#and even more--God inspired him!!!! it was a calling of GOD for him to create beautiful carvings and tapestries and candlesticks!!!

[joeloverture]

fair's fair | pervy!dbf!joel x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: pervy!dbf!joel x pervy!f!reader summary: [no outbreak] joel shoves you in his sweaty pits as a 'joke'. warnings: (18+ mdni) pervy!dbf!joel, age gap (early to mid 20s/38), somewhat mutual pining & sexual tension, joel in a wifebeater and jorts, reader has hair, smacking joel's ass like god intended, degradation, sweaty!joel, musk kink, armpit kink!!!, coming untouched, joel calls reader 'kiddo', 2 spanks, m!masturbation [no use of y/n] word count: 2.1k a/n: in another life, i'd be sorry for this fic. in this life, i am not. as always, a shoutout to the effervescent @lovesickonmybed for moodboard curation + creating this au. love to @seventeenpins for taking a glimpse at this + inspiring me. ty esquire team.... hooooly shit. pls suspend your disbelief if you can't come untouched we're here for a good time not a realistic one. btw you're all pussies for chickening out of the pit fics you 'planned' to write after this esquire photo fell into our laps /j

You awake to a rattling crash on the other side of the wall that you share with your dad’s combination garage/man cave. With an exaggerated groan, you peel yourself out of your creased sheets. Maybe the raccoons that have been terrorizing your garbage cans have finally broken into the garage. You’re still in your pajamas — a low-cut tank top and some bloomers that are entirely too short on you — when you rub the sleep from your eyes and shove your feet into your slippers to investigate. 

The house is quieter than dust so early in the morning. Your dad’s out at work, and the rest of the neighborhood is just beginning to wake up. There’s the tstststststs of the Adler’s sprinkler system and the birds are chirping. In the mudroom, you snatch up a broom and wrap your fist around it. You listen through the paneling of the door for any hissing or scuttling, but hear nothing. You are not looking to get rabies today.

You poke your head out of the door, broom pointed at the ground like a staff. Immediately, you’re blinded by a slice of sunshine cutting through the very much open garage.

You’re about two seconds away from sprinting back inside to call 911 when you see the unkempt, sunkissed hair of none other than Joel Miller.

You set the broom gently back against the wall. Joel’s not a threat – at least not to anything but that traitor between your legs. He’s just your dad’s buddy; drinking buddy, fishing buddy, jack-of-all-trades buddy. He’s also no stranger to those borderline goo-goo eyes you give him. How could you not? He’s just so broad and muscled and God, you swear up and down that you stare more at his ass than anyone has ever stared at yours.

Sometimes, if you’re lucky, he’ll even give you shit about it. Bending over directly in your line of sight at block parties, ‘play wrestling’ with you on the dock by the lake whenever you jokingly call him an old man, or, in one very special instant, giving your ass a smack that sent you into an hours long tizzy.

You deserve to give him shit about it, too.

After all, he’s the one ferreting around in your dad’s garage in the wee hours of the morning. You pad into the garage, footsteps muffled by your slippers as you navigate around your dad’s pickup. You catch a better look at Joel when you pass the truck bed. And, for better or for worse, he’s dressed like a slut.

His ribbed white wifebeater stretches over his wide chest, grass stains scattered along the small of his back. Sweat darkens the hems of his shirt under his armpits, glistening and beading on the back of his neck, too. In true dad fashion, he even has on jorts. He’s bent over your dad’s tool bench, thumbing around an assortment of screwdrivers. His denim-covered ass sticks out. A smile spreads across your face.

You slip around the truck and take soft step after soft step until you’re right behind him. You can’t help but notice a cocktail of his pheromones and B.O. surrounding him. He must’ve been outside for a while now with all of the stains he’s accumulated on his shirt already. You keep your breathing muted so he can’t hear you as you reach out and — smack!

Joel shrieks, shooting upright. His head slams into the shelf overhead and a few bolts go toppling onto the concrete below. He cusses like a sailor as his hand goes up to rub the back of his head, nursing where a lump will probably be in a few hours time. Joel whips around to see you, smothering your giggles behind your hand. “You little shit,” he huffs, still scratching at his head. You don’t miss how his cheeks are firetruck red. “The fuck are ya doin’?”

“Me? The fuck are you doing, Miller? Stomping around my dad’s garage at, like, the asscrack of dawn–”

“Nine in the mornin’ ain’t the asscrack of dawn, sweetcheeks,” Joel says. Then, he holds up a set of pliers. “Mower shit the bed. I’m thinkin’ Sarah stole my pliers to make necklaces, but she hasn’t fessed up yet. Your pops said I could borrow his.” He stretches, giving you a long whiff of his scent. The groan he lets out stirs something in your stomach, much to your chagrin.

“I think the mower is the least of your worries,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “You reek. Shower shit the bed, too?”

“You try doin’ yard work in 90 degree heat, kiddo. See how much you smell like that strawberry raspberry peach whatever-the-fuck soap you’re usin’.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised you don’t see the back of your skull. “Rosemary eucalyptus,” you correct under your breath.

“Hmm, what was that?” Joel asks, tossing the pliers down onto the workbench. “Gotta speak up.”

“Rosemary eucalyptus,” you say. “But I bet you wouldn’t know. What do you use? 18 in 1?”

Joel grunts. “Real funny.” He takes a step closer to you, lips taut with a smirk. “How ‘bout you find out?”

You don’t have time to question what the hell he means – he just cups the back of your head with one of his wide palms and shoves your face directly into his closest sweaty pit. “Mmmmph!” you protest, mouth sealed shut against the thatch of hair that’s spattered across his skin. You hold your breath for as long as you can, but eventually, you’re forced to suck in a breath through your squished nose. His musk, sweet and just as sharp, fills your airways. Your clit all but jerks between your legs in humiliation, drawing a whine out of your throat.

Joel chuckles, ruffling your hair. It’s enough to make your thighs clench. “You’re a little freak, huh?” He presses harder on the back of your head, so much so that you almost get a mouthful of his underarm.

“Youuu dick!” you try to say without opening your mouth too far. It comes out muffled against his sweat-pearled skin. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push him off of you.

Another wry chuckle comes from above. Joel bends his arm so that his elbow is wrapped around the back of your head, effectively trapping you in his funk. “Come on, huff ‘em. Practically fuckin’ asking for it earlier, all ‘a that mouthin’ off. So now you get a mouthful of my pits. Fair’s fair, kiddo.”

Embarrassment ribbons through your body, the kind that makes you leak into your panties against your will. Still looking for a way out, you squirm against his ironclad hold.

It’s only good for making him land a heavy-hitting slap across your ass. You yelp, a new wave of slick saturating the drenched gusset of your panties. You jump where you are, hips bucking into nothing – for escape or pressure, you’re not entirely sure. “Unless you wanna go over my knee instead?” Your face sears with humiliation.

Tentatively, you snuffle a bit against his pit, biting into your cheeks at his musk. It makes you cough a little bit – he’s been carrying the smell of cutting grass and his own sweat all morning.

“Yeah, thought so. But you can do better than that, sweetcheeks. I said huff, not fake an asthma attack.” You whimper, this time sucking in a longer breath. Here he is, holding you down, secure against his pit as you're left with no other option than to take what he gives you, when he gives it to you. All you can smell, feel, touch is just Joel, Joel, Joel. It makes you lightheaded.

Your clit is practically a kickdrum between your thighs, pulsing and doing more work than your head. You try to angle yourself so that you can rub your clit against Joel’s leg, but he puts a stop to that real quick. “Gettin’ all wound up just from being where ya belong, your pretty little face in my pit?” You mewl, reaching for Joel’s sides. You bunch your fists in the fabric of his wifebeater, and he allows it.

“Since you’re so eager to complain about it, how ‘bout you clean me up, huh?” He nudges his pit against your face again, and, confusedly, you furrow your brows. You can’t see much of him, but you do see the edge of his mouth tip up in satisfaction. “You got rocks for brains? Lick, kiddo.”

Hesitance drives the soft kitten lick of your tongue, swiping up and down across a very small portion of his pit. He loosens up on his grip on you, giving you the slightest bit more reign. You try to tell yourself that you’re scared of what he might do if you disappoint him, but hell if you don’t want this as much as he does, tongue, nose, face buried in his pits. Some sort of ultimate form of worship between the two of you.

You lave your tongue across his pit, eyes fluttering with each stroke. You swirl it in the crease of his arm, sucking his goddamn hairs clean with the fervor you’ve picked up. Enthused now, you bob your head up and down. Your clit responds, throbbing with a heartbeat of its own.

You’re panting, inhaling and exhaling him, lapping up his musk like a fucking dog, gone from reluctant to eager. Your clit twitches faster and faster, and you swear that arousal must be tacky on the insides of your thighs, leaking through your panties all over the front of your bloomers, but you can’t do anything about it. You can’t even grind against Joel – you can only slurp against his armpit, something like desperation having replaced all of your previous mortification from when he’d shoved you there in the first place.

You’re so preoccupied with pleasing him that you don’t even notice the thumping of your clit, picking up speed and pressure. Your body seizes in between your greedy little licks. You feel yourself weaken before you stiffen.

And maybe it’s the way Joel keeps groaning with each movement of your tongue. It could be how he exhales, “Kiddo,” in a raspy voice, both demeaning and endearing all at once. But in the end, it’s how he says, “Mmmm, such a good goddamn tongue. Bet it’d feel so good on my cock,” that breaks the dam between your legs.

You shudder, coming completely undone with little moans and whimpers in Joel’s arms without so much as a hand on your clit, just your face smothered in his pit. Drool runs down your lips and across your chin as you jerk and weaken in his grasp. If you weren’t so underwater, so far gone, you’d be able to hear him saying, “Fuck – whoa, whoa, whoa,” trying to stop you from falling on your ass in the middle of the garage. His hands card across your sides as he props you up against the workbench. Your vision blackens at the edges from the intensity of your orgasm, and you’re still coming, at least you think you are, when you blink yourself back to awareness. You’re wide-eyed, tears brimming at your waterline, incapacitated in a way that you didn’t know you could be.

“Holy shit,” you gasp when you finally fully come to, slumped over the workbench, still half-clinging to Joel. “Fuck.”

Joel looks stunned, looking you up and down as if he can’t get enough of you. His eyes land right between your thighs, where, sure enough, you’ve ruined your bloomers. You still feel like deadweight, and you struggle to stand upright. You’re not sure you’ve ever come so hard even with someone’s hands all over your. Joel’s glistening with even more sweat, and it’s impossible to miss the glaring bulge in his shorts. He clears his throat after a minute. “Oughta go get cleaned up before your daddy gets back for his lunch break, kiddo.”

You stumble upright, drenched in sweat yourself now, Joel’s lingering scent still pervading every breath you take. “Y-yeah,” you manage, nodding. You feel out of your own body, stumbling towards the door. You’re so wet that you can feel it with every goddamn step. Fuck Joel Miller, cocky piece of sh–

You’re immediately returned to your own body by the resounding swat Joel lands on your ass. You jump, shooting a glare over your shoulder. He puts his hands up, pleading innocence.

You’re not surprised when you crawl out of your shower, smelling of rosemary eucalyptus and dripping water all over the floor, only to see Joel’s mower abandoned in the middle of his yard. Even worse, you aren’t surprised in the slightest when you squint through your bedroom window, Joel sprawled out across his bed, hips bucking in-time with his fist before catching your eye and spraying ropes of cum all over his abdomen.

You mouth at him through the window with a taunting little wink, Clean yourself up this time.

#oh what i wouldnt give to get lost in that mans bottomless pits #vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

I've been reading Exodus lately and I've just gotten to the portions where God gives the first commands to the people via Moses (twice), and then goes on to give detailed instructions about the tabernacle and how it should be built, and I'm just... we think art is unimportant?? we think things only mean as much as their functionality?? we so easily fall into the trap of believing that beauty means nothing, that it's cheap and only worth whatever mindless distraction it brings, that it's barely more than a cheap sensual thrill, that buildings should just be practical and plain and cheap, that everything should be functional but ultimately disposable, that paintings and dresses and mugs and curtains and carpets are just pretty but have no real value, that beauty is fleeting and vain and therefore shouldn't be thought about too much, if even looked for at all... we fall into these traps so easily, and we forget that there are chapters upon chapters of painstakingly detailed plans to build one portable worship tent, and those plans have been handed down through thousands of years of human history, because beauty and art and skill in craft is important

#I have to go get ready for work now but I will come back to this #and don't even get me started on the parts about God calling specific craftsmen *by name* #he called them!! by name!!! he said 'this man is good at his job. he creates beautiful work. he will build my temple and make it beautiful' #and even more--God inspired him!!!! it was a calling of GOD for him to create beautiful carvings and tapestries and candlesticks!!! #look even if you're not jewish or christian or religious at all you have GOT to see what it means that all these incredibly detailed plans #for building this tent-temple are extremely important #because even if you don't believe in God and don't think that this is all significant bc he personally gave the instructions #and then helped preserve this record of them so we could still read them today #you do have to see how important they were to the people of that time who first wrote them down #and the extreme care that was taken to record all of those detail #AND the fact that it's been preserved for so long and we can still read all the care that was put into creating this incredible piece #of artwork and worship they made #gurt says stuff #I just. gahhfhhfj. I'm feeling emotional about chapters of the Bible that I can't even fully force myself to pay attention to #bc there's so MUCH and I'm bad at visualizing this stuff and I tend to zone out while listening to it #but the fact that it IS that much!!! that there SO MUCH DETAIL and it goes on for SO LONG that I even struggle to pay attention!!! #that this was THAT IMPORTANT to the people who wrote it and to God!!! as an artist and someone who has always cared about art #this means so much to me ok #christianity #bible verse #bible thoughts #exodus #art #theology

[redbullgirly]

Can you do a Lewis Hamilton smau where she is basically like Barbie? I feel like since Barbie is a fashion icon and so is Lewis, it would be a match made in Heaven. I read your pinned post and tried to make a request based on your rules. Sorry if it isn’t good enough

HI BARBIE! HI KEN! [part 1, LH44 smau]

Lewis Hamilton x reader

Masterlist & Hi Barbie! Hi Ken! [part2, LH44 smau]

Summary: Lewis Hamilton is part-time Formula One driver and full-time fashion icon. And so is his girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, who's also known as a real life Barbie.

Warnings: None... but a lot of pink XD. Also this story is set in December 2023, so no broken hearts over Lewis going to Ferrari... actually maybe just a little teaser.

Author's Note: Hi Anon! This request is great and thank you so much for it, it definitely is good enough! :) I had fun writing and creating this, even though at the end it's kind of different than what I firstly intended to do. The original idea was to make Y/N very Barbie coded, but at the end I'd say she's Barbie inspired and I focused more on the fashion icon part of the request. Though there's a sweet storyline about why her nickname is Barbie, so I hope you won't be disappointed! :)

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lewishamilton A lot happened in 2023 season and there was also a lot of outfits 🤞🏾✨

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user1 MY GOD THIS MAN IS BEAUTIFUL!

yourusername this was definitely one of my favs 💝

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lewishamilton What can I say... pink is the color of real men 🫶🏾

yourusername but do i still wear it the best?

lewishamilton Of course ma'am

user2 I love them sm 😭

user3 can we talk about the fact they're the best couple ever?!

user4 so sweet🥰

user5 And the fact she's literally the only person he interacts with in the comments...

user6 You are the best Lewis, can't wait for another season 👏

user7 🔥❤️

mercedesamgf1 Did someone say Barbie and Ken?💘

user8 YES

user9 admin you're so real for this... they literally ARE our barbie and ken 🤭

user10 The only question is who is the Barbie and who's the Ken? xd

user11 lol imagine barbie lewis💀

user12 GOAT ⬆️♥️

carmenmmundt Me and goergerussell63 when?

gourgerussell I don't really think pink is my colour...😬

yourusername don't worry honey, if he won't wear pink w you i will 😘

carmenmmundt Oh I knew why you're my favourite Y/N 😘

georgerussell63 No wait I changed my mind darling!!

carmenmmundt Hmm now I'll have to think about it 🤔

georgerussell63 Y/NNNNN

yourusername 😌😚

user13 i love how he always manages to get y/n into his posts

user14 The power boyfriend Lewis has over me😩😩

user15 RIGHT?!

user16 he's just so... asdgsagfsgd 😫

user17 I literally need this version of him to live!!!

user18 i'm weak for bf lewis🥵

user19 Y/N looks SO GOOD in that coat

user20 I need to know how she does it

user21 fr

user22 The best driver and a fashion icon... damn he's got some talent 🙇‍♂️

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yourusername great season and now it'll be even better winter break w my love 💋💞

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f1 Our own Barbie🤩

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user1 yeeeees

user2 Wait I'm new in formula one, why do we call Lewis Hamilton's gf Babrie??

user3 idk user2 she just gives off the energy 😆

user4 Actually I think Lewis himself once called her Barbie in an interview when there were rumors about them dating and then it just stuck with her 🤷‍♀️

user5 oh really?!! tbh i had idea he ever called he barbie himself... y/n is just iconic xd

user6 IT'S Y/N'S WORLD AND WE'RE JUST LIVING IN IT 🗣🗣

lewishamilton Can't wait to spend the winter break with you ✨

yourusername *mwah*

user7 pls I'm so excited for them!!

user8 the vacation photo dumps are gonna slay🤭

alexandrasaintmleux stoppp you're so pretty!🎀

yourusername nooo you are alex 🥹🫶

user9 they could never make me hate these two just 'cause they're dating the hottest drivers on the grid🫡

user10 The outfit in the second photo? HELLO?!

kellypiquet 🤍

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charles_leclerc I see you like the Monaco circuit very much👀

yourusername i see you're stalking my photo dumps very carefully charles leclerc 🤨

charles_leclerc Well I have a feeling we'll see each other more often soon so I have to get to know you better😉

this comment has been deleted by charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc Caught in the crime😂

user11 WHAT WAS THAT CHARLES?!

user12 omg I wasn't the only one to see it? I'm not delusional right?🫣

user13 idk what you saw 'cause i didn't but this interaction is so funny to me XD

user14 mommy- sorry... MOTHER

user15 ❣️❣️

user16 y/n & lew >>>>

twitter

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yourusername i'm barbie. he's just a ken (and he won some trophy for p3 in the championship... idk where it is) 💖💄

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user1 I live for Lewis leaving the trophy there💀

user2 and the way y/n basically confirmed this by saying she has no idea where it is😭

lewishamilton You're everything. I'm just Ken 🙏🏾✨

yourusername exactly... though you're the best ken ever 💞

sebastianvettel Isn't he more like Allan then?

yourusername ohhh true seb 🤭

user3 YOU WANNA TELL ME THE SEBASTIAN VETTEL SAW BARBIE

yourusername yeah we made him watch it and he cried during gloria's speech 💓

sebastianvettel I'm not ashamed about it.

yourusername and that's why i love u seb 🫶

user4 why aren't all men like sebastian???😩

user5 I love these three with all my heart y'all don't understand

user6 my fav driver watching my fav movie and crying during speech about feminism is my roman empire

user7 AAAHSDFHFGSDHSG😍

f1 If there was a prize for fashion icons, the Hamilton household would definetly win it! 🏆

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user8 not admin calling them hamilton household🥹

user9 Lol that would be the only fairly given trophy this year

user10 OMG I just realized that one day Y/N and Lewis WILL be both HAMILTON😭😭

user11 I'll tattoo the date of their wedding on my arm fr

user12 that's real dedication user11 💀

user13 TRUE DEFINITION OF A QUEEN... LOVE YOUUUUUU

kellypiquet Gorgeous darling!💖💖💖

yourusername we both babeee 💖🫶

user14 the IT wags casually supporting each other

user15 I love they're still friends even though their bfs are probably the biggest rivals xd

user16 not the shade about the trophy💀

user17 Waiiittt what happened?

user18 someone who was at the ceremony said lewis gave him the prize 'cause he didn't want it😭

user17 Oh and Y/N wrote in her caption she doesn't know where it is?

user18 exactly😭

user17 Whoops... I love her, she's queen for that

user19 and the fact fia tried to deny these rumors💀

user20 Absolutely love this look 🤍

user21 you and lew are just such a good looking couple

user22 THE DRESS I REPEAT THE DRESS🥰

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lewishamilton 🇲🇨 with the best company.

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roscoelovescoco Mom's look's so handsome's ☺️☀️

liked by the author and yourusername

lewishamilton Agreed

yourusername awww my boys are too sweet 🥹💕

user1 lewis complimenting his gf not w one but TWO accounts makes my heart melt

liked by yourusername

user2 I want a man like him🤧

user3 WE LOVE ROSCOE CALLING HER MUM

user4 Lewis, Y/N & Roscoe are the best trio ever🥰

user5 parents and their son

user6 literally omg

yourusername wow who's that handsome boy laying on a couch 🥴😻

lewishamilton Handsome you say?😏

yourusername yeah, right next to u 🥰

lewishamilton Oh no, I should've seen that coming😒

roscoelovescoco Thank's mom's I'm handsome's boy's 😊👅

user7 these interactions give me the will to live

user8 I love the Hamilton family🥺

user9 lol y/n calling roscoe handsome xd

user10 The funniest part about this is that Lewis manages Roscoe's profile😭

user11 omg yes user10 not him playing being offended on his main and then being all sweet as roscoe...

user12 Love forever ❤️

user13 Y/N is so beautiful I can't believe my own eyes

user14 the two belong together forever 🙌🫶♾️💫

user15 fr

user16 If they ever break up I'll stop believing on love

mercedesamgf1 Mr. & Mrs. Mercedes

user17 pls give him decent car in 2024 to win another championship🙏

user18 The most iconic couple in history of motorsport 💅

user19 ❤️😍

user20 what's Ferrari doing in the likes?🤨

user21 lol calm down... he's literally lewis hamilton🤣

user22 No but it's weird... they never like other team's things

user23 and after the rumors during monaco gp too 🥸🥸

user24 I think this photo dump caused global warming... like daaammmnnn they're both so fine 🥵

user25 let's just say roscoe isn't the only one calling them mommy and daddy-

user26 lmao

user26 but true🫢

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yourusername barbie has a great day everyday... especially when she gets pink mercedes she wanted 🛍🤍

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lewishamilton Seems like Ken is good for something

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yourusername maybeeee

lewishamilton You want pink Ferrari too, don't you?

yourusername ☺️☺️

user1 ohhh to have a man like that

user2 OMG LEWIS PLS GET HER PINK FERRARI

user3 Yeah, Y/N will slay in that car😌

user4 i wanna be barbie too if she gets pink mercedes

user5 but first you'll need to have a ken like lewis hamilton

francisca.cgomes this barbie is so prettyyyy

yourusername love u! 💓

user6 Okay okay I NEED the bikini😫😍

user7 QUEEN

user8 Y/N looking gorgeous like always🫶🏼

user9 gold digger alert!!!!🤮

user10 Girl go away, you clearly know nothing about their relationship xd

user11 jealousy alert!!!

user12 the first pic does something to me 😩

user13 The most beautiful woman ever

user14 Lewis won lottery w her

user15 yes she's literally so pretty and they seem so happy together🥰

user16 fr I don't think I've seen him this happy before

user17 yeah he looks so much calmer and even younger when y/n is with him at event and gps...🥹

user18 Plus the OUTFITS?! I love them sm

user19 Where is Lewis 🙂?

user20 c'mmon he doesn't have to be in every post she makes🙄

user21 stunning as always 💘

user22 SLAYING AS ALWAYS

twitter

Y/N’s interview

photo 1: Y/N: How did you and Lewis meet?

Y/F/N: Oh, you guys'll love the story!

photo 2: Y/N: It was actually in a toy store. Lew was there with his niece and I was there because... [laughs] Let's say I still like to collect dolls and lego, sue me.

photo 3: Y/N: Anyway, Lew's niece saw me, thought I'm a real life Barbie and wanted to say hi. [laughs] It was honestly so sweet that I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm just a normal girl.

photo 4: Y/F/N: So does she still think you're Barbie? [laughs]

Y/N: Yeah, I think so... She calls me Auntie Barbie! [laughs too]

photo 5: Y/N: But back to Lewis - I didn't recognize him and just thought he's really cute. We talked for few minutes, though then I had to leave and didn't have the courage to ask for his number.

photo 6: Y/N: But few days later he followed me on Instagram and I was just like - yes!

Lewis’ interview

Interviewer: Lewis, you recently followed a known influencer and model on Instagram. Is there something going on between the two of you?

Lewis: Are you talking about Barbie? Oh, shoot, sorry... [laughs] I mean Y/N?

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yourusername aesthetic life w the best man, cute son and lots of flowers 🌸💖

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roscoelovescoco I got's mom's the's flowers's 😊🌷

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yourusername thx roscoe baby!! 🫶 guess daddy will have to learn from you 😌🤍

user1 ... are we gonna talk about the fact y/n just called lewis daddy?

yourusername ... no please don't, you know what i meant 😭🙈

user2 Too late Y/N, the twitter girlies are going to go nuts about this (me included)

landonorris Awww look at that grumpy little dude 🥺

liked by the author

pierregasly Mate are you calling the seven world time champion grumpy little dude?🤣

user3 lando tf-

user4 This is so funny for no reason😭

user5 Lewis being called grumpy little dude wasn't what I expected from this winter break tbh

landonorris ROSCOE

landonorris I WAS TALKING ABOUT ROSCOE GUYS

user6 💀💀

pierregasly Lol

yourusername why did you even think it was about lewis peirregasly ??🧐

landonorris YEAH MR. TRIPOD TELL US

pierregasly Goodbye...👋

user7 u and lew are so sweet

user8 MOTHER IS MOTHERING 😍

alexandrasaintmleux Shining like a star✨💖

yourusername and you're my sun ☀️💖

user9 I want a man who gives me so many flowers!!!

user10 yeah and they're beautiful and tasteful too

lewishamilton So lucky to have you darling! 🫧🫶🏾

liked by the author

yourusername we're both so lucky lew 💗🫶

user11 and i'm lucky i was born in the same century as you so i can witness this love

user12 I LOVE Y/N & LEWIS🥰

user13 I'll ask again... When is he going to put a ring on it? 💍 C'mon Lewis you obviously love her sm

user14 Your guys love is so special ❤️

user15 if this is the content we'll be getting during winter break, i don't think i want it to end

user16 races are great... but boyfriend material lewis hamilton is better🤤

user17 REAL

THE END

Author's Note: Hi and thank you for reading! I'll be glad for likes, reblogs, comments, follows and any other ways of support. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT PART 2! I really enjoyed this version of Lewis and Y/N... and perhaps I have a lot of pictures that unfortunately didn't make it to the story because picture limit isn't very friendly. Love you and have a great day! :)

#f1 fanfic #fanfiction #formula 1 #formula one #couple #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #fanfic #reading #x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #lh44 #lh44 x reader #mercedes #ferrari #barbie #writing #sir lewis hamilton #f1 smau #smau #social media au #social media fic #social media

[shotoh]

all mine

SYNOPSIS: Bakugou decides to put his delusional secretary in their place.

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

word count: 9.6k+

genre: fluff, SMUT, maybe a smidgen of angst

tags/warnings: 18+! minors dni! reader is not the secretary, basically this other lady is trying to seduce your man but katsuki isn’t falling for it! marking, exhibitionism, oral (f!receiving), riding, soft!bakugou but also mean!bakugou, humiliation (not really at reader), a couple spanks, office sex, praise, degradation, pet names (baby, princess, angel), crude language

author’s notes: this is very overdue, like incredibly overdue LOL i started this wip last year but could only continue writing during random bouts of inspiration. so i apologize if the smut is a little half-assed and if the characterization is questionable. but enjoy my late kinktober 2022 present to y’all 

The sound of Dynamight’s heavy boots hitting the floor resonate throughout the wide hallways of his agency, drowning out the heels clicking behind him. A woman quickens her pace in an attempt to catch up to the impatient blond hero, rushing into his peripheral vision.

“Sir? Oh Bakugou sir~” The dulcet chime calling him is sickly sweet, enough to make him grimace. “I need you to look over these reports before I file them away.” She whips out one of the thick packets of papers clutch to her chest, bringing his steps to a halt which makes the hero point a glare at her.

“How many times do I have to fucking tell you that you’re suppose to call me by my hero name.” Malice coats his words, dripping off his tongue as he swipes the reports from her fingers. The woman, to the hero’s annoyance, indulges in his feisty attitude.

“Aw, but ‘Bakugou’ is more fitting given how closely we work together!” She waves off his displeasure, hoping her excessively cheerful personality can tone him down. “I am your secretary, after all.” She leans into his space, too damn close for his liking by how he could get a whiff of her pungent perfume. The overbearing scent has him side-stepping to create more distance between them.

The blond rolls his eyes before giving the papers in his hand a once-over, not even granting her the satisfaction of eye contact. “You work at a Pro-Hero agency, not some ordinary office job.”

Normally, he isn’t one to admonish any of his employees unless they’re his sidekicks. He’s always out and about on missions, never dawdling around the office long enough to find anything to scold them about. So long as they were competent at their job, he never had to give them any earfuls. But this woman here has been testing that resolve.

A month into her new position, his secretary has been greeting him every morning with far more energy than should be considered possible at such an hour. Her regular tasks shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary. She was mostly tasked with filing villain reports and contacting other Pro-Hero agencies, but her enthusiasm warrants him to think otherwise.

She deliberately shares elevator rides with him, droning on and on about god knows what before getting off at her floor, ending their dull conversations with winks and wide-eyed smiles that make him want to gag. It’s one thing to be genuinely excited about your job, but it’s another thing to be attached to your boss at the hip. She’s at his beck and call when he doesn’t even ask for her.

One can chalk this up to her simply gunning for a promotion, buttering up her boss to garner his favor. However, Bakugou isn’t an idiot. He can read the air, deciphering the meaning behind her words and advances. Her deceptive guise of a hardworking secretary beneath those batting eyelashes is easily uncovered by him.

If she was really trying so hard for a promotion she’d approach him with more important topics in mind. Statistics, analysis, updates on villain activity and hero work. Y’know, discussions that would actually benefit his agency rather than waste his time.

Instead, Bakugou stands there listening to… this.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” her voice drifts off as she taps a finger against her bottom lip pensively, “we should consider holding a party to get to know all our co-workers better!” she proposes. The blond narrows his brows incredulously at her suggestion.

Oblivious to his lack of interest, she moves closer to him, caressing a hand along his hard bicep. She tip-toes her fingers up his arm before flattening her digits next to his ear to whisper, “Company members only, of course. But I’m sure we’d still have a fun time even if it was just the two of us, right?”

Recognizing the suggestive lilt in her tone, he shoves her off of him without even touching her, abruptly tossing his shoulder back. The secretary freezes and comes across the peeved expression on the explosion hero’s rough features.

“We’re here to beat villains and protect civilians, not throw dumb parties.”

“But–”

“Shut it,” he retorts harshly, not letting the bewildered look on the secretary’s face demur him. He shoves the reports back in her arms. “Just do your damn job.” With his brows taut behind his mask, the blond glares hard at her, watching her fumble with the papers before he resumes the rhythm of his combat boots stepping down the hallway. The hero gives her one last glance over his shoulder.

“And remember, it’s Dynamight to you.”

.

.

Man, what an annoying woman.

Is the thought that plagues Bakugou’s mind as he stands beneath the running water in his shower, washing away the sweat and grime accumulated from another busy day of heroics. Yet he still can’t get the irritating thoughts in his head to do the same.

His fingers weave the shampoo through his spikey locks, the pads of his digits massaging his scalp. Glancing at his reflection in the foggy, glass screen door, he meets his scowling mug.

“Tryna get in my pants and shit… Worry about keeping your damn job,” he grumbles to himself exasperatedly. What he finds especially annoying is knowing his secretary will start the day again tomorrow as if nothing happened. Even with Bakugou’s firm stance at wanting to keep things strictly professional, she’s going to continue getting up in his space, trying to caress her nails up his arm, and stink up the place with what he swore was five different kinds of perfume sprayed on her clothes.

But Bakugou’s not some oblivious fool. He can recognize from a mile away what her goal is and he absolutely wants no part in it.

Besides...

“Katsuki! Dinner will be ready when you’re done showering!”

His head swivels toward the door of the bathroom. “Yeah I heard ya!”

He’s already got someone deserving of his time and affection.

You.

“’Kay!” you reply, voice gradually growing louder. Bakugou hears your feet plodding toward the bathroom door just as the door creaks open slightly. “I’ll leave you a new towel to use after you’re done showering, too.” Even through the steam, he can recognize your silhouette peeking inside to drop the towel off. Unbeknownst to you, behind the cloudy glass door of the shower there’s a smile that finds his lips.

After washing the lather off his hair and body, he shuts the water. The last streams falling from the showerhead glide down his skin, joining the suds on the floor before they all disappear down the drain. As the thick steam surrounding him dissipates, he covers his toned body in the towel you left for him.

While patting down the excess droplets cascading his blond locks, Bakugou puts on some sweatpants, but forgoes his t-shirt for now, leaving it hanging over his shoulder. He continues rubbing the towel around his torso as he exits the bathroom.

The savory aroma of thick cheeses and tomato sauces hits Bakugou’s nose the moment he enters the kitchen. He stops in his tracks to take in the pleasant smells, along with the sight in front of his eyes that effortlessly forms a grin on his face.

Your soft hums accompany the harmonious atmosphere of the kitchen. Bakugou’s ruby eyes rove over you shimmying your way around an array of pans and plates like you own the place (which you essentially do), watching you finish piecing your dinner together with a generous sprinkle of garnish and spices.

Eyes never leaving you, an expression of admiration and fondness paints his usually hardened face. With arms crossed over his chest, he could just stand there, admire you, and be more than wholly content. You could do the most mundane things and still have him wrapped around your finger—not that he’d ever mention that to you out loud of course. Occasionally, Bakugou wonders how he ever got so lucky with you in the first place.

You’re so blissfully unaware of your hotheaded boyfriend lurking nearby. It’s all the more apparent by how you abruptly pause as soon as you discover him idling in the kitchen doorway in all of his half-naked glory.

The blond doesn’t let the fact that you’re practically ogling his hard muscle slip past him, and definitely doesn’t miss your moment of hesitation before you avert your gaze, your cheeks growing hot. It brings a smirk to his face and his ego through the roof.

Bakugou tosses his towel and t-shirt somewhere off the side before coming to you. “What? Getting flustered or something, babe?” he taunts. His deep tone hovers next to your ear as his chest touches your back. His hands are on either side of you, trapping you against the counter.

“That fuckin’ hot that I got you this speechless?” His breath is so close to you, he just knows you have goosebumps trailing down your spine. He can tell by the heat swirling in your cheeks just how much he has an effect on you and he absolutely loves how easily he can get you flustered.

Though he can’t say he’s all but immune to your charms, either. He trails a calloused hand up your bare thigh and hips, giving your ass a firm squeeze through your booty shorts which causes a yelp to flee your lips.

Fuckin’ hell.

The way you were dancing around in these things, tip-toeing to reach high cabinets that caused the shorts to ride up slightly and give him a glimpse of the plushness peeking past the fabric already had Bakugou half-hard simply standing behind you. But being able to touch what was essentially his started to make the material of his sweatpants absolutely suffocating.

In a single motion, he spins you around. Your back is pinned against the counter as you’re forced to face him. The cocky grin plastered on his lips greets you.

Finally grasping your composure, you raise an eyebrow at him. “For someone who wanted to take a shower as soon as their stinky-self got home, you sure are eager to get dirty again,” you retort, tracing your hands up his arms to place them on his broad shoulders. “Work didn’t get you sweaty enough?”

The blond chuckles lowly at your cheekiness. His face inches closer, mere centimeters away from your lips. “I could go for an extra workout,” he says huskily, voice dissipating with the shortening distance between you.

His eyes are lidded as he targets your lips, hands leaving the edge of the counter in favor of wrapping his arms around your waist. To his surprise, when he darts forward he meets nothing but air.

Hearing your giggles beside him breaks the tension between you. He opens his eyes and discovers that you’ve tilted your head out of the way. Before he can open his mouth to spit a retort, you rest your head against his shoulder, arms winding at his neck.

“Food’s gonna get cold, big boy,” you hum.

The noise that leaves his gritted teeth is practically a growl. “Dun care about the food–” His hands at your sides play with the waistband of your shorts. “Would rather eat you out on this counter.”

He watches you gulp down the lump in your throat, finding the idea tempting as a dull throb aches between your legs. But to his dismay, you don’t want to let him indulge in you just yet.

You lean forward to kiss his cheek to prepare him for your next words, “First and foremost, dinner. And then I'll let you do whatever you want with me. How’s that?” You tiptoe to peck his nose one more time for good measure before wriggling free from his clutches. You shuffle away to the steaming hot food you left on the other end of the counter.

Pink swathes his cheeks as Bakugou stands there dumbfounded. He rubs the back of his head, his brows furrowing in frustration.

“You’re killing me here, dammit.”

You let out another dulcet giggle. The urge to sneak up on you again to try to get you all hot and bothered lingers until it’s interrupted by a piece of fabric thrown in his face. “Also, shirt on we please.” You turn back at him with two plates of stuffed ravioli perched on each hand. “No shirt, no service.”

He yanks the white t-shirt off his face, grimacing as he begrudgingly pulls it over his head. “Yeah, yeah. You love it though.” Nonetheless, he follows behind you while the savory aroma of your food creates a path toward the dining table. The scent alone makes his stomach growl, the effects of a long day at work making themselves apparent.

Despite the antics he has to put up with, he can’t help but soften around you. It’s as if you possess an innate ability to effortlessly get him to shed his notoriously rough exterior.

He takes a seat on his side of the table, his stomach now growling loud enough for you to hear. You tease a wry grin before placing the ravioli dishes on the table, letting the delicious aromas waft around him, his mouth watering.

“I know it’s been a long day for you so you better eat up, hero.”

The blond’s eyes flicker for a second, chest enveloped with pride as he meets the look on your face that awaits for him in anticipation to dig in. “Yeah… Thanks for the meal,” he murmurs, mild gratitude woven in his words as he picks up the fork and finally chows down.

Again, what did he ever do to deserve you? He knows how hard you work each and every day. The fact that you’re still willing to love and take care of him is enough for him to want to cherish you for an eternity. Coming home to the person he loves and sharing meals with them is a blessing to him as it is and he absolutely wouldn’t trade this for anything else.

Which just makes the matter of his secretary all the more annoying to him.

The damn woman has walked in his office plenty of times to see the framed picture of you two on his desk, even occasionally interrupting his phone calls with you that would end with him mouthing low “love yous” before he’d have to turn around to acknowledge the petty expression resting on her face. He’d watch as her demeanor quickly shifted into a full 180—from a bitter frown to a forced grin to keep up her facade. She definitely knows he’s in a happy, committed relationship. The real question is whether or not she cares enough to acknowledge the fact.

He could just fire her for unprofessionalism. That seems like an obvious solution, but knowing her, she’d probably feed the media some false rumors about alleged abuse towards his employees. Of course, that wouldn’t at all be true. Far from it, but the news loved to twist the truth so long as it got them clicks. Given Bakugou’s naturally rugged demeanor, it wouldn’t be hard for the public to buy their shit and for his ranking on the hero chart to plummet. Which Bakugou could not afford right now considering how close he was to the top.

“’Tsuki, stop playing with your food.” He hears you chide, tugging him from his contemplation.

Bakugou huffs, jamming his fork onto the plate. “I’m not a damn kid.”

“Right, tell that to the ravioli you’re mangling with your fork.” You raise your brow and point at his stabbed and defeated pasta, the filling oozing out from the punctured holes. He keeps his gaze suspiciously fixed on the ravioli.

Does it taste bad? You wonder warily. “If you don’t like it then you don’t have to eat it, y’know.”

“What? No– The food’s fine.” He stuffs three pastas in his mouth one after the other. “Fucking delicious,” he mutters through ungracious chewing, cheeks puffed profusely, bringing a grin to your face.

“What’s wrong then? Bad day at work?”

He swallows his food. “Could say that,” he answers, resting his head against his propped arm. “Just some employee causing trouble.”

“Hopefully it’s not one of your sidekicks,” you pick at the raviolis while stuck in your musing, “I remember your first batch of recruits when you just started your own agency. You nearly scared half of them away by the end of the week.”

“How else was I supposed to whip those newbies into shape?” He lounges in his seat. “If they can’t take some yelling from a Pro, then they’re definitely not ready for the real hero world. Besides, they were the ones that came to my agency knowing that I’m the best,” he boasts with confidence, shoving more pasta in his mouth, and munching at his leisure.

“Also, it’s not a sidekick. Just some lady who can’t do her fuckin’ job.”

“Aw, cut her some slack, I’m sure she’s trying her best.”

Bakugou almost scoffs. If you knew the real reason for her lack of work ethic, you’d be on the same page as him.

Either way, he really needs to get this secretary off his back before shit blows out of proportion. If pictures, phone calls—hell—even lunch dates can’t get her to wake up, then what?

To his surprise, the idea actually comes to him quicker than he anticipated, red eyes perking up at a scheme forming in his head.

Of course. Heh, why didn’t I think of that sooner?

This is how he’s going to do it, he thinks. His lips barely resist the urge to quiver into a smirk that will no doubt have you questioning whatever was riling him up. Swallowing his final piece of pasta, Bakugou pushes his plate away but aims his fork in your direction.

“You free tomorrow?”

“I just have to drop off some papers at work in the morning. Why?”

“Good. Come by the agency for lunch.”

Your brows furrow at how sudden the request is, however, you go along with it. “Okay, should I make lunch for us?”

“Nah, don’t. I’ll order something,” he assures, but in his head he’s sure lunch would be the last thing on your mind tomorrow afternoon with what he has planned for you, him, and his secretary.

Bakugou scoots his seat back, leaning over on your side of the table. “Now, I remember a certain brat made a promise to me after dinner was done.”

“Hold it, I still have a piece–”

“Nuh-uh, c’mere–” He lightly pushes your hand away, and with effortless strength, pulls you out of your chair and over his shoulder. “Already waited too damn long.”

“Whoa..!” Your last piece of pasta falls back on the plate, forgotten. You watch as the distance between you and the dining table diminishes, the impatient blond leading you two into the hallway. At your fidgeting, he swats your thigh, warning you to stay fucking still unless you want to accidentally fall on your face.

With a squeal escaping your lips, you comply. As a reward, he presses his lips against the side of your ass as you’re still hanging over him, nipping at your curves. Your yelps are replaced by laughter. The ticklish sensation nearly makes you squirm again if not for Bakugou dropping you unceremoniously onto your bed.

“You better make it up to me for having to make me wait, Princess.” His emphasis on what is supposed to be your endearing little pet name comes out as a snarl as you’re cornered against the sheets. Expecting this kind of intense reaction from him after your meal, you grin slyly.

“I mean the ravioli was good, wasn’t it?”

Well that he can’t deny. Still, the blond smirks, showing his pearly canines. “Yeah, but,” he moves away from you, kneeling while grabbing at the hem of his shirt to pull it off,

“I’m still fuckin’ hungry.”

.

.

There is no doubt that the next day, you woke up incredibly sore. Sore yet also just as happy.

The tension in your muscles had dissipated as a result of being repeatedly fucked into your own mattress last night, allowing you to sleep soundly. So soundly that you don’t even notice your boyfriend leaving for work that morning. But it can’t be helped given how ungodly early his hero work starts every day.

Some hours after Bakugou has already left, your alarm goes off to remind you that it’s about time to begin your day. Even after a spent night, you can’t bear the thought of lying in bed anymore, especially with how cold the sheets had become, devoid of the blond’s natural warmth. Plus you had something to look forward to this afternoon—your lunch date.

Once you get washed and dressed, you grab your business files from your desk and dash out the door to drop off your papers at work.

Before you know it, it’s noon and you’re standing in front of the receptionist’s desk at Dynamight’s agency.

While you wait for the receptionist to finish their business call, you think back on the employee Bakugou mentioned yesterday. You note in the foreground how busy the entire place looks, which doesn't surprise you. The agency runs like a well-oiled machine. With all the hustle and bustle going on, it seems like everyone is doing their job with peak efficiency. Honestly, you can’t imagine anyone wanting to test the wrath of the explosive Number Two Hero, but you assume such people existed.

“Thank you for waiting! Here to see Mister Dynamight?” The receptionist greets you after hanging up their call, immediately recognizing you from your prior visits.

“Yeah, just coming by for lunch.”

“He’s in his office right now so I’ll let him know you’re here then.”

You mouth a thank you, followed by a farewell wave as you make your way to the elevator.

“’Suki’s office should be on… this floor…” you murmur, pressing the corresponding button on the panel. While you wait for the doors to close, you spot a figure approaching from a distance. You can see the person’s wrinkled professional attire, disheveled hair, and slightly smeared makeup as she approaches the elevator clumsily.

“H… Hold the door!” she pants.

Hearing her frantic request, your mind catches up with you. You jam your index finger on another button on the panel, keeping the doors open just long enough for the woman to slip inside and catch her breath.

You watch her ungraciously drop to the floor, lungs gasping for air. “That was a close one.” You bend down to extend a helping hand.

She sputters as she reaches out to you, “Yeah, thanks, I– Wait, you’re...” When she looks up, her eyes squint to get a better look at your face, brows knitting together as she recognizes your features. Dismissing your help, she abruptly retracts her hand before getting up on her own. You cock your head suspiciously when you notice her change in demeanor.

“Oh, I’m just stopping by to have lunch with my boyfriend. He’s your, uh,” you piece your words as eloquently as you can, “boss.”

It’s always difficult for you to tell any of Bakugou’s staff that you’re his girlfriend. You’d done it before in front of his group of sidekicks while waiting outside his office and as a result they all flipped, bombarding you with questions about your relationship before falling dead silent when his door suddenly swung open.

You’re expecting the same, if not, a similar reaction here, but you’re surprised to see a deadpan look in the woman’s eyes. She averts her gaze. You glance over at her, taking note of her fists shaking at her sides and how she bites the inside of her cheek which forms a pout on her lips.

You’re beginning to wonder if you shouldn’t have disclosed that information. “Are you okay?” you inquire, your voice filled with genuine concern. She eventually turns to look at you straight on, her expression teetering between a smile and a scowl. In any case, she tries to steer you away from the elephant in the room.

“Yep! Just peachy!” she assures through a strained grin that makes you all the more suspicious of her. Even if you want to question it, she has no intention of continuing the conversation. Her lips press together in an effort to maintain her smile, or else risk blurting something that should’ve stayed in her mouth. You keep to yourself in the elevator so as not to bother her, but the prolonged silence, combined with the elevator’s incessant dinging throughout each ascending floor, creates a suffocating atmosphere.

With every floor you pass you soon realize that despite keeping your distance, she’s still looking in your general direction. You notice her sneaking glances at you and your neck grows hot as you follow where her eyes wander. You press your palm against your jugular, the spot you recall Bakugou laying his teeth on last night.

I thought I covered that…

You want to chastise yourself for not spending enough time this  morning to conceal the blemishes on your neck. Your coworker had even commented on them before you left for Dynamight’s agency, to your embarrassment.

You settle for letting out an uneasy chuckle while adjusting the collar of your shirt. Though the majority of Bakugou’s staff are already aware of your relationship, you’d rather hide any detail of your sex life if possible. You’d prefer not being the hot talk amongst the whole faculty.

You expect to be the brunt of the woman’s teasing next, anticipating her wiggling her brows or whistling, but she keeps her mouth shut and her expression even appears offended.

Fortunately, the elevator saves both of you from any more uncomfortable silences. Right on cue, the doors slide open for the woman to exit on her floor. She doesn’t spare you a glance on her way out, but you overhear her mutter under her breath, “Enjoy your lunch or whatever.”

She stomps in the opposite direction until her figure disappears behind closing doors. Your face scrunches. “What’s her deal?”

You’ve gotten used to the bitter reactions some people would give over the fact you and Bakugou are in a relationship. You kind of have to, considering who Bakugou is and the hoards of fans he’s accumulated over the years as a Pro-Hero. But any of the backlash you receive is mostly posted online by petty netizens. No one has the guts to confront you in person. Mostly because if they do, Bakugou has no qualms about retaliating with equal venom and more. This lady, on the other hand, works for Bakugou. When it comes to greeting her boss’s girlfriend, she should be professional, right?

You brush those thoughts away, recalling that no one should ever have to suck up to you simply because you're a Pro’s significant other. “She’s probably on the PR team.” You laugh off, remembering how much trouble it is to manage Bakugou’s public image and how she must be tired from working overtime.

The elevator dings one last time to indicate that you’ve arrived at your destination. When the doors part, the entrance to Dynamight’s office is directly across from you, passing a short corridor. Normally, sidekicks and employees had to press the button on the side of the door, or page him ahead of time before entering. However, you have the luxury of just swinging those doors open whenever you like.

“Heya, Katsu–”

“For the last fuckin’ time, there’s no way I’m going on that mission as his fucking standby.” The voice booming at the other end of the room behind a wide, wooden desk drowns out your voice. “Tell Grand that if he can’t find another B-rate hero agency like his to do his damn dirty work, then he can just fuck himself,” he spits into the receiver. He slams the phone down and hangs up the call without a second thought.

You announce your presence once more with a low whistle. Another one for the PR team. “Vulgar as usual,” you joke.

He sighs loudly, “The only way to get the message across their thick skulls is to beat it into their heads at this point,” he says, leaning against the large glass windows behind him. “That Shindou needs to get off my back. I thought I told everyone I wasn’t taking anymore calls from that asswipe.”

“I’m sure Grand will finally get the idea after he receives your message from his manager.” Slipping in next to him, you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers delicately crawl up to his chin, tilting his head to face your smile. Bakugou reciprocates the gesture, his gloved hands gripping your waist and pulling you in as your lips briefly meet. When you part, you rest your forehead against his.

“How was patrol this morning, hero?” you whisper, playing with the tufts of hair above his neck.

“Same old shit,” he tells you quietly as you hum at his response, an amused grin tugging at the seam of your lips. Just as you’re about to separate, his hold at your sides tightens, locking your body against his.

“Bet you missed me, didn’t you, princess?” He leans in to nibble your jawline, causing laughter to tumble from your lips. “Bed got cold without me?”

Your answer is interrupted by a hand brushing up against the waistband of your pants, ruffling your tucked-in blouse. The man growls in the crook of your neck. “Didn’t have my cock to keep you nice and warm?”

Your nose scrunches at his unfiltered tongue. “Katsuki, I came here for lunch, remember?” You push at his chest, attempting to get him off you, but his teeth lock onto your clavicle.

“Food’s on the way,” he assures. Fingers play with the loops of your pants, dragging your shirt out slowly. “Might as well kill time–” His lips suddenly collide with yours, stealing your breath and drowning out any protests. He scuffs his teeth against your bottom lip, looking for a way in. You whimper in response at his persistence, stumbling backwards against the edge of his desk as he finally pries through your lips.

After an intense moment of kissing, his attention shifts to your jugular, nipping at the tender skin again. Every time his canines make contact with the broken skin, you wince. “Still got my marks all over ya,” he boasts, but the more skin he tries to unveil, the more he has to pull at your shirt’s collar which quickly annoys him. “Though I don’t understand what the hell you’re covering them up for.”

“D-Don’t want people to see…” you fumble with your excuses yet tilt your head to grant him better access. He scoffs at how your actions betray your words.

“Why does it matter when I want them to see? Let those fuckers look and know we’re together.” He licks one of the patches of broken skin. His harsh words make you shiver in his hold, but beneath his rough exterior, you sense a tender possessiveness in the amount of attention he pays to your body.

Your fingers brush through his hair, gently pulling him off of you so you can look him in the eyes, “You’re so damn insufferable, you know that?”

“Heh, you like it though,” Bakugou counters. You click your tongue, feigning ignorance. With his hand wrapped at the nape of your neck, he thumbs at your blemishes. His ruby eyes take their time to admire every inch of his claim on you. “You were clenching whenever I marked you. Screaming nice and loud too.”

“I bet the neighbors hate us now…” You sigh quietly.

“Took them that long?” He grins, almost proud of being a menace to those extras next door despite being a heroic figure. “Besides, not my fault you let me do whatever I wanted to you.” You pout, but accept it’s a fact you very well can’t deny.

As his deft hands unfasten each button of your blouse, he switches your positions. He yanks your shirt, dragging the fabric down your shoulders to reveal your skin and the bra hugging your chest. Licking his lips, he removes his thick gloves before hoisting you up to sit on the desk with him, making you straddle his thighs. Another pause of appreciation for the blossoms adorning your chest makes him blurt out, “Maybe I should let you mark me up just as much.”

You look at him precariously. He doesn’t take back the grin on his face. Seeing your wide-eyed expression, he cups your jaw, pulling you toward him. “What’s the look for? I know you’ve thought about it, princess.” Bakugou reads you like a book. He revels in your flustered face, telling him how right he is.

The image of his scarred, toned skin covered in hickeys has crossed your mind more times than you can count, but you’ve always been too engrossed in the intoxicating sensation of his teeth grazing every stretch of your skin to ever have an opportunity to bring the thought to light. Bakugou never gives you an inch when it comes to taking the reins in the bedroom. But now he’s practically granting you the opportunity on a silver platter.

You point a dubious look at him. “Are you serious, or did you bump your head somewhere earlier on patrol?” Anticipating your skeptical response, a chuckle rumbles low in his throat. He scoots back to remove his tank top, letting your hands lay over his chiseled physique. Your fingers immediately trace the scars and cuts lining his muscles, each one standing as a testament to every one of his battles. The idea of your own marks joining his adonis of a canvas has your eyes fluttering.

“’s no joke, babe,” he clarifies, a wicked grin plastered on his face. He then remembers why he made this whole arrangement in the first place. “Aren’t you tired of those fuckin’ extras always ogling me—looking at me up and down like they even have a damn chance to touch all of this?” He grabs your wrist and guides your hands above his chest, your fingertips brushing his collarbones.

You bite your lower lip. “Well…”

Hearing your voice linger, he snarls, “Are you seriously hesitating?”

It’s not like you hadn’t ever clenched your fists in front of the TV whenever your boyfriend was being interviewed by some mischievous news reporter or journalist. They never make it subtle when casting one too many glances at the Pro’s sweaty, skintight attire, staring into his red eyes for so long that they started looking dumb. Though as much as dark green jealousy occasionally takes root in your subconsciousness, you never act on your displeasure.

In the back of your mind, you always saw it as a sign of clinginess. But Bakugou sees it differently. To him, he’d want nothing more than his girl staking their claim on him. For you to get needy, jealous, possessive. Let the entire world know that you both belong to each other and no one else.

You fix your gaze at his cynical expression that eggs you on. Before you know it, you lunge forward. Your mouth latches onto his neck, arms curling around his shoulders. Bakugou draws you skin-to-skin, his low chuckle reverberating in the depths of his chest.

“Ooh, that’s it,” he encourages, rubbing your back. His other hand palms your ass, rocking you both back and forth, grinding his bulge against the crotch of your jeans. Your teeth cling to him, sinking into his skin. Your lips vibrate against his collarbones while you whimper at the delicious friction on your clit.

“Harder. I wanna see nice ol’ purple marks here,” he orders, relentlessly rolling his hips. You want to slap him on the wrist, your concentration waning as heat quickly pools in your abdomen. As if the grinding isn’t enough, Bakugou effortlessly undos the button of your jeans. He pulls down the zipper before reaching inside and touching you through your underwear.

“Fuck, already this wet from a little grinding? Nasty girl,” he hisses, running his index and middle finger across the ruined crotch of your panties. “Or maybe marking me is getting you all riled up?”

“Shut up–” you mutter half-heartedly. With a pop, your lips leave him. You lean back to evaluate your work. They’re not as noticeable as the marks Bakugou usually gives you, but they’re visible, and they’re purple as requested.

A small trail of violet hickeys adorns the crook of the blond’s neck and collarbones. Your finger traces the path, eyes capturing the sheen of your saliva over the marks. His skin gleams in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Reaching inside the pocket of his baggy pants, Bakugou pulls out his phone to turn on the front-facing camera. He gets a clear view of your work on the screen, and his smirk appears on the display. “My girl did that, huh?” He cranes his neck to examine the blemishes from different angles. Soon after, you hear his camera’s shutter release, capturing the image and adding it to his gallery. He should really consider making an album out of these.

Tossing his phone to the side, those piercing red eyes return to you, and your assertiveness fades. He grabs your wrists and leans in to kiss your temple.

“You did well, princess.”

His hushed voice makes your cunt clench and your ears warm. “I'll be sure to show these off later,” he promises, his tone dripping with smugness.

God, you realize how little his hero costume does to hide any of those hickeys. Given that he has to go on patrol again soon, you can expect his neck to be a hot topic in the media. Regardless, you can’t deny the satisfaction that wells up in your chest at the thought.

Katsuki was right. You really are possessive over him. And of course, it goes both ways.

While you’re distracted by your epiphany, he uses this opportunity to unhook your bra, happily discarding the garment. You exhale as he roughly cups the underside of your breast. His breath tickles your perky nipple, strong arm hooking you into him.

The pattern of his breaths are erratic, excitement coursing through his veins. His carmine eyes are lidded as he flattens a tongue against the hardened nub. As Bakugou fully wraps his lips around the stiffening bud, sucking and biting to his heart’s content, mewls part your mouth.

“Your tits still taste fucking amazing,” he mutters, mouth caught between sucking and spewing obscenities. “These tits gonna give me some milk too, princess?”

“Don’t push your luck, mister,” you quip before biting your bottom lip. You concentrate on moving your hips back and forth against his thigh, trying to find the right angle that provides you with the delicious jolt of pleasure you craved between your thighs. With a smack, his lips leave your nipple.

“Guess I didn’t give you enough attention down here since you keep rutting against me like a needy slut.” He swats your ass before gripping the plushness harshly. The mild sting has your pussy clenching. “My baby doesn’t feel satisfied unless she’s getting stretched open by my cock, huh?”

Just a little bit of dirty talk from him is enough to make you whimper pathetically, “Please, ‘suki…”

“Please, what? Gotta tell me more than that, princess.” He tugs the waistband of your pants, teasing you. Never breaking eye contact, Bakugou’s hand sneaks under the edge of his desk. “Use your words, I want to know what I’m doing to you. Don’t skimp on the details.”

A light click goes off, but if you hear it you don’t make it apparent, too focused on the hot blond in front of you that was making your head spin.

“Fuck… ‘Suki, I feel so hot… Need you right now…” You grab his hand showing him your ruined panties by letting the pads of his fingers trail your wet pussy. “See? Look what you did, I’m soaked.”

Bakugou mutters curses under his breath, applying more pressure to your panties to thoroughly inspect the slick saturating the fabric. He couldn’t have asked for a better reaction, finding your pleading to be incredibly sinful and all-too-tempting. He considers it a waste that he isn’t recording anything. Well, maybe it isn’t an entire waste.

“Damn, how are you this messy? This pussy’s fucking sobbing for me.” You nod, sloppily gyrating on top of his hand. For once, Bakugou is considerate to your needs and slides your panties to the side to slip his digits across your bare folds. You both moan in unison, you at the extra relief and him at the slippery honey dripping down his knuckles.

In his eyes he was being generous, granting you his thick fingers prodding your silky walls rather than reduce you to pitifully grinding against him. But, being greedy, you thought he wasn’t being generous enough.

Bakugou’s fingers leave your cunt to sample you, wet digits laying flat on his tongue. “Fuck, I need to lick you clean right now.”

“N-No, ‘suki, jus’ want your cock in me already,” you whine with a pout. However, Bakugou is insistent on stealing more than just a little taste from your sweet cunt.

“Not gonna even let me indulge a little? Must have spoiled you with too much dick last night.” He scoffs, but doesn’t move to discard his uniform to free his hard cock. Instead, he motions you to step down and stand in front of him while he remains perched atop his desk.

He eyes you up and down. “What are you waiting for, princess? I want it all off already.”

Your fingers start moving toward your disheveled blouse. As fabrics pile the floor, you catch the blond licking his lips, lewdly eyeing your panties that slip down your legs to reveal your juices coating your inner thighs.

“Turn around and kneel on top of my chair.”

At his blunt tone, you obey. Dynamight’s luxurious office chair cushions your knees as you carefully lift your body onto it.

“Bend over.”

Without question, you use the arms of the chair as leverage to safely lean forward, spreading your pussy in front of him. As half of your face presses into the cushion of the head rest, you steal a glimpse of his reaction from your peripheral vision.

With a guttural hiss between his teeth, he gets off the desk, pulling the chair closer for an even better look at your glistening center. He palms your ass, rolling the globes in his hands before spreading them, exposing your slick folds.

“You seriously trying to deny me this angel cunt?” His words are emphasized with a quick smack before his tongue dives between your folds. You whine at the contact, his lips fluttering around your clit as it works its way up your slobbering hole.

Knees shaking, you subconsciously muffle your sounds as you press your face into the headrest of the office chair. Not satisfied with your muted cries, Bakugou reaches one hand toward your head. He cups your jaw, turning you more to the side so you aren’t hiding in the cushion. When his tongue swivels around your sensitive bud, your moans resonate across his office with euphoria.

“‘suki! I’m gonna–!”

“Gonna cum? Do it then you slut.”

At your warning, he works his mouth vigorously against your pussy, even adding two fingers into your walls. Your toes curl behind you as your grip on the arms of the chair tighten.

“Fuck, you’re dripping all over my damn office chair.”

Maybe you would’ve issued a half-hearted apology, if not for his tongue and its unrelenting intensity across your sensitive bundle of nerves. You only offer a string of moans that Bakugou happily accepts, smiling into your pussy as he feels you tense up against him.

“Ka..tsuki!!” You practically scream, electricity coursing through your skin as your orgasm shakes your entire body.

“That’s it, princess. Want your taste all over my tongue… So fucking good,” he drones against your folds, not letting a drop go to waste as you slowly come down from your post-orgasmic bliss.

“Ah! ‘Suki, I’m already too sensitive…” You gasp, still feeling him drunkenly licking up and down your slit despite you just coming. Reaching behind you, you weave your fingers through his ash blond hair, nudging at his scalp to try to push him away, but Bakugou’s strength clearly outweighs yours. He grips your wrist, lifting his face off your sloppy pussy of his own volition.

“That sensitive just from my tongue? Oh, sweetheart, I plan on ruining you in my office chair alone.” Keeping his word, he replaces your pliant body with his own, planting himself right on the cushioned seat with his legs spread thoughtlessly. He dashes for the hem of his pants, unfastening the zipper, and pulling down enough articles of clothing for his cock to spring out, stiff and glistening with his arousal.

Lust blown eyes admire the thickness of Bakugou’s shaft, rightdown to the veins on the ridges of his cock. A smirk and chuckle follow in the wake of your heady gawking, swearing that you look like you were about to pounce and give him the best head of his life. Sadly, as he glances at the digital clock perched behind you, he realizes there’s no time.

“Sorry, babe, food’s gonna be here any minute and I need you on my cock right fucking now.” He rolls the office chair closer to get a firm grasp of your hips, motioning you on top of him with rousing urgency. Thighs on either side of his own, you reach over your body to level his cock over your dripping folds.

The blond’s lips curl into a sneer beneath you, hands fondling your breast and ass—the latter spreading your cheek to help you accommodate his size. “Besides, this what you wanted, right? To be–” As you begin sinking down his length, your mouth opens in a soundless mewl. “–split open on me, even after I fucked you into the mattress last night?”

Your teeth tug at your bottom lip while you do your best to bottom out. Katsuki isn’t amused by your muted reaction, pinching your nipple as punishment and spurring his desired noises from you. “What did I say? Answer me, slut, you wanted to get fucked dumb again, didn’tcha?” His words are harsher this time, demanding your attention.

“Yes, yes! Wan’ you to make me your little cockwhore, ‘Suki…” you confess, moaning when you feel his dick fully impale you. At the same time, Bakugou hisses at how your walls mercilessly hug his shaft.

“Yeah princess, I’m going to give you exactly what you need– Fuck! How are you so damn tight?!” It hasn’t even been ten hours since he had sex with you, stretching you into his shape last night until the sun shined, and yet you still had the innate ability to squeeze every ounce of pleasure out of him and then some. At this rate, he’s not going to last. “Need you to move, baby. Ride me already.”

Hearing the urgency in his tone, your hips begin moving on their own, dragging yourself on and off his cock. Hands on his shoulders, you leverage yourself to maintain a steady rhythm that had you both delirious and panting in pleasure. The blond’s thick fingers dig into your soft flesh, growls leaving his lips as fire flares in his veins, threatening to ignite his last ounce of willpower to allow you to keep this sustained tempo.

“F-Feeling good, ‘suki?” you question, looking down at him with a sinful expression painted on your gorgeous face—pretty eyes half-lidded and needy just for him.

“Yeah… God you make me act up all the damn time I–” His cock twitches between your tight folds, eyeing you from below and watching you clasp his hand that’s pawing your breast to gesture to him to play with you some more. The sensual yet genuine smile you give him ultimately breaks his resolve.

Oh, fuck it.

As if chains have snapped around him, Bakugou suddenly shoots up, carrying your body against him. He lays you across his desk quickly but carefully, with little regard for whatever else tumbles and falls off of it except for you.

You squeal in surprise, your arms and legs attempting to find purchase around him before you’re reduced to jelly by the new quickening pace of his cock pounding your insides.

“Oh my god… Katsuki!” The obscene slapping of skin on skin accompanies your desperate cries throughout his office. Arms that were wound around his neck lose their hold on him, pathetically dropping to your sides to clasp Katsuki’s wrists, where he’s pulling your thighs apart to spread you open for his unrelenting thrusts.

“Sorry, princess… you looked so damn hot I couldn’t hold back anymore. Needed to feel you deeper and make you cream already.” His tepid apologies don’t reach your ears as you’re overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his movements, followed by a searing knot welling up in your abdomen.

By the looks of it, you have no objections to the turn of events, gazing dreamily at him as his hardened body hovers over you. From your point of view, you get glimpses of the sweat dotting his forehead, his nose scrunched in concentration, and narrowed ruby eyes glimmering with feral desire.

With stars in your eyes and features all flushed with warmth and lust, you sing a euphony of I love you’s between whimpers. Your voice catches in your throat when his cock repeatedly hits that sweet spot inside your gummy walls.

Bakugou can’t get enough of you, heart swelling with his affections that he can’t help but flick his wrist to intertwine his hand in yours. Despite his progressively carnal thrusts, he possesses contrasting tender devotions in his voice.

“I love you, princess. It’s been you and no one else. No other bitch can compare,” he repeats over and over like a mantra, a declaration of his loyalty to you and only you. You swear there’s an extra weight behind his words, but you’re too engrossed in the feeling of utter euphoria this man gives you in mind, body, and soul to give it a second thought. It’s as if you’re walking on Cloud 9 as your pussy clenches around him, back arching in the moment that’s pushing Bakugou to the breaking point

“So damn perfect, you were fucking made for me, baby. Give it to me, cum on my cock,” he pleads, “I know you’re almost there, princess.”

“Yea, ‘suki… Wanna cum for you, you make me feel so good,” you murmur brokenly, voice splintering into an incoherent babble that he finds so endearing, caressing your cheek while deepening his brutal pace. That knot in your tummy tightens and when the cord eventually snaps, you cry out, clutching onto his hand.

Katsuki insists he’s never seen a prettier sight than you finally losing yourself all because of him. It urges him to reach his own high and claim you in the only way he knows how—coming in your pretty cunt and dedicating himself wholly to you.

“Pretty angel, you’re making me crazy over here. Fuck! ‘Bout to blow my whole load inside you. That what you want?”

“Mhm! Please..!” You manage a few urgent pleas before Bakugou finally reaches his limit, groans resonating in the wake of his cock stuttering between your silky folds. His growls reverberate from the depths of his chest, thick with rapture as his body is bathed in the sweet sensation that is your entire being swallowing him whole. Ribbons of his cum paint your insides. You feel so full, both physically and spiritually, your heart bursting with love for the man that was spilling his adoration for you merely seconds ago.

Bodies spent and chests heaving, you lay on the desk with Katsuki on top of you. You don’t notice his hand sneaking under the desk, a click going off that goes equally overlooked, enveloped by your collective pants echoing in the stillness that is his hero office.

After a moment, the sensations catch up to you and the weight of his sweaty, heavy torso makes you squirm.

“Feel sticky…”

“There’s a shower and bath right there.” Bakugou grunts, but there’s playfulness behind his deceptively gruff mannerisms.

Your hands trail over his back at his response. “I know, but can you carry me?”

“Fine. Such a princess…”

“I’m your princess though.” You giggle, a teasing lilt in your carefree tone.

The blond can’t help the grin that finds his features. “Hell yeah you are.”

Bakugou pulls on his uniformed cargo pants to scrounge together some semblance of decency as he cradles you against him. Your body is like jelly in the Pro Hero’s strong arms, barely exercising the strength to hold onto him properly as he moves you to the unnecessarily luxurious bathroom built in his office. While setting you down on the counter next to the sink, the pager in his pocket rings.

“Food’s finally here.” He reaches for a hanger on the door, finding a bathrobe to blanket you in. “I’ll be back.”

You raise a brow. “Going out like that?”

“Relax, I’m putting a shirt on obviously.”

“A shirt, huh?” Not at all convinced, you cross your legs. You and him both know he absolutely reeks of sex. The marks you gave him are also an obvious giveaway. No doubt he’ll be an eye-turner to anyone he crosses paths with at the agency.

“Fine, I’ll have someone bring it up.” He meets you in the middle and you happily oblige, shoo-ing him to go about his business once again. The blond rolls his eyes, exiting the bathroom and out the large double doors of his office to wait at the elevator for his delivery.

And when those doors open with a ding, he’s greeted by the very last person he wishes to see. Swathed in the overbearing odor of her pungent perfume, his secretary stands heel-to-heel in the elevator, eyes crossed and a furious blush penetrating the matte layer of her foundation. Her steps traverse the threshold between the lift and hallway. With hands balled into small fists, she jabs the plastic bag of take-out food into the hero’s chest before wagging her finger at his disinterested demeanor.

“You..! You! How dare you?! Why, I should charge you for sexual harassment for what you did! So uncouth! Barbaric even!” She lectures vehemently, voice dripping with malice akin to the insults she practically spits at his face. The benevolent facade she dons everyday to garner his favor crumbles to pieces before his eyes and Bakugou can’t contain his laughter at the pathetic display.

“What’s so funny?!”

“Oh man, you’re a riot aren’t ya? You coulda very well just turn off your speaker if it bothered you so damn much,” he suggests, but the glint in his expression tells the woman he can see right through her. “But you didn’t, did you? You listened in on the whole thing like a fuckin’ pervert.”

At his deduction, the secretary blushes even harder. The fists at her sides shake with an anger that boils under her skin, melting her composure like the wicked witch of the west.

“Why you..! You’re the pervert here! Don’t think you can turn the situation on me when you’re the one who instigated this!” She points an accusing finger in his direction, an empty threat to the indifferent blond.

The hero barely offers her a scoff. “Me? The instigator? You got some fucking nerve saying that when all month you’ve been coming onto me practically on all fours despite knowing I’m a taken man.” Now it’s his turn to retort with equal venom and then some. His sudden switch in demeanor quickly overwhelms the woman as with every step he takes forward, she grows smaller and smaller.

“What’re you going to do? Tell the media? Report me to the authorities? Make a bunch of baseless rumors on your online blog? Well news flash—unlike you I’m irreplaceable. There won’t ever be another hero that has left as big of a mark on this country as I have, and you know it.” He holds his chest proudly after every word. In his presence, the secretary shrinks, gradually cowering back toward the elevator. Any semblance of nerve she held vanishes in front of her.

“Now start packing your things. If I don’t see your station left spotless by tomorrow morning I’ll make sure your days working for the hero industry are numbered.” It’s a threat she doesn’t dare challenge, wordlessly pressing a button on the panel to descend the floors and flee with her tail between her legs. The flabbergasted expression on her face is the last he sees of her.

And just like that, Katsuki feels a weight evaporate from his shoulders, releasing a deep sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He bounds back to his office with your lunch in tow.

When he returns, he overhears the water running in the bathroom before it’s soon shut off.

“Ah, ‘Suki, you’re back! I just filled the tub with water for our bath.” Your sincere smile meets his eyes which soften at the mere glimpse of you kneeling next to the tub, patiently awaiting his arrival.

“Fuck, babe, you weren’t suppose to move. Should be too sore after what I did t’ya.” He hoists you off the floor and into welcoming arms.

You pout cutely. “C’mon now, I’m not helpless you know.”

“‘Course not. But you’re my princess, remember? All mine.” He settles you both into the depths of the soothing, warm tub, nestling your body against his chest as he presses kisses in every area of tender skin he laid his claim on.

“And I plan to treat you like one for the rest of our lives.”

.

.

The very next morning, he finds a letter of resignation on his desk—the very place the two of you had fucked.

copyright 2022 shotoh, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated elsewhere so please do not repost this or share my content on tiktok.

#bnha x reader #bnha smut #bakugo smut #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha fic #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #bakugou fic #mha smut #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugo katsuki smut

[lyneira]

♡ *doki doki* ♡

-> things that would make their heart beat a little bit faster

Seeing you smile

Itto, Diluc, Childe, Venti, Thoma

He absolutely loves seeing your face brighten up with a genuine smile. It has him subconsciously mirroring you, his face also turning aglow (even if it's in the most subtle way for someone like Diluc) And especially when you're smiling at him, that love grows tenfold and his own smile grows deeper. He can't help but be full of adoration for you upon seeing that lovely expression. More so when that beautiful smile forms into a laugh, oh his heart is soaring.

That's why he often makes it a point to make you smile whenever he sees you. Whether it's doing something kind for you, telling you a joke, or surprising you with a gift, he's going to find any possible way to make you smile. Your smile is just so precious to him as he knows how fleeting happy moments like these can be, despite how much he wishes they'd last forever.

So he will protect it with all his might, and God forbid someone ever makes that smile turn upside down.

Feeling your touch

Xiao, Tighnari, Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Gorou

Your touch soothes them, assures them, warms them. You needn't even give them a big hug. The moment they feel your skin on theirs, even if it's barely a ghost of a touch, they're folding. After all, I honestly don't these guys would be used to skinship even though it's what they'd secretly crave for the most.

He nearly holds his breath as he feels your fingertips gently caress his skin because if he were to let go, he'd be all over you. Each time you touched him, he'd desire more of that warmth. He wanted more of you. You, who would put his mind at rest and feeling your touch reassures them of that. You make him feel safe

Staring deeply into your eyes

Alhaitham, Zhongli, Kaeya, Cyno, Kaveh

There's an unspoken trust and connection when you two gaze into each other’s eyes that there is no need for words to let them know that you love them.

Your eyes say words that your lips cannot express to its full extent, and most of all, your eyes can never lie. That's why when you look into his eyes with so much love, he knows that it's true and it makes him feel warm. He's so happy that there's no denying you love him as much as he loves you.

Hearing your voice

Ayato, Heizou, Kazuha, Albedo, Baizhu

I feel like these people wouldn't like hearing a lot of noise, but on the contrary, I would think that they didn't mind listening to you.

Your voice is such a distinguishable part of you which makes it his favorite. There's no one else who has that same exact tone of voice, the same exact intonation you use, the same laugh that you have, and all of the other sounds you'd make. They love it so much because it could only belong to you. And when his name would come out of your mouth so sweetly? He'd swoon a bit each time.

Any sound from you meant it was a sound from his favorite person in all of Teyvat. So if he wasn't looking and didn't know you were coming to see him, the moment you call out his name, he'd immediately know it was you and he'd smile. His beloved was here.

a/n: this prompt is heavily inspired by one of the click and drag games I made a while ago on @deescade (hehe, shameless plug per usual). I haven't created a genshin one yet, but I currently have a twisted wonderland one and obey me one if y'all are interested!

© 2023 lyneira. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, PLAGIARIZE, OR REPOST MY WRITING ONTO OTHER PLATFORMS

#genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #zhongli x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #alhaitham x reader #albedo x reader #kaveh x reader #scaramouche x reader #cyno x reader #kazuha x reader #ayato x reader #thoma x reader #itto x reader #dainsleif x reader #venti x reader #xiao x reader #tighnari x reader #heizou x reader #baizhu x reader #gorou x reader #nene writes~♡

[gayelderstourney]

OLD MAN YAOI BRACKET ROUND 1

Propaganda:

Gerald Robotnik/Black Doom:

Scientist who wants to blow up the world and his evil alien boyfriend

Dude they had a son together and his name is shadow the hedgehog

They created Shadow the hedgehog together. Yes Shadow the hedgehog. This is canon. Theyre also super divorced just trust me on this.their old man yaoi is real

we as a society would not have shadow the hedgehog without their old man yaoi

old man fucks alien so he can bring his daughter back from space safely, gives birth to sad gay hedgehog

you KNOW they fucked

they’re shadow the hedgehogs dads. Like canonically. black doom is an alien god guy and gerald is eggmans grandpa who didn’t love him enough and gave him daddy issues. he also went insane after the government killed his granddaughter (who he loved instead of eggman) and tried to kill humanity :3 these two are like bitter exes to me. they’re both dead. the devil from the bible fucked that old man

Black Doom and Gerald Robotnik are Shadow the Hedgehogs dads. Gerald is a (silly, slightly insane) old scientist and Black Doom is a two thousand year old alien who wants to destroy the Earth. Its not canon but Shadow's gay dads mean everything to me. They kiss and hold hands on the space colony.

IM DOING MY PART!!! GERALDOOM SWEEP BAYBEEEEEEE!!! GO SHADOW’S GAY DADS!

Sheo/The Nailsmith:

It's really nice because you unlock it after the nailsmith asks you to kill him with the pure nail and you refuse and walk away. He then says he was wandering hallownest without purpose until he found sheo who helped him discover that there was more to life than just one calling. These two are probably the only characters in the game to have a genuinely happy ending

The nailsmith loses his purpose in life after finishing his ultimate masterpiece, his lifelong goal, the pure nail. He requests the protagonist to try the nail on him, but If you refuse, he will find sheo who helps him to find new meaning in life and realise that there is more to life by teaching him different crafts. They can then be seen sculping figurines together, and sheo is also painting the nailsmith.They share a common love for art and crafts and inspire each other. Sheo's story is that he was a nailmaster, but got tired of it, and put down his nail to pick up a paintbrush. I think it's beautiful that he could help the nailsmith realise what he himself did. They both also used to live in solitude without even realising how lonely they were, and I think it's cute tuhat they can do art together now :]

They are two bugs retired from their career and making better lives for themselves and they’re gay about it. Nailsmith believes at first that he has nothing left after creating the perfect nail and asks the knight to strike him down, and if you don’t, he meets Sheo, a retired nailmaster finding a new calling in painting and sculpting. They find a shared love in creating things and Nailsmith finds a new calling in art as well. The achievement you get for uniting them is called “Happy Couple”

Gay bugs gay bugs gay bugs (Cw mention of suicide) They both used to pursue their one passion in life: forging the perfect nail (sword) for the Nailsmith and the art of combat for Sheo. Sheo realized he could just leave that life when he lost his passion for fighting, and he found himself a new purpose in life: art. However, he always seemed very lonely, completely isolated by all other bugs in his hidden house in the middle of a thorn jungle. When The Nailsmith achieved his goal and forged the perfect nail, he lost his purpose in life and his will to live. He asks the player to kill him. However, if the player refuses, he can later be found in Sheo's house, modelling for Sheo or sculpting figurines with him. He thanks the player for not fulfilling his request, because he has found a new calling in life here, making art together with Sheo. They both express how happy they are to no longer be alone. This also gives you the "Happy Couple" achievement, confirming that they are a couple.

THEY'RE CANON!!! They're fucking canon!!! You can talk to them at one point after doing a Bunch of Stuff to get them to meet each other and you get an achievement called "Happy Couple"!!! Gotta love old man yuri

#round 1 #polls #gay elders tourney #tournament poll #sonic the hedgehog #geraldoom #gerald robotnik #black doom #hollow knight #sheo #the nailsmith

[solurae]

four eyes (more to love underneath the frames) — PT.1

HELLO!!! okok the prologue received some good reception so i will!!! be continuing the series :3c THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE NICE COMMENTS AND REBLOGS AND OHHHH MY GOD THE MOTHER OF NERD!MIGUEL @nymphomatique REBLOGGED MY PROLOGUE (i could die happy) ty for the food and the inspiration to start this series!!!

i’m still the process of setting up my tumblr because my ass made this my secondary blog (but idek if that changes anything… i don’t think) OH AND YES THERE IS NOW A TAG FOR THE SERIES! ALSO PLSPLSPLS DON’T BE AFRAID TO SEND THROUGH ASKS FOR DRABBLES OR REQUESTS OR ANYTHING REALLY!!! i’m more than happy to feed us both hehe

tw/cw: mmmm not any i can think of (FIXING ANY GRAMMATICAL ERRORS AFTER POSTING BECAUSE I’M COOL)

PROLOGUE?! < <

“sorry students, the projector is currently out of order so i’d like for all of you to just go through the powerpoint on your own. feel free to come up and ask questions.” the professor sighs as he closes his laptop and settles down onto his desk, the chatter of other students and laptop keyboards create the perfect white noise for your 8AM lecture.

you weren’t really that keen on studying this period anyway so you’ll just get it done later but god he looked so much better up close. why did miguel have to be so fucking dorky and hot and cool all at fucking once? it bothered you that miguel has never spoken to you. ever. but with that in mind, no one would ever think of the effect this nerd had on you, not even the nerd himself.

“oi mate, mandem depending on you to pass this class.” you shake your head after you’re slightly shoved to the side of your desk by none other than your best friend bad influence. hobie, hobie, hobie… you groan as you look his way, legs propped up on the desk as if he’s completely unaware that he’s in an lecture hall. next to him is peter, trying to shove hobie’s legs off the table for fear of accidentally hitting miguel who was seated right infront of you.

peter and hobie were the angel and devil on your shoulder that manifested into your closest friends. it was so hard to make friends (partially because you weren’t interested in anyone aside from miguel) and that everyone in your class were already in tight knit friend groups, and it was clear they all wanted to keep it that way with the silent treatment and one-sided conversations. but that didn’t matter. what did matter was that neither of them were taking this class seriously.

hobie - for god knows what reason - just took the class for fun. well, hobie took it out of spite. he said and you quote, “it is my take on deconstructing the stereotypes and preconceptions of particular social groups alongside us punks that dictate that we lack the desire and strive for academic feats”. and you know what? for someone who likes to laze around and count the panels of wood used on the ceiling for half the lecture, his high grades put his narrow-minded folks to shame. oh and peter? although he couldn’t afford to skip his classes, he did anyway. mary jane, MJ - the mother to his children, as he calls her - is in the humanities elective they both share. and peter might as well skip that class instead of looking at MJ as if she invented humanities. you don’t know how watching you and hobie bicker was a better investment of peter’s time but no one was complaining. someone had to remind the both of you of operation miguel mutation, or in other words, get his gaze out of his books and onto your face.

“so much for wanting to prove the world wrong when you’re relying on someone else to do it for you”, you scoffed at hobie, pretending to brush dust off your shoulders. he chuckled, “i just wanted to know how it feels to be those good for nothing, narcissistic capitalists, is all”. you shoved him so hard it rattled your seats and you didn’t even realise you accidentally kicked miguel’s seat until his cold hard gaze towards you even made hobie look like an art piece in the middle of rendering.

“can i help you?”, fuuuuuuck off. he sounds so fucking hot. insanely hot.

his large pitch black frames could never obstruct how chiseled miguel was, he had angular features such as his nose, his jawline and even his cupid’s bow. but these features were softened with warm red eyes and wisps of his hair coming down to frame his forehead. o’hara’s face overall was slightly scrunched, his hand gripped onto the fold away desk while he faced you, his casual attire in sweats could barely hide his build. his mouth was slightly open, the very tip of his fangs making themselves known. he was definitely a specimen, a gorgeous specimen for lack of better word. you didn’t even realise you were staring at miguel until he raised his eyebrow and glanced over at hobie, then over to peter who was just happily content watching your unplanned, unconventional first meeting.

“oh. um, no?”, you were still confused why miguel (the man you’ve been trying to get the attention of ever since the first inkling of a feeling), suddenly turned around and spoke to you—

“excuse me, may i ask that you don’t disrupt your peers during class? i’m watching you too, brown.” if your teacher scolding you like a wack ass boy in year 9 wasn’t enough to make you embarrassed, your quick descent into realising that you quite literally pushed yourself - pushed miguel, rather - to make the first move. in the worst fucking way possible. you ducked your head a bit in an attempt to avoid the gazes of your classmates only to find your shoe jammed between the gap next to miguel’s seat, missing his elbow by a mere few centimetres.

you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

so much for devising a plan to properly introduce yourself by actually trying in class by answering the lecturers questions, to the point miguel can’t help but wonder that there is in fact competition. aware of his competitive nature, miguel would try to get ahead of you or widen that gap but then realise he was all wrong from the moment you’d tap his shoulder for a question you pretend to not understand, to look as if you’re struggling so much miguel can ignore his own studies for a little while to help you. men are stupid after all. miguel doesn’t apply here but being an outcast adjacent of the entire university has its benefits, in a way where it benefits your elaborate plan from stroking miguel’s ego by helping you, to ever so slightly become more and more interested in you. once you slowly ease into getting out of pretending to be an academic victim and miguel finds the joy in being academically challenged by the one girl who braved the odds and approach the mysterious mutant, he’d ask to you to meet at the cafeteria or the library. it didn’t matter. you would then, finally then, be in miguel’s line of sight.

“if this is your way of trying to get into my pants, i’m not interested.”

papers were stuffed into bags and the squeaking of chairs reverberated the lecture theatre. people were making their way to their next class while peter, hobie and yourself shared looks of disbelief, disgust, along with hobie’s infamous expression that scream the words i fucking told you so.

what the fuck? what the actual fuck was that?

o’hara didn’t miss a beat and swivelled around to start packing his belongings, completely unaware of how his response alone completely changed and destroyed all prior preconceptions about this man - or boy as you would now call him - turns out being smart never stopped anyone from being dickhead.

you felt like you just failed a quiz you didn’t know that was happening, despite being prepared to ace it.

it wasn’t like you to fail, however. especially not to him.

[ 🩷 — TAGS! @angelicful @lilipads @zaunsin @m4dyy @okkotszn @rhythmloid @cosmicbarstardust @thespaceinbetweennothing @cu1tvenus @huniedeux @oharasfilipinawife @ilovemuppets @loonalockley ] feel free to comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

#🥽 — four eyes! #miguel o'hara #i love miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #atsv miguel #atsv #atsv x reader #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #GRRRR MIGUEL MIGUEL MIGUEL #miguel fanfic #<nerd!miguel3

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned ୨୧ Chapter II

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.” Songs of Solomon 8:6-7.

As newly appointed Duchess-To-Be, you have much to learn. Etiquette, conduct and eventual motherhood are the pillars you are expected to live by. Because who cares about your choosing?

The Chapel, tended to by a mercurial Priest, is the perfect refuge.

…right?

Pairing: Geto x female reader

A/N: The is dedicated to the artist ( @captainsalsaa ) I mean look at our fallen Angel. His tears. His frustration. Dear GOD.

To the artist: I stared at your piece, then heard a specific song on my writing playlist then wrote the entire last scene in one sitting. To date, it’s my favorite scene in my author’s portfolio. I hope I did our fallen Angel justice. Thank you for creating this 🤍

Previous | Next

CHAPTER II: Hello, Father.

“Awake early, little dove.” 

Warm hands caress your shoulders. A welcome contrast to the chilly nautical dawn. The sun still has a ways to go, but songbirds have begun their wake up call. 

“As are you, Arella.” 

Your eyes float to your favorite maiden standing above you. No more than a handful of years older, but with a heart for you as if she raised you from birth. 

“It’s my duty to tend to you, is it not?” 

Soft laughter harmonizes with the nightingales. A quick kiss on your forehead before her warmth disappears off the balcony —  undoubtedly to go retrieve a treat of some kind. 

She’s not wrong. 

Technically it is her duty. 

But Arella is your blessing. 

Matting and kneading your surroundings to fit your needs. Eager to dampen the growing pains of settling in a new home. 

Constant hellos. 

Permanent smiles.

Not too wide, like a promiscuous woman. But not too tight, like a cold prude. 

Rooms to tour. Hands to shake. Garments to pin and tie and lace around your lungs as if your God-given ribcage was a frivolous extra not needed for life. Not needed to breathe. 

Breathe.

Your lids screw shut. Pulling in as much of the balmy, saltwater breeze gliding up the steep rock face along the overhang. 

Much like he did. 

The Chaplain. 

His hair cascading down his back in the same way poets monologue when inspired. His eyes a mural of what the Gods paint when they want to show off. 

The way earth acquiesces to his touch as if he is the Creator. The birds choose to perform for him every morning. And the ocean exists to bathe him. 

You cannot decide if the sorbet sunsets are created by the Chaplain. Or if the Gods fight over who gets the honor of painting him a new one each evening. 

“Sleep still escapes you, precious girl.” 

It does, but not for the reason she thinks. 

“You worry too much, Arella. I’ll adjust soon.” The tea she brought you is delicious.

The both of you cross back into your quarters. The stagnant, perfumed air suddenly suffocating.

“I would like to go to the chapel garden.” 

A quiet declaration that stills your handmaiden in her tracks. Then a small grin blossoms on her beautiful face. Fussing with your bedding. Wiping away evidence of your sleepless night. 

“For the flowers that bloom, little dove? Or for the God that tends to them?”

The blood in your veins runs subzero. 

“Arella! I am engaged to be marri—“

“Of course you are. But eyesight isn’t a sin.”

Another moment of feigned irritation before you burst into a fit of childish giggles. The both of you no better than school girls, covering your mouths, stifling your laughter. 

“I just wanted to see you smile.” Arella gestures to your extravagant dresser across the room. 

“In the second drawer you can find a casual garment. Come back with at least one hour to prepare for Mass.”

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

A hummingbird chaperones your walk to the church estate. Dulcet hums drown out the rattling heartbeat between your ears. 

This is harmless.

It is not a sin to take in Earth’s natural candy. To appreciate God’s gift to humanity.

In all of his majestic glory. 

Your eyes dart around as if your thoughts are a tangible scroll. Written in ink for the world to see.

Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no one around. 

Just you. Your fluttering companions (both heart and bird). The waking sun. God above and his plants swaying in the gentle gusts of wind. You’re safe in your mind. 

Until he decimates all logical and reasonable train of thought, that is. 

You should be angry. Infuriated. That no one adequately prepared you for seeing the demigod for the first time. Even now, you question whether he’s flesh and blood. 

Maybe an illusion? 

The Lord playing tricks from his throne? 

The mirage before you halts your paces. You can’t help but question your level consciousness. 

Because this must be a dream. 

“Oh, don’t be cruel.” 

Words slip out of your mouth, currently ajar. It’s not your place to chastise the One above, but come on. 

Your eyes taste the Chaplain for a second time and this course is even more decadent than the first. 

There he stands. 

A raven waterfall down his broad, muscular back. Half of it tied away from his face. Olive skin so rich the surrounding plants pale in comparison. Russet brown working pants hang loose around his tapered waist, but snug around his thighs. Various tools hooked in the belt loops. Heavy mahogany work boots match the worn leather gardening gloves fitted to his hands. 

His hands. 

Reaching for thorny vines plaguing his hydrangeas. Even at your distance you could detail each muscle fiber in his arm tense and release with every pull and toss.

Pull and toss.

Pull and toss. 

You would have gotten lost in his rhythmic trance, if it weren’t for the symbol branded in charcoal sprawling his back. The emblem peeks through his thick hair, every now and again. 

A spear? 

No.

A trident. With waves snaking up its stalk along his spine. 

His gravitational pull is overwhelming. Your feet move with more stealth than the King’s Guard.

“Working on the Day of Rest, Father?” Casual, measured. 

“Duchess,” Saliva pools in your mouth. His smile teases your ears before he graces you with it. 

“I have to start being more careful about my clothing.” A playful glint in his eyes. 

“Especially now that I’ve been blessed with a fellow greenskeeper.” 

He is a man of God.

And would never insinuate anything impure. 

But that doesn’t stop your cunt from clenching around his words steeped in a baritone potent enough to rumble the ground beneath you.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve sent word that I was coming.” 

“This palace belongs to you, Duchess. You are welcome here at any hour.” His hand captures a vine and tosses it into the pile without his eyes ever leaving yours. 

You are weak.

And greedy. 

The way your gaze drops to his arm. Desperately etching its contours into memory. Seconds, maybe minutes pass before you realize you were gawking. And the Chaplain just let you. 

Head cocked to the side. Soft smile ghosting his full lips. 

“Would you like to finish the tour of your new playground?” 

“Y-yes. Of course, please.” Stumbling over the uneven cobblestone in your voice, you turn away to begin the coordinated stroll. The Priest slides his arms into a linen button up. Lazily fastening two center buttons only. 

He informs you of the work that has already been done, what’s left. Where the soil is richest, where it is the most acidic. How the sun hits certain flowers at each hour of the day.

Brilliant. 

With complete command over God’s bouquet. The sun following him wherever he steps.

“Did you enjoy your swim today, Father?” Both you and the Priest come to a slow stop. One of his angular eyebrows raised.

“I’m dry, Duchess.” He responds with a low, hypnotic chuckle. 

Heat floods your cheeks. How could you be so presumptuous?

“What gave me away?” 

Your knees nearly betray you. The razor sharp grin on his face could cut glass. 

“You were born for the ocean. Or rather, the ocean was born for you.”

Your statement is greeted with blaring silence. 

Lava in his gaze. Singeing every part of your face it touches. His expression is like a foreign language. 

“I—I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Clearly I have much to learn about social graces.” A meek apology bubbles out of your lips. Desperate to fill the space between your bodies. 

The mercurial man shakes his head slightly. Thawed out from your statement, he reaches over and plucks a stray lilac petal resting on your crown.

“My father used to say the same.” He muses, looking away for the first time. 

“Your father! Is he—“

“He was called home some time ago.” This smile is soft. Reminiscent. Polite, but his mind clearly elsewhere. 

“Oh Father Geto, I’m so sorry.” 

A foot in your mouth is not enough punishment for your indecency. Why would you go prodding like this?

“Don’t be, I’ll see him again. Soon enough.”

“Not too soon, I hope.” The statement draws a stunned gaze from the Chaplain. Eyes dancing between yours. 

“Time to prepare for mass, little dove!” Arella’s melodic call tethers you back down from outer space. 

You flicker over to her with a ruby dusting over your nose and cheeks. Like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar before supper. 

“Happy Sunday, Father!” Arella calls out, cheshire grin on her face deepening your crude blush. 

“Indeed, Arella.” He returns the greeting while keeping his eyes on you. 

“Send my regards to the Duke.” His voice lowers, for your ears only. With a nearly imperceptible edge to his tone. 

“Happy Sunday, Duchess. We have a counseling session scheduled late afternoon, yes?” 

A statement of pure black and white fact. And yet it travels down your spine and settles between your legs. Wet heat dampening your thin negligee.

“Yes, Father. Happy Sunday.”

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Mass was miserable. 

Your corset laced tight enough to meld your two lungs and beating heart into one entity. To say the neckline strangled you is putting it mildly. Cold, uninviting pews dug into your skin at every turn. 

Wretched. 

But the worst of it wasn’t the thin, oxygen-deficient air. Or the shards of glass that slid down your throat with every swallow. Even the jaw pain from tensing your lips in a well-mannered smile for two hours straight was tolerable. 

The worst part of it was him. 

The Priest mesmerized an entire congregation to an ear-splitting hush. 

His first Sunday mass since appointment and nearly everyone in the country and every surrounding province stuffed into the chapel. 

So desperate for blessings from Father Geto. 

Could you blame them?

His voice danced in and out of the pews listlessly. 

Soothing fussy children. Adolescent girls and their mother’s alike — utterly smitten. Adolescent boys experienced their first “I want to be like him” with their fathers sitting right next to them. Husbands glanced feverishly at the women in their lives. 

He had to have noticed it. And yet, he floated above it all the entire service.

Above you. 

Refusing to gift you those eyes that put Vincent Van Gogh to shame. No matter how much you shifted in your seat and straightened your spine.

The Priest spoke to everyone in the room but you. 

Did you read him wrong? 

Did you misinterpret your budding friendship? 

Does it…should it even matter?

Your irritation is palpable. Innocent bystanders are caught in your friendly fire. Including Arella, who changed you out of that horrid costume. And sweet Noel, who ushered you into the seating area — just outside of the good Father’s office.

You make a mental note to send treats to the tender-hearted alter boy. And to apologize profusely to your handmaiden. 

“You are a million miles away, darling.” The sound of your betrothed tows you out of the storm clouds. 

You flicker over to the Duke. Emerald green eyes, high cheek bones — handsome in a way that is characteristic of everyone native to your new home.

“I’m right here, Ezra.” 

“Are you, sweetheart?” The back of his hand caresses your cheek. 

“Mmhm.” You offer your future husband a weak smile and kiss on his cheek. His eyes  faltering slightly, undoubtedly hopeful for lips instead. 

“Good afternoon, Duke and Duchess Ahriman.” 

Father Geto’s velvet greeting encases you both. If Ezra’s arm didn’t guide you to stand you would have been paralyzed in your seat. 

“Father Geto, a pleasure. Thank you for seeing us.” Ezra offers a genuine smile and handshake. Buying you a few extra seconds in your mind’s safe haven.

The Chaplain is tight lipped. Professional. He returns the handshake firmly. 

“Pleasure is mine.” 

Ezra shifts slightly on his feet. Straightening his spine and dropping his shoulders. Your eyes bounce between the Chaplain and your fiancé.

“I must say, Father. You are even more handsome up close. I speak for the men in this country, thank you for taking the vow of celibacy!” The words spill out of the Duke. Unknowingly thinning the air. 

The Priest chuckles quietly, dropping his eyes briefly before landing them on you. And it feels like you could double over.  Your core temperature skyrockets under his smoldering gaze. 

He, the archer. You, the bullseye. 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” 

Ezra laces his fingers in yours, taking the two seats directly in front of the oak desk. A leather bound notebook and pheasant feather pen are neatly arranged — with your names on the first page.

Blue flame rises from your toes to hairline. You might as well have been sitting naked. With how exposed, how vulnerable you feel already.

“What will we be covering first, Father? Something about how wives should obey their husbands, right?” Ezra is light-hearted. Meant to be said in jest.

But he finds himself being the only party in the room laughing. 

The Priest rolls the ink pen between his fingers. Allowing a deafening silence to coat the walls. His expression is neutral, but eyes ablaze. 

“If the man in question is worthy of submission.” He starts. A low, ominous rumble. 

“Uh, yes. Of course.” Ezra responds, shifting in his seat. 

But the Chaplain does not stop. Intent on making a point, he leans in. Pen whirling lightning fast between his long, deft fingers. Enough tailwind to launch across the room, if he desired.  

“If the man in question would give his life for his wife.” Volcanic eyes linger on you, then back to your fiancé. Ezra’s palm finds your thigh. You gnaw on your inner cheek to avoid flinching away. 

“If he would love her like Christ loves all of his creations unconditionally. Unselfishly. Irrationally.” 

“Yes, Father. I understand.” 

“Only then, should she submit.” His serrated tone could split chromium with ease. 

“Of course, of course.” Ezra wisely accepts defeat. 

He presses a short kiss on your cheek as an apology that you didn’t ask for, nor do you want. 

“Mmm.” A forced acknowledgment of the Duke’s affection through your pinched lips. Barely able to move under the Father’s microscopic gaze. 

“Now then,” Father Geto clears the boulders in his throat. 

“Tell me about your love.” 

The question stuns both you and the Duke. Looking to each other sheepishly because neither of you chose this.

War is young men dying and old men talking. And your life path is no different. Dictated by conversations between the powers that be. 

“We’ve only met a week ago, Father.” Your honesty drives both of his eyebrows upward. 

“A week ago?”

“But we are hoping you can teach us.” The Duke, overeager and excitable. 

“Teach you…?” Father Geto muses. You can’t quite interpret his tone, or minimal response. But your heart flutters all the same. 

He is thinking something. And what you would give to get a glance. To be let in. 

“Perhaps guide us?” Ezra gives an unintentionally painful squeeze on your thigh. You fail to muffle the tiny whimper. 

The Priest’s eyes laser down to where your fiancé’s hand lays. Chest rising and falling dangerously slow. 

“Right.”

Your eyes trail upwards as he stands. Closer to God than to you from this point of view.

“Duke, Duchess. You’ll have to accept my sincerest apologies.” 

His fingers dip the unused pen back into the ink cup. The edges of his leather bound notebook coming together. Seemingly without any notes, but an entire script from this session swirling in his mind. 

“My schedule is incorrect. I have another commitment. We will reschedule, yes?” Said with a finality that sends chills crawling down your spine. 

The two of you stand. Another handshake between the men. A restrained nod for you.

Just as quickly as you were let in, Father Geto shuts you out of his office and his mind. 

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Suguru presses his forehead against the shower tile. Warm water raining down his loose mane. Soothing his sore, overworked limbs. 

Today was maddening. 

He nearly destroyed his vestment the minute that God-forsaken counseling session ended. Seeking refuge, he took to the coast. 

And the sea provided anything but peace. 

She was angry with him, tonight. 

Curt. With unpredictable currents. Rip tides at nearly every turn. She tested his adaptation without mercy.

Just like that night.

“I’m going to stay on board, brother!”

Suguru flickered over to the silver-haired deckhand. An unfamiliar reservation opacifying his nearly translucent, iridescent eyes. 

Brother in name, technically. 

Their bloodlines were oil and water. He was a high born. Suguru was born unworthy of a beggar’s pity. 

But, bloodlines were inconsequential when their souls were instep as one. Both handed to humanity on the same night. During a thunderstorm already inscribed in history books.

‘The Tide of Eternal Requiem.’ 

It brought complete devastation. Crops destroyed. Families torn apart by tragic accidents inland and at sea. 

Then fate struck. 

Within the same hour, a voltaic boy, with a halo that put the clouds to shame and diamond eyes that could draw truth from murderers was born into the loving embrace of his parents. 

And Suguru was born with a crown so dark that the raging midnight appeared bright. 

With eyes as ominous as the sky above. 

Gunmetal grey, accented by an eerie violet swarm. Dormant volcanoes, threatening eruption. His birth mother abandoned him in an alley. Driven by fear that he was a bad omen from the Gods. 

“Ahhh, Satoru come on. Since when do you shy away from a few waves?”

Suguru teased. Already well into the process of shedding his work gear. 

“Zeus is the one rumored to be my father.” His counterpart flashed a knowing smile. 

“Poseidon doesn’t watch over me like he does you, Suguru.”

A tsunami couldn’t keep Suguru from his home. Much less a little rain. 

They were 3 miles away from the shoreline. Using his God-given ability, Suguru regularly acted as their scout. Performing his own reconnaissance then alerting the incoming ship of safe or turbulent terrain. 

“Almost ready to go, son?” 

His chosen father came up behind him. Suguru knew there were tears lining his meek eyes before turning to face him. 

“Dad.” Suguru sighed, fully disrobed now. Just his muscular frame and a compression suit. 

He met his father’s concerned gaze. Always like this during sea storms. Quiet prayers written all over his gentle features. 

Despite the worry, he never once attempted to convince his oceanic boy to stay on board. It would have been too cruel.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve traversed angrier swells.”

“Suguru, take care of yourself when I’m gone.” 

Elder, worn hands landed on his shoulders. Nearly too high for his reach. Suguru cocked his head to the side. 

This goodbye was different. 

“Stay on this path. For me. Albeit straight and narrow, there is a wonderful view. This is all for you, son.” 

Both men glanced to the Persian gulf. She thrashed against their vessel. Swaying their catch left and right with the intention of taking her creatures back. 

“Where is this coming from?” A genuine question from his younger self. Unable to read between the lines. 

“Can’t a man just speak from the heart?”

The melancholy smile didn’t meet the wrinkles of time decorating his eyes, but they shared a laugh anyway.  Suguru turned away but was promptly drawn back. 

“My beautiful boy.” 

The fisherman cradled his son’s face. Swimming in the eyes that Suguru once hated. The eyes that convinced his birth mother to abandon him. 

“Make it to shore, son.” Suguru rested his head against his father’s neck. Taking a slow, sweet drag of his scent.

Oak. 

He always smelled like oak. It was one of Suguru’s favorite things about him.

“If Poseidon calls—“

“I’ll tell him to fuck off.” Mischievous grin plastered on Suguru’s face. His father planted a kiss on his cheek, pushing him towards the end of the boat. As he always did.

Then the Gulf wrapped him in her hostile embrace. 

She was irate. 

Vicious tidal waves. Rapidly shifting currents. Even her creatures knew to settle below their usual depth. Suguru cursed the fact that he was born with useless, human lungs. Unable to withstand the pressure of the Midnight Zone. 

Within minutes his long, lean frame was riding her whims without a shred of control. Tossed around like a rag doll. At her complete mercy — or lack thereof. 

This was the first time he struggled to tame his element. A muffled groan bubbled around him. Serrated edges of long coral stalks dug into his back. Stark white foam whirled around him. 

Aerated waters. 

Suguru could barely maneuver against the waves pummeling his core. Searing heat traveling up his spine. His lungs demanded oxygen. 

The boat. 

The boat would never make it to shore. 

Desperate, furious strokes of his arms meant nothing against her unrelenting grasp. Effectively pinning Suguru to his underwater cross. 

A piece of chewed plank wood whizzed by his face. 

Followed by another. 

Then another. 

And Suguru watched his nightmare materialize before his eyes. Mustering his last oxygen reserve, he bellowed against his closed lips.

As if she hadn’t already ignored the cries of his fellow fisherman. 

Even still, he screamed so loud his ribcage should have vaporized. But ushering him to a watery grave at that time would have been too merciful. 

Suguru blinks out of the harrowing memory. The steeping tea takes at least two layers of epithelium off his esophagus.

Fucking, hell. 

He can’t seem to escape pain today.

The swim was excruciating.

Mass was dreadful.

Watching that boy’s hand lay on your lap was grating. 

Suguru’s mind drifts back to you. Your thought washes over him like baptizing waters purifying that which is impure.

The gleam in your eyes when you asked about his morning plunge. Barely a week and your pulse on him is already this precise.

Do not covet, Suguru. 

He scoffs to himself. Shaking free of your tempting spiral. 

This ‘straight and narrow’ path is proving to be more challenging than he let on. 

“Would you be proud, Father?” 

A whisper of accusation at the end of his inquiry. Suguru would give his arms, his eyes…his life to hear his father’s voice on the other end of his questions, once again. 

“Did He tell you?” 

Roaring silence. Of course. He knows that. He expects it. 

But it angers him all the same. 

“Did He come to you in a dream??” Suguru echos louder. More frantic. Punched out in a way he can barely recognize. 

“Was the reaper at His left, my heart on the right?!” A weak sob slips through the crack in his baritone. 

Yet another pain. But this one is tart and blurring his vision. 

“Did you KNOW? D—did you know that day was your last?!” He hisses through a salty stream.  Storming out to the garden to escape the walls collapsing in on him. 

Suguru’s eyes laser to the remaining thorny vines along his bed of hydrangeas. Without a second thought he wraps them around his bare arms. Staining the plant and his freshly bathed skin with crystalline tears. Once its thorns sufficiently bury into his skin he rips it away from the soil with all his might. 

“Bastard. I’m your SON.”

Warm metallic drips down the hills and ridges of his arms. Collecting in the flower bed. 

Is he cursing his earthly father? 

His Heavenly One? 

Or the Deity that brought this grief on him in the first place?

It hurts. 

An unforgiving pain. 

Much like the thorns in those rapids. Much like the inconceivable burn from his lungs begging for expanse. The time limit, even for him, ran lethally low. 

Well exceeding his father’s time limit. 

Poseidon stole from him that day.  

A callous trade for Suguru’s continued existence. 

“Why didn’t you…I—I should’ve been there.” 

Guilt eviscerates Suguru’s remaining resolve. Tilting his head up, he lets the salty crystals rain down his cheeks freely. 

The full moon cradles his face with the same warmth, the same adoration his father’s hands used to. 

Suguru accepts its celestial kisses for a moment before burying his face into his bloodied palms. His damp locks curtain his flushed face. Protecting the world from his unruly sobs.

“I’m here.” Barely audible words escape through desperate grabs for air. 

“I made it to shore, Dad.”

E/N: Oh hello, don’t mind me just sobbing. Also, guest appearance by our glorious Blue Eyed Babygirl King™️ If you need me, I will be in witness protection before Gege finds this since it’s a crime to be a S*toru lover. 

taglist: @blkkizzat @rotteneyess

#jjk fanfic #jjk angst #suguru geto smut #geto smut #geto x reader #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #suguru geto #geto #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #jjk fanfiction #jjk suguru #jjk x y/n #suguru smut #suguru fluff #geto suguru x you #geto suguru smut #jujutsu kaisen suguru #priest geto #poly satosugu #geto angst #geto fluff #jjk fic #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n

[bunnyteetharry]

Baby, I love you

summary: what was supposed to be a bachelorette party turned into y/n dancing her heart out and catching someone’s eye

warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption

pairing: stranger!arry x stranger! reader {+ to lovers}

inspired by baby, i love you by ramones

————⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ —————⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ —————⋆ ˚｡⋆

It was an eventful late night in Italy

You were here on a bachelorette trip for your friend, Dulce. After dinner, you wondered around town for bit and since it was starting to get chilly out, Lydia brought up the thought of hitting up a bar

You huddled up together as you walked into the cramp room. Everyone was laughing their heads off, taking shot after shots, living life.

“I’m gonna get us some starter drinks, grab us a table” you called out before scarring towards the bar, trying to maneuver in a crowded area is always the worst, but hey, you’re almost halfway there and as long as you don’t bump into anyone you’ll be fine

“Woah!” and there you go

“Oh! I’m so sorry” you smiled hoping the person you ran over wasn’t about to get upset , you’d be surprised, even when it’s an accident, people act like you just told them to hit the road

“You’re okay love, go ahead” the tall curly headed man motioned you in front of him so you could order first. “Thank you” you screamed over the loud music

After getting the drinks ringed up, you checked behind you to see if that green eyed man who looked like he was created by greek gods was still behind you, sadly disappointment filled up your face when you were just hit with a group of random people laughing

“And here is our savior!” Dulce cheered as she saw you with a tray of shots. With everyone grabbing one each, you raised your’s to the air “To the bride!” everyone rally with you and down their drinks

Meanwhile, a certain man was mind deep with the women he bumped into while grabbing his drink

“Oi mate! You good Harry?” Niall patted his friend’s back, bringing his out of his headspace, Harry tussled his hair before taking a sip of his drink “Yeah I’m good” he smiled. Lucas rolled his eyes and tossed back the rest of his drink “He locked eyes with a pretty bird on his way back here” everyone cooed at Harry and shook his by the shoulders “Oh fuck off” smiling slightly to himself

All his friends were joking around till he heard a familiar toon fill his ears, everyone in the bar looked confused at the song choice, some booing at the DJ. But what really caught his eyes was the girl in the middle of the room dancing on her own.

“That her?” Niall smirked and nudge Harry

‘Woah! Go Y/n!” A group of girls sitting in the corner shouted

Y/n was jumping around, dancing like it was just her alone in the room and as she twirled around, her eyes scattered the room and met Harry’s. She smiled and mouthed back the lyrics to him

“When you kiss me I just gotta, Kiss me I just gotta, Kiss me I just gotta say!” she moved her arms around her body and mindlessly pointed at him “Baby, I love you, come on baby, Baby, I love you, Baby I love, I love only you!” Harry smiled widely as he sipped on his drink, just watching the girl dance around with no care in the world

After the song finished, Harry got up from his seat, with the courage from his friends and two shots in between

Y/n was laughing as she walked back to her friends, taking one more shot before the tray was pulled away from her. “Oh you’ve had enough crazy girl” Lizzy laughed, Y/n rolled her eyes and picked up the water Dulce pushed towards her “I’m fine honestly, anyways we should do this again and-“ her friends cut her off as they pointed behind her

She turned and there he was

“Hi” he smiled down at her and gave her his hand “I’m Harry” y/n pushed back a few fly aways out of her face before smiling back “I’m y/n” her friend’s snickered quietly behind or at least they tried too “Watch them be married four years from now” she turned quickly at the glaring and shushing them before turning back to Harry who is laughing along with them

“Wanna get a drink?” He motioned to the bar across from them “I’d love that” he nodded smiling and laced his hand with her’s, guiding them to the bar stools

Little do they know, her friends were right, the pair came to Italy on their honeymoon to the exact same bar and played the same exact song from when they first met, reminiscing to the days that led them to now

a/n: this was so much fun to write, i hope you enjoy it as well! ALSO request are open

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #hshq #harry styles imagine #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #x reader #strangers to lovers

[viking-raider]

Sy's Therapy Barn

Summary: Austin Syverson is newly retired from the Army and struggling to cope with his PTSD. Until he decides to take a chance on a hobby, most wouldn't think could help, and the person there to help teach him how to do it.

Pairing: Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M - Quick-Burn, Language, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Combat Fatigue, Trauma, Wine drinking, Flirting, Support System, Movie Quotes, Leap of Faith, Mentions (but no depictions) of Mental Illness, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, SMUT - Light, P in V

Inspiration: I saw this Instagram video of a handsome, buff gentleman that ran a pottery business and promoted it on the site.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it. I am so sorry to any Pottery people for butchering it.

Syverson wouldn't lie, even though he had thought the hobby was stupid, the first time he thought about it. But, upon seeing a poster at an outdoor market he had decided to attend one, warm Dallas weekend, to get out of the house. Something inside of Sy had urged him to save the number in his phone, before finding the ale stand.

It wasn't until almost a month later, after waking up in the dead of night. He laid curled up in a ball, hugging his knees and struggling to breath. With the blankets and pillows thrown off the king-sized bed, and the black fitted sheet beneath him drenched in his sweat. Aika pressed against his back and whimpering at her owner's distress. It was then that Sy knew he needed something more, other than just denial, the gun range and booze to deal with his PTSD and Combat Fatigue.

He wasn't about to go sit down on some squeaky metal, folding chair, in the basement of some random religious church, listening to other Vets talk about their combat experience. Everyone nodding their heads and offering sympathy and the Word of God. Sy had stopped believing in God over a decade ago. Because, how could some magical man in the sky, with some grand plan for you, before and after you died, allow such bullshit evil into the world.

He didn't want sympathy, far from it.

Austin Syverson, also didn't do sympathy.

So, he pulled up the number from the outdoor market and gave the business a call.

“Mini's Pottery Haven, how can I help you?” A cheery voice chimed on the other end.

Sy let out a hard breath. “Hi, I saw your poster at a market, a couple weeks ago, for a pottery class.” He said, rubbing a palm over his buzzed head, feeling stupid for calling a pottery business, thinking it would help him, in any way, with his trauma. “I was wondering, if you're still doing classes?”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed, happily. “We have one tonight, with two spots left, if you'd like to join it.”

“Oh!” Sy started, surprised, not expecting one so soon, hoping for a day to work up the nerve to call her back and cancel. “How much is it?”

“Thirty dollars, for just one person, and sixty dollars for a couple.” She informed him, pressing her phone to her ear and bringing up the planner on her computer. “You can pay when you arrive at the class.” She added, distractedly.

Sy paced his kitchen for a moment, before pausing and straightening his back. “I'll take one of the spots and pay the thirty, when I arrive.”

“Excellent! Can I have your name, please?”

“Syverson.” He answered, out of pure habit.

“All right, we look forward to seeing you tonight, and what you create!” She told him, her voice upbeat and optimistic, like she expected Sy to be the next Michelangelo, before hanging up.

“The boys would lose their shit, if they ever find out I tried pottery.” Sy said, stuffing his phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

Later that night, Sy found himself standing out front of the humble, little pottery shop, the full window front was bright from the lights inside, which was flowing with people, all standing around chatting with each other and holding glasses of wine.

“At least, they have booze.” Sy commented to himself.

“First time?” A soft voice asked, from behind him.

“Huh?” He frowned, turning around to find a gorgeous woman standing behind him, a large bag slung over her shoulder, as she regarded him with a kind expression. “Oh, yeah. You?” He asked, trying to be polite.

“Naw, I've been getting my hands messy with clay for years.” You smiled at him, patting your bag. “I assume you're here for the class.” You asked, motioning towards the shop.

“I am.” Sy nodded, licking his lips. “Just working up the nerve to go inside.” He explained to you.

“Ah, yeah. We pottery nerds can be dangerous.” You teased, smirking up at him. “You make one reference to Ghost in there and they'll turn you into a clay mold. If not, pelt you out of the shop with lumps of it.” You giggled, moving by him to step up onto the curb and grab the door handle.

A laugh rumbled out of Sy's broad chest, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I'll make sure to keep the Ghost quotes to myself then.” He said, turning his sparkling blue eyes towards you.

“Well, no time like the present.” You told him, pulling the door open and holding it for him.

“That's true.” He nodded, his smile softly fading as he joined you on the sidewalk, stopping beside you for a moment. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He said, giving you a gentle nod, before going inside.

The place was a buzz with voices as he paused by the counter, taking out his wallet to pay for his admission for the night's class. He glanced over his shoulder to see where you'd gone, but you had vanished somewhere into the crowd. Shrugging, figuring you'd paid in advance or had some sort of membership, he handed over his bank card to Mini, the owner of the business, who was a sweet looking, elderly woman, dressed in a loose and colorful, bohemian strap dress. Taking his card and the Hello, My Name Is: sticker she handed back with it, Sy turned away, spotting the small wine station, also surrounded by numerous black sharpies. He headed over, scribbling Sy, on his sticker and poured himself a glass of some kind of red wine, before finding somewhere quiet to stand, to wait for the class to start.

As he stood there, sipping his wine and looking at a wall of finished clay figurines, cups and other knick knacks, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways, figuring you were checking him out, which he was more than fine with. But he discovered it was another woman giving him eye-candy. She was tall, with bleach-blonde hair and in a hot-pink tracksuit, she felt out of place for a pottery shop. Though, Sy knew he shouldn't be one to speak, standing there in a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, that had been to war with him, tight blue jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, with a black stetson cowboy hat.

The way she lifted her wine glass, however, suggested she wanted to jump his bones.

Which only amused the retired Army Captain.

“All right, ladies and gentleman!” Mini called, clapping her hands together and coming around the counter to regard her customers. “If we can all head towards the other end of the shop, where all the potter's wheels and everything are. We can start the class.” She smiled, motioning everyone to the back.

Everyone moved to the back in a messy, single-file line, still sipping the rest of their wine and chatting with each other. The woman in the pink tracksuit lagging back to walk with Sy, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Ma'am.” He acknowledged her, touching the brim of his hat, but didn't give her much else.

“What's a man like you doing in a pottery class?” She asked, biting the corner of her lip.

Sy licked his lips. “I got nothing better to do.” He said, not willing to admit the real reason he was there to her.

“I'm sure a big, strong, handsome man like you could find something to do.” She insinuated, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Pottery is just fine, thanks.” Sy replied, offering her a weak smile.

“Everyone, please find a pottery wheel and it doesn't matter which one.” Mini said, motioning to the dozen or so pottery wheels in a circle, a round lump of clay already waiting on them to be shaped.

Sy waited until almost everyone was seated, not wanting to take the chance of getting stuck sitting next to the woman hitting on him, far from that mood tonight. So, taking up a pottery wheel and grabbing the provided apron, he took off his hat and set it on a shelf behind his wheel, and slipped on the apron. Sy chuckled, sitting down on the comically small stool before the wheel, as he balanced his large, muscular body on it, smirking up at the rest of the group; seeing some of them sit on the stool like they'd done it a million times and others wobble.

“The first thing we're going to do, before we start shaping our clay,” Mini began explaining, sitting at wheel herself, apron on and perched on her stool, like the forty-plus year pottery maker she was. “is to assign our first timers, helpers. I will be giving instructions and so forth, but your helper will be there for you, just in case you need a refresher or get frustrated.” She told the group, looking around at everyone. “But just remember, just like us, human beings, we are all unique and beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times your clay refuses to shape into what your mind's eye thinks it should, or tears apart, or even if it doesn't bake right in the kiln. It is still beautiful! You still brought it into this world with your own two hands, and you should be proud of that. Because it's something no one else in this room did.”

Sy blinked at her, slightly taken aback by her statement. So used to Army instructors drilling into him about, if it's not perfect, you're dead or your buddy next to you, is.

“So, helpers, I'll let you pick your person. You've all worked here before, so you know how to identify them.”

“And how do you do that?” Someone blurted out, making Mini and the helpers chuckle.

“Well, that's one way for us to find you.” One of the helpers quipped in an Australian accent, moving across the room to said person. “But, it's the name tags, mate, or Ryan, I should say.” He smirked, offering out his hand to the newcomer. “I'm Joel.”

“Those of us here that don't have a name tag, are old pros.” Mini smiled, resting her forearms on the edge of her potter's wheel, while the rest of the helpers spread out.

“Good to see you made it all the way into the building.”

Sy looked over his shoulder and grinned up at you. “Yeah, I had a little bit of help.” He replied, glad, and a bit surprised, to see you were one of the helpers.

“Well, you're about to get some more help.” You said, glancing at his name tag. “Sy.”

He felt a lump lodge in his throat as you said his name. “That's great.” He rasped back. “I'm going to need it. These hands have only known how to do one thing, for the last twenty years.” He told you, holding up his calloused mitts.

“Oh, you got good hands for clay shaping.” You said, taking one of them in both of yours. “I'm sure we can teach these pups a new trick or two.”

“Can you teach this ol' pup any?” Sy asked, smiling at you.

“I might.” You nodded, pulling a stool up beside him. “Let's listen to Mini first, then we can find out what you want to make that clay into.” You told him, giving him an encouraging smile, that cracked open the door to a place he had tried to keep shut.

“Everyone have their partner?” Mini asked, looking around, then nodded. “Good! Now, you're going to learn your proper posture for molding.” She began, leaning forward and started her instruction for the next several minutes.

“Christ, I don't know if I can remember all that.” Sy said, blowing out a breath and shaking his head at his mound of clay. “I'm just a simple country boy, fresh out of the Army.”

You giggled beside him, lightly patting him on the back. “That's why you got me.” You reminded him, sweetly. “Now, what do you want to make? And, I swear if you say a dildo, I will get up and leave.” You warned him, seriously.

“Have people actually asked you that?” He frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Yes, more often than you might think.” You huffed, shaking your head. “I'll make anything else though.”

“To be honest with you,” Sy started, frowning down at the clay and shaking his head. “I don't know what to make. I've never been the artistic type. I always failed art class back in school.”

“Well, that's the wonder of art, and clay for that matter, Sy.” You told him, softly. “You can make whatever you want. You don't need to be artsy for it. What's the first thing that comes to your mind? Anything at all.”

“My dog.” He blurted out, biting his lip, feeling silly for it.

“All right, what about a dog bowl?” You suggested, tossing out the first dog related thing that came to your mind.

“Could we make a bowl?” Sy asked, looking over at you.

“Absolutely!” You nodded, grinning. “If you wanna make a bowl for your doggo, then we'll make one. I'll use all ten years of my clay making experience to help.”

“All right, a bowl for Aika, it is.” Sy nodded back, inspired.

“That's a sweet name.” You commented, watching Sy position himself, much as Mini instructed, then drizzle a little bit of water onto the clay and cup it in his large hands, almost hiding it completely in his palms as he started to work the wheel with his foot. “Good, that's a great speed. Keep it up. Little less pressure though.” You reminded him, watching the clay start to pancake a bit.

“Sorry.” He apologized, letting off on it.

“You're all right.” You answered, shaking your head. “So, what made you try out pottery?” You asked, reaching out, instinctively, to add a little more water.

Sy was quiet for a long moment, playing with and shaping his clay, watching the thick residue from it cover his fingers and palms. While trying to find a way to answer. He could give you the same answer he'd given the pink tracksuit lady or he could be honest. Spying you from the corner of his eye, he noticed you weren't waiting for a reply, not being pushy or intrusive. You had simply asked him the question and given him the space to answer it, when and if he wanted to with no hard feelings.

It was a breath of fresh air to him, just like feeling the wet clay in his hands. Knowing he was creating something, not harming it.

“I was hoping it would help me,” He finally answered you, licking his lips, deciding to be honest. “With my combat PTSD.” He added softer, waiting for your reaction.

“It can be quite calming.” You admitted, no ill reaction on your face. “It can also be rather frustrating.” You chuckled, with a smirk. “I about tossed the piece I was working on this morning, when one of the sides collapsed on me. I'd only been working on it for six hours.”

“Six hours!” Sy exclaimed, sitting back to look at you more steadily.

“You suffer for the art sometimes.” You told him, with amusement at his expression. “But, it's well worth it in the end. Most of the time, at least.”

“Christ, I hope this doesn't take that long.” He said, looking down at the weirdly shaped, almost oblong bit of clay on his wheel.

You looked around the room, before leaning close to Sy. “I think you're wonderful, Oda Mae.” You whispered into his ear, so none of your friends could hear you, knowing the complaints they'd give you for the reference after the class.

A huge smile crossed Sy's face and he howled with laughter, catching everyone's attention.

“I crack a good joke, we all know it!” You told them, grinning with guilt.

“I like you.” Sy said, once everyone's attention went back to their own station. “You're the first person that's made me laugh, like that, since I came home on retirement from the Army. A year ago.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, feeling a hot rush through your body that wasn't the glass of wine you had earlier. “Well, if you think I can crack a good joke, you'll see how good of a pottery teacher I am.”

“You take any students?” Sy blurted out, before he knew what he was thinking.

You floundered, mouth hanging open. “Um, no.” You admitted, shocked he'd asked, then saw the light start to fade in his blue eyes. “But I could consider it.” You said, quickly. “Especially if it helps you cope with your PTSD.”

“I think it just might.” He proclaimed, finding himself smitten with both pottery and you.

You laughed, throwing up your arm as Sy flicked the wet clay on his fingers at you. “Austin!” You tried to duck the mucky droplets as they splattered all over your apron, the side of your arm, face and hair, still giggling.

“You were looking a bit dry over there!” He guffawed, grinning at you. “What the heck, are you shapin', anyhow?” He asked, balancing himself back on his stool and eyeing your kaolin clay, seeing the strange, cup-like shape you had going.

“I don't really know.” You sighed, shrugging your shoulders at the grayish-yellow clay before you. “I'm just trying to understand it, and make something. That will hopefully not crack in the kiln. If I ever get around to firing it.” You told him, leaning forward again, feeling the soreness in your lower spine and forearms from working in that position for so long. “What about you?” You asked, cocking a brow at Sy, without looking away from what you were starting to consider your Frankenstein.

“Another ceramic grenade cup.” You smirked, curving your thumb into the center of the clay. “Or, what was that tea pot you made?” You asked, giggling as you recalled pulling the craft out of the kiln.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Sy replied, sounding disgruntled.

You laughed, nodding your head. “That's right, it was supposed to be a turt—Austin!” You shrieked, as his big, wet clay covered mitt swiped across your face. “Oh my god!”

“It was nothing, woman.” He huffed at you, with mischievous eyes, as he sat back down. “But I do have a question for you, babe.”

“Oh?” You replied, standing up to wipe the streak off your face before it dried.

“I was thinking,” He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he continued to work his clay. “I still have a large chunk of my retirement payment from the Army, just sitting in my bank account.” He said, scowling as one side of the clay started to collapse.

“All right.” You nodded, staring down at him, as you stood between your two pottery wheels in the garage of Sy's house, situated on the ten acres he owned.

“I've been considering,” He licked his lips and sat back, to look up at you, wanting to see your face when he said aloud what had been on his mind for the last year and a half. “I want to open up my own shop.”

You blinked at him a couple times, processing his words. “Your own pottery shop?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah, I want to open a pottery barn, to help Vets, like myself. Hell, to help anyone with PTSD or trauma. It helped me through so many nights of episodes and flashbacks.” He explained to you, babbling out the idea that had been swirling around him, and looked back up. “You helped me.” He whispered quietly, before shaking his head and squeezing the clay on his wheel.

“It's a stupid idea.”

Watching him destroy the piece he'd just spent the last hour and a half working on, stung you, but it hurt you more to hear him say his idea was stupid. You thought it was incredible. That it was so thoughtful and sweet of him to want to share a hobby that had given him so much in the last two years.

You were flattered to be a part of that journey with him, as well.

Your big bear.

“I think it's a terribly-” You sat down in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “good idea, Austin Syverson.” You declared, kissing him lovingly. “And if I hear anyone say otherwise, I'll pelt them with wet clay, until they think it is.”

A bright smile pulled across Sy's face as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “So, you'll come be my first employee?” He asked, nosing the side of your neck, smelling your perfume mixed with the earthy scents of pottery, tinged with a light sheen of sweat from how warm it was in the garage.

“Oh, I'm going to work for you, am I?” You cooed, amused. “What position, do I get?��

“Hmm.” He hummed, pressing his lips to your skin. “How about the head of pottery?”

“What's your job going to be?” You asked, eyes fluttering shut.

“I'm the boss.” He chuckled, tugging on your ear. “I'll have a bunch of jobs. But there's no one I trust more than you, with all your infinite wisdom of pottery, to run that area.” He told you, his hands pushing under your tank top. “I do only have two years of experience, compared to your thirteen.”

“Oh, laying it on thicker than a glaze, Captain.” You purred, feeling his fingers leave trails of drying clay on the skin of your back. “But I do like the sound of it. Do I get to boss you around during classes?” You asked, cupping the back of his head in your palm and rubbing the short hair there with your thumb, while your other hand dripped to the strings of his camouflage apron.

Sy smirked, giving your neck a sharp bite and making you gasp. “You boss me around already.”

“I do not!” You huffed, with an amused flash in your eyes, pushing his head back to look up at you.

“Whatever you say, my darling.” He replied, blue eyes sparkling.

“That's what I thought.” You smirked, kissing the bridge of his nose.

Pulling his hands from your tank top and gripping you by the hips, Sy pushed you up and pulled your legs across his lap, so you straddled him. You moaned at the straining bulge in his black sweatpants, pressing down against it through your short-shorts, sucking lightly on your bottom lip.

“What are we calling your little pottery business?” You hummed, reaching between your bodies to slip into the waistband of his sweats, finding his thick manhood and gliding your hand along it, drawing out a shivering sigh out from him.

“I don't know.” He rasped, clawing at your hips and the band of your shorts, leaving red marks in their wake. “Maybe, Sy's Therapy Barn or something.” He puffed, losing focus on the idea of running a business and growing more interested in tearing your shorts and underwear off.

“I like it.” You nodded, slipping off his lap, smiling at his hands grabbing to bring you back, but stood and took your shorts and panties off, before straddling his thick thighs again. “Rolls of the tongue and easy to remember.” You told him, taking his burning shaft in your hand, stroking him firmly as you guided him towards your glistening entrance.

“Mmhm.” Sy mumbled, his mouth latching onto your collarbone. “Whatever you say, babe.”

You chuckled, caressing your free hand over his head and gripped his shoulder, using it as leverage to sink down onto him, with a soft sigh and leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I love you, Syverson.”

“Ditto.” He rumbled back, wrapping his arms around you and locking you against him.

“Welcome to Sy's Therapy Barn!” You grinned as a man came through the door, the bell above it chiming through the building, his ripped muscles making the fabric of his Under Armor shirt scream, his tattooed arms showing below the short sleeves. “Are you here for the classes or to look about?” You asked, motioning around the grand shop with beaming pride.

You and Sy had found a thousand square foot warehouse, filling it with all your pottery and therapy needs and dreams. Sy had even decided to go to school and become a licensed therapist, allowing him to help the people coming into the Therapy Barn better. While they got their hands cupped around the little mounds of clay, during your classes, so they could shape it into whatever their minds wanted or needed.

Part of the warehouse was set up with kilns of all sizes and kinds, tall and wide shelves to hold pour molds and drying creations. While another section was where you and Sy held the classes for the therapy groups, either for former or active Combat Service people or, those who Sy referred to as Regulars, members of the public who hadn't served. All of them there to try and remedy their PTSD, trauma, depression, loss, domestic violence or anything else along those lines.

People that didn't require therapy were also welcome, of course.

But the two of you catered to those in need specifically, and so far, business was booming. Sy had gone to the several local Veteran Centers in the Dallas area with fliers promoting the business's program, as well as the VFW Canteens and posting on the internet. Even calling some of his old comrades. Sy had been worried and a bit skeptical with your first pottery class, sure that no one was going to show up to it. However, when the time rolled around, the bell above the front door started dinging with customers, most of them were middle aged or elderly, but there were several your and Sy's age, looking apprehensive.

It made you smile to see that look on their face, it was the exact expression you'd seen on Sy's face, that night you met in the parking lot of Mini's Pottery Barn, before he discovered the magic of forming clay. You always looked forward to seeing it change into the wonder of how amazing it is, to see your brave Captain use his fresh Bachelor's Degree to help them work through the same struggles he had. The struggles you had woken up at one or two in the morning, to find Sy in the garage, in nothing, but the shorts he'd gone to bed in, hunched over his pottery wheel, his muscles tight and teeth gritted, but his hands cupped gently around the piece of clay he was working. Trying to chase away whatever he had been awoken by.

“I'm here for the class, with Dr. Syverson.” He replied, looking around uneasily, like he expected a bomb to go off in one of the teapots you'd crafted and had on sale in the front window of the shop.

“That's great!” You grinned at him, trying to be open and encouraging towards him. “The class will start in ten minutes. You can either take a seat or have a look around. There's coffee, tea and water on the table with some cupcakes and snicker-doodle cookies, so help yourself.”

“No booze.” He mumbled, eyeing the table.

“No,” You answered, giving him an emphatic look. “Some of our potter's are recovering and sober, so we don't offer it.” You explained to him, glancing over at one of your regulars with a nod. “To repress the urge to relapse.”

He looked at you for a moment. “That's—actually, very thoughtful of you.” He said, blinking as it came over him.

“We do our best.” Sy said, appearing from the back. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He offered his hand to the other man. “Captain Syverson, 1st battalion, 3rd SFG(a). Also Dr. Austin Syverson, the co-owner of this here Therapy Barn.” He introduced himself, always giving his classifications to the Vets, knowing how at ease it made them and started that thread of a bond with him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain.” He replied, shaking Sy's hand. “Lieutenant Daniel Burton, 3rd recon battalion, for the Marines.”

“Well, it's good to meet you, Lieutenant.” Sy nodded, then smiled over at you, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. “I'm sure my fiancee has given you the introduction to our business.”

“That she has.” Daniel nodded, giving you a kind smile. “Though, I'll admit, I'm a little apprehensive as to how this is going to help me get straightened out. I watched some videos on pottery on Youtube and it just doesn't seem like much.”

You and Sy looked at each other, a smile and knowing look on each other's faces.

“It seems that way. I thought the same thing, myself, at first.” Sy confessed, a winking at you. “But, all you have to do is take all your emotions. All your pain, all your love, all your passion and all your rage and work it into that bit of clay we give you on that pottery wheel and the rest comes with it.”

You looked at Sy, it had become a thing between the two of you, and in doing so, that line had become his motto. It had become part of the business's motto, and few people actually caught the reference. But that was all right. The two of you still got through to people in the end. Saving them from their dark past through horrible movie quotes, a man that took a chance on a hobby and your skill with moving clay, sculpting a life and a business out of it.

#henry cavill #henrycavill #viking-raider fics #Syverson #cpt syverson #syverson fanfiction #syverson x you #syverson x reader #captain syverson #syverson smut #syverson fluff #captain syverson x reader #Syverson/You #Syverson/Reader #Sand Castle #Fluff #Angst #Sy's Therapy Barn #Sy's Therapy Barn *Fic*

[babypinkhearts]

mixed emotions at my thoughtlessness. - f. megumi

pairing: fushiguro megumi + fem!reader

summary: you love him. so you let him torture you further.

warnings: angst! megumi is complicated (what’s new), but comfort!!! the sweetest of sweet things. mentions of being emotionally unavailable.

a/n: inspired by the song “woman” by john lennon. one of my favorites, i definitely recommend you go listen :) i have been writing my heart out these past few weeks, i feel like it’s my biggest hyperfixation at the moment. thank you for all the love recently <3 i am so happy.

two knocks will do it.

or a third. megumi’s hand stills.

his eyes scan the scenery. the outdoor mat he recognizes too well on the floor, decorated with images of small woodland creatures. the hummingbirds gather around the greeting words in minimalistic font.

he finds it less welcoming than anything, his teeth chewing the inside of his cheek.

this was a stupid idea.

the sound of rustling comes from the other side of the door, and his careful eyes observe. he hears a click. the door opens, barely, and he’s able to briefly see your wide eyes.

megumi sticks his foot in the gap before you have a chance to slam it shut.

“what the fuck.” you deadpan, eyes now locked on the floor where megumi was now trespassing. the audacity. “dude, take a hint.”

fifty missed calls, all intentional. messages that haven’t even been opened clog your phone, and you had planned to keep it that way for much longer.

“let me in.” megumi responds, gaze unrelenting. sure, this wasn’t the reaction he wanted, but you seemed less upset than he imagined you’d be. “please.”

he kept that same stoic look on his face, despite his stomach feeling like it was being twisted in two. his pride hurt. he wondered if he would have to start begging on his knees for your forgiveness, or maybe kiss your hands and write the most obnoxiously long love letter ever created. admittedly, for you, he’d let himself with no hesitation. how weak he had become.

narrowing your eyes at him, you give a few futile attempts to close the door, growing increasingly frustrated as it repeatedly hit him. he wouldn’t budge.

he watches your eyes instinctively shut tightly in annoyance.

“megumi-“ you sigh, running a hand down your face, exasperated. “no. leave me alone.”

a part of you wants to add in - “like you have been” - but you swallow the bitter sentence.

don’t fall in love with boys who don’t know how to love.

or, more importantly, don’t fall in love with boys who can’t love back.

it’s a treacherous battle, you’ve learned. megumi has always been abrasive, and those moments where empathy shines through have (without failure) been blocked by gloomy clouds before it’s able to reach you. he’s pretty in theory, but uncovering him has it’s ugly bits. he’s aware.

for a serene, peaceful moment, you think that megumi listens to you. he slowly turns to his side, and you expect him to walk down the patio steps and go back home.

but he stands there for a little too long, his foot still nudged in the crack stupidly made by your naivety. every rational (and ethical) thought seems to leave his mind as he finds himself forcing your door wide open.

“oh my god-” you exclaim, hands thrown in the air, mouth open in disbelief. you’ve backed up from the door, brows furrowed. “megumi, seriously, what the fuck?”

dumbfounded, you watch as he simply lets himself inside, leaning back against the door to shut it.

“it was cold.” was all he said, before swallowing thickly. “and i need you to stop ignoring me.”

yeah, he wished he had a better approach.

megumi was normally calculated and a lot more thoughtful. he’d weigh in pros and cons, analyzing everything to it’s minute detail. you were probably the only factor that would lead him into spontaneity.

his ears perk up as he registers the sound of a bitter laugh, staring as he watches you raise your hand to your mouth, muffling the sound. you repeatedly shake your head.

“what the fuck.” you repeat, quietly now. you were seething, though held your emotions at bay. this wasn’t like megumi at all. he was always patient.

and he usually understood boundaries.

you momentarily glance at him.

“please.” megumi pleaded, cheeks flushed from both the freezing weather and sudden embarrassment clouding his head. he felt his senses coming back, now realizing the gravity of his actions. you had never seen his eyes grow so wide. “i’ll go back outside, i’m sorry, i just really need to-“

“you’re already inside.” you coldly reply, cutting him off. your hostility had yet to dissipate, and if you could think clearly enough, you’d be able to feel the burning sensation of your nails digging into your palms. this felt like a bad dream. but the desperation in his voice was unbearable to listen to, and there was the glimmer of the north star guiding you, naturally searching the idiot in front of you. like it always does. “whatever you say better be worth it.”

it’s mature, your resolve. let him talk, and then he can leave peacefully.

but, what did he want? closure? because you never got any. and you weren’t sure if you wanted it. it’s why your phone idly sits on your bedside table, constantly on do not disturb. for the mere purpose of avoiding him. and everything, really.

you come to a cruel realization that megumi would be the only person benefiting from this - his sudden appearance. he could leave, and you’d still be left with a broken heart. mangled, at this point. no room for repair.

but you love him. so you let him torture you further.

megumi nods feverishly, visibly relieved. “u-um, okay, okay, just give me a second.”

you raise a brow, tilting your head. “for what?”

yes, megumi had come all this way to see you without a single plan in mind.

spontaneity.

“i’m nervous.” megumi quickly replied, and while it isn’t a lie in the slightest, it isn’t the answer to your question. he doesn’t know how to say what he wants to tell you. he’s bad with words, bad with communicating, bad with you.

your hand impatiently beckons him, urging to spill whatever he seems so bothered by. “it’s okay. just get it over with.”

you make it sound too easy.

megumi’s hesitance is almost awkward, and you find an excuse to look around at everything in the room but him. you click your tongue after a while, sighing.

your head hurt. every part of you was overwhelmed, the presence of your ex-boyfriend too unbearable to keep an unbothered act.

he looks the same, maybe a little more restless. you hope he had been sleeping well. two months without him, and yet you can’t seem to notice too much of a difference. the familiarity is comforting, in some weird, twisted way.

but, why come now? all the texts, the phone calls - all in one singular day.

bad things only start appearing once the past issues are nearly faded. salt in a healing wound.

you try to be optimistic and convince yourself that he doesn’t know how much he’s hurting you by being near you, but you know megumi. it’s not unlike him to be selfish. he’d already shown you that.

“megumi, it’s late. just-“

“i want you.”

and heat rises to your face, warm enough to mistake as a fever. every word is caught on your tongue, and it feels like the world caves in for a moment.

now, the anger returns. stronger than ever.

you hold so much resentment. it’s unhealthy for a person to feel what you have within the past two months. bitter, betrayed, and yet helplessly enamored. but now, you’re frustratingly confused. it makes you want to rip your hair out. why couldn’t this be - normal? it’s barbaric, the way that agony doesn’t have a limit. you suppose you’ll stay with the ache forever.

“you-“ and your breath is shaking, eyes blurring in fury. you want the ground below you to split in half and swallow you whole. for the world to naturally end, mimicking the feeling in you that it already has. “fuck you, megumi.”

you’re scolding yourself, mentally screaming, because your chest stings as you watch him silently bow his head.

he’s not allowed to feel shitty. he ended things, and now he has the audacity to act hurt. as if two whole months haven’t passed by, and he isn’t here to remind you (cruelly, in person) how much heartbreak you’ve had to endure.

“why are you here?” your voice sounds so little, all bite manifested into exhaustion. because it’s taking everything in you to stand up straight. to not have your legs give out, and let him have you again. “why are you doing this to me?”

you’re blunt because you can’t drag it out for much longer. maybe you did need closure. you would like to think you deserved it.

megumi stiffens, and his hands instinctively find themselves in his pockets. it’s a habit you were well aware of, a part of you expecting waiting for it to happen. you know him like a book.

“…because i love you.”

he says it simply, as if it’s the answer to everything. the casualty of it makes you want to cry.

but you can’t remember him ever saying that before. and maybe that’s why your skin is suddenly wet, glistening with reminders of just how strongly you felt for this boy.

“you’re being mean.” you whisper, shaking your head.

and megumi knows he is. but the desire of you is too strong for him to handle. truthfully, he’s never doubted the intensity of what he feels for you. megumi is complicated, though.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry.” he mumbles, and it takes him all the willpower in the world to blink away his own emotions. because he’s not the one that should be hurting. “i’m sorry for all of it.”

after you’re accustomed, it’s hard to get rid of something. megumi doesn’t think he could live without you. it was a mistake to believe he could. endless weeks of just staring at remainders of you everywhere. walking by the aquarium where you had your first date, eyes never missing the shampoo you used to buy at the store. he still has a few shirts with the faint fragrance of your perfume. he can’t bring himself to wash them.

“i miss you.” his voice is strained, and he hopes you believe him. “you deserve everything, and i want to give you that.”

your arms are hugging your sides, and you’re painstakingly aware of the slow steps megumi has began to take towards you. they’re wary, but you know you don’t have the strength to step back.

“i love you.” he repeats, and you close your eyes tightly.

again, megumi is normally calculated. and thoughtful. his rashness settles, and he watches you carefully. a hand raises, and he wipes your tear-stained cheek. the touch is soft. you really can’t remember him ever being this careful. his guard is down, his eyes are watering, and you can feel his hand shaking. vulnerability in megumi, as rare as it comes.

he always had trouble expressing his thoughts with you. you can’t blame him, because you know his past hasn’t been ideal. you always hated seeing him suffer in silence. nonetheless, you were patient. so sickeningly patient it made megumi’s stomach do flips.

it’s his biggest regret, telling you to leave him. all you ever tried to do was help.

“i thought,” he brings his head towards you, gently resting his forehead on yours. his hair tickles your face. you shiver. “i thought it’d be smart to end us. i never want to see you sad.”

megumi knows it was a double-edged sword. he ended up hurting you anyway, and himself in the process. too weak to overcome the natural human emotion that is love.

he knew your breakup was a mistake the second he had watched your face fall. he was certain when you had walked out the door. you tend to realize just how great you had it after it’s already gone.

“i’m stupid, aren’t i?” and he chuckles, a regretful smile on his face. a few tears fall. “i’m so, so stupid.” he takes in a sharp breath.

he feels you nod against him. megumi freezes.

“so stupid.” you affirm.

communication is something you can never hold against megumi. he struggles with it, and it’s why you’re so lenient. this, to see you, pour his heart out, and tell you he loves you, is him trying. him trying so incredibly hard.

you feel his body start to shake, and you wordlessly go back to your natural instinct, brushing his hair aside to place a tender kiss on his forehead.

“i love you, megumi.”

it’s an easy admission. you’ve expressed it dozens of times, and finally, those words can be heard back. this time, it’s muffled through your hair as he buries himself into your very being. the saying is repeated endlessly, and his grip tightens.

i love you.

it’s stability, and it’s delightful.

#fushiguro megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi fanfic #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #jjk fanfic #jujustu kaisen fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen x you #jjk satoru gojo #jjk gojo satoru #jjk yuuji #jjk nanami #jjk #jujustu kaisen #anime #anime x reader #megumi angst #anime fic #gojo jujustu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk season 2 #jjk series #jjk smau #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujustu nanami

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Yandere! Butler x Noble! "Villain/Villainess"! Gn! Reader

Ah. I just reread Beware the Villainess for the nth time so expect our yandere for the day to be heavily inspired by Nine!

Yandere Butler name: Zero (get it? Cuz Nine's name is a number so I made our yandere's name Zero--)

notes (not really TW): slight nsfw, yandere is being used by reader, also, a bit of manipulation and breeding by the yandere (Since there is breeding, womb is present in reader.)

Zero had no qualms on making other people his priority.

He was made with that in mind, after all. Being a chimera, he was made by his creator to serve them and nothing more.

But, once Zero grew up to have a mind of his own, and having his own opinions, he was effectively kicked out of the lab. He begged and begged for his creator to take him back but to no avail.

"You were made to serve me unconditionally! But you dare question my experiments and the way I created you?! I'm your god! But you defied me, so scram!"

With a heavy heart and a lovely face filled with tears, he ran away.

He roamed the streets and promptly passed out on an alley.

Despite being a chimera, he was still built with human bodily functions. So the hunger, stress, thirst, and tiredness caught up to him.

When passerby's saw him, they turned a blind eye on him. Spitting on his body, rolling their eyes, ignoring them, or the worst of them all, pity him yet did absolutely nothing to help.

Maybe, this was his fate after all.

The punishment for going astray from his original role.

Until one day, a hand appeared in front of his face, offering him a safe place to stay.

It was you.

You were his savior, his grace, his god.

And he will do anything for you.

Anything.

Sobs can be heard from your room. It was so faint that only the keenest of ears can hear them if they strain it far enough.

You just got fooled by your fiancé, the prince, again. He called you to the palace to meet him, and you, being in love with him still, rushed to the palace with the best outfit you can wear.

But once you entered the sitting room, you saw him once more, making sweet, sweet love to a woman who wasn't you.

Ah, how many times did he do this again? Two? Three? Seven? Who counts anymore.

You were the foolish person who refused to let go of the prince and continued to torment his lover, deeming you the villain/ess in people's eyes for being opposed to "true love."

Is it really true love if it stemmed from adultery?

You always question yourself that. And it seems that even your own family is getting tired of your quick dropping reputation that's plummeting even faster than a meteorite.

You hate him. You hate him so much for making you love him. Your heart squeezes in pain as your short bursts of gasps of frustration filled your lethargic body as you continued to cry out to ease the dull ache in your soul.

You want revenge. You want him to eat shit. But how?

Zero knocked on the door. His hearing, being more advanced than a regular human, heard your sobs. He wanted to comfort you so bad, he wants to hug and kiss you, to make you forget the prince, to make you fall for him. He will not hurt you, so please give him a chance!

But Zero shook his head. "Presumptuous." He thought.

You opened your door, and Zero's heart squeezed also when he saw your tear stained face. He can see it in your eyes that you wanted revenge. You wanted to get back at the prince.

He gulped, nervousness eating him.

This is it. He can be of help to you.

He stepped forward, one, two. Then bent down to kiss your tears away. With a whisper on your ear that left shivers down your spine, his lovely and sultry voice suggested.

"Use me at your disposal, master. I am your one and only loyal servant, and I am willing to be your tool for your revenge."

His face lit up with love and lust as he saw your eyes sparking in curiousity.

"Yes, just use me." He grabbed your hand and pressed it to his warm, red cheeks. "You're my god, after all. I live to serve you."

"gah... huff... Ah..."

"Master... Hng... There, right... agh, there..."

Soft moans and gasps can be heard from the sitting room as two individuals engaged in what old conservative nobles would say, a sinful act.

"Rougher, master... Don't... Ah~ worry about... Me!"

Zero's voice can be heard, pleading his master, you, to take him more rougher and faster. You being on top of him, pressing down on his tall, lean, and muscular body that sweated with heat and speckled with bodily fluids, he looks so blissful and so euphoric.

You and Zero have been making rounds on the local gossip and tabloids. The noble y/n who's engaged to the prince has found a man? And it's their butler?!

Scandalous!

Outrageous!

But also, exciting!

Everyone loved the gossip. Everyone loved the drama. The prince had a lover, so why can't you?

People looked on the situation with keen and sharp eyes. They want more of this. Some suspected that this is all a ruse by you, the villain/ess of the prince's and his lover's relationship. They think you're faking your relationship with Zero!

But how can it be faked when you declined the prince's invitation to be his partner on the royal ball, and instead went with your hot butler? Some also saw both of you make out in the gardens!

How... SInful!

Yet people can't turn away!

And one of the people that can't turn away is the prince. He wants answers, now!

So he's running to your mansion and will demand answers.

But, what if he's the one to catch his own fiance/e making sweet, sweet love to their lover?

And what if, that lover, somehow manipulated the fiance/e into letting him breed a child in them?

Zero shakily touched your abdomen. It already has a slight bump on it as you continued to bounce on top of him. He grinned. His eyes dark, hazy, and full of obsession as he groaned from the pleasure. Your sounds of euphoric release also urged him to climax also inside of you once more.

"Yes, master." Zero said with a trembling voice, just coming down from his high. "I think, having this child between us will effectively make the prince finally end the engagement between you two."

Sweet, dumb you, only nodded with a shiver as you laid on top of him. You were totally convinced that this was the right choice and plan.

At first, you were apprehensive. After all, pregnancy? Isn't that too much? Also, he's a chimera. That's impossible.

But once you saw him experimenting on himself and applying alchemic practices on his own body to make the plan possible, you knew he would do anything to help you and serve you. So you agreed.

You got swayed that easily.

He smiled sweetly. His lovely and innocent face calmed you down as he kissed your forehead. Faint shouts can be heard from outside the sitting room and both of you readied to face the prince one last time.

Zero smirked under his breath.

After all, you were his god, his lover.

He will do anything to serve you.

He will do anything to have you.

#male yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere writing #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #tw yandere #yandere drabbles #lizzaneiaelizalde

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Do I? - Beau Simpson x Reader

a/n: I've been wanting to write for Beau for a while (I love Jon Hamm and this is a hill I am willing to die on), so here's my first one for him. Inspired loosely by Do I? by Luke Bryan.

pairing: Beau Simpson x reader

warnings/content: angst to fluff, mentions of divorce if you squint, Beau being kinda soft, allusions to smut, allusions to child ab*se, Beau doesn't always know how to show his emotions but damn it he tries his best.

word count: 1.9k

taglist: @nouis-bum, @jessicab1991, @b-bradshaw, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld

Do I turn you on at all when I kiss you, baby? Does the sight of me wanting you drive you crazy? Do I have your love? Am I still enough? Tell me don't I? Or tell me, do I, baby Give you everything that you ever wanted? Would you rather just turn away and leave me lonely? Do I just need to give up and get on with my life? Tell me, baby do I get one more try?

Beau grumbled as he walked through the door, his keys dropping into the catch-all dish on the table with a clatter. His brows knit together as he looked around the room, searching for any sign of you being home. His tired blue-green eyes blinked as he raked a hand over his face, trying to wake himself up as he searched the house for you. Calling your name to no response, he furrowed his brow as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He frowned as he saw there were zero missed calls and zero missed messages from you, a sign that you were truly mad at him this time. 

He let out an exhausted sigh as he slumped into the armchair in the living room, picking up a discarded baseball your son had forgotten to put away and rolling it in his hands, over his fingers and back as his mind ran over the events that unfolded that morning.

He hadn’t meant to be cold towards you or Dylan. He’d been stressed and overworked, struggling with an upcoming mission that he had to plan out, trying to ensure the right team was put together for the job. Combing through dozens of personnel files until his eyes were sore, staying up all hours of the night trying to create an action plan, briefing notes - he rarely left base anymore. He knew you’d felt neglected, and God, he hated making you feel that way. He hated that you felt unwanted, unloved, and yet, you did everything you could to still make life easier for him. He knew he didn’t deserve that. In fact, he knew he didn’t deserve you–your patience, your understanding, your love and affection. He didn’t deserve to be Dylan’s father either, not that he’d been a particularly good one anyway. 

Dylan had a baseball tournament coming up, and you’d asked Beau if he’d be able to make it. Dylan’s team had never been invited to play before, but they’d managed to make it to a statewide tournament, teams from all over California would be there with their children, ages 8-10. The Coronado Crowns were having a record season, and Dylan had begun to emerge as their star pitcher. When you’d asked him about it, he’d had a dozen other things on his mind - he couldn’t even remember you mentioning it in the first place, if he was honest. He figured he’d hummed along in response, not hearing what you’d said, but not wanting to give off the impression he wasn’t listening. 

Unaware of what he’d agreed to, Beau bounded down the stairs this morning, his footsteps heavy as he headed to the kitchen. He was running late, and barely had time to have coffee with you, but he was determined to at least kiss you good morning before heading out the door. You’d frowned at him when you saw him in uniform, and immediately, his mind began to race, running through a list of scenarios that could have upset you. He wasn’t the most romantic husband - he knew that, but he was sure he’d never forgotten an anniversary or a birthday. It wasn’t until Dylan came down in his baseball uniform, his duffel bag packed for the four-day tournament slung over his shoulder. His face fell as he looked at Beau, an instant wave of guilt washing over Beau’s face.

“I’m sorry, I forgot, buddy, listen, I really have to get this done at work, I have a briefing scheduled for today, I can’t miss it,” Beau had explained, trying to reason with his 9 year old son. 

“I get it, Dad, it’s ok,” Dylan shrugged before sitting down at the breakfast nook for some scrambled eggs. 

“We’re leaving at 10, get to Oakland for about 8 tonight,” you explained, nodding your head as you forced a smile in Dylan’s direction.

Beau let out a frustrated sigh, of course you weren’t home now - you left four hours ago. You were halfway to Oakland by this point. He leaned his head back against the chair, shutting his eyes for a moment as he dragged his hand over his face once more. He knew he’d fucked up. He knew he’d let you both down. He checked his phone again. If he left now, he could probably make it to you and Dylan by 11 if he made minimal stops on his way. He could make this right, he could show up tonight, surprise you - surprise Dylan in the morning when he woke up, spend the weekend being the father and husband he’d failed to be for the last month or so. 

Beau bolted up the stairs, quickly changing out of his uniform and into more relaxed, civilian clothes. He grabbed a bag from the closet and began to shove some clean clothes inside, showing little care about keeping them neat or organized. He headed to the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant and his razor, tossing them all into the bag in a hurry. Bounding back down the staircase, he stepped into his running shoes and flew out the door with his keys and bag in hand. A well-loved baseball cap from his college days sat in the front seat - a relic he’d meant to bestow to Dylan but forgotten about. He placed the cap on his head, sporting it backwards, just as he would have done 30+ years ago when he got it. 

As he drove down the interstate, he thought about the ways he could apologize to you. His mind ran through all the things you liked, the romantic gestures he’d heard you mention, the different romcom tropes you loved - anything he could think of that could make up for what he’d lacked in as a husband. When he stopped for dinner, pulling into a fast-food restaurant just off the highway, he contemplated what he’d say when you asked him if he was insane, knowing that was exactly how you’d respond to hearing that he drove down after all, determined not to miss a minute of Dylan’s tournament. He thought about how he’d pull you in close, giving you an emblazoned, passionate kiss as he held you in his arms, giving a rare, dramatic, public display of affection. He yawned as he pulled into the parking lot of the hotel you were staying at with Dylan, finding an open spot next to your car. He got out, smiling fondly as he spotted the bedazzled steering wheel cover that he always teased you about - the one he’d begrudgingly bought for your birthday when you’d asked for it, pretending to find it ridiculous when really, he was admiring you for it, for being so unashamedly yourself. It was a quality he was jealous of in you - he’d been brought up in an old-school military family, taught to be seen and not heard, to blend in with everyone else and to remain reserved the majority of the time. He rarely cracked a smile outside of the house, and really, even wearing a baseball cap outside of a Padres game was unlike him. 

He approached the front desk with a look of pure determination on his face, his bag clutched in his hand. Once he made it to your room, he rapped on the door with a gentle knock, trying not to make too much noise in the hopes he didn’t wake Dylan. You opened the door, looking ready to chew out whoever it was knocking for waking you, but your look of anger quickly dissipated as you wrapped your arms around Beau tightly. 

“You flew down here?!” You whispered excitedly, arms draped around his neck.

“No, flights were booked,” Beau shook his head with a chuckle, a soft smile forming on his lips, “I drove.”

“You…you drove?”

“Mhmm, all nine hours. I’m surprised I made it before midnight, I finished my briefing early, managed to get the plans set for the mission, and then got home and realized I had time to fix things with you and Dylan.”

“He’ll be so excited. He was devastated at the thought of you not making it to see him play.”

“Look, I have to talk to you, ok?” He began, shaking his head as he let out an awkward chuckle, frowning as he tried to collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been the worst husband to you. I know I have. I know I’ve made you feel unloved, and unwanted, and unimportant, and I’m sorry. I never wanted to make you feel that way. I’ve never wanted our marriage to be strained over my work, and I know my job is demanding and it’s difficult some days for me to put you and Dylan first - but believe me, I love you two more than anything. You know that, right? And, I know you probably aren’t happy with me - I don’t blame you. I know you probably wanted to divorce me ten minutes ago, and you’re complete right in thinking that - I would have deserved it.”

You pressed your lips to his gently, interrupting his rambling with a soft, tender kiss. He pulled away gently, reaching up to take the baseball cap off of his head before ducking down to kiss you again. He pulled away after a moment, breathless and blissful as he gazed at you.

“So, am I still enough for you? Do you want me to leave or do I get another chance?”

“You’ve always been enough, Beau,” you shook your head, beaming up at him, “Even when you forget commitments and you get caught up with work, or when you don’t always say the right thing, you always make up for it and try to fix things, and that’s one of the things I love about you. You drove nine hours when you realized you couldn’t catch a flight down here because you realized how much it meant to Dylan and I for you to be here. I don’t know many other men who’d drop everything on a dime to do that.”

“I guess that’s true,” he nodded, shaking his head in disbelief before leaning in to kiss your cheek. “I mean it though, I really think you could have done better than a middle-aged Admiral who can’t show his emotions very well and doesn’t know how to prioritze anything correctly.”

“You’re right, I could have, but where’s the fun in that?” You teased, taking the baseball cap from his hand and placing it back on his head, backwards.

“By the way, Beau, you should wear a hat like this more often.” 

“Yeah? You think so?”

You bit your lip seductively, holding back a wicked grin as you looked up at him, nodding your head, “Kinda makes me wanna show you just how much I love you.”

“Dylan’s asleep in here,” he laughed, shaking his head as his cheeks flushed.

“Dylan is sleeping in Ryder’s room, three doors away, actually.”

Beau’s eyes widened slightly, his hands drifting down to your hips. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, turning his head to the side to scan the room, seeing that, you were in fact, alone. When he turned, you caught a glimpse of the salt and pepper streaks that ran through his hair on the side of his head, the sight alone almost enough to make you melt. 

“Well, in that case, let me show you just how sorry I am.” 

#beau cyclone simpson #beau cyclone simpson x reader #beau cyclone simpson x you #beau simpson #beau simpson x reader #beau simpson x you #beau simpson fic #beau cyclone simpson fic #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic

[grippingbeskar]

warmth

ೃ⁀➷ joel miller x fem!reader

❥ content warning; forced proximity, dub!consent, somnophelia, dry humping, swearing

❥ a/n; based on this request! i've had some time off, and am still going through a bit of a strange time in my life, but your guys requests always inspire me to write and create, even if its just a lil bit of joel smut. hehe.

masterlist <3

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

“So this is fun.” You say into the dwindling light of the run down shithole you and Joel are calling home for the night. “Nice and cosy.”

“Cosy?” He parrots, and looks over to what was once a gaping hole in the side of the cabin. You shrug, and sink yourself further into the bundles of blankets you managed to secure.

“S-sure.” Your teeth chatter from the icy surroundings, defeating your point. “Are you sure we can’t start a tiny little fire in here?”

“Whole place is made of wood, darlin’. You’d be toast by mornin’.” His heavy accent floods your body with much needed heat, and you find yourself scooting closer to him on the floor you’ve made your make shift beds on.

“Toast sounds p-pretty good right now.” He laughs slightly, eyes catching your own before dropping back to his lap.

He watches you shift around, bundling yourself closer to trap any body heat you’ve managed to build up, and then takes one of the blankets off the top of his sleeping bag and throws it over you.

“Joel.” You say wistfully, but immediately snatch at the new blanket and add it to your pile. “You’ll get c-cold too.”

“I’ll live.” He says simply, and lays down about a foot away from you. “We should get some sleep.”

“Right.” Your voice is breathless, but still makes a few puffs of cold air as you move yourself down onto the floor of the cabin.

You’re calling it a cabin, but it’s more like a barn the way it’s laid out. It’s smack bang in the middle of a dense forest, with hay everywhere, even in a pile that crunches underneath every time you or Joel shift. It also doesn’t help the fact you are covertly trying to get closer to him— both wanting to steal his body heat and just be close to him.

Joel is a hard man to read. At first you thought he hated you, with all his prolonged silences and gruff remarks. Then, you thought he saw you as a somewhat annoying distant cousin. One that you’d socialise with for a few hours, but then quickly get sick of and look for an excuse to leave them until the next gathering. Once the family bond idea was thoroughly stamped out in a few of his secret heated gazes, or the way his hands would linger on your hips when he unnecessarily lifted you up onto your horse, it was just confusing.

But, you were determined to figure the man out. It’s not like he wouldn’t have your undivided attention anyways. He was a freaking cowboy— straight out of a romance novel. Thick accent, gentlemanly charm and an ass to die for. You were only human.

Still, the hay crunched as you tested your boundaries little by little, as you have been over the past few weeks. Getting closer, lingering longer, smiling sweeter. And it had… well, it affected him in some way, you were sure. But you just don’t know what way. God forbid you go back to the distant cousin stage—

A blast of wind slips through a crack in the walls, and you shudder and ball yourself up.

If Joel hears you, he says nothing, so you just drag the blanket he gave you off the top of your pile and down into the middle so it pressed against you. It smelt just like him— pine and wood and… maybe a little dirt. You two had been travelling for days, and he refused to let you get your hands dirty, so it would make sense.

You buried your face in it, warming the cold tip of your nose and trying to muffle your chattering teeth. It’s a good thing you were covering you mouth, because you nearly squeal when Joel whips around, his chocolate eyes staring right into yours.

“You alright?” He asks, his voice heavy with sleep, and you’d feel bad if his voice didn’t sound so goddamn sexy like that. Right out of a romance novel, you swear.

“Mhmm.” You manage to squeak out, your face covered up to your eyes.

“You lyin’?” He asks, and you repeat yourself. “C’mere.”

At first you’re confused, scrunched eyebrows giving you away. Then Joel pulls back the covers a little, physically inviting you into his chest, and you take the hint embarrassingly fast.

All of a sudden, you’re tucked into Joel’s warmth, surrounded by the smell the blanket only gave you a hint of. You stay face to face, enjoying the ease at which his body warms your hands and nose, and one of his arms drape over your side, keeping itself respectfully in the middle of your body.

Respectfully, you wouldn’t mind if he wandered a little lower, but you tried to keep those feelings at bay.

“Warmer?” He asks tightly as you cling to him, nodding quickly. He mumbles something else, a rough sound only discernible by the way his chest rumbles with it, your cold hands slowly thawing out against it.

"T-thanks." His arm wraps around you tighter when you bury your face in the crook of his neck, the cord of your strange relationship tangling ever so slightly just like your legs do under the covers. "Nice and cosy."

You giggle at your own joke, and he scoffs. "Christ. Go to sleep."

Your laughter fades off as your breathing evens out, and pretty soon you're drifting off into sleep, Joel's arms keeping you warmer than ever.

*you can stop reading here if you aren't a whore. however, i am, so i will continue*

It must be a few hours before your eyes open again. Joel is fast asleep, soft puffs of hair warming the top of your head as your eyes flutter open to complete darkness. You've tangled even more in your sleep, unconsciously wanting to be closer, not just for warmth.

His strong leg nestled between your thighs has nothing to do with body warmth.

When you start to gain a little more of yourself from the cover of sleep, theres a mess between your legs you can't deny. Joel moves slightly as you stir, a choked little whimper escaping your throat as he pushes against you just right. Theres no part of you effected by the cold wind outside— your whole body floods white hot, two strong arms trapping you to feel nothing but the way he's against you.

It's wrong. You should pull away, or wake him up, or do something to drive a wedge between you and Joel. You hardly know for sure if he likes you, let alone wants you like...this.

Then he shifts again, a little roll of his body sending sparks up your stomach, and you make a small sound again.

"You enjoyin' yourself?" You freeze, eyes squeezing shut as you try to deny your body the sleepy pleasure it's taking from him.

"J-joel—" You squeak, a noise embarrassingly high pitched, but his hand tightens on your hip and alleviates some of the nerves.

"It's alright, darlin'. You take what you need." He murmurs, and dips his head, pressing a light kiss underneath your ear. Your hips roll experimentally, and he hums in approval. “That’s it. That’s it.”

"I... oh god, Joel." His hand guides you forward and back, setting a slow but intense fire in your tummy that licks higher and higher every shift.

"How's it feel? Good?" He kisses you again, this time on your cheek.

"S-so good."

"You got no idea how many times I wanted to wake up like this..." You think of all the times you've slept mere inches away from him, but never having the guts to make the move. "Can feel how wet you are f'me."

You shiver, getting more restless as he starts to grind you against his thigh a little faster than before, rocking into you as you slump against his chest again. His free hand grabs your jaw harsher than you expect, bringing your face to his to kiss you hungrily. It's messy and consuming, teeth bashing together as the two of you attempt to find a rhythm that doesn't stop the sweetness of your bodies colliding together.

It shouldn't feel as good as it does, the way your clit runs easily along his now slick thigh, your heart stuttering in your chest as you hear him groan into your mouth, clearly feeling as pent up as you are. The hand on your hip locks under your thigh then, hitching it up higher on his side, the new angle making it all the more intense and having you whine into the kiss.

Joel's tongue dominates your mouth, fills you with the taste of him you've imagined in countless nights alone but never quite perfected. He's overwhelming— pulling you up and on top of him all while keeping your mouth tightly sealed to his own. He swallows your little noises, covering them with his own groans and sighs of your name as you ride him, your mind racing with images of how he'd feel under all these layers.

"Fuck, darlin' I'm not gonna last if you keep..." He breathes out, hands travelling down your back to cup your ass. You lean down and kiss him messily, and move your hips at your own pace, chasing your high.

"It's okay— please, Joel." He grumbles something against your lips, and you just shake your head. "We can do whatever… whatever you want later. Just keep going."

He shudders, your hint of permission enough to send him over the edge. You manage to open you eyes and look at him when he cums, his eyelashes fluttering and his tight jaw going slack with pleasure. That paired with the feeling of his muscles going tight and the way he says your name, you cum with him, your hands gripping tight on his curls and you muffle yourself once again into the crook of his neck.

Neither of you have the energy to move, your overwrought nerves and exhausted body collapsing on top of him. He keeps kissing you lazily, the way your tongues tangle together indulgent of each others tastes. His arms move around you, tucking you in to the blankets so that no part is exposed to the cold, and when your body is covered he gives his hands free reign to roam your skin.

Rough pads of his fingers trail up your spine, pushing up under the layers of clothes to feel your skin against his. As you settle into his soothing touches, the reality that the two of you just came on each other like teenagers has you all hot in the face and shut your eyes tight. He pulls away, his nose nudging your face to look at him.

“You okay, baby?” He says softly, a little smirk on his face when you manage to sneak a look at him. You nod shyly, and his hands drop lower and settle on your ass again before trailing up. “That was… unexpected.”

You look down. “I’m really sorry if I just—“

“No, baby no. Not bad. Good… fucking perfect. Wish I could wake up to that every morning.” He grins, and it takes years off his usual scowling face. “Just thought I’d maybe… take you out first. I got no problem skippin’ straight to dessert though, if that’s what you want.”

“Dinners good.” You smile, and he seems a little relived at that, like maybe he might enjoy it just as much as what comes after. “Desserts good, too.”

He laughs, the sound bouncing off the wooden box of a cabin you’re stuck in, but with Joel holding you like this, the cabin is quickly becoming one of your favourite places in Jackson.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

[gayelderstourney]

OLD MAN YAOI BRACKET ROUND 2

Propaganda:

Sheo/The Nailsmith:

It's really nice because you unlock it after the nailsmith asks you to kill him with the pure nail and you refuse and walk away. He then says he was wandering hallownest without purpose until he found sheo who helped him discover that there was more to life than just one calling. These two are probably the only characters in the game to have a genuinely happy ending

The nailsmith loses his purpose in life after finishing his ultimate masterpiece, his lifelong goal, the pure nail. He requests the protagonist to try the nail on him, but If you refuse, he will find sheo who helps him to find new meaning in life and realise that there is more to life by teaching him different crafts. They can then be seen sculping figurines together, and sheo is also painting the nailsmith.They share a common love for art and crafts and inspire each other. Sheo's story is that he was a nailmaster, but got tired of it, and put down his nail to pick up a paintbrush. I think it's beautiful that he could help the nailsmith realise what he himself did. They both also used to live in solitude without even realising how lonely they were, and I think it's cute tuhat they can do art together now :]

They are two bugs retired from their career and making better lives for themselves and they’re gay about it. Nailsmith believes at first that he has nothing left after creating the perfect nail and asks the knight to strike him down, and if you don’t, he meets Sheo, a retired nailmaster finding a new calling in painting and sculpting. They find a shared love in creating things and Nailsmith finds a new calling in art as well. The achievement you get for uniting them is called “Happy Couple”

Gay bugs gay bugs gay bugs (Cw mention of suicide) They both used to pursue their one passion in life: forging the perfect nail (sword) for the Nailsmith and the art of combat for Sheo. Sheo realized he could just leave that life when he lost his passion for fighting, and he found himself a new purpose in life: art. However, he always seemed very lonely, completely isolated by all other bugs in his hidden house in the middle of a thorn jungle. When The Nailsmith achieved his goal and forged the perfect nail, he lost his purpose in life and his will to live. He asks the player to kill him. However, if the player refuses, he can later be found in Sheo's house, modelling for Sheo or sculpting figurines with him. He thanks the player for not fulfilling his request, because he has found a new calling in life here, making art together with Sheo. They both express how happy they are to no longer be alone. This also gives you the "Happy Couple" achievement, confirming that they are a couple.

THEY'RE CANON!!! They're fucking canon!!! You can talk to them at one point after doing a Bunch of Stuff to get them to meet each other and you get an achievement called "Happy Couple"!!! Gotta love old man yuri

Jean-Luc Picard/Q:

theyre kind of the ogs. q fucked that old man for SURE. if they arent old enough for you in the next generation (1987-1984) they probably will be in picard (2020-2023). also when i went looking for the pic i included i googled “star trek picard q in bed” and there were actually multiple different instances of that happening that popped up

um it’s unclear what age Q is supposed to be in TNG but in Picard they’re both undeniably old as balls. Q has godlike powers that he just uses to hang out with this bald old man in increasingly strange and annoying ways. And call him “mon capitane” like a freak and materialize next to him in bed and say Good Morning Darling and lounge all over the Enterprise like a fruit anyways I think they’re abnormal and I like them

what if you were an all powerful nearly omnipotent being who has been worshipped as a god on planets across the farthest reaches of space and the first guy to just not give a shit about you makes you fall madly in love with him

I can’t get my thoughts clear right now but they mean so much to me. They’re meant to be with each other ok. the sequel to spirk. they would be canon if paramount werent COWARDS

if I were an entity as old as the universe itself and I kept visiting some old guy on a spaceship trying to justify the existence of humanity it would 100% be for gay reasons and Q understands this concept on an intimate level actually

#polls #gay elders tourney #round 2 #tournament poll #hollow knight #sheo #the nailsmith #sheosmith #star trek #jean-luc picard #q star trek #qcard

[the-xolotl]

Thundering Rain

Qí Yù | Rafayel x Reader

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: You and Rafayel cozy up during a cold storm to enjoy each other’s company when you realize he got up for something but didn’t come back to cuddle you.

—• TAGS: Domestic fluff, kinda ooc Rafayel (? if you squint), no use of Y/N, use of the pet name my love, beta read (imagine that)

A thunderstorm had been raging outside for hours now and you are thankful, for once, about the harsh seasonal changes because not just did you enjoy the rain and the majestic flashing of light that occasionally lit up the otherwise dark gray sky, you didn’t have to go to work. You could enjoy a leisure day indoors, listening to the calming sound of the rain hitting the window and the deep thunder clapping after each rapid flash of light with a warm blanket and hot beverages.

It’s true you loved your job, loved the adrenaline of being a hunter, the thrill of battle, but it was nice to sit back and relax for a bit. And some reprieve was definitely due after these past few weeks, Linkon City had been seeing more and more Wanderers roaming inside the more civilian populated areas, your team along with some back ups had been dispatched as first responders almost every time; it’s been busy to say the least.

And Rafayel had definitely not appreciated your constant absence. You don’t blame him, you missed him too. Because your job wasn’t just turning monsters to dust and protecting innocent people; each attack meant a lot of paperwork, desk work, meetings. It meant time away from home and away from your already clingy, needy lover.

Who, speaking of, had suspiciously gotten up from cuddling you in the sofa and hadn’t come back.

The now cool spot behind you made you realize his absence. But as you were about to get up to look for the purple-head you heard his voice, “Stay where you are, how you are, for another 30 minutes…” Rafa trailed off.

He didn’t even ask politely yet you remained on your spot no questions asked and turned your head back to look outside the large, tall window that gave the perfect view to the backyard. “So that’s where you’ve been the whole time,” you chuckled softly, of course he was.

“Inspiration should never be wasted or ignored. The best master pieces ever created were in spontaneous bursts of creativity,” He stated as if it was the most honest to god truth. Yeah, alright.

Amused you simply retorted, “Is that a fact?”

“Most likely,” he shot back before taking a small pause, “Besides, you barely noticed after almost an entire hour I didn’t come back beside you.”

The last part sounded more begrudging, you didn’t have to look at him to know he’s pouting. You couldn’t help but giggle, “Yeah, my back was getting cold. That’s how I noticed you were still gone.” Rafa let out the most offended scoff, he didn’t even dignify with an answer.

The room falls silent again save for the rhythmic pattering of rain, it’s then you realize he’s actually concentrating and you can’t help the little leap your heart makes. “Are you painting me?”

“As I was coming back from the kitchen the scene and atmosphere looked perfect so I just had to capture it,” he explains, “I haven’t had the opportunity to play around with darker tones or paints in a while and I recently acquired some very high quality materials to produce stunning shades. Very rare finds, honestly.” The Lemurian continued on to explain how and where he’d manage to obtain them, of course pointedly mentioning that he needed something to do in your absence because it was just so so boring.

More than half an hour had past, that’s for sure, as you filled the time with more banter and teasing remarks.

“Rafa can I move now? I’m going to have neck pain and be stuck in this position forever if I don’t get up soon,” you whine loudly, “The painting won’t be needed to immortalize this moment then.” He only tsk’s at you, calling you over to see the painting.

“Holy shit you weren’t kidding, the pigments are so rich!” You know little to nothing about art, any scattered knowledge or artsy lingo has definitely come from listening to your boyfriend talk about art. You study the painting detail by detail, from top to bottom. He really does deserve the fame, not that you’re biased.

Rafayel smiles big like a satisfied cat (ironically) at your praise and expression of awe.

Though the more you steady the painting the more you realize the gloomy tempest going out outside was definitely not the focus of this piece like you had originally thought, despite the fact that the oversized window gave the perfect opportunity to capture it so.

Instead you realize most of the spotlight was you. Rafayel had clearly taken his time; each curve of your features was perfectly drawn and shaded, the way the light made light and dark contrasts against the little skin that was not covered by the quilt, the shine in your eyes that reflected the lighting that occasionally flashed and the hair that framed your face. The content of your expression clearly denoting how engrossed you’ve been on the weather outside, he even included the faintest curl of the corner of your lip. And you looked cozy as hell with the blanket all the way tucked up to your chest and your hands wrapped around the (then) steaming mug of coffee.

A heat crept up your cheeks and chest. Is this how he saw you? Is this what his eyes see when he looks at you? Truly? You must’ve had your thoughts written in your face because he breaks the long silence with in a soft voice, “You are the inspiration of the painting, my love,” circling back to one of his earlier comments. You turn to face him fully, meeting eyes as he was already looking at you, as soft smile that matched the softness of his voice spread across his lips.

“It’s going to be part of the next exhibit, on a very special spot.”

“I’m sorry what?” You lamely ask, astonished but still in a monotone.

Rafayel had the audacity to laugh in your face as he gave the cavas a few strokes with the brush to accentuate some shadows. “It’s not finished yet, of course. I will accept no less than perfection,” he says slowly, words as methodical as his painting technique, “Specially when it comes to you.”

If you weren’t blushing before you sure are now. You shove him gently when he takes the brush off the painting, attempting and failing to hide how much he managed to fluster you.

Another long pause passed, but this felt more intimate, watching him closely add some details, switch between different size brushes for finer details. Rafayel sure went into his own bubble when he worked, yet he is always somehow very aware of his surroundings. At least at the moment he was.

“Not a lot of people get the privilege to watch me like this, so up close, let alone live. Are you feeling how privileged you are?” The tone of playful arrogance brings you back and pops the bubble of comfortable silence. But it does make you giggle.

These little moments make you fall deeper in love with him.

⟢ A/N: feels kinda funny posting my writing for the first time in the internet tbh. i usually only write for my friends/myself so i hope you enjoy my lil rot. it’s been raining so much in my area it gives me a very cozy vibe.

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© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

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⤷ dividers : cafekitsune ✰

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