to an extent. So who cares?"

Alex? Al? Are you there?

ALEX TURNER: "Yeah, it were good times. But we were in the studio most of the time. So there's no real wild Hollywood stories. Hmn. Yeah."

Wednesday, 16 March 2011, Strongroom Bar, Shoreditch, East London, 11am. Alex Turner, 25, slips entirely alone into an empty art-crowd brasserie looking like an indie girl's indie dream boy: mop-top bouffant hair which coils, in curlicues, directly into his cheekbones, army-green waist-length jacket, baggy-arsed skinny jeans, black cord zip-up cardigan, simple gold chain, supermoon sized chocolate-brown eyes.

Almost six years after I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor became the indie-punk anthem of a generation (from the first of Arctic Monkeys' three Number 1 albums), and nothing prepares you for the curious phenomenon of Alex Turner "in conversation". Unlike so many of the Monkeys frenetic early songs, he operates in slow motion, seemingly underwater, carrying a protective shell on his back, perhaps indie rock's very own diamond-backed terrapin. The most celebrated young wordsmith in rock'n roll today talks fulsomely, in fact, only in shapeless, curling sentences punctuated with "maybe... hmn.. yeah", an anecdotal wilderness sketching pictures as vague as a cloud. He is, though, simultaneously adorable: amenable, gentle, graceful, and as Northern as a 70s grandpa who literally greets you with "ey oop?".

"People think I'm a miserable bastard," he notes, cheerfully, "but it's just the way me face falls." Still profoundly private, if not as hermetically sealed as a vacuum-packed length of Frankfurter, his fante-shy reticence extends not only to his personal life (his four-year relationship with It-girl/TV presenter Alexa Chung, whom he never mentions) but to insider details generally. Take the Monkeys’ Hollywood high jinks documented above: not one word of it was described by Turner. Before Q was informed by his other Monkey bandmates, Turner’s anecdotal aversion unfolded like this:

Describe the lovely villa you were in. AT: "Well... we certainly had a... good view."

Of what? AT: "Well, we were up quite high."

The downtown LA lights going on forever? AT: "I dunno. It was definitely that thing of getting a bit of sort of sunshine. Is it vitamin D? If you can get vitamin D on your record, you've got a bit of a head start. So we'd get up and drive to the studio."

What were you driving? AT: "Nothing... spectacular. But yeah, we'd drive up the studio, spend all day there and sort of, y know, get back. To be honest... we had limited time. So we spent as much time as possible kind of getting into it, like, in the studio.

So your favourite adventures were what? AT: "Well, they were really… minimal. We were working out there!"

Any nightclubs or anything, perhaps? AT: "You really want the goss 'ere, don't you?"

Yes, please. AT: "I could make some up. Nah!"

And this was on the second time of asking. It's perhaps obvious: Alex Turner, one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation (four Monkeys albums and two EPs in five years, The Last Shadow Puppets side-project, a bewitching acoustic soundtrack for his actor/video director friend Richard Ayoade's feature-length debut Submarine), is dedicated only to the cause – of being the best he can possibly be. He simply remembers the songs much more than the somersaults.

Throughout 2009, Arctic Monkeys toured third album Humbug – the record mostly made in the Californian desert with Queens Of The Stone Age man-monolith Josh Homme – across the planet. While hardly some cranium-blistering opus, its heavier sonic meanderings considerably slowed the Arctic Monkeys' live sets and on 23 August 2009, Q watched them headline the Lowlands Festival, Holland and witnessed a hitherto unthinkable sight – swathes of perplexed Monkeys fans trudging away from the stage. With the sludge rock mood matching their cascading dude-rock hair it seemed obvious: they'd smoked way too much outrageously strong weed in the desert.

"Heheheh, yeah," responds Turner, unperturbed. "That's your theory. You probably weren't alone."

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Turner's arm is now nonchalantly draped along the back of a beaten-up brown leather sofa. He ponders his band's somewhat contrary reputation…

"I think starting the headline set at Reading with a cover of a Nick Cave tune perhaps was a bit contrary. D'youknowhat Imean?! But to be honest, that summer, at those festivals, we had a great time. And I know some fans enjoyed those sets 10 times more. And you can't just do, y’know, another Mardy Bum or whatever. Because how could you, really?"

With Humbug, notes Turner, "I went into corners I hadn't before, because I needed to see what were there," but by spring 2010 he wanted their fourth album to be "more song-based" and less lyrically "removed". He was "organised this time", studied "the good songwriters" (from Nick Cave, The Byrds and Leonard Cohen to country colossi Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline), discovered "the other three strings" on his guitar, and wrote 12 songs through the spring and summer of 2010, mostly in the fourth-floor New York flat he shared with Chung before the couple moved back to London late last summer (the New York MTV show It's On With Alexa Chung was cancelled after two seasons). The result: major-key melodies, harmonised singing and classic song structures.

At the same time he revisited the opposite extreme: bands such as Black Sabbath and The Stooges ("we wanted a few wig-outs as well"); he was also still heavily influenced by the oil-thick grinder rock of Josh Homme, who is clearly now a permanent Monkeys hero. After four months' rehearsals in London, on 8 January the Monkeys relocated to LA for five swift weeks of production and Homme came to visit, singing backing vocals on All My Own Stunts. Tequila was involved.

"Tequila is probably me favourite," manages Turner, by way of an anecdote. "But it takes a certain climate... It's not the same... in the rain. Yeah. [Looks to be contemplating a lyric] Tequila in the rain."

Vocally, he developed the caramel richness first unveiled on The Last Shadow Puppets' Scott Walker-esque The Age Of The Understatement, finding a crooner's vibrato. "Everything before was so tight,” he notes, clutching his neck. "Probably just through nerves. That's just not there any more." Suck It and See contains at least four of the most glittering, sing-along, world-class pop songs (and obvious singles) of Arctic Monkeys' career: the towering, clanging She's Thunderstorms, the summertime stunner The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, the heavenly harmonised title track and the Echo & The Bunnymen-esque jangly pop of closer That's Where You're Wrong.

Elsewhere, in typically contrary "fashion", there's preposterous head-banger bedlam (Brick By Brick, the rollicking faux-heavy rock download they released in March "just for fun", featuring vocals by Helders; Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair, and Library Pictures). News arrives that the first single proper will be Don't Sit Down 'Cause I've Moved Your Chair. Q is perplexed. Brilliantly titled, certainly, but arriving after Brick By Brick, the new album will appear to the planet as some comedy pastiche metal album for 12-year-old boys.

You've got all these colossal, summery, indie-pop classics and you've gone for... The Chair? AT: [Laughing uproariously] "The Chair! I'm now calling it The Chair, that's cool. Well for once it weren't even our suggestion. It was Laurence's (Bell, Domino label boss). And I were, Fucking too right! He's awesome. It'd be good to get a bit of fucking rock'n'roll out there, won't it? It's riffs. It's loud. It's funny."

If you don't release The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala as a single I'm going round Domino to kick Laurence's "awesome" butt. AT: "I think it'll be the next one!"

The record's title, meanwhile, could've been more enigmatically original than the un-loved phrase Suck It and See. The band, struggling with ideas due to the opposing sonic moods, invented an inspiration-conjuring ruse: to think of new names for effects pedals in the style of Tom Wolfe, Turner being long enamoured with the American author's legendarily psychedelic books The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby, "cos that just sounds awesome".

"There's the Big Muff pedal," he elaborates, "That’s the classic. I've got the Valve Slapper. And there's the Tube Screamer. So we came up with the Thunder Suckle Fuzz Canyon. And… wait till I assemble it in me mind… em… it'll come to me… The Blonde-O-Sonic Shimmer Trap. So we were going for summat like that."

A wasted opportunity?

"Nah. Because some of those things ended up in the lyrics anyway. Suck It and See was just easier."

Alex Turner, rock'n'roll's premier descriptive art-poet, still writes his lyrics long-hand in spiral-bound notebooks. "Writing lyrics is a craft that I've practised a bit now," he avers. "In me notebook it looks like sums. Theories. There's words and arrows going everywhere. There's always a few possibilities and I write the word 'OR' in a square."

For our most celebrated colloquial sketch-writer of the everyday observation (all betting pencils, boy slags and ice-cream van aggravations) the more successful he becomes, the less he orbits the ordinary. "I'm not struggling with that, to be honest," he decides. "In fact I'm enjoying writing lyrics much more than I did. Stories. Describing a picture. Um. There's quite a bit of weather and time in this one. Which is probably not reassuring. 'Oh God, he's writing about the weather.' Maybe leave that out!"

There are also some direct, funny, romantic observations: "That's not a skirt, girl, that's a sawn-off shotgun/And I only hope you've got it aimed at me..." (from the title track).

Some of your romantic quips, now, must be about Alexa. AT: "Right. Yeah. Definitely. Well... there's always been that side to our songs, when we weren't writing about... the fucking taxi rank. It's kind of inevitably... people you're with." [At the mention of Chung's name, Turner is visibly aggrieved, head sliding into his neck, terrapin-esque indeed.]

It must have been very grounding being in a proper relationship through all this madness. Because if you weren't, girls would be jumping all over your head. AT: "Em. Hmn. Well, of course that helps you to... I don't really know.. what the other way would be."

Does Alexa wonder if the lyrics are about her? AT: "Oh there's none of that. Yeah, no, there's no looking over the shoulder."

She must be curious, at least. "Maybe."

Did you ever watch Popworld? AT: [Nervous laughter] "Em! Now and again."

Did you ever see the episode where she helps Paul McCartney write a song about shoes? AT: "Ah, yeah I think so, maybe I did see that."

Well, if I was you, I'd have been thinking, "She's the one for me." AT: "Well. Yeah... maybe that would've... sealed the deal! Hmn. But maybe that wasn't when i got the ray of light. When was? Nah [buries head in hands]. I might have to go for a cigarette..."

Q can't torture him any more and joins him for a snout. Turner smokes Camels from a crumpled, sad, soft-pack and resembles a teenager again. As early song You Probably Couldn't See For The Lights But You Were Staring Straight At Me says, "Never tenser/Could all go a bit Frank Spencer…”

In January 2006, when Arctic Monkeys' Number 1 album Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not became the fastest-selling debut in UK history, inadvertently redefining the concept of autonomy and further imploding the decimated music industry (& wasn't their idea to be "the MySpace band", it was their fans': the Monkeys merely kick-started viral marketing by giving away demos at gigs), the 19- and 20-year-old Monkeys were terrible at fame. They weren't so much insurrectionary teenage upstarts as teenage innocents culturally traumatised by the peak-era fame democracy.

To their generation (born in the mid-'80s) fame was now synonymous with some-twat-off-the-telly a world of foaming tabloid hysteria where renown and celebrity meant, in fact, you were talentless. Hence their interview diffidence and receiving awards via videos dressed up as the Wizard OfOz and the Village People. Which only, ironically, made them even more celebrated and famous. (“That were a product of us just trying to hold onto the reins," thinks Turner today. "Being uncooperative.")

Q meets The Other Three one morning at 11am, in the well-appointed, empty bar of the Bethnal Green, Bast London hotel they're staying in (all three live in Sheffield, with their girlfriends, in their own homes). First to arrive is the industrious, sensible and cheerful Helders, crunching into a hangover-curing green apple. He has recovered from last year's boxing accident at the gym, which left his broken arm requiring a fitted plate. Now impressively purple-scarred, the break felt "interesting" and the doctor couldn't resist the one-armed drummer jest: "D'you like Def Leppard?"

Currently enjoying an enduring bromance with Diddy, he still doesn't feel famous, "it just doesn't feel that real, there's no paparazzi waiting for me to trip up." He and Turner, during the four-month rehearsals last year, became an accomplished roast dinner cooking duo for the band. "I reckon we could have us our own cookbook," he beams. "Pictures of us stirring, with a whisk."

O'Malley, an agreeable, twinkly-eyed 25-year-old with a strikingly deep voice and a winningly huge smile, is still coyly embarrassed by the interview process. A replacement for the departed original bass player Andy Nicholson in May 2006, he went from Asda shelf-filler to Glastonbury headliner in 13 months and still finds the Monkeys "a massive adventure". His life in Sheffield is profoundly normal – he's delighted that his new home since last October has an open-hearth fireplace: "Me parents had electric bars." He has also discovered cooking. “I’m just a pretty shit-hot housewife, most of the time," he smiles. "I cook stews, fish combinations, curries, chillies. I made a beef pho noodle soup the other day, Vietnamese, I surprised meself, had some mates round for that."

Recently, at his dad's 50th birthday bash, the party band, made up of family and friends, insisted he join them onstage "for ...The Dancefloor. So I were up there [mimes playing bass, all sheepish] and it were the wrong pitch, they didn't know the words or 'owt, going, Makin eyes... er..." He has no extra-curricular musical ambitions. "I'm happy just playing bass," he smiles. "I've never had the skill of doing songs meself. It'd be shit!"

Cook, 25, is still spectacularly embarrassed by the interview process. He perches upright, with a fixed nervous smile, newly shorn of the beard and ponytail he sported in LA: "Rockin' a pone, yeah, because I could get away with it." With his classic preppy haircut and dapper green military coat (from London's swish department store, Liberty), he looks like a handsome '40s film star. (Turner deems Cook "the band heartbreaker" and had a word with him post-LA: "I said to him, Come on, mate, you've got to get that beard shaved off. Get the girls back into us. Shift some posters.")

His life in Sheffield is also profoundly normal. He still plays Sunday League football with his local pub team, The Pack Horse FC (position, left back), remains in his long-term relationship with page-three-model-turned-make-up-artist Katie Downes and "potters about" at home, refusing to describe said home, "cos I'll get burgled".

A tiler by trade, he always vowed, should the Monkeys sign a deal, that he'd throw his trowel in a Sheffield river on his last day of work. "I never did fling me trowel," he confirms. "Probably still in me shed." He's never considered what his band represents to his generation. "I'd go insane thinking about it, I'm pretty good at not thinking about it… Oh God. I'm terrible at this!"

Back in the Strongroom Bar, Alex Turner is cloudily describing his everyday life. "I just keep meself to meself," he confounds. He mostly stays indoors and his perfect night in with Alexa is "watching loads of Sopranos. And doing roast dinners".

No longer spindle-limbed, he attends a gym and has handsomely well-defined arms – "You have to look after yourself."

Suddenly, Crying Lightning from Humbug rumbles over the bar stereo. "Wow. How about that? I was quite happy the other morning cos Brick By Brick were on the round-up goals on Soccer AM. It's still exciting when that happens. It was like Brick By Brick is real."

He spends his days writing music, "listening to records", and recommends Blues Run The Game by doomed '60s minstrel Jackson C Frank ("who's that lass?... Laura Marling, she did a cover recently), a simple, acoustic, deep and regretful stunner about missing someone on the road.

Lyrically, he cites as an example of greatness the Nick Cave B-side Little Empty Boat [from ‘97 single Into My Arms ], a comically sinister paean to a sexual power struggle: "Your knowledge is impressive and your argument is good/But I am the resurrection babe and you're standing on my foot."

"I need a hobby," he suddenly decides. "I'd like to learn another language." Since his mum is a German teacher (his dad teaches music), surely he can speak some German? "I know how to ask somebody if they've had fun at Christmas." Go on, then. "Nah!"

Where Turner's creative gifts stem from remains a contemporary rock'n'roll mystery; he became a fledgling songwriter at 16, after the gift of a guitar at Christmas from his parents. An only child, did his folks, perhaps, foresee artistic greatness? "I doubt it!" he balks. "Cos I didn't. I wasn't... a show kid." Like the others, he doesn't analyse the past, or the future.

"You can't constantly be thinking about what's happened," he reasons, "it's just about getting on with it." The elaborate pinky ring he now constantly wears, however, a silver, gold and ruby metal-goth corker featuring the words DEATH RAMPS is a permanent reminder of he and his best friends’ past. The Death Ramps is not only a Monkeys pseudonym and B-side to Teddy Picker, but a place they used to ride their bikes in Sheffield as kids.

"Up in the woods near where we lived," he nods. "Just little hills. But when you're eight years old they're death ramps." The ring was custom made by a friend of his, who runs top-end rock'n'roll jewellery emporium The Great Frog near London's Carnaby Street. Ask Turner why he thinks the chase between his writing and speaking eloquence is quite so mesmerisingly vast and he attempts a theory.

"Well, writing isn't the same as speaking," he muses. "Not for me. I seem to struggle more and more with... conversation. Talking onstage... I can't do it any more. Hmn. I'll have to work on that."

The ever-helpful Helders has a better theory.

"Since he's been writing songs," he ponders, “It seems like he’s always thinking about that. So even when he’s talking to you now, he’s thinking about the next thing that rhymes with a word. Even when he’s driving. We joke he’s a bad driver, his focus is never 100 per cent on what he’s doing. Which is good for us cos it means he’s got another 12 songs up his sleeve. I think music must be the easiest way for him to be concise and get everything out. Otherwise his head would explode.”

The Shoreditch.com photo studios, 18 March. Alex Turner, today, is more ethereally distracted than ever, transfixed by the studio iPod, playing Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, a version of I’d Rather Go Blind. Occasionally, he’ll completely lose his conversational thread, “Um. I’ve dropped a stitch.”

The first to arrive for Q’s photoshoot, he greets his incoming bandmates with enormous hugs (and also hugs them goodbye). Today, Q feels it’s pointless poking its pickaxe of serious enquiry further into Turner’s vacuum-packed soul and wonders if he’ll play, instead, a daft game. It’s called Popworld Questions, as first posed by someone he knows rather well.

“Oh, OK. Let’s do it,” he blinks, now perched in an empty dressing room. He then vigorously shakes his head, “Um…I’ve gotta snap back into it.”

Here, then, are some genuine “Alexa Chung on Popworld” questions (2006-2007), as originally posed to Matt Willis, Amy Winehouse, Robbie Williams, Pussycat Dolls, Kaiser Chiefs and Diddy.

Why do indie bands wear such tight jeans? AT: “Um. I supposed they do. They haven’t always. When we first were playing I was definitely in flares. You need to be quite tall to get the full effect, though. So, that's why this indie band wears such tight jeans, cos we've not got the legs for flares."

What makes you tick in the sexy department? AT: "Wow. Pass. What do I find most attractive in a woman? Something in the head? That's definitely a requirement. Well... Hmn. I'm struggling."

Tell us about all the lovely groupies. AT: "No!"

If dogs had human hands instead of paws, would you consider trying to teach them to play the piano? AT: "Absolutely. I'd teach Hey Jude."

How many plums d'you think you can comfortably fit in one hand? AT: "They're not very big. [Holds small, pale, girly hand up for inspection] It's a shame. Probably three. Diddy only managed two? Maybe not then. I can carry a lot of glasses at once, though. If they're small ones I can do four."

Are you cool? AT: "Not as much as I'd like to be. There's this clip where Clint Eastwood is on a talkshow and he gets asked, Everybody thinks of you as defining cool, what d'you think about that? And he gets his cigs out, takes one out, flicks it into his mouth, lights it and says, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Here, Turner locates his Camels soft-pack and attempts to do a Clint Eastwood. He flicks one upwards towards his mouth. And misses. Flicks another. And misses. "Third time lucky?" He misses. "I'll get it the next time." And succeeds. "Hey. Fourth time. Don't put that in! So there you go. I'm four steps away from where I wanna be."

Thank you very much for joining me here on Popworld, here's my clammy hand again. There it is, let it slip, hmmn. You can let go now. AT: "OK! Were you a Popworld fan, then? It was funny. Cool. What were we talking about, before?"

Blimey, Alex. What must you be like when you're completely stoned out of your head? AT: "Stoned? What d'you mean, cos I seem like that anyway? Yeah. A lot of people... tell me I'm a bit... dreamy. But I like the idea of that. Of being somewhere else."

Two days earlier, Turner had contemplated what he wanted from all this, in the end. Many seconds later he gave his deceptively ambitious answer.

"I just wanna write better songs," he decided. "And better lyrics. I just definitely wanna be good at it. Hmn. Yeah.”

—

RUFUS BLACK: AKA Matt Helders, on his ongoing bromance with Diddy

Matt Helders has known preposterous rap titan Diddy since they met in Miami in 2008. “He goes, Arctic Monkeys! Then he said summat about a B-side and I was like, He's not lying! I just thought, This is funny, I'm gonna go with this for a while." Last October Diddy texted Helders, suggesting he play drums with his Diddy Dirty Money band on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, to give his own drummer a day off. “I were bowling with me girifriend at the time. In Sheffield, on a Sunday." On the day of recording, says Helder, "We had a musical director. That were one of the maddest times of my life. Next day Diddy said, Why don't you just stay? Come along with me. So I went everywhere with him." Diddy had "a convoy of cars" and made sure Helders was always in his. "He'd stop his car and go, Where's Matt? You're coming with me! So I'd get in his car. Just me, him, his security, driver." Diddy, by now, had given him a pseudonym - Rufus Black. "He kept saying, I don't wanna fuck up your image. And I'm, I don't think it's gonna do me any harm!" He stayed in Diddy's spectacularly expensive hotel. Some weeks later, Helders almost returned to the Dirty Money drumstool for a gig in Glasgow. "But we were rehearsing in London. I were like, I might come, how are you getting there? And he were like, Jet. Jump on t’jet with me. But I had to stay in Bethnal Green instead.”

Love’s young dream: Diddy (left) with Helders

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #nick o'malley #jamie cook #sias era #interview #q magazine #my image id #bands #this is such a funny interview honestly shfjwjs #self proclaimed housewife nick my beloved......#also why did the interviewer describe alex's hands as small pale and girly HELPME #btw im missing page 93 it's probabky just a photospread but yeah #i managed to find the dead links' images on vk #eye contact #not my scan

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leviathanspain · 10 months

Text

breathless

carmy berzatto x reader

synopsis: it’s opening night and emotions are at an all time high

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the sweat had muddled your vision, and you were close to a breakdown. carmy was nowhere to found, and you were counting down with the clock.

sydney had been giving out orders and you followed diligently, but you were distracted. he was your biggest weakness. whenever he entered a room, he would consume your thoughts completely, and even when he was not even there, he was all you could think about.

“where’s carm?” you asked, watching richie pass by you in his suit. he had taken to wearing suits now, and you respected him for it, even in the blazing heat of the kitchen.

richie walked over to the fridge and pointed, “he’s in timeout.” he knocked on the door and you could hear the muffled response of carmen, who was stuck in the fridge.

“fuck..” you muttered, the guilt of the past argument washed over you. carmy had yelled at you, and it was different this time, you had yelled back, and made it worse. you turned to watch your steak. you could hear the fat burning off as it cooked, all the seasonings sending the beautiful aroma to your nose. you had finally found your focus-

“what about claire?” richie asked fak, who had come into the kitchen, also wearing a suit. he had broken your focus, talking about the girl that carmen had been spending a lot of time with. he glanced over at you and turned his back, richie following. they continued to talk for a minute until they broke off, and both went out to the front.

you cursed, and looked over at sydney, “syd- did carm call the fridge guy?” this was the worst time to even ask, orders were coming out like crazy and you were still cooking your steak-

sydney looked at you with concern, “no. he’s going to be okay, chef.” you were like sisters, she could see your emotions on your face better than anyone. “i need that steak for table twenty one, chef. now.” she redirected you back to your work, and you swallowed thickly, nodding as you went back to your station.

though that didn’t seem to last long. you hadn’t noticed tina by the fridge door, didn’t even bother to notice that she had been talking for a few minutes to carmy. tina looked at you, waving her hand, “come here,” she whispered, “he’s asking for you.” she said as you neared. you stepped back, shaking your head, “no, tina, i-“ you couldn’t finish your protest as claire burst through the kitchen doors.

she looked at you, disdain just at the sight of you, she stalked over to the fridge door, leaning her ear on it just as tina did.

you completely shut down. staring at her do what you should be doing- it broke you. maybe the emotional turmoil wasn’t just because of your complicated relationship with carmy, maybe it was the fact that you, you opened a restaurant and that you were-

you ran back to your steak. it was burnt, all the fat and grease had been cooked out of the pan, the steak was practically smoking, only the burnt smell lingered. “fuck!” you yelled, grabbing the pan with the steak, you threw it into the nearest garbage. you looked over at sydney, eyes welling up with tears, “i’m sorry.” the tears fell immediately as you spoke, your voice quivered and so did your hands as you ripped off your apron.

“y/n!” sydney called after you but you didn’t even look back. you just kept walking until you hit the back door exit.

carmy felt like he was going crazy. he was crazy, he had come to realize that now. he was stupid, for not calling the fridge guy, otherwise he wouldn’t have been stuck in there.

he had been telling tina, telling her how he should’ve never let his attention split off from the restaurant, but it did. and he professed that unknowingly to claire, not knowing she was there to hear how much he regretted ever being with her.

it wasn’t so much as just the restaurant he wanted to focus on, it was you. claire had broken up with him, and yet all he could think about was you. he had begged tina to get you, but he had heard your rejection, and even heard you cursing before the sounds of pots and pans being thrown.

he had called out claire’s name, but it didn’t feel right.

you had been sitting outside contemplating. you had been in this spot before, the limbo of quitting before actually deciding to walk off. it’s happened a handful of times, and usually it wouldn’t need any convincing, but this felt like it did.

you had also found josh, the newly hired chef who had disappeared on tina, and now, “you’re fired.” you hadn’t hesitated to tell him, watching as his hands wrapped around the crack pipe. he had questioned your authority and you scoffed, “i’ve given five years of my life to this place. don’t tell ask me on what authority.”

marcus had come out to join you, although by the looks of it, not actually.

“are you okay?” marcus looked at you, surprised to find you sitting on an old milk crate. you shrugged, bring one of carmen’s cigarettes to your lips, “is he out yet?” you asked, and marcus shook his head, “fridge guy probably won’t get here till close. he’s stuck there.” he pulled out another milk crate and sat down next to it. you gave him a smile, offering a cigarette, “no thanks.” he shook his head, “but i thought you didn’t smoke?”

you nodded, “i don’t. i just miss him a little.” you looked at the cigarette, and laughed, you really did miss him, even if he was ten feet away locked in a little refrigerator, you were too hurt to talk to him.

marcus nodded, “this ain’t any of my business, but you and chef really need to stop being so mean to each other.” you whipped your head to marcus and faked a gasp, “us? mean?!” you laughed, knowing it was all too true, “we’re just people, still learning how to be people.” you inhaled some of the cigarette again, and marcus pursed his lips, “if it helps, he broke up with her.”

the silence filled the ache. tears started flowing and you couldn’t stop them. you felt a little hysterical, joy thrummed through you after marcus said that, but you wondered if it would all go back to normal.

carmy had been sitting in his regret for a while now. he could hear the bustling of everyone still working, but there was no one talking to him-

“carmy?” your voice sounded like an angel. it was soft, full of longing, yet there was sadness in it. he could hear it, hear that twinge.

“y/n? y/n, oh my god,” he grabbed his face, inhaling deeply, “y/n..” his chest felt tight and carmy inhaled trying to get more air.

you could hear him struggling to breathe. the fridge guy had appeared and it prompted you to go with him. you had asked just for five minutes to say something to carmen before they could start rescuing him. but it was going wrong.

“carmen!” you pounded on the door hoping to get some response but there was none.

“get this shit open, now!” you yelled at the fridge guy and sydney came to your side, “what’s wrong? what happened? is he okay?” she looked towards the door and saw the sparks as the fridge guy started using his tools to get the door open.

you shrugged, “this is all my fault- he’s having a panic attack and i-“ you were sobbing now, face buried in sydney’s shoulder, “i did this. he’s struggling because of me-“

sydney pulled you back, you looked eyes with her and she shook her head, “he’s struggling because he self sabotages everything. he did this to himself-“ she looked at the fridge, “he’s carmy.”

he’s carmy. you repeated to yourself, and turned to see the fridge guy getting the door cracked open.

and there he was.

his back was to one of the shelves, leaning into his knees, he was breathing hard and heavy.

“carmen?” you walked into the fridge, warily as you did so, you knelt down to his level, “carm?” you repeated his name until he looked up at you, “i’m sorry.” his hand motioned sorry on his chest and you closed your eyes, hugging him tightly without saying anything.

the success of opening night was unmatched. all of the staff was beaming with pride and excitement, this was only the beginning, and months of working at it had finally paid off.

you had left carmy talking with sugar and went with sydney, who was helping clean up. “hey.” you grabbed a trash bag and started tk dump a lot of stuff into it, “i fired josh, by the way. he was smoking crack. said it helped him.” you said the words in disbelief and all sydney could do was laugh, “oh god.” you matched her laughter, “i know! he even asked me if i should be firing him, like he wasn’t smoking crack?” sydney laughed harder now, “good riddance.”

there was a quiet beat, before you apologized, “i should’ve been focused on my job and not my personal life.” you looked down at the ground, “it’s my fault and im sorry, chef.” she had accepted your apology, and gave you a little hug, “it’s okay. it’s hard when your personal is your job.” she glanced at carmy, who was making his way towards you.

you parted from her and met carm halfway. he stopped and sighed, “i don’t know what to say.” he seemed calm, as if whatever storm was raging in his head had finally stopped.

“just tell me you’re done with her.” you leaned into him, wrapping your hands around his waist, he held you by yours. “i’m done with her.” he spoke, “i promise.”

another beat of silence, as you thought. the argument from earlier seemed long forgotten but you couldn’t forget it. “i’m sorry about..” you trailed off, “earlier. about earlier. i shouldn’t have been so stubborn.”

carmy shook his head, “it was my fault anyway. but i’m sorry for not thinking that this,” he grabbed you, “was even possible.”

you shrugged, “at least you got it eventually.” he nodded, laughing as he pecked you with another kiss.

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy smut #carmy the bear #carmy angst #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x you #the bear #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto

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dirtyvulture · 9 months

Text

Natasha Romanoff x Male!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Requested by anon: Um *clears throat* Hello, I’m new in discovering your fics, and you’re the first writer I find who writes for male reader x Natasha Romanoff! I’ve only ever seen writers write for only female reader- BUT I UNDERSTAND REALLY, Natasha displayed major lesbian vibes and etc, and I fully support it really. But uh, as a male myself, and having Natasha as my favorite MCU character, it’s been rare finding fics for male reader, but again I’m not complaining, I fully support writers writing female writers!

Sorry I’m rambling, I just wanted to request, if you’re okay with it, something with male reader x Natasha with Father’s Day as the theme? Perhaps maybe Nat surprises reader that they’re gonna have a baby and all that? Of course there needs to be smut involved, I’ve read all your fics and clearly smut is a must have for the fic! Perhaps some daddy kink to throw in the mix?

And again, if it’s not on the books, I’ll understand!

AN: Enjoy, anon!

Natasha stares down at the little plastic stick in her trembling hands, blinking rapidly to make sure she’s not seeing blurred. There are two lines on the little window, matching the symbol for “Pregnant.”

She had never thought this could be possible, given what she had thought had happened in the Red Room, but maybe that hadn’t been an entirely honest truth--not that she was complaining.

She thinks about how she’s going to tell you, knowing how much you always wanted to be a father, but had accepted that biologically having children with her might have been a huge challenge. Maybe it wasn’t as difficult as either of you thought after all.

Natasha knows she can barely keep the news hidden for long, so she wraps the pregnancy test up carefully and hides it. She goes to make dinner before you come home, deciding to cook your favorite meal instead of her planned one.

The smell of sizzling steak greets you the moment you open the front door, and you’re shocked for a moment because Natasha had texted you that she was going to make spaghetti and meatballs instead. Not that you’re upset, you’re always grateful when she cooks for you. But steak was more of a special occasion kind of meal, and your personal favorite.

“Nat honey? I’m home,” you call out, dropping your work bag at the door and slipping off your shoes.

“In the kitchen!”

You walk through the living room and find your girlfriend standing at the stove, moving an impressively thick cut of meat from cast-iron pan to a plate.

“That looks really good, babe,” you say, greeting her with a kiss before going to help set the rest of the table.

“I made a salad, it’s in the fridge if you can get that out.”

“Sure.” You’re tempted to ask the occasion, but you wait. You grab the big glass bowl of salad and place it on the table. Natasha brings over two plates, one steak almost twice the size of the other, and puts the bigger one down in front of you.

“Thanks for cooking, Nat. I’m starving,” you say, eagerly grabbing your fork and knife and carving into the meat. Natasha clears her throat, offering you the salad bowl and you relent, making sure to take a healthy portion of vegetables to balance out the pure protein on your plate.

The meal is finished in relative silence--you would’ve struck up more conversation with her, but were too busy scarfing down your steak. It’s only when the last piece is gone that you sit back, patting your belly and smiling at her.

“That was amazing, Nat. What was the occasion?” you finally ask.

Natasha bounces in her seat, as if she had been waiting the whole time for you to ask. “You’re not gonna believe it, babe,” she says, getting up and grabbing something from behind the sink. She holds it out to you, wrapped in a napkin.

Slowly, you unravel it, surprised to see that it’s a pregnancy test, but even more surprised when you see that it’s showing a positive result.

“Is this...Is this yours?” you ask, not realizing how stupid the question is until it comes out of your mouth.

“Yes!” Natasha squeals, throwing herself at you and wrapping her arms around your waist tightly.

“Oh my God.” You squeeze her back, trying to comprehend the meaning of the pregnancy test. You can’t believe it. Natasha had told you she couldn’t get pregnant, so you had never bothered to use protection with her, but that wasn’t to say you didn’t want to be or were not ready to become a father. It was one of the few dreams you had carried with you your whole life, and while you had been a little sad about Natasha’s situation, she was still open to adoption and you knew you didn’t need to be biologically related to your child to be a good father.

“I can’t believe it, Nat,” you say, pressing a kiss to her head.

“You’re gonna be a daddy. My daddy.”

The word makes your head spin, and also causes a tightening at the front of your pants. You look down at yourself, slightly embarrassed, and Natasha caresses your growing bulge, causing your hips to jerk forward at the contact.

“Bedroom?” is all you can get out of your mouth before she takes your hand and drags you out of the kitchen. Both of you make quick work of your clothes and you join your girlfriend on the bed, your hands running along her sides with a soft reverence.

“I love you so much, Nat,” you say, kissing her. “You’re gonna be the best mother to our child.”

“Our child,” she repeats, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. You wipe them away and press your forehead to hers, not saying anything for a moment as your hand goes down and rests on her flat belly. Of course, it’s too early for her to show or for you to feel anything, but you still cannot wrap your head around the idea that you and Natasha are finally going to have a child together.

Natasha scratches up and down your back, digging her nails impatiently into your shoulder blades. You rock your hips against hers, your cock hardening faster when it rubs against the insides of her thighs.

“I want you, Daddy,” Natasha pleads, and this new use of the term has all the blood rushing down to your cock so fast you think you might pass out.

“You can have me, Nat,” you insist, leaning back to guide your tip to her entrance. You push into her gently, still wanting to be gentle with her even more than before, and her velvet walls wrap around your member with a familiar warmth. “Fuck,” you mutter, rolling your hips in short strokes, resisting the urge to pound into her without abandon.

“More,” Natasha demands, her hands curving around the back of your thighs and trying to pull you into her. “You don’t have to be careful with me,” she says, but you can’t imagine being rough with her anymore.

But the pulsing and squeezing around your cock overtakes your willpower and Natasha moans loudly as you finally begin slamming into her, driving your cock deep into her with each stroke.

“Yes, just like that, Daddy,” she whines, holding onto her knees to keep them as wide as possible. You watch with drool on your lips as your cock thrusts in and out of her soaking pussy. Your entire body begins to tremble as you feel yourself ready to finish.

“N-Nat, I’m gonna...I’m gonna...” you pant.

“Finish in me,” Natasha says, and the reminder that the thought that you don’t have to pull out because she’s already pregnant causes you to erupt instantly. Hot ropes of cum pulse out of your cock, and the effort, combined with the heavy meal you just had, causes you to almost collapse on top of Natasha. You wrap your arms around her, dropping your head onto her chest as she strokes your hair softly.

“I’m so happy you’re the one I get to start a family with,” is the last thing you hear Natasha say before you fall asleep.

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AN: Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. ��

#natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader

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repulsiveliquidation · 5 months

Text

La Princesa

[Ona Batlle x Reader] Part 1.5 of [She's going to be okay.] [Royalty] [Angel in the House]

Days with La Princesa!

“Patri! Help me with the cake, will you?” you yell through the house. Lucy is helping Kiera bring out the hors d'oeuvre as you were tasked with the massive cake Alexia had gotten. Ona’s mother insisted on having dinner with everyone so a large table was set up outside. The whole team was here, some of your England teammates had made the trip too since the party was during Christmas break.

Speaking of Ona, she was sat on the back porch with a virgin margarita in hand chatting away with Alessia, Ella and Grace. Leah was helping set the table as Georgia fanned away at the barbeque. There wasn’t a quiet corner anywhere, everyone buzzing since the announcement of the baby’s gender. La Princesa was the talk of the town, Ona’s hand rubbing her belly affectionately every time anyone spoke about her. It was a new habit, one that you had many pictures of on your phone.

There were steaks, seafood and piles of vegetables as everyone helped themselves to all the food. You were cutting up some steak for Ona (because she’s the OG La Princesa) when Mapi cleared her throat at the end of the table. Everyone groaned and rolled their eyes when she stood up, signature grin on her face. This couldn’t be good.

“I would like to propose a toast to our team mom and dad. Y/N, you take care of us and make sure we’re okay. You notice things that many people would simply ignore. You’ve been there for us more than we deserve. Ona, you’re always ready to help any one of us at the drop of a hat. You are the sweetest person I know, I love you for that. The two of you are perfect together, no need to thank me for setting you two up. But because of that I propose we name La Princesa after me. Thank you, I love you both, ¡Salud!”

“As touching as that was Mapi, we are not naming our daughter after you.”

“A middle name will do.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, okay! We have presents to open, cake to eat! Let’s head inside!” Leah called, ushering everyone inside as the girls began to quickly clean up. Once everyone settled inside, you helped Ona on the couch beside you, wrapping your arm around her shoulders as she leaned into you while everyone else brought over their presents.

“Are you okay, darling?” you ask her, kissing her forehead softly as you rub her arm.

“Sí, she’s been kicking a lot. I’ve also needed to pee too many times today.”

“Our little footballer. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, mi amor.”

“Are you sure I can’t convince you of just one name; we are Spanish, she can have several names.”

“No, Mapi!” you both yell at her, Ingrid yanking her to the kitchen to help serve the cake.

“Oh Patri, it’s adorable!”

“How did you even get that?”

“Mamí, Esto es perfecto!”

“Girls, I didn’t think they MADE these!”

You heard Ona and the girls opening gifts in the living room. You were putting away all the extra food in the kitchen when Alexia walked in with another dish. She smiled awkwardly, being quiet. You didn’t push it, wiping your hands and moving the containers into the fridge. Suddenly she cleared her throat and you turned to look at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ona told me.”

“What exactly did she tell you?”

“That you wanted me to be La Princesa’s godmother.”

“Oh, yes. Do you want to be?”

“It would be my greatest honor. But, why?”

“When we were thinking about it, only you came to mind. Don’t get me wrong, I would die for all those girls out there and I know they would do the same for my family. But I know without a doubt that if something happened to me, my girls would be safest with you.”

“You are my family too, I will protect them with my life; I promise you.”

“I love you, Ale. You’re a sister to me, I don’t think you understand how important that has been to me over the years.”

“And you for me, hermosa. I love you too.”

“Baby? We’re home, love.” You shook Ona softly and as she woke, you walked over and opened her door for her. She climbed out slowly, feet swollen and aching from being on them all day. She was too stubborn to ask you to carry her, walking gingerly into the house. You were grabbing stuff from the boot of the car when you saw her walking slowly. You put everything down and walked up beside her, gently picking her up into your arms. She giggled and held onto you as you walked into the house with her and laid her in bed. She kissed you cheek and whispered an accented “thank you,” before you walked back out to grab all the gifts and bags from the car. Dropping them on the dining table to be dealt with tomorrow, you walked into the bedroom to find Ona already asleep again.

Chuckling, you slowly take her shoes off and slip your jersey she was wearing off before pulling on one of your hoodies over her small frame. It swallowed her but she snuggled into it anyway. You make quick work of yourself, changing into shorts and a sports bra before climbing into bed behind her. She searches for you in her sleep, reaching out and holding onto your arm as she goes back to sleep. You smile fondly, hand rubbing soothing circles over her belly and whispering “I love you girls,” before falling asleep yourself.

“That’s not the right one.”

“What do you mean, this is exactly what you sent me to get.”

“No, I wanted the blue one, this is red.”

“Angel, you asked for red.”

“I remember asking for blue, Y/N.”

You sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. Ona was having a bout of crazy cravings that began at 3 in the morning. She sent you to the shops to look for Chips Ahoy (a/n don't ask, they are my current obsession.) the other night but they didn’t have them so you bought a different kind and put it on a plate for her with a glass of milk like she requested. She took one bite and knew they were wrong, immediately starting to cry.

“Please Mi Reina, it’s late. You have a checkup tomorrow, we need to sleep.”

She sniffled, “But I wanted Chips Ahoy.”

“I know baby but all the stores I went to didn’t have them. I’ll go look tomorrow and buy them for you, okay? Please darling, you need to sleep.”

“You better buy all the Chips Ahoy you can find, amor or it’s the couch for you.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Love, please stop moving.”

“You try sleeping with a literal football inside you kicking like there’s no tomorrow.”

“When we have a second baby. What can I do for you?”

“Talk to her please. She always calms down when you do.”

You throw the covers off and move over to lay between her legs. You can just about see her face above her belly. She's smiling, eyes sparkling as she watches you talk to the baby. You rest your head on her thigh, left hand holding Ona’s, right hand rubbing her belly softly.

“Hello princess, it’s Mama. I’ve missed you, you’re getting so big already. I had a pretty good day at training, met all your aunties too. They can’t wait to meet you, you’re going to be the most spoilt little girl out there. Now, mami is trying to sleep okay? She needs her energy so we can see if you’re being a good growing girl tomorrow hm? Can we put your striker skills to the side and let your beautiful mother sleep? That’s my girl. I love you, I can’t wait to meet you.” You kiss her belly softly, leaning over and kissing Ona too.

“For your information, she’s going to be a defender.”

“Please darling, she’s already showing signs of being a wonderful striker like me.”

#ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #barca femeni x reader #fc barca femeni #woso soccer #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #fc barcelona femeni #fluff

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sturniologals · 3 months

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Midnight Snack-C.S

Reader x Chris

-; Warnings- Smut, Dom!Chris, Unprotected P in V, Rough sex, Cursing.

Summary- you go into the kitchen for a midnight snack and your childhood crush, chris, gives you an early birthday present.

1.3k words

I stumble down the stairs, my bare feet cold against the wooden floors. I feel my teeth chatter against each other and i instantly regret my decision to not put anything on other than a t shirt that hangs just above my knees. But everyone except me is asleep. I mean, it is 2 in the morning and we all have to be up at 9.

My best friend Nick is taking me out to my favorite steak house tomorrow and then we’re traveling to LA for my birthday so we all have had a pretty busy night full of planning so i’m not surprised everyone knocked out as soon as we got home but i’m wide awake with excitement about tomorrow.

I open the fridge and find exactly what i was searching for. A tub of mint chip ice cream.

I sit criss cross in the floor in front of the open freezer, the dim light shining through the dark kitchen. My breathing hitches when I hear someone walking down the stairs.

I immediately shift my legs so that my panties aren’t showing.

The shadow creeps into the light of the fridge and I relax when i see it’s chris.

“You fucking creep! You scared the shit out of me!” I whisper shout at him in an attempt to not wake anyone else in the house up.

“Woah woah woah ma what did i do? I just came down here to get my ice cream” He says gesturing at the half eaten tub of ice cream i’m cradling in my lap.

I can’t help but to notice how good he looks in this lighting. His cheekbones accentuated perfectly and his flannel pajama pants hanging low on his waist, his white tank top hugging his body tight- “Hello?” Chris’s voice snaps me out of my trance.

“Uhm …sorry? “ I say holding out the ice cream.

I can’t help the crush that i’ve had on chris ever since we all became neighbors in the 5th grade. He’s always made me feel safe. Comfortable. Chris smirks at me, sending a shiver up my spine and comes down the my level on the floor, taking a seat next to me, his back against the kitchen island and his legs stretched out in front of me. “I’ll share?” i say with a nervous smile as i hold out the ice cream to him. He just nods his head and stares at me as if he’s waiting on me to do something.

“no way” i say laughing nervously.

He chuckles lowly “it’s the least you can do, i mean you did eat almost all of my ice cream”

The way his dark eyes are scanning across my legs right now makes me want to just- nope. stop. “Don’t make it weird chris” I say knowing about all of the times he’s jokingly flirted with me before, even though i’m almost completely sure he knows i have a crush on him and i don’t find his “jokes” a bit funny.

I give in and scoop a small bite of mint chip ice cream into my spoon and place into his mouth. The way his rosy, plump lips grow darker at the coldness of the ice cream makes me wet. His eyes trained on mine seductively as I place another bit of ice cream in his mouth. I can’t help but to bite my lip to keep from involuntarily making a noise.

“Oh my god” he groans out and leans his head back against the island.

“That’s so good” he says licking his lips.

I’ve never seen someone look so appetizing. I squeeze my legs together to try and relieve some of the ache that’s growing between my legs but it does virtually nothing. What pisses me off is that he knows what he’s doing. He’s done this to me for years and i can’t take it anymore. “Chris you’re just being mean.” I say, standing up, not caring if my ass is out or not.

My focus right now is to keep the tears at bay.

Chris’s eyes immediately change from lust to concern and he quickly stands up and grabs my wrist before i can make it out of the fridges dim light. “Y/n, wait” I turn to face him and try to keep my voice from shaking as i speak.

“what chris? you know what your doing. You always have. You know i’ve always loved you and you keep fucking teasing me with it.” He stops, his eyes go cold and i notice his hand is still holding onto my wrist. My breathing is shallow and loud as he steps closer to me. Impossibly closer. I can feel his breath on my face as his hands trail up my sides and stop at my waist.

“You love me?” He says quietly, just for me to hear.

“Chris you know i do” I say in a shaky voice.

“y/n all the times i was flirting with you i wasn’t fucking joking or teasing you. I was trying to show you i like you but you never did anything back so i thought you didn’t like me like that.”

He backs away and i instantly feel sad at the loss of contact. “Fuck, y/n. Do you know how frustrating it is to be around you? The things i would…” his voice trails off and he shakes his head. “Never mind. Go to sleep. we’ve gotta wake up early.” He starts to walk away but i grab his wrist and pull him back towards me.

Before i can think, my lips hit his. I’m kissing chris. Shit, i’m kissing chris. it’s so surreal after knowing i’ve wanted this for years. Fuck we’ve both wanted it, i was just too stupid to notice it.

His lips are soft and smooth, his hands trail up my sides and he breaks apart, his lips still inches away from mine.

“think i can get my birthday present early?” i breathe out shallowly.

“Fuck ma, yeah of course” he says breathlessly.

Before i can say anything, his lips are back on mine, this kiss more rough and desperate. He picks me up and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist as he moves us towards the counter. My ass is cold against the marble and his hands slip under my shirt.

“No bra?” He groans out as his hands trail up my legs and inner thighs.

“Chris please, no teasing” i almost moan. He chuckles and grabs the side of my shirt.

“can i take this off?” I nod quickly.

“use your words ma”

“yes chris, yes.” I say quickly and help him to pull my big t shirt over my head. His mouth instantly takes one of my nipples and i groan loudly from the feeling.

“gotta be quiet baby” he says before moving his head between my legs but i quickly grab his hair to notion for him to come back up.

“No i want you. not your mouth.” I look down at the bulge in his pajamas.

“You sure?” he says, his eyes staring into mine making me want more. more of him. “Yes. I want you. please” i say, squirming around the counter.

My consent makes his eyes light up and he quickly pulls my panties to the side and lets his dick free. it’s tip red and leaking with pre cum as it hits his stomach. fuck it’s huge. he strokes it a few times and i grow irritated. “Chris” i remind him and he laughs a little before pushing into me without warning.

“Fuck!” i yell out and his hand instantly covers my mouth.

“so tight” he groans out, picking up pace. I grunt against his hand as he pushes into me so quickly i can’t think.

“my god, ma” he whimpers out into my ear.

“Chris- i’m gonna-“ i try to say, my words muffle by his hand. He finally pulls his hand away and picks up his pace.

“come with me ma, i’m almost- fuck-“ he stops mid sentence as we both finish around each other. his thrusts slow down, riding out our high as we both shudder and our breath calms.

“good birthday present?” he asks while cleaning the sides of my legs. I can do nothing but nod and smile.

#matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #nick sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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dogwholivesontheinternet · 20 days

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Tw for blood, gore, Spoilers for don’t hug me I’m scared kind of, body horror

Dhmis x iots au. Idk what else to say.

Red Guy - Chris Mclean

Duck - Alejandro

Yellow Guy - Sierra

Sketchbook (?) - Heather

Tony the Talking Clock - Noah

Shrignold (how do you spell his name) - Courtney

That unicorn guy - Lindsay

That rabbit guy - Beth

That purple man - Tyler

Furry boi - bird

Special one - Cody but it’s not actually him idk

Idk who Malcom is

I also don’t know who the globe is

I also don’t know who the laptop is

Collin - Harold

Steak - Owen

Spinach - Geoff

Bread - mouse

Fridge - DJ

The can guy - Sadie

Sadie didn’t actually eat Alejandro the wolves did she just watched

Lamp - Ezekiel

Idk who Roy is

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apocalypseornaw · 5 months

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Prove It (Pt 1/5)

Dean Winchester x Reader

A forgetten date, a broken heart. Can Dean fix what he broke and prove how much he loves you?

The sound of Dean's phone ringing felt like it echoed through your head. You groaned and buried your face in his chest, feeling the light rumble of his laughter underneath you. You listened as he answered the phone and best you could tell it was Garth on the other end asking for an assist.

Dean tapped your shoulder and when you looked up at him he motioned to the phone "It would be an overnight. Are you good with that?" You nodded already forming a plan to put the ideas that had been running through your head into action. If this hunt was an overnight that would put them getting home to the bunker the night of yours and Dean's sixth anniversary.

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

When Dean got off the phone he slid one finger under your chin to tilt your face up where he could place a kiss on your lips "You're being quiet and you have that face you make when you're planning something" you shrugged "Maybe I'm planning you a surprise for our anniversary"

A smile slipped onto his face before he pulled you on top of him. Once you were comfortably straddling him he reached up to gently cup the side of your face "Sweetheart you putting up with me for Six years is a surprise enough" You laughed then slapped his chest playfully "You're such a pain in the ass Dean!"

He rolled his hips up causing a gasp to leave your lips considering how sore you wore from him. His smile slipped into a smirk "You like when I'm a pain in other places" you shook your head then leaned down to place a quick kiss on his lips "You need to get dressed and update Sam"

He watched you crawl off of him before pouting "Fine, kick me out" You rolled your eyes and stood out of the bed grinning when Dean's eyes tracked your every movement.

Normally when the boys rolled out on a hunt you'd be in the impala right along with them so it was a little weird to be staying home but you knew for a fact Dean had never been given the opportunity of anything normal. Birthdays, holidays. He'd never had anyone celebrate him and that was what you intended to do.

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

You'd ended up tracking down a signed original pressing led zeppelin album for Dean. It had taken a four hour round trip drive to pick it up but you knew he'd love it.

The lack of noise in the bunker was making your ears ring so you ended up going to bed early. There was an apple pie already made in the fridge and waiting to be baked the following day along with a meal of all of Dean's favorites. Your plan was to have it still be nice and fresh when Dean got home.

You'd done everything that needed to be done around the bunker. Laundry was put away, weapons had gotten broke down and cleaned or sharpened. You'd even made some salt rounds.

You had one of Dean's mixed Playlists going as you pulled the pie out of the oven, sitting it aside so it could cool. Dinner of steak, potatoes and grilled veggies was already done as well.

You checked the time on your phone and felt a hit of nerves wash over you. They should've called by now. You decided to wrap the food up and stick it in the fridge, you could always warm it up when they got back.

-----------

Two hours passed before your phone rang. It wasn't Dean's number but Sam's. "Is he ok?" You asked in place of a hello and Sam laughed lightly "He's fine. I just wanted to let you know we stopped at a bar so we might be a little later"

You felt your heart drop. Your eyes flicked over to the table in the corner of the room you shared with Dean where the gift bag with his record and the covered pie sat. "He wanted to go to a bar?" You asked fighting back tears. Sam must have misread your reaction because he assured you "It's just for a beer Y/N. You know Dean only has eyes for you. We'll be home soon"

And yet he forgot your anniversary, that you were planning a surprise, that maybe you wanted him home.

You bit your tongue from so many words that wanted to fall out and instead bit back "I don't give a damn when he gets home" and hung up. You couldn't hold back the tears any longer. You barely registered the blanket falling off the bed when you stood up. You wouldn't be here when Dean got home.

---------

You'd been with Dean for six years, had been friends with him for longer. You did everything for him and Sam alike. You fought for them,bled for them hell you'd died for them. You always put everyone else first and had simply asked one damn night out of the man that was supposed to love you and that was too much to ask. If you were that much of a second thought why stick around?

@lacilou @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @decadentstrangernacho @nix-rose @irgendwas122 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @tas898

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #prove it mini series

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mirage-aera · 4 days

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•°. *࿐ Pool noodles || JH86

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Latch - Disclosure, Sam Smith

Jack Hughes x Reader

Synopsis: A trip to the local grocery store to stock up on food and other necessities, turns into a play fight with foam sticks.

Word count: 1.002

Masterlist

A little different from my usual fandoms that I write in. But I wanted to dabble a little in here since I wanted to write a little for my favourite hockey boys :)

You and Jack are on a mission. It’s off-season, meaning it’s time to relax and recharge during the long summer and spend some good quality time together. In previous years you would always go to the family’s lake house, to spend some time with family and friends. This year it won’t be any different. Except this time, you’ll be there together with Jack a lot earlier than the others. They’ll be arriving a few weeks later. This means you get Hughes Michigan’s summer home for yourselves. At first, it seems like a great thing. You get to spend time alone with Jack, without any nosy brothers or friends to tease you both. That was until you looked in the fridge, almost completely empty. Clearly whoever’s been here last hasn’t refilled the fridge, or other necessities for that matter. Which leaves that task to the two of you, much to Jack’s dismay.

You find yourself at the local grocery store. Jack’s pushing the cart like the gentleman he is. Except, he’s slouched over as he pushes it. “Are we done yet?” You don’t even know how many times you’ve heard him utter that in the past 15 minutes. You sigh as you look at the grocery list you’ve made on your phone. “Jack. I love you, but please. You’re worse than a cranky hormonal teenager.” You retort. He looks at you, almost as if he’s offended by what you said. “I’m not a cranky hormonal teenager.” He mutters under his breath. You bite back a laugh. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say hon.” You quip while you put the last of the fruits and vegetables in the shopping cart. He opens his mouth, probably to say something full of sass back. You shush him by placing your finger over his lips. “Come on. We’re done here.” He huffs in response. “Finally.” He mumbles. You give him a pointed look before moving on to the next part of your shopping list. You walk over to the meats and fish. Jack trails behind you, begrudgingly pushing the cart.

You glance over the various fish and meats they have. “What do you want to eat for the time being?” He points to the steak, chicken, and salmon. You nod, pick a few that look good, and toss them into the cart. He groans when he sees it messes up the organized cart. “Baby, please. Everything has a place in the cart. You know this.” He scolds lightly while fixing the mess you made. You grin sheepishly. “Sorry sorry, won’t do it again.” He shakes his head but smiles. You both know this won’t be the last time, not by a long shot.

You cross off meat and fish on the list and make your way to the dairy products. While you grab a carton of milk, Jack grabs some yogurt and puts it neatly in the cart. He takes the carton of milk from you and puts it next to the yogurt. You grab some eggs that lie nearby and move on to get the rest of the list.

You stock up on some toilet paper and other necessities. You also remember to grab some pretzels for him, knowing he likes to snack on them. Jack’s still trailing behind you with the cart that’s gradually getting fuller. As you walk around like a busy bee, you walk past some pool noodles. You look at them for a solid minute. Jack raises an eyebrow. “Do you want them?” He asks curiously. You think about it for a moment. You grab one and look it up and down. You glance over at Jack. Without warning, you smack his arm with it. It doesn’t hurt, it’s made out of foam. He flinches and rubs his arm. “What was that for?” He asks. You shrug and smirk. “Just wanted to test it out.” He scoffs and laughs. “Really? Just wanted to test it out?” He repeats. He grabs one as well and hits you back. He smirks, “it does work well. Don’t you think?” He teases you. You roll your eyes but smile. You swing to hit him again. He blocks it with his own noodle. You’re locked into a stare-down with him. “Noodle fight?” You challenge him. “Noodle fight.” He takes the bait. You look around to make sure no one is paying attention to you both. When you see no one’s looking at you, all hell breaks loose.

You start relentlessly swinging. He blocks most of your ‘attacks’, even if they hit, he doesn’t feel a thing. The aisle gets filled with your combined laughter and the faint sound of foam being smacked around.

He gets a few good hits on you. Your face scrunches up every time he lands one on you. His heart melts at the sight of you. You could be doing the most mundane tasks together, yet you’ll still find a way to bring a smile to his face. You know how to make doing chores fun. Maybe he’s just completely in love with you. Whenever people make fun of him for being completely whipped for you, he would usually give them sass back. But if someone were to do it right now, he would most likely agree with them. Nothing is certain, especially in his life. However, there is one thing for certain. He wants to marry you one day, he simply doesn’t see a future without you and your signature laugh in his life.

You let out a boisterous laugh when you smack him across the face with the piece of foam. He can’t help but let out a laugh himself. Yeah, this is the girl he wants to marry and have a future with. And he doesn’t want it any other way. The velvet box is already sitting underneath all of his old hockey gear. Waiting to be presented to you. All he has to do is plan the perfect proposal for you. He simply can’t wait to make you his, until death do you part.

#hockey #nhl #nhl fic #nhl hockey #nhl players #nhl x reader #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes one shot #jack hughes imagine #jh86 #new jersey devils #nj devils #blurb #drabble #fluff

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