#One Wall Kitchen Layout

[msakintechnicalservices]

Kitchen Renovation Services Dubai

Premier Kitchen Design Services

Kitchen Design  and Renovation in Dubai is an increasingly popular choice for homeowners who want to upgrade their kitchen and enhance the overall aesthetic of their home. There are a number of advantages associated with kitchen renovation, including increased space, improved functionality, and enhanced aesthetics. Additionally, there are also a range of cost-effective solutions available to ensure that your kitchen renovation project meets your budget requirements. When planning a kitchen renovation in Dubai, it is important to consider the size of the kitchen, as well as any existing furniture and appliances. Once these factors are take into account. You can begin to research options for materials, colours, finishes and accessories that will best complement your new design. Additionally, it is important to consider the installation of electrical and plumbing fixtures, as well as any necessary structural modifications.

We offer a one-stop solution wide range of elements, including space planning, furniture installation, lighting design, flooring, wall finishes, and more. We offer a one-stop solution, saving you time and effort by managing all aspects of the fit-out process. We keep you informed throughout the journey, providing transparency and peace of mind. where we specialize in transforming spaces into stunning masterpieces. With our expertise, attention to detail, and commitment to excellence, we bring your vision to life, creating interiors that are both functional and visually captivating.

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[angelickks]

I  OWE  YOU  A  BLACK  EYE  AND  TWO  KISSES   joel miller

synopsis  your  deadbeat  ex-husband  shows  up  again  and  god  help  you—you  fuck  him

warning(s)  nsfw,  mdni  18+.  au! no outbreak. joel's  a  deadbeat  ex  in  this.  literally  porn  w/  little  to  no  plot.  lowk  toxic  joel.  unprotected  p  in  v  (wrap  ya  shit).  creampie. pussy  pronouns.  rough sex. backshots  (yum).  finger  fucking.  arguing.  hair  pulling.  swearing.  mention  of  a  vibrator.  joel  licking  his  fingers  like  a  whore. sum possessive!joel. spanking.  no  use  of  y/n. (gif not mine)

angel  talks  had  to  go  back  to  my  roots  here.  i  wanna  fucking  gnaw  on  him.  literally  just  had  to  get  this  out  of  my  system  bcuz  ovulation  is  a  fucking  bitch. so heres a cute drabble for yall.

#NAV.ᐟ pedro pascal mlist!

CLEAN LINES. HIGH-END CLIENTS.

Success that tastes like everything he never gave you. You’d been at this for a while now—curating luxury interiors, designing award-winning spaces, becoming the name everyone wanted in their portfolio. You wore structure like armor. Controlled every room you walked into.

Joel Miller was long lost in your rearview mirror. Or so you thought.

You didn’t know it would be his company on the new build until you were already waist-deep in contracts. Miller Construction. You’d laughed when the name came up—assumed it was a coincidence.

But when you stepped into the meeting room and saw him leaned back in a flannel shirt, jeans, and that same cocky slouch that used to make you wild, every breath in your body turned sour.

He looked like the past. Bruised, aging, too familiar. But somehow worse—because you could tell life hadn’t been kind. And he was still so fucking sure of himself.

“Been a while,” was all he’d said.

╭━━━━━ ━━━━━╮

And now here he was. In your house. At your kitchen island. Going over structural layouts with his big, calloused hands spread across your marble countertop like he still had the right. As if he isn't the same fucker that built the goddamn thing.

The plan review had turned into a fight twenty minutes ago.

“You’re not listening,” you snap, shoving the blueprint across the marble kitchen island. “That beam can’t be exposed. It interrupts the ceiling flow.”

Joel just leans back in the bar stool, legs spread, one arm slung lazily over the back of the chair like he owns the damn room. Like he owns you.

“Ceiling flow?” he drawls. “That’s not a real thing.”

You glare. “Yes, it is, Joel. Just because you never finished your degree doesn’t mean you get to shit on mine.”

His smirk falters—just slightly.

“I ain’t shittin’ on your degree. I’m shittin’ on your attitude.”

You laugh. Cold. “You wanna talk attitude, Miller? You’ve been gone for years. Then you decide to ghost me after I served you the divorce papers, and came back wearin’ flannel like it’s armor.”

Joel’s jaw ticks. “You think I wanted to leave?”

“You did leave.” You slam your wine glass down. “You left me, Joel. And now you’re showing up in my home, telling me how to build it better?”

His voice drops, low and lethal. “You think this is your home?”

He stands slowly, broad shoulders rolling like a storm coming in, eyes never leaving yours. He moves around the kitchen island, boots thudding against hardwood you both picked out once upon a time.

“I put up the walls. I laid the floor. I installed the damn fixtures. You designed it, sure—but I built it.”

A beat.

“C’mon, baby,” he says softly, and it’s that tone—that aggravating, mocking fucking tone—that used to bleed under your skin and straight between your legs.

Your blood boils. “Don’t call me that.”

Joel’s eyes flicker up, slow and sharp, and fuck, there it is—that look that used to precede every argument, every orgasm, every time he made you beg.

“Call you what?”

“That.” Your voice cracks. “Like you still know me.”

He hums, low and condescending.

“I know you’re still dramatic.”

You take a sharp step back.

“Fuck you,” you spit, fury curling around the edges of your voice like barbed wire.

His mouth curls. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

“Oh, you sick fuck,” you snap. “You don’t know shit about me anymore.”

He closes the distance fast. So fast your back hits the edge of the island with a dull thud, the stone cold against your spine. His palm lands beside your hip, fingers splayed wide and possessive. His voice lowers into that dangerous rasp—the one that used to get you naked without a word.

He leans in until his lips brush your cheek, breath hot against your ear.

“I remember every goddamn inch of you.”

You freeze.

“Still fuck yourself with that vibrator I got ya?” he murmurs. “From when you used to travel and leave me cummin' in my hand to those cute fuckin' pictures of you?”

Your breath stutters.

“I remember the way you used to cry when you came,” he says, voice like gravel dragging over silk. “Like it hurt to feel that good. Like you wanted to drown in it.”

You should shove him. Slap him. Scream.

But your knees betray you. Your thighs press together. He sees it—smells it on you. The want. The hate. The history. That’s all it takes.

His mouth crashes into yours. Brutal. Tongue sliding past your lips like he’s taking back something that was always his. His hands grab your thighs and lift you, sit you on the cold stone counter like you weigh nothing. You gasp into his mouth as he yanks your shirt up, your bra down, and sinks his teeth into your nipple with a moan that vibrates through your chest.

“Still so fuckin’ soft,” he growls. “Still fuckin’ mine.”

His hand slips beneath your skirt, fingers dragging through your soaked panties.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, voice broken. “You’re drippin’. You’re gonna fuckin’ deny me and soak your panties over my voice?”

You try to respond—some insult, some curse—but his fingers pull your underwear aside and slide through your folds with practiced, filthy ease. His touch is rough. Fast. Unapologetic. One thick finger pushes into you, and your mouth falls open on a moan.

“Still so goddamn tight,” he snarls, watching your face twist. “Like your pussy missed me more than your mouth wants to admit.”

“Fuck y—”

“Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it or I stop.”

You glare at him, teeth clenched, panting as your walls flutter around his finger. Then he curls it just right and you cry out, gripping his flannel.

“You ruined me.”

His breath hitches.

He adds a second finger without warning and fucks you with a growl. Presses his forehead to your sternum like he’s trying to crawl inside you.

“Good,” he says. “’Cause you fuckin’ ruined me too.”

You claw at his shirt, drag him into another kiss that’s more spit than anything else. His beard scratches. His tongue fights. He fucks you with his fingers until your thighs shake and your cunt gushes over his hand, slick dripping onto the counter.

You scream his name when you come. You sob it.

He pulls his fingers from your cunt and stares down at the mess coating them, breath still ragged. Then, eyes locked on yours, he sucks them clean one by one—tongue slow, wet, obscene. He licks them like he’s starving. Like he’s been waiting for years just to taste you again.

“Still tastes like fuckin’ heaven,” he rasps, lips shiny with your slick.

“Don’t get used to it,” you snap, chest heaving. “You’re still going to fucking hell.”

He grins, teeth flashing like sin itself.

“Then I’ll see you there, baby.”

He steps back, undoing his belt with one hand, popping the button on his jeans like he’s done it a thousand times just to think about you. His pants hit the floor and fuck—he’s already flushed, heavy, cock veined and leaking at the tip.

He wraps his fist around it, strokes once, slow and dirty, and groans low in his throat.

“Bend over.” He growls, voice dropping into something dangerous.

You raise an eyebrow. Don’t move.

“You gonna make me?” you taunt, a wicked smile tugging at your lips.

His eyes darken—jaw clenched, chest rising.

“Fuckin’ try me.”

Your smirk deepens. You turn around without another word and lean over the island, arching your back, ass up, face down against the marble. The countertop is cold under your bare tits. You spread your legs wider. Just to be a bitch.

Skirt shoved up, your soaked pussy is on full display. You don’t look at him. You feel the shift in the air when he sees you—feel the breath he lets out, ragged and ruined.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he mutters like a prayer.

You hear him spit into his palm, stroke his cock once, twice—then the blunt head is sliding through your folds, smearing slick and spit all over your pussy. He slaps it against your clit once—hard enough to make you jolt.

“You gonna take it all again, baby?” he mutters, dragging the head against your entrance.

You glance over your shoulder, lips parted.

“Shut the fuck up and fuck me.”

That’s all it takes.

He lets out a noise—low, feral, like a fucking dog—and drives into you in one brutal, soul-snatching thrust. He doesn’t give you time to adjust—just pulls back and starts pounding into you, cock slamming deep, balls slapping your clit with every thrust. The sound of it is filthy. Slick. Skin on skin. Wet. Desperate.

You scream. Hands flying out, palms slapping the marble as your cunt stretches around him. The pain burns so fucking good, the pressure so familiar you could cry.

“Fuck—fuck, Joel—”

His hands grip your hips tight, bruising, possessive.

“Oh, you missed this,” he snarls, still pounding into you. “This what you needed? To get split open like you fuckin’ deserve?”

You can’t speak. Just whimper, mouth hanging open, eyes rolling.

“Bet you let some pretty little suit fuck you all soft, huh?” he pants. “Bet he couldn’t even get you wet.”

“W-Wouldn’t you like to know,” you choke out.

Joel groans, fucks you harder, the slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls dissipating into the ceilings he hates.

“Say it then,” he grits. “Say no one fucks you like I do.”

You’re already shaking, legs trembling.

“Say it or I’ll pull out and leave you beggin’.”

You gasp, cunt clenching around him.

“No one—fuck—no one fucks me like you do, Joel—”

“That’s right.” He slams into you deeper, grunting with each thrust. “Still stretch you open like I own this pussy. Still make you soak the fuckin’ floor.”

He spanks your ass, hard, then grabs your hair, yanking your head back.

“'Cause I’m still the best fuck you ever had,” he growls. “Still the only one who knows how to make you cum till your legs shake. Still the only one who knows this pussy cries for me.”

You whimper as his hand snakes around, fingers finding your clit again. He rubs hard and fast, just the way he knows makes you lose control.

“I missed you,” he breathes. “Missed this. Missed ruinin’ you.”

Your whole body coils. Tightens. Fucks back against him.

“I’m gonna—”

“Come all over my fuckin’ cock. Let it squeeze me dry. You know I’ll fill you up good. Always do.”

You break.

It’s loud. Wet. Devastating. Your body convulses, cunt spasming around him in fluttering waves. Joel groans, grabs your hips and slams in deep—one final thrust before his cock pulses and he spills inside you with a choked gasp.

He doesn’t move. Just breathes. Heavy. Shaking. His body covers yours, chest pressed to your back.

“I ain’t touched anyone else,” he whispers. “Haven’t even wanted to.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I think about you every night,” he says, voice rough and wrecked. “Fuckin’ myself stupid just to get the memory to fade. But it don’t. You don’t.”

You don’t say anything.

He pulls out slow, cum dripping down your thighs. His hand runs down your spine, a long, tender stroke that makes your heart ache.

“Just needed to feel it again,” he murmurs. “To feel you. To see if y'still mine even when the ring came off.”

And all you can do is breathe.

Because no matter how much success you built, no matter how clean the lines or polished the floors—he still lives under your skin like a bruise that never healed.

[aes-h]

not so berry gen 1 house (2)

[jungwnies]

blueprints | lando norris

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris x architect!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : being the architect behind the vision of your future home with lando, the process is filled with chaotic debates, quiet love, and a surprisingly emotional struggle over how to fit nearly a decade’s worth of racing memories. it’s not just a house; it’s their forever.

୨ৎ : genre : fluff / domestic romance ୨ৎ : word count : 894

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was such a lovely request, love architects and everything domestic

the blueprint was supposed to be simple. at least, that's what you told yourself when you first opened your sketchbook and started drafting the layout of your and lando's dream home. clean lines, open concept, lots of natural light. nothing too complicated.

until your very passionate, very attached-to-his-legacy boyfriend leaned over your shoulder and said—

"where’s the trophy room?"

you blinked. “the what?”

“the room,” he said, like it was obvious. “for all my trophies. and helmets. and my suit from silverstone. and—oh! the first wheel i ever used in karting. it still has bite marks from when i used to get mad.”

you turned around, pencil still poised above the floor plan. “you want a whole room?”

“well,” he grinned, leaning in, “you said this was our dream house. and in my dreams, there’s a shelf that lights up for each p1 trophy.”

“lando—”

“and maybe a little podium area with led lighting.”

you stared at him.

he kissed your cheek.

you sighed.

it was day two of planning, and already the project had morphed from a minimal modern build to what was starting to resemble a motorsport museum.

despite that, you couldn’t help but smile as you adjusted your sketches to fit in what you labeled, in tiny handwriting, lando’s legacy shrine. he peeked over your shoulder again, proudly pointing to it.

“see? we make such a good team.”

you rolled your eyes. “you just like bossing me around.”

“i like watching you pretend i’m not charming,” he said, nudging your leg with his knee.

the days passed like that—debating window placements, arguing over whether the kitchen island needed to be ‘chef’s kitchen’ big (he insisted, even though he could barely boil pasta), and haggling over the practicality of an indoor karting simulator room.

one afternoon, as sunlight spilled across the dining table-turned-sketching-station, you were fine-tuning a cross-section when you noticed lando unusually quiet. he was perched across from you, scrolling through photos on his phone.

“whatcha looking at?” you asked, not looking up.

he tilted the screen to show a blurry shot of the two of you at the austrian grand prix—his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, your face tucked into his chest, grinning like a fool.

“i want this on the wall,” he said softly. “somewhere near the front door.”

you finally glanced up. “why?”

“so i remember why i’m coming home.”

your chest tightened. “that’s really corny.”

he shrugged. “you dated me anyway.”

the blueprint slowly became more than just lines and labels. it was stories. a skylight above your reading nook because he said you looked peaceful in natural light. a bathroom mirror perfectly positioned so you could do your skincare while he stood behind you brushing his teeth. a patio with a grill and enough space for summer parties, because “we’re gonna be the fun couple, right?”

it was all soft compromises and quiet affection—until the great helmet wall debate.

you were seated on the floor, surrounded by floor plan drafts and elevation sketches, when lando dropped onto the couch behind you.

“so…” he began casually, “do you think the helmet wall could be bigger?”

you turned slowly. “bigger than an entire feature wall?”

“well, yeah, because i thought about it and i want to include the karting ones too. and maybe my racing gloves. maybe hang them on hooks, all organized by year.”

you stared at him. “do you hear yourself?”

he grinned. “yes. i sound passionate.”

you threw a pillow at him.

“oi! violence against the visionary.”

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, grabbing another piece of paper. “fine. you get the helmet wall.”

“and the podium?”

“lando.”

“okay, okay,” he laughed, hands raised. “half-podium. just a little platform. for the vibes.”

you paused. then scribbled down the dimensions.

he crawled over to sit beside you, watching as you drew in the extra square footage.

“you know,” he murmured, nudging your shoulder, “i don’t actually care if we make it perfect.”

you looked up. “what do you mean?”

“i mean… it doesn’t matter how many rooms we fit or how big the kitchen is or if there’s a race sim. what matters is that it’s ours.”

your pencil froze mid-line.

“i just want to wake up next to you in it,” he added, softer now. “that’s the dream part for me.”

you stared at him for a long second. he wasn’t smiling this time, no teasing in his eyes. just something sincere. something a little shy.

“you’re gonna make me cry,” you said.

“i’m trying to be romantic,” he shrugged.

you leaned in and kissed him.

later that night, you sat together in front of the fireplace you’d designed on a whim, tangled up on the rug with the plans spread out in front of you. lando reached for your sketchbook and added a new label in sloppy handwriting near the kitchen.

“what’s that?” you asked.

“our corner.”

“our… what?”

he grinned. “that’s where we’ll dance when we’re too lazy to go out. or argue about who left the fridge open. or just exist.”

you looked at the little corner he'd circled, and somehow, it felt more permanent than the blueprint itself.

he pulled you into his lap. “can’t wait to build it with you.”

“build what?”

he looked around the room. at the scattered pencils. at your rolled-up plans. then back at you.

“a life.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[dragoneyelashart]

MY WIFE

⭑ SMUT.

⭑ synopsis :: billie comes home after a tiring day at work, to find your son's friends drooling over you....

⭑ warnings :: g!p billie, oral (billie receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, breeding kink, humiliation kink, praise kink

au :: pilot!billie x reader

a/n :: layout inspo – @karaeilish

you heard the front door open softly, the faint creak of the hinges, the dull thud of billie’s well-worn boots landing on hardwood, the muffled drop of her duffle bag against the wall. your heart gave a little stutter, a flutter of warmth that pulsed in your chest. she was home.

you turned your head, eyes catching just a flash of her figure as you leaned over the table, laughing, still focused on laying out slices of cake on mismatched plates. the room buzzed with teen chatter.

your two sons and their friends circled the dining table, loud and full of restless energy. your daughter was tucked at the end, nibbling cake while interjecting to make fun of her brothers at times.

you wore shorts and billie’s old flight academy t-shirt, oversized, threadbare in all the right places, clinging gently to your hips and sliding off one shoulder. you hadn’t thought twice when you pulled it on, but it framed you just so. hugged your waist when you bent forward, revealed the curve of your thighs.

apparently, someone had noticed.

"dude," a voice muttered just as you stepped away from the table. "your mom is such a milf. like actually. it’s not even fair."

you blinked. the words didn’t fully register. you were too focused on the way the air shifted behind you, warm, heavier. you turned and saw her.

billie.

standing there just inside the archway, shadowed by the hallway light. her shirt was unbuttoned halfway. her hair was tousled, pushed back messily from the headset she’d worn all day. she looked exhausted.

and her eyes were locked on you. burning. unreadable.

your face lit up instantly. you stepped toward her with ease, plate in hand. “hi, baby,” you greeted softly, reaching to press a kiss to her cheek.

her hand caught your waist before you could pull away. the kiss she gave you wasn’t just a hello, it was firm, a show for others to see. her mouth lingered on yours just a second longer than necessary, and the heat from her palm on your hip sent an involuntary shiver through you.

you pulled back slightly, eyes flicking up. "you okay?"

her jaw was tight. her voice low. “mmhmm.”

and then she added, tone unreadable but sharp: “we’ll talk later.”

later came quick.

the house thinned out in slow waves. the teens migrated to the basement, laughing too loud with arms full of snacks and cans of soda. your daughter yawned her way upstairs, trailing the faint sound of a bedtime playlist. and then, silence.

you were alone with billie, the kitchen still glowing in the soft amber hue of pendant lights. shadows stretched long across the tile. the quiet was almost too still, like the eye of a storm.

"alright," you said, arms crossing instinctively as you leaned your hip against the counter, turning toward her. "what wrong? you’ve been on edge since the second you walked in."

she didn’t respond right away. she just stared. eyes unreadable. arms folded tight over her chest, biceps straining against the sleeves of her rumpled uniform. she was leaning back against the fridge, jaw clenched.

"you really don’t know?" she asked, voice low and tight.

"know what?" you asked softly, heart beginning to pick up.

she pushed off the fridge slowly, boots deliberately quiet against the tile, closing the distance one step at a time like a predator. her eyes didn’t leave yours.

"you," she said. her voice a rasp. "bent over the table. laughing. feeding cake to a table full of hormone-driven teenage boys. in my shirt."

your mouth parted in a surprised breath. then you gave a half-giggle, half-laugh. "wait. are you actually jealous of our kids’ friends?"

her eyes darkened. "not jealous," she growled. her fingers reached for your chin, slow but firm, tilting your face up to hers. "m’ possessive. there’s a difference."

your breath stuttered.

"billie—"

"you’re mine," she murmured. her forehead touched yours, voice low enough to vibrate in your chest. "let them look. let them talk. but only i get to touch you, i’m the only that can fuck you stupid and still have you begging for more."

her mouth was on yours before you could respond, hot, slow, and aching with everything she hadn’t said since walking through that door. her hands found your hips, strong and unyielding, guiding you backwards until the kitchen counter kissed the small of your back.

"the kids—" you gasped, the warning barely formed.

"asleep," she murmured into your skin, already trailing her lips down your neck. you could feel her breath. the bulge in her pants becoming more prominent against your thigh.

her hands slid under your shirt, her shirt, and the sensation hit like electricity. calloused fingertips against bare skin, every inch of you suddenly hyperaware, lit up.

"think you need a reminder princess? need me to show you who you belong to?" she whispered, voice hoarse against your collarbone.

"billie—" you breathed, your fingers curling into her shoulders.

billie kissed you again, harder this time. hungry. her hands gripped the backs of your thighs and in one fluid motion, she lifted you effortlessly onto the edge of the counter. the marble was cool beneath your skin, a contrast to the searing heat of her body between your legs.

the marble beneath you was cool, almost biting against the fever of your flushed skin. her body pressed between your legs, heat radiating through the thin layers of your clothes, her uniform rough against your bare thighs.

her mouth trailed to your jaw, then lower, dragging down the sensitive column of your neck, where she nipped, sucked, claimed. your fingers tangled in the fabric over her shoulders, clutching, grounding yourself to the solid weight of her body.

your fingers reach for her pants, cupping the bulge that was straining against her pants. you make quick work of taking them off along with her boxers. jumping off the kitchen counter you sink to your knees, taking billie’s dick in your hands. 

billie sucks in a sharp breath the moment your hand wraps around her.

her knuckles go white on the edge of the counter, head tipping back just slightly as your thumb brushes the leaking tip. she looks down at you, eyes blown wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling beneath the loose fit of her uniform shirt.

"fuck," she mutters, voice rough. “you look so good like that.”

you just smirk, licking a slow stripe up the underside of her cock, savoring the way she twitches in your grip.

you kiss the tip first softly, leaving small kitten licks on it, before taking her into your mouth, slow and deliberate. her hips jerk forward and she immediately catches herself, one hand flying to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

“yeah that’s it, keep going baby” she murmurs, guiding you deeper.

inch by inch, lips stretching around her girth, your hands gripping her thighs for balance as she groans low and guttural above you. you hollow your cheeks, tongue pressed flat along the underside, and bob your head with rhythm, eyes flicking up just to see the way her mouth falls open. 

“gosh baby,” she breathes. “you tryna kill me?”

you pull back just enough to speak, stroking her with one hand, spit connecting your lips to her shaft. “use my mouth bil, please”

billie just groans, her hand tightens in your hair, a small smirk playing on her lips. she guides your mouth back to her cock. her fingers tangled further into your hair as she thrusts her hips into your mouth. your eyes are teary as you look up at billie. she groans, deep in her chest, both hands gripping your hair now as she rocks forward. her rhythm’s messy now, uneven, desperate. her jaw clenches, trying to hold it back, but you can feel her losing it.  “shit—shit, i’m—” she chokes on the sound, eyes squeezing shut, shoulders shuddering as she cums in your mouth. 

her breathing’s ragged. she looks wrecked, flushed all the way down her chest, lips parted, blinking like she forgot where she was for a second.

and then she sees your tongue.

you show her, open-mouthed, obedient, a little smug under the mess of your hair. every drop swallowed, just for her.

something snaps in her eyes.

you barely have time to inhale.

billie surges forward, grabbing you by the waist like you weigh nothing, lifting you clean off the floor and setting you back against the kitchen counter. the marble is freezing beneath your thighs, but you barely register it before her mouth is on you.

not gentle. not soft.

she kisses like she’s punishing you for what you just did to her, teeth, tongue, breathless sounds caught between your lips. her hands are everywhere: your waist, your thighs, under your shirt, yanking at your underwear like they offended her. her cock grinds against the soaked fabric, and she growls at the friction.

“you think you’re clever?” she pants into your mouth. “acting like a fucking slut, getting on your knees f’me”

you gasp as she pulls back just enough to stare down at you, hand sliding between your legs, thumb pressing exactly where you need it. not moving. just holding you there.

“gonna show everyone that you’re mine” she whispers, lips brushing yours, voice like gravel and smoke, “have you crying on my cock”

your nails dig into her back, thighs locked tight around her waist as she starts to move, slow at first, like she wants to feel every inch of you. your back arches off the counter. she groans, mouth latching onto your neck, hips snapping harder now.

“so wet for me,” she pants. 

your head falls back, and she grabs your jaw, making you look at her.

“eyes on me.”

you nod, biting your lip, tears already stinging your eyes at how deep she’s hitting, how full she makes you feel. her cock drags against your walls, filling you over and over, your cunt already pulsing around her, tight and desperate.

“fucking pathetic, you’re close already? gonna cum for me?” she growls, pace relentless now.

you can barely breathe. “yes—yes, billie—fuck—”

“i think you can wait princess” she grits, fucking you harder.  your whole body trembles, hips twitching, desperate to chase the release she’s holding just out of reach. her grip tightens around your waist, pulling you in deeper with every roll of her hips. you look at her with pleading eyes. 

“look at you dripping all over the counter” she murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “messy girl, all fucked out in the open for everyone to see hm?”

you nod frantically, tears slipping past your lashes now, lips parted in wordless moans. every muscle in your body feels tight, coiled, aching.

she grabs your jaw again, firmer this time, and forces your gaze up to hers.

“pathetic girl” she says softly, almost like a coo. “can’t listen to simple instructions? all i said was to keep your eyes open baby.”

your breath catches. her eyes are sharp, dark, unreadable.

but then her thumb strokes your cheek.

your thighs twitch around her waist. the tension builds higher, unbearable, dizzying.

“m’ sorry daddy, please promise i’ll be good” you whisper, voice shaking. “jus’ wanna cum f’you please,”

“i know you’ll be good princess, you’re not gonna run from this dick right, mama? gonna take what i give you,” billie says fucking at a faster pace. 

you cry out, broken and needy. already knowing how hard that was going to be.

she kisses the sound right out of your mouth.

“promise mama? not gonna run?,” she says between each kiss

you nod frantically, pressing your forehead against hers. “promise bil, i promise,”

her lips curve in the softest, cruelest smile.

“that’s my girl, go on cum f’me baby”

billie doesn’t stop when you cum. in fact, it makes her worse.

the second your cunt clenches around her, she growls low in her throat, grabs your waist with both hands, and flips you over onto your stomach right on the counter.

you barely catch yourself on your elbows, legs shaky, panties ripped and tossed somewhere behind you. she doesn't even wait, just yanks your hips back, and slams back inside. 

"that's it," she spits, voice rough. "you wanted to be a little slut on your knees, now take it,“

your face presses to the cold marble, cheek sticky against the slick of your own spit and tears. the sound of her hips slamming into your pussy is obscene, wet and punishing, her cock driving into you so deep it knocks the air from your lungs.

your throat is raw, words tangled between moans. “b-billie—too much—”

"nah, you can take it," she snaps, leaning over you, one hand gripping your throat, pulling your body up against hers. 

you whimper, struggling to hold your weight as her cock drives up into you over and over. reaching back to push billie away, the pleasure becoming too much.

“why you running mama? huh? i thought you promised” her lips attack your neck leaving harsh kisses as she tugs your hair. “big ass mouth, yet you can’t take what daddy gives you? such a shame princess, thought you were better than that” you shake your head, tears streaming down your face, your arousal slick against your thighs.  “you’re mine. c’mon say it.”

“i’m— fuck, billie—m’ yours,” you sob. “only yours.”

she reaches between your legs, rubs your clit in harsh circles, makes you sob.

“say it while i make you cum, baby.”

“i’m yours,” you cry, voice cracking. “daddy please, i’m yours.”

she loses it.

one arm wraps around your waist, and she fucks up into you like she’s claiming you, every thrust harder than the last, her breath ragged, her cock twitching inside your pulsing cunt.

“gonna cum in you,” she growls, teeth scraping your shoulder. “gonna fill my pussy so deep you’ll feel me all week.”

you’re choking on moans now, vision blurring, body trembling with another orgasm already building.

you nod, desperate, ruined. “yes—yes, please—”

her rhythm breaks. you’re shaking, barely holding yourself up against her, every nerve set aflame. the aftershocks ripple through your body like wildfire, mixing with the heat still burning deep inside you.

billie’s breath is hot against your skin, her chest rising and falling in time with yours. her hand never stops moving, fingers soft and deliberate on your sensitive clit, coaxing you through the haze.

her voice drops to a low growl, thick with promise and warning.

“no one can talk about my wife like that,” she murmurs, voice rough, possessive. “you’re mine.”

taglist: @amara-eilish @bilswifee @iamnicoke @jayjaywetforbils @bittersuitekim @bxllxebxtch @bitchesbrokenpromises @ijustlovemaths @ilovealiceosemann @bilssturns @chrissv4mp @peytonneilish @too-sapphic-to-function @thebluediner @aka-persephone @vijaxx @thinkshespretty @cantlandonmyfeet @emi-inspace@karaeilish| link to be added to my taglist !

[puppysuh]

POSITIONS 4 U .ᐟ ( nct 127 )

synopsis. different positions 127 guys would love to see you in. (featuring. johnny, yuta, jaehyun, mark, haechan)

rating. mature (minors + ageless blogs dni)

warnings. multiple positions, dirty talk (all), semi-choking (johnny), mentions of anal (haechan), religious imagery(?) (mark), oral sex, overstimulation (jaehyun), dubcon, rough sex (yuta)

author’s note. my first proper… thing (?) on tumblr. sorry if the formatting’s a little off, i’ve only ever been on freaky anime tumblr and they layouts are… very different. enjoy, and my ask box is always open if anyone wants to talk! also, thanks for the love on my first post 😓😓 that was my first time posting and i was #MegaNervous so i’m glad it was well liked! :)

ﾞ ʾ ╳ ˚ ˖ ࣪ JOHNNY ☆ #PRONEBONE

it just makes him feel so… powerful. he likes giving, so what better way to give to you than let you lay there on your tummy, completely helpless whilst he cages you in between his massive arms, keeping you trapped whilst he has his fun with your oh so needy pussy? 

“i know you like it, sweet girl,” he’d whisper in your ear, hips pistoning in and out of you at pace which can be described as nothing short of ruthless. “you like it when i rail you like this, princess?”

you can barely respond, not with the way his bicep is wrapped around your neck, cutting off your airflow and rendering you utterly helpless to him. “‘s good,” you gurgle, eyes flickering into the back of your head as you feel that all too familiar coil start to wind in your belly.

another thing johnny likes about this position is that he can feel all of you, including the way your gummy walls begin to spasm around his cock as you rapidly approach your orgasm. and because he’s the one in control, he won’t give it to you just yet, instead deciding to slow his harsh thrusts down into sensual grinds against the flesh of your ass. 

“not yet,” he whispers in your ear before leaving a fleeting kiss on the crown of your head. “‘m not done with this pussy just yet, princess.” 

ﾞ ʾ ╳ ˚ ˖ ࣪ YUTA ☆ #MATINGPRESS

yuta doesn’t have the highest sex drive. well, you don’t think he does; he rarely initiates, and whilst you don’t mind that, you just wished he’d be a little less reserved.

he has his moments, sure. a kiss that lingers a little too long, a hand creeping up your back whilst you’re pottering about in the kitchen, the sharp feeling of his chin on your shoulder and a warm kiss on your neck. it’s loving, but it’s not sexual, and you feel stuck. 

stuck, that is, until you change your approach. 

all yuta needed was a little push, a little bit of motivation to finally let his true feelings show. all you had to do was act like he didn’t exist, and suddenly, he’s all over you, trapping you so you can’t escape his undivided attention. 

“ignoring me was a bad idea.” his voice is level, but is actions are anything but. he has your ankles propped up onto his shoulders, arms braced on either side of your head as he ruthlessly thrusts into you. “is this what you wanted?”

you smile weakly, but as quickly as it appears, it’s immediately wiped off your face by yuta bending you even further. “‘m sorry, yuta-” 

“you’re not,” he grunts, eyes glued to the way your pussy swallows his agitated length. “you’re enjoying this.” 

you can’t reply to him, because the burn in your pelvis is damn near excruciating, and you can only whine out in jumbled pain and pleasure, your eyes crossing as you feel your brain begin to go fuzzy.

“yuta…” 

“don’t do it again.” you feel a small relief as he takes one ankle off of his shoulder and kisses it, a harsh juxtaposition to the way he relentlessly drills your pussy. “got it?” 

you sniff pathetically. “got it.”

ﾞ ʾ ╳ ˚ ˖ ࣪ JAEHYUN ☆ #69

jaehyun is the best eater he knows. his source? well, you of course. 

the man has nothing short of an oral fixation. you remember him telling you that he had a penchant for all things sweet, and whilst you thought he meant desserts, he was really talking about his sexual preferences. 

a good day for jaehyun is a day spent in between your legs, fingers and tongue glued to your pussy as they pull orgasm after orgasm out of you. it’s the epitome of everything he loves and believes in, and when you suggest a new way to rouse his oral fixation through a video you find on twitter one day, he’s totally down. 

he might not be able to breathe, but he likes it that way. the fact that you’re sucking him off at the same time makes it even better; every time his tip touches the back of your throat, he can feel you tighten up around his tongue, and it drives him crazy. 

“sit on me,” jaehyun groans, fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as if they were his lifeline. “c’mon baby, do it.” 

jaehyun truly believes he could die right here, with your thighs cutting off his airflow whilst your tongue teases his cock, brain too muddled to focus on getting him off. it’s cute, honestly. 

it’s even cuter when he relentlessly forces your orgasm onto you, pulling your hips down harshly and sucking on your clit like a lollipop. you gag on his cock when you feel the orgasm crash onto you like a wave, and he’s painting your throat white, eyes flickering as your thighs squeeze his cheeks. 

jaehyun smiles to himself. he really is the best eater.

ﾞ ʾ ╳ ˚ ˖ ࣪ HAECHAN ☆ #DOGGYSTYLE

haechan is an ass man. it’s an indisputable fact; he’d rather you wear a pair of jeans or sports leggings than a skirt any day of the week. it’s not a style preference but more of an ass preference, because in sports leggings and jeans, he can walk behind you and abuse the blessing of sight all he god-damn wants. 

his alarming love of the plump flesh of your cheeks is what leads him to taking you from behind, on all fours, hands clasped around your hips as he pistons in and out of your cunt like a man on a mission. 

“fuck,” he groans, head tipping back and chocolate brown hair falling into his face as his hands slide down and grip the meat of your ass with a force rivaled by none. “fucking hell, baby. this ass is driving me crazy.” 

“why don’t you- hah- why don’t you fuck it then?” with what little strength you have, you turn your head to face him, drool pooling in your mouth as you take in the sight of your spent boyfriend, thrusting in and out of your heat like a man possessed. “‘s yours for the taking.” 

“ah- for real?” his mouth hangs open as he spreads your cheeks apart, eyes locking on the clenched ring of muscle winking back at him. “but we’ve never-” 

“i don’t care,” you whisper, groaning when one of his hands travels in between your legs to tease your clit. “don’t care when it’s you.”

ﾞ ʾ ╳ ˚ ˖ ࣪ MARK ☆ #COWGIRL

much like his best friend, mark just loves looking at you. unlike haechan, however, he tries his best not to look at you sexually; no, he looks at you purely because you’re beautiful. to him, it’s like your face was sculpted by the gods themselves, and he feels borderline blessed to have a girlfriend as pretty as you. 

so, when you suggest getting on top, mark can’t think of anything more perfect. 

sex is messy. it’s loud and vulgar, but when you’re riding him, mark thinks sex is the most angelic thing to have ever been created. you look almost ethereal as you grind your hips down onto his cock, hair in your face and a perky tits bouncing as you press your hands down onto his chest. 

“enjoying the view?” your chest heaves, breathless as you smile at your boyfriend, who seems to be cemented in a state of complete awe and bliss. 

“y-yeah,” he gasps, trembling hands resting on your thighs. “you look so pretty up there.” 

“thank you.” you smile down at him, and he swears he can feel the sun’s rays kiss his sweat cast skin. “you look so hot down there.” 

“m’not doin’ anything though.” 

“you don’t have to.” you grind your hips particularly harshly, and mark is as good as gone. “just sit there and let me make you feel good.” 

and he will. he’ll sit there as long as you damn well please, as long as you’re happy, and as long as he can keep watching your beautiful body use the living hell out of him.

© PUPPYSUH 2025 — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[alchemistc]

in three, two, one (anxiety)

The door swings on its hinges to reveal the crossed arms and unimpressed expression on Henrietta Wilson's face.

"Okay," Tommy says, with no idea what he's about to experience.

Hen doesn't move, but she does lift an incredibly judgmental brow. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Well. No sugarcoating it, then. "Several things," is not an answer that's gonna make her happy, however it is the one he has available to him at the moment.

Hen rolls her jaw the same time she purses her lips, and Tommy remembers that for a while there he'd stopped having an expressive face around her because he was afraid she'd somehow know.

She had known, but not because his eyebrows did half his talking for him.

"I'm gonna be honest, I don't know what answer you wanted from me."

"Not that one."

And then suddenly Hen is in his house.

He doesn't really have people over. He's certainly never had Hen over.

He took a sledgehammer to a side wall three days ago and he hasn't had more time to work on it than sweeping away the debris.

It's very noticeable.

Hen stops in her tracks halfway down the main hall to stare at it. "Several things," she repeats mockingly, under her breath, and makes a beeline for the kitchen that's now clearly visible behind the skeleton of a non-load-bearing wall.

He hasn't seen the 118 since the funeral. Not unexpected. Definitely not on purpose. He's always been just a hair outside of that group.

"So, my best firefighter is moping because the man he's been obsessed with for more than a year now hasn't called, and you're... knocking out walls."

"I've been meaning to knock out that wall for three years."

Her eyes roll around in her skull for a while before they catch his gaze. It's not an easy gaze to ignore. "Sure, nothing to do with the fact that the one conversation I know you two had in recent memory has to do with how annoyingly small and closed in the kitchen in his rental is."

A single moment of levity in a horribly sad day. But Evan hadn't asked to talk. Evan just lost the man he considered a father. So Tommy made small talk, and bit back the envious beast inside him when Eddie and Evan devolved into a squabble about the general layout of the house.

It had just reminded him of his plan, is all. The plan he's had for years, now. Nothing to do with Evan at all.

"You want some coffee? Orange juice? Maybe my drill so you can just lobotomize me instead of giving me cryptic, judgy eyes?"

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Tommy shoots her an exasperated look. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here against my own nature, to tell you to grow a pair and reach out to the man you stole government property and committed multiple felonies for."

"I've texted Howie," Tommy shoots back, just to avoid the inevitable for a few more moments. Out of all of them, he definitely never would have expected Hen to be the one staging an intervention. Or whatever this is meant to be.

The glib response was a mistake. The cheese Danish she tosses at his head looks delicious even as it bounces off his cheek and sails to the floor.

Tommy sighs. "Evan is fully capable of picking up the phone."

His daring rescue had ended in a loss. A major one. Tommy still doesn't fully understand what Athena had been thinking, asking him to help the 118 carry Bobby to his final destination. Something about firsts and lasts, although he'd been a little too wired to catch more than the gist, when she'd called.

"And what, exactly, is your issue with picking it up?"

The million dollar question. He'd dropped everything the moment he heard I need your help and it's weird and probably super illegal. A little breathless, like he was running. Like Tommy has heard him countless times in much more pleasant scenarios. But then there'd been Bobby. The funeral. Evan's stoicism leaking from his pores, three weeks on.

They'd both done a great job of making it not Tommy's place to do anything about that. And grief - grief changes the whole world. Entire personalities. The loss hasn't even had time to fully bruise over, even for Tommy. He doesn't know how he could have a place in that. Doesn't know if he'd even be wanted if he tried.

"So you're both idiots, is what you're telling me."

"Where'd you get those danishes?" Tommy asks, because avoidance is his bread and butter.

Hen's got a big ass Tupperware full of them he hadn't noticed until she cracked it open to commit assault with a pastry.

Hen groans. "These are Buck's Missing Tommy But Still Not Calling Him For Some Reason Danishes. Pretty sure he hasn't slept in three days. Half the station woke up to some sort of baked good on their doorstep this morning."

The fact that Tommy wasn't in the rotation probably means something. His house is a lot closer to Evan's than Hen's, Maddie's, likely Ravi's too.

"Eat a danish and call him, idiot," Hen says, and shoves the Tupperware at his chest.

---

The danish is to die for. Perfect flaky crust. Cream cheese mixture to die for. Three blueberries on top, a perfect little dusting of powdered sugar.

Tommy eats three in the husk of his kitchen and decides he hates the subway tiles he installed after he hooked up with Evan and immediately blew up any chance at reconciliation.

He's got the oven pulled out and a crowbar in hand to yank them out before he manages to take another full breath.

Hen seems to think he's got another shot at this. At the life he'd dipped his toes into, constantly darting away from that first chill of the water, never allowing his body to get comfortable. Never allowing his mind enough time to adjust to the temperature of it.

And yet somewhere along the way Evan had baked himself into Tommy's life - his routines, his itineraries, the day to day mundanity of Tommy's life. He'd made the world momentarily brighter, exponentially more terrifying.

Tommy'd been looking for ways to bail out even as he was giving Evan glimpses of his life.

He'd waited too long. Given himself too many allowances. Let Evan settle under his skin, in his bones.

Tommy lays the crowbar out on the counter. Wipes his suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans.

Reaches over the back of the oven to grab his phone.

Bangs his head on the overhang of the microwave as he tries to slip out from behind his panic project.

Well.

This is gonna go well.

[chvoswxtch]

the head of the snake

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt murdock comes home to a stranger in his apartment.

warnings: swearing, mentions of drug & human trafficking

word count: 2.3k

a/n: ahhhh happy born again day to all who celebrate!!! i'm so fucking excited to finally put this out. i'm so excited that so many of y'all are so excited. I hope y'all love this as much as I do. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[next chapter] | [series masterlist]

The unfamiliar heartbeat was calm. The rhythm was steady. The lungs expanded and collapsed in relaxed intervals. The blood was in no rush to pump through the highways of veins and vessels that branched throughout the body. For a split second, Matt almost thought the stranger that was in his apartment sitting on his couch might be asleep, but their heartbeat wasn’t nearly slow enough to be unconscious.

Matt had been standing outside the front door of his loft, which was locked, for several minutes. His head was cocked slightly to the side as he focused his heightened senses on the foreign presence in his home. All Matt could decipher was that it was a woman, and not one he’d ever encountered before. There was nothing about her that sparked recognition in his brain. He had no idea who she was, or how she’d managed to get inside.

Slipping his key into the lock as silently as possible, he twisted it to the left until there was a faint click, and as he turned the knob and pushed the door open, he braced himself for whatever, and whoever, was waiting for him.

His steps were calculated and careful, avoiding the worn wooden floorboards that creaked under even the slightest pressure of weight. He kept his back flat against the half wall that separated the entryway from the kitchen, stopping a few inches before it ended and made his presence visible in the open layout. He had the advantage that his couch faced his bedroom on the opposite side of the apartment, which meant her back was to him. 

She hadn’t budged at all, her heart rate remained steady, and she sat comfortably with her legs crossed. Her head was tilted slightly towards the right, presumably looking out the two large paned windows that interrupted the aged rows of rust colored brick.

Keeping his footsteps silent, he slowly stalked towards her like a predator advancing on prey. Just as the toe of his shoe reached the edge of the area rug, she suddenly spoke up.

“You’re home early. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so.”

Matt immediately froze, his right knee slightly bent in a halted half step forward. He hadn’t made a single sound, and he hadn’t picked up on any indication that she even knew he was there. 

“Who the hell are you?”

There was a faint twitch at the edges of her lips. Amusement. He could hear it in her voice when she spoke again.

“You know, for a blind man, you’re very perceptive. But then again, you aren’t just any blind man, are you Matthew?”

The way she said his name was almost taunting, emphasizing the fact that she knew it, just like she knew where he lived, and apparently how to break into his apartment. As she subtly turned her head to look at him over her shoulder, he straightened up, squaring his shoulders as he clenched his jaw.

“Answer the question.”

She took her time as she stood up, smoothing her dress down with her hands, casually walking around the edge of the couch to face him. Matt clenched his hands into fists at his sides, his body tense as his heightened senses worked overtime to decipher if this woman was a threat. She stopped a few feet away, and he could feel her eyes on him, looking him up and down. He detected the faintest of a smirk at the edge of her mouth and the quirk of her left brow.

“Are you always this welcoming to your guests?”

Matt wasn’t used to not having the upperhand. It was unfamiliar territory, and he didn’t like it. Trying to tip the power dynamic in his favor, one that he was still figuring out, he took two bold steps towards her.

“Guest implies an invitation.”

There wasn’t a trace of fear, or even apprehension in her body when he advanced towards her. Instead, she let out a deep exhale through her nose and folded her arms over her chest. 

“Fine. Since you’re not in the mood for small talk, I’ll skip the bullshit and cut to the chase. My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m here on behalf of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Matt’s defensive stance faltered slightly, puzzlement creasing between his dark brows as he cocked his head to the side subtly.

“S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. We’re a-”

“I know what S.H.I.E.L.D. is.”

Matt countered, cutting her off, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. He knew exactly what the organization was and what they did. What he didn’t know was what the hell that had to do with him.

“Then why did you ask with that stupid look on your face?”

Matt pursed his lips in a firm line at her quick rebuttal. Everytime he tried to seize dominance over this new unfamiliar dynamic, the scales of power shifted in her favor. It was grating on his nerves in a way that had his skin feeling several degrees warmer and his suit jacket suddenly heavy and unbearable.

Beginning to shrug the jacket off his broad shoulders, he carelessly tossed it forward in frustration, landing perfectly over the back of the couch, a movement that did not go unnoticed by her.

“And what does S.H.I.E.L.D. want with me?”

“What, you think we don’t have a department dedicated to you street level people?”

In the midst of rolling his left sleeve up to his forearm, Matt abruptly froze, two of his fingers still tucked under the crisp fabric of his dress shirt and his thumb hovering over the folded fabric. The way she said it was so casual, but there was an undertone of implication, something extremely subtle but consequently unnerving.

She couldn’t possibly know. 

Matt decided to do what he normally did in the courtroom when trying to get the other side to reveal their hand; he called her bluff.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She let out a deep exhale of disappointment through her nose, giving him a pointed look.

“I thought we agreed to skip the bullshit.”

Everything about this woman Matt found exceedingly infuriating. Here she was, standing in the middle of his apartment, that she’d broken into, calmly dangling the idea over his head that she seemed to know exactly who he really was. If she did know, which Matt didn’t know how the hell she possibly could, that put the knowledge of his biggest secret in her hands, and it gave her a power over him he wasn’t ready to submit to. There was a feeling in his gut, like a sixth heightened sense, that whatever the reason was that this woman was actually here was about to alter his life in a big way.

Matt continued to roll the fabric up until it reached about an inch below his elbow, and he steeled his expression while he undid the button on the cuff of his right wrist and repeated the action of rolling up his other sleeve.

“What do you know?”

“Just assume I know everything.”

Letting out an aggravated exhale through his nose, Matt placed his hands on his hips and leaned his weight on his left foot, his fingers brushing over the leather of his belt.

“That is frustratingly vague.”

She could hear him growing more and more annoyed by the second, and see it on his face as well as in his body language. One of her brows lifted in amusement as the faintest of a smile graced the edge of her lips, and she tilted her head to the side in a gesture of faux confusion.

“Is it?”

The sound of bone grinding against bone as Matt grit his teeth in growing vexation made him twitch subtly in discomfort, the noise it caused like sharp nails being dragged across a chalkboard in slow motion in his own ears. He reached up to loosen his tie around his neck, yanking on the fabric like he was giving slack to a noose. He unbuttoned the small button of the collar with one hand, and the larger one beneath it, tugging the fabric away from his neck. 

His indignation always seemed to turn into physical discomfort that made his clothes feel entirely too restricting and his skin too warm. The sweat that began to seep from his pores was like liquified anger trying to find a way out of his body when he wasn’t able to expel it with action.

“What do you want with me?”

“I don’t want you. They do. You weren’t exactly my first choice.”

The look of offense that flashed across his face almost pulled a genuine laugh out of her, but she kept her expression neutral, even though he could feel the way her lips twitched in amusement again. She turned to retrieve something from her purse and then took a step forward, holding it out towards Matt. 

“Here.”

His curiosity piqued, Matt extended his hand, his fingers brushing over the smooth cardstock of a thick file that he grasped in his hand.

“What’s this?”

“A folder.”

Matt shot her a displeased look, his lips pursed as his fingers brushed over what felt like an embossed symbol in the middle.

“I meant what’s inside, smartass.”

“Paper.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Matt muttered under his breath, which did earn a real smile from her as her brows raised in surprise.

“Wow, your file said you were Catholic. Then again, I suppose taking the Lord’s name in vain isn’t the worst thing you do on a daily basis.”

“I’ll add it to the list for confession.”

Matt retorted dryly, cracking open the file as his fingers began to trace back and forth over the documents. Each section had a tab with a label that was also in Braille. If he wasn’t so annoyed, he would’ve been impressed by how meticulously organized the file was, and how accessible. A faint furrow creased the middle of his forehead as he read the contents inside. 

It was a detailed file on a local Russian gang here in New York that Matt had been investigating for months now. It wasn’t the mafia that had worked for Fisk. Those brothers were a daydream compared to this new organization he’d been trying to take down. The Russian mafia’s primary focus had been drug trade, but the Krasnaya Pravaya Ruka’s operation was far more sinister.

A few months ago, a new player had seemingly seized control over the other crime organizations almost over night. With Fisk out of the way, the throne had been open for the taking, and while there weren’t many organizations left after The Punisher had wiped out the top three gangs in the city and Matt had disbanded Fisk’s entire operation in one way or another, there were still a few left fighting for power. But in the midst of the chaos, someone had stepped in, and they seemed to cast an even bigger shadow than Fisk ever did.

Matt had been tirelessly working his way through low level thugs dealing on the streets. The leader was smart, and clearly had the resources to operate efficiently enough to move millions of dollars worth of product around and the stealth to do it silently in the shadows. The drug dealers on the corners were just pawns, convenient pieces to move around to distract from the rest of the board. It took four whole months before Matt discovered what the real product was.

People.

The drugs were just a front for the human trafficking ring that had formed right here under his nose in the city. They were smoke and mirrors to distract local law enforcement, leading them down a never ending wild goose chase of one expendable dealer after another that had no real connection to each other. It left the NYPD, and Matt, consistently at dead ends. While they had been following the powder trail, humans were being imported and exported like mere livestock in cargo at the docks.

“Pier Nineteen. Saturday night, eleven-thirty. Bring your little red number.”

As she grabbed her purse and slipped it over her shoulder, turning to head towards the door, Matt’s expression twisted up in puzzlement and irritation. His hand swiftly darted out to grab her wrist, not hard enough to be aggressive, but firm enough to halt her in place.

“Whoa whoa whoa, I’m not going anywhere with you, not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

She’d stiffened when he grabbed her, and he heard her heart rate rise slightly, but not in fear. Her free hand subtly closed in a half clasped fist, a defensive motion that didn’t go unnoticed by Matt. 

“If I give you a hint, are you gonna quit pouting?”

Matt’s lips quickly pursed in annoyance as he grit his teeth again. He let go of her wrist and let out another frustrated exhale through his nose.

“I’m not-”

“That trafficking ring you’re trying to single handedly take down? You’ve barely scratched the fucking surface. You want the head of the snake or what?”

tags: @the-swift-escape @lambmurdock @lunakkey @lfdybadgirlsdoitw @devilmurdock64 @moonyinthestars @suits-and-smirks @day-dreaming-goddess @natashasotherhalf @rebel13lion39 @pixelfaery @ebsmind

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[k1ng-ej]

Shadow the Hedgehog X Reader

A valentine's confession

Note: first time writing for this silly guy, expect more vday related posts. i might open requests again soon, ive been in a depression episode for a hot minute now so this is the first thing ive written in a few days, i love him so much. Requests for him are open!

Shadow stood at your front door, hesitating to knock. For months you had enthusiastically shared your excitement for Valentine's day, mentioning it daily. During this time, Shadow wrested with his feelings. Each time you appeared with that radiant smile, he felt a spark in his chest that drew him closer to you than anyone else. He found himself paying more attention to your words and frequently caught himself admiring you from afar. Yet, he couldn't quite place his finger on what this feeling was, or, he was just in denial about them. As Valentine's day approached, with the sun dipping below the horizon, Shadow couldn't shake the worry of your absence. After all the excitement you had generated around this day, you had vanished just when it finally arrived. He asked others where you were, but no one knew

Finally, with a long sigh, he drew three sharp knocks to your door. He could hear muffled groans, a few clattering sounds, some muttered curses, and finally the unmistakable sound of locks turning as you opened your door. Instantly, he took in your disheveled state: the dullness in your eyes, the tangled mess of your hair, and the wrinkled clothes that suggested a sleepless night. You sniffled, surprise flashing across your face.

"Shadow! What's up? Did you need somethin'?" You asked, leaning against the door-frame. Shadow quickly realized that you were sick, and that was why you were cooped up in your house all day.

"Do you have a cold?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Unfortunately came down with it last night and, man, this is a rough one. Usually a little cold doesn't keep me in bed all day but this one sure did!" You explained, your voice was hoarse, no doubt from all the coughing you were probably doing.

Shadow quirked an eyebrow at you. "Have you been taking medication?"

From the way you immediately broke eye contact and started fumbling over your words, he knew that was a no. You always were stubborn. He sighed and shook his head at you, and he noted the way you tensed up. Did you think he was angry?

"It'll help you get over it faster."

"That's the thing… I- Er- I don't have any medicine for it right now and I've been too sick to go out and get some." You frowned, running a hand through your hair to smooth it down.

"I'll get you some. Go rest. Leave the door unlocked, I'll be back." He swiftly spun on his heel, you tried to stop him, but before you could even get a word out he used Chaos Control. Shadow told himself that he was simply doing what any other mobian would do if someone they knew was sick, and this wasn't him caring about your well-being. The more he tried to bury and deny his feelings, the more they grew. Deep down, he knew what he was feeling, but he had never felt this way toward anyone and so he wasn't sure what he should do. The thought of letting someone inside of the walls that he so strongly built around himself scared him, the idea of being vulnerable made his chest tight.

Without hesitation, he swiftly collected medicine for your cold and picked up a couple of soups, hoping they would soothe your sore throat. After completing the purchase, he returned to your front door and opened it without a second thought. This was Shadow's first time inside your home, and he took a moment to absorb the surroundings. It was clear you appreciated a cozy living environment; a few plants decorated the windows in both your kitchen and living room. Your minimalistic decor showcased an eye for style, and the space was impeccably tidy. After mentally mapping out your home's layout, Shadow stepped into the kitchen and placed the bag of supplies on the counter. He then retrieved the medicine, quickly checking the recommended dosage before filling a glass with water. He paused, surely you could do this yourself right?

He shook his head, he wanted to take care of you. He was coming to terms with that.

Slowly, he approached your bedroom door, pills and water in hand. He knocked, he heard your muffled voice allow him entrance. Upon entering, he blinked, taking in the mess of your room. It was a stark contrast to how organized and clean the rest of your house was. Laundry was strewn about, a couple used tissues laid next to the full mini trash can next to your bed, some blankets and pillows thrown on the floor.

"Sorry for the mess… Haven't had the energy to clean up." You scratched your head, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Don't worry about it." Shadow simply shook his head and stood next to your bed where you laid. He placed the glass of water on your bedside table, then held out his gloved hand, two pills sitting in his palm. You promptly sat up, and he watched you swallow the pills quickly, a look of disgust on your face afterward. He assumed you weren't the biggest fan of pills. Shadow took another look around your room, he felt a pull to clean up for you.

Taking care of others would normally irritate Shadow, but when it came to you he felt naturally inclined to do so. You were the first one he would run to on the field, the first one he would ask if you were okay. There was no denying the feelings he had developed for you, but he was scared of them.

"Shadow, you okay?" The sound of your voice, and the feeling of your warm hand on his shoulder brought him from his thoughts. When you retracted your hand, he couldn't help but miss the warmth is provided.

"Would you like if I tidied up for you?"

His question definitely shocked you, and you were quick to decline. Despite Shadow asking, he was not taking no for an answer. He huffed air through his nose as he reached over you and grabbed your TV remote, quickly putting something on for you to watch while he began cleaning. The mess did not bother him, he was quite an organized hedgehog himself and liked his belongings in order. Judging from the rest of your house, you were similar, and he knew the mess probably bothered you. He started by picking up all the laundry on the floor, throwing it into the basket that sat in the corner of your room, then put your bedding back onto your bed, and finally picked up the pieces of trash that laid about. Thankfully, the movie he had randomly chosen for you kept you entertained, and not protesting his offer to clean for you.

He threw the load of laundry into the washer, then came back to your bedroom to check on you.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, standing next to your bed with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't know if it was intentional, but you stared at him for a solid minute, he grew nervous under your gaze, his heart rate picked up.

"Hm, I guess I could go for some food." You shrugged, starting to swing your legs off the bed.

"What are you doing?"

You paused, clearing your throat. "Going to make food?"

You watched Shadows expression change from confusion to annoyance, had you said something? Was he annoyed because he was taking care of you? You didn't know, but you felt tense under his narrowed gaze.

"I can make it for you. You need to rest." His tone came out harsh, but there was a hint of care laced somewhere. Shadow always wore a grumpy facade, making it difficult to discern when he was genuinely upset. However, as you spent more time with him, you began to notice the subtle nuances in his behavior that others overlooked. It was unclear whether he was aware of it, but he frequently reached out to those he cared about. You had witnessed him do this with you several times, and each instance sent a rush of butterflies through your stomach. While Shadow showed concern for others, including Sonic, it was evident that his attention toward you was different. The depth of his care ignited feelings within you that you couldn't ignore.

You had planned your Valentines perfectly, you were going to wake up early this morning, run out and grab a few cheesy gifts, and present them to Shadow in private, asking if he would be your valentine. It was a bold move, really, but you couldn't dance around your feelings forever. So when you came down with your cold, you were bummed. You didn't expect Shadow to come and check on you, but you had to admit it made you feel warm inside.

You stood from your bed and padded out into the living room, Shadow was in the kitchen, stirring your noodles until he heard your footsteps behind him. He swiftly turned around, creasing his eyebrows.

"Relax! I'm okay, I need to stretch my legs, I've been laying down for hours." You held your hands up in mock surrender, waiting for him to start scolding you for not resting. Instead, a long sigh escaped his lips.

"Fine. But when your food is done you're sitting on the couch." He said sternly, eyeing you until you nodded in agreement.

You leaned against the counter, eyeing the pot of noodles on your stove. You didn't have an appetite for anything, but you knew trying to eat something was better than not eating at all. Shadow stood just in front of the stove, his gaze was fixed on the pot, but his mind seemed elsewhere.

"Hey Shadow?" You called, the words leaving your lips before you could think. "Can I… Confess something?"

He blinked and turned to meet your gaze. In that moment, you felt incredibly small beneath his intense stare, your nerves overwhelming as you struggled to meet his crimson eyes. Uncertain of why you found your voice, you had no idea how to articulate your next thought. You had been waiting for Valentine's Day to confess your feelings to Shadow, and you refused to let anything, especially the cold, deter you— especially not with him right in front of you, an opportunity life had presented. Your heart raced wildly against your chest, a knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach.

You inhaled deeply. "I, uh, originally had some special plans for today. Since it is Valentines and all. Er… plans for a special someone, someone that I like."

Shadows brows raised, and for a brief moment you saw a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

"He's… complicated to understand." You continued, "He doesn't let anyone close emotionally, and he puts on this tough front but deep down he has a soft, and caring heart. I had the perfect day planned, I was going to buy flowers, and a candy I think he might like, and then… I was going to take him to a little secluded area, give him the gifts and confess my feelings. But then I got this stupid cold!" You sighed and pushed yourself off the counter, you pinched the bridge of your nose, a blush creeping up on your cheeks. You knew Shadow was smart, he could figure out you were talking about him, but you wanted to tell him directly that you liked him.

"It's you. I had that planned for you, because I like you." You finished, shyly looking at him and awaiting his reaction.

First, he was shocked, then confused, then a look of… relief? And finally, he exhaled.

"The feelings are… mutual." Shadow ran a nervous hand through his quills, and he looked away from you. You found it cute how he, The Ultimate Lifeform, was getting shy while confessing his crush on you. You couldn't help but giggle, and his eyes quickly snapped back to you.

"What's so funny?" His brows furrowed, replacing the relaxed expression he had just seconds before. You reached out, placing your hand on his shoulder. He looked at your hand, then to you as you spoke.

"Nothing, nothing. It's just… I was expecting a rejection, or something along those lines. But, it's nice to know the feelings are reciprocated."

Heat rushed to his cheeks, and Shadow quickly regained his composure, turning back to the stove to finish preparing your soup. He couldn't bring himself to meet your gaze; his heart raced so wildly that he feared you might hear it too.

Despite his efforts to look away, your hand remained on his shoulder, providing a comforting presence he desperately needed. He was taken aback by your openness about your feelings; he never expected you to harbor such emotions for him. Relief mingled with nervousness and fear; acknowledging that you both liked each other led him to question the next steps toward a relationship. Did he truly want to pursue this? Could he offer you the support and care you deserved? Was he the right partner for you?

Communication was not his strong suit; he was accustomed to keeping everything bottled up inside. He worried that his tendency to be distant might push you away, and self-doubt clouded his mind, leaving him frustrated with himself. Yet, when he glanced at you again and caught the twinkle in your eye, the rosy blush on your cheeks, and the smile dancing on your lips, all those uncertainties faded away.

He followed you into the living room and sat next to you on the couch, he watched you slowly eat your soup, he could tell that you instantly felt relief in your throat, a satisfied hum rumbling in your chest. Even while sick, he looked at you with awe. Shadow always appreciated your looks, specifically your face. Whenever you smiled at him, his heart fluttered. The feeling was foreign, and when it first started he thought he was sick.

"This is good," You broke the silence, bowl resting in your lap. Shadow had positioned himself on the other end of the couch, you chuckled. "I don't bite. C'mon, sit next to me."

Despite how bold and straightforward you were being, anxiety swirled in your stomach. You knew Shadow would not make any first moves or initiate anything, whether it was because he didn't want to cross boundaries, or was too scared, you didn't mind. You watched him slowly scoot to the spot next to you, it made you smile. You put a show on the TV, and indulged in the soup he made for you. You didn't know what came after confessing your feelings for each other, but you were sure you could worry about that another time. For now, you wanted to relax, and enjoy the company you had while you were sick.

You placed your now empty bowl on the small table in front of the couch before leaning back. You thought for a moment, then leaned your shoulder against Shadows. He stiffened, not expecting the sudden contact, and unsure what to do. You stayed like that, and eventually you felt him relax, and heard a content sigh come from him.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: Spin-off – Pt.3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. Sylus went ahead and got himself mortalized, what a chad. (That’s it, that’s the plot.) Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language and fluffy whatnots A/N: Domestic bliss, my love. (Also, a pivotal character returns.)

(main series) - Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3

It’s the third Sunday of July, and the little studio you’ve called home for over half a decade is almost barren—save for the large TV box and two overstuffed suitcases lined up by the front doorway.

You give the place one last good once-over. The space looks almost unrecognizable without all the clutter, and what's left are ghosts of what's lived here: the mysterious stains from accidental spills, the unsightly dings and old dents on the walls, and the tiny holes left behind from all the picture frames and random posters you’d tacked up over the years – some with bits of sticky residue still clinging on, bound to take a chunk out of your safety deposit.

There’s a pang that comes with seeing the space this empty. And it’s only natural, of course, to feel a little something—more than a little something—for a place you’ve gotten used to looking at every single day, day in and day out. 

The excitement is there, too. But for now, you let yourself sit in this last dredge of nostalgic reminiscence as your eyes scan the empty expanse in front of you. A quiet goodbye to the home that held your life—your noise, your mess, all the short triumphs and breakdowns that made up your twenties.

Goodbye, weird water stain on the ceiling. Goodbye, suspiciously cold corner that’s definitely not haunted. Goodbye, goodbye.

From the corner near the doorway, Maru yowls his complaints from inside the plastic confines of his portable prison.

“If you weren’t such an escape artist, I could just carry you, you know,” you remind him with mild disdain. He meows louder in response. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go join your dad upstairs.”

With a laundry hamper balanced in your arms and the harping furball slung over one shoulder like a disgruntled (fluffy) backpack, you head for the fire exit, left of the hallway, and painstakingly make your way up to the eighth floor.

You and Sylus are officially moving! … Into a unit two floors above. 

It’s a brand-new chapter of your lives – a big step you’re taking together as a couple, even if the literal distance is only a few meters away from where you started.

You’ve had this conversation with him maybe a handful of times over the past two months. It was a mutual decision for the most part; your current place barely has room for one person and a cat, let alone a six-foot-five behemoth of a man with shoulders as wide as the doorframe. To his credit, Sylus had adjusted with all the patience of someone who didn’t mind sharing what was essentially a miniature version of his old walk-in closet with you. 

But even you have to admit, watching him try to navigate the cramped layout of your studio felt a bit like watching a mountain lion pacing in a cage the size of a shoebox. You’d said as much one night—offhandedly, more rueful ribbing than anything, while watching him sidestep around the kitchen with the awkward grace of someone used to bigger spaces.

He didn’t take it badly. Just smiled, and asked if you were finally ready to move. You were.

The two of you had only just started scouting for apartments around the area when you spotted the flyer for a vacant unit taped to the corkboard by the lobby entrance. You weren't really expecting much, but it was the closest option out of the six you’d listed in your notes app, and both of you figured to might as well call the number. Next thing you knew, you were pencilled in for an inspection later that same day.

And the unit turned out to be surprisingly spacious.

More than you expected, honestly. A proper two-bedroom. Seventy-one square meters internal, with its own separate laundry room – already equipped with a dryer, no less. 

The place looked relatively new, or at least recently renovated, with its fresh coat walls and neatly grouted bathroom tiles. The living area had enough space for a sofa, a proper dining table, maybe even a bookshelf in the corner—and room for a lot more.

You were eyeing the second bedroom, already converting it into a shared office space of sorts in your head. One side for you, one for Sylus, divided by the wide sliding window centered on the back wall. The afternoon light filters in quite nicely, and you couldn’t help but imagine two matching desks with a dark walnut finish beneath where the sun hits, or maybe a long one you could share, with enough space for both of you to work without feeling cramped. 

Perhaps a corkboard and some ambient floor lights, even a little gaming set-up that’s more than just a corner of your bedroom, too. 

Further along the viewing, the middle-aged realtor rattled off other features to sell it: a brand-new dishwasher, the very good central heating, the AC (“–and the living room has its own air conditioning unit,” “Oh… wouldn’t that be expensive to run?” “It’s a split-type unit, Ma’am,” “Ah–?” “More cost-efficient than ducted systems, sweetie.”) that had you hemming and hawing, not quite ready to say yes to the very first option you’d seen (and liked). Besides, it was on the steeper end of your budget, and the one in Belmore also looked promising, with a cheaper monthly rent, so...

But then you saw the balcony, and suddenly, you got tunnel vision.

Fourteen square meters. God, it’s big enough to bring out a cozy outdoor sectional, and oooh, you’re already picturing fairy lights strung along the railing, maybe some candles. Not to mention, the few potted plants you’ve managed to keep alive could finally get some actual sunlight out here. They might even thrive for once, the little stragglers. 

You can already see it: cold brews in the morning and a smoke, lazy afternoons paired with a glass of bubbly. Evenings cuddled up under a blanket, the view of the city as far as the eye can see. 

A whole, private nook for yourself and Sylus. (And Maru.)

The sun had just started to sink, bathing the horizon in a soft, golden wash that only happens for less than thirty, maybe forty minutes at most. You checked the time—5:23. 

The light stretched long and low across the terracotta tiles, warm against your feet, drowning your sight in a pretty amber. It felt serendipitous. 

(Or maybe you were just looking for a sign. Either way, you took it for what it is.)

Sylus saw the way your eyes sparkled and merely chuckled, wasting no time to inquire about the next steps in applying for the lease.

It’s an exciting prospect, and you can’t help but feel a little giddy—more than a little giddy—at the idea of moving into a newer place like this, but you’re trying to stay realistic.

You’ve been freelancing for the past two years, with your part-time gig at the bistro helping to fill in the gaps. And you’re still not quite sure what Sylus does – apart from a conservatively vague answer relating to tech, which always has you side-eyeing the annoyingly inscrutable man before his usual redirection. 

You’re well aware that getting approved isn’t guaranteed; not with your less-than-stable income situation, the questionable lapses in Sylus’ “employment” history, and especially not for a unit this nice. Unless they’re factoring in your long-standing tenancy, the chances aren’t as foolproof as you would’ve liked it to be.

Still. Before the week was over, you got the call. You’ve got the place. 

You were half-listening in as the agent droned on about the earliest available date to move in, the initial deposit and the four-week bond, and when you’d be by to pick up the keys. Your smug-looking partner answered on your behalf, since you were practically a sitting duck at the time, bewildered that the both of you actually managed to get approved.

So now you’re here, in the final stretch of hauling your things up to your new (!!) apartment, one you now share with the love of your life, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic. (If only your son shared the same sentiment, but alas.)

Although, alongside the excitement and joy of securing the place, a tiny part of you can’t help but wonder how it all happened so fast… and if Sylus had some weird hand in making it happen. 

You don’t want to sound ungrateful! Really. But the process went by a liiiittle too smoothly, a little too conveniently for your taste. Enough to have you throwing suspicious glances at your boyfriend. And knowing him… well. 

There’s also the matter of not fully understanding what his current job entails, damn it. Or how the very basis of his existence somehow manages to bypass a whole bunch of legalities. A part of you is always half-prepared for the CIA, or even NASA, to come barging in on your door one of these days. Oh god. You’ve got six fake aliases prepared and not a single convincing cover story rehearsed.

(You’re sure you’ll be able to get a straight answer out of the—former?—criminal mastermind. Eventually. Past all the evasiveness, one way or another.)

You already consider the new place a luxury. But for Sylus, it might just be a rung above a complete hovel. There’s that small, persistent anxiousness you haven’t quite been able to shake—since day one, if you're being truthful. Like you’re in The Truman Show, playing house with someone who’s used to penthouse suites and jetting the world at the drop of a hat, and now forcing himself into adjusting to your version of reality for weeks on end. 

Sometimes you wonder if he’s just… rolling with it. Humouring your bouts of domestic enthusiasm while quietly yearning for his old in-house wine cellars, his boundless riches, and his floor-to-ceiling, ballistic-grade glass windows. You worry, sometimes, that he’s merely settling. For your sake. 

But he’s never given any sign that he’s anything less than content with the life you share now, so you let the thought settle quietly in the back of your mind. Something to unpack another time.

As you round the corner, you spot the door at the end of the hallway half-open. You grin.

Jogging the short distance, you adjust the basket in your arms and rap your knuckles lightly on the wood, already pushing the door wider with the tip of your toes.

“Package for a Mr Silas?” you sing-song. “Heyo, Mr Sil– whoa, okay. Careful with those guns out, sir. Are you aware that it’s a criminal offense to be packing that much heat in this part of the state?”

The ‘Mr Silas’ in question snorts, feigning exasperation as he glances at you over his shoulder.

And what an immaculate shoulder it is.

The sleeves of his grey crewneck are rolled high past his biceps, framing the thick lines of his arms as he hauls three stacked boxes in one hand and a duffel bag under the other. The front of his shirt is damp with sweat, clinging to the hard cut of his chest, while the humidity has curled a few dark strands loose at his temple. The high points of his cheeks are flushed pink from the muggy air drifting in through the open windows, and suddenly, you’re having very specific thoughts about breaking something in the house just to watch him fix it. 

Shirtless—what, who said that–

You didn’t know you had a thing for sweaty, blue-collar, but: hello, sailor.

Fuck, physical labor looks good on your man. You’re his biggest fan.

He sets the boxes down with practically no effort, turning toward you with one brow raised. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll start charging hourly.”

“If I ask nicely,” you suggest, shameless in your ogling, “will that warrant extra service?”

“Always for you,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You giggle. He just shakes his head, fond.

You plop Maru down with a thud, setting the hamper beside the rest of the boxes by the wall. Simultaneously, fishing out your teal AquaFlask and a face towel, you unzip the pet bag—an orange blur rockets out, making a beeline for the open bedroom. No doubt to hide under the bedframe, where the double mattress had already been set down sometime earlier in the move.

You cross the room and gesture for Sylus to lean down.

“C’mere.”

He complies wordlessly, bowing his head so you can brush the damp strands of hair from his forehead. You dab at the sweat across his brow, carefully wiping down the side of his neck. 

“You should rest for a bit,” you tell him. “You’ve been at it since this morning.”

You twist the cap off the water bottle and bring it near his mouth. 

“Drink.”

Obediently, he tilts his head and drinks, steadying your hand as he finishes almost all of it in one go. When he pulls back, he exhales, smacks his lips, and leans in to steal a quick kiss. “Nearly done, my love. Just the suitcases and the TV left, hm?” You hum in affirmation. “Last two trips, then.”

“I’ll help with the suitcases?”

“If you want,” Sylus shrugs, then gestures loosely toward the bedroom. “Or maybe start unpacking some of the lighter stuff? The linens for the bed, perhaps.”

You squint at him. “I am strong enough to carry things too, you know.”

He grins, reaching out to flick your nose. You wrinkle it on instinct, and he smiles like that’s exactly the reaction he was waiting for. 

“I know, sweetie.”

Then he flashes you a warm look. Entirely too tender for what comes out of his mouth next: 

“I just figured you’d want to start with the bed, since I plan on eating you out on it later.”

You gape at him, making an indignant swipe in his direction—but he’s already sidestepping, laughing low as he smoothly ducks out of reach. His palm catches you squarely on the ass in passing, a sharp little smack that makes you yelp.

By the time you spin around, he’s already halfway to the door. 

“Incorrigible,” you mutter under your breath as you dutifully head for the bedroom. 

After fixing the bed – tucking in the fitted sheet, haphazardly throwing the duvet over, fluffing up the pillows against the headboard as a stray paw randomly swats at you from the ether �� you move on to unpacking a few more boxes stacked in the corner.

You pull out your lava lamp, still wrapped in newspaper, the collapsible room divider, and a mix of vanity knick-knacks: perfume bottles, your ‘handmade’ ring holder vaguely shaped like a lily pad, a small fake cactus. You start setting them out, arranging things in little clusters, nothing short of organized clutter. 

Not long after, you hear the front door swing open again and the wheels of your suitcases rolling in across the floor.

You poke your head out. “Need help with the TV?”

Sylus calls back, easy as ever. “I’ve got it.”

You shrug and return to your pile, pulling over a battered box that’s clearly been around a while – dusty, half-caved in, multiple layers of yellowing tape stuck on top of each other that you slice through with a key. Must’ve been one of the bigger ones you’d kicked under the bed ages ago, out of sight, out of mind.

Inside lies a heap of forgotten things: high school mementos, faded ticket stubs, a cracked snow globe. Your college diploma. Trinkets and letters, old birthday cards from people you haven’t spoken to in years. Little gifts and odd collectibles that haven’t seen the light of day in a long while.

You sift through them slowly, your fingers brushing over paper and plastic, worn edges soft with time. A bittersweet feeling creeps in as you fall headfirst into the slightly treacherous rabbit hole of your past lives.

That’s how Sylus finds you: cross-legged on the floor, holding a Toji Fushiguro Funko Pop that Khol got you for Christmas nearly a decade ago.

You glance up and find him standing in the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowed in open scrutiny at the figurine in your hands.

You hold it up helpfully. “Look, it’s Toji.”

“Who is that.”

Your brows furrow. “You don’t know Toji?”

“Doesn’t ring any bells,” he replies, flat and slightly surly.

You let out a soft, curious little “huh,” turning the toy back into your lap, absently stroking your thumb over the vinyl hair. “He’s a character from this anime I used to obsess over. Khol gave it to me as a gift.”

“That’s nice, but he isn’t real, sweetie,” Sylus intones wisely, zeroing in on the way you’re caressing the plastic toy a little too ardently. “It’s not healthy to lust after fictional men.”

“I–” You pause, eyes widening in realization. “Wait. Are you jealous?”

“Cease the thought,” he deadpans. “There’s simply nothing to be envious of. He isn’t even alive.”

“You’re jealous!” you exclaim gleefully, eyes lighting up as Sylus strides over and drops into a squat beside you.

“Aww, don’t pout,” you tease, mock-gentle. “You’ll always be my favorite, promise. Even if, by some divine miracle and another fluke of fate, Toji somehow—mmph!”

Sylus cuts you off with a firm kiss. Quite rudely, in fact. But the heat behind it more than makes up for the lack of manners.

When he pulls back, you’re left blinking, slightly winded. While you’re still reeling, he casually plucks the figurine from your hand and pulls you up onto your feet. “Come now. Back to unpacking.”

You end up back in the living room, settling onto the floor beside Sylus as the two of you start rifling through the rest of the boxes. Your whole life, folded and crammed into fairly neat, packaged pieces, just waiting to be taken out and slotted into the bones of this new home. Your new home. 

You’re elbow-deep in a tangle of extension cords and bubble wrap when Sylus pauses mid-reach beside you. 

He huffs out a sharp laugh. You glance over just in time to see him pulling something long, red, silicone, and alarmingly familiar from the depths of a nondescript box.

“Alright, now where are we placing this one—”

Motherfucker. You lunge forward and snatch the dildo out of his hand before he can even finish speaking. “Keep your hands off Big S.”

“Big–” He starts, then cuts himself off, scoffing in amusement. “I’m off by an inch, sweetheart.”

You sniff haughtily, clutching Big S with what little dignity one can muster while holding a massive rubber schlong. “He kept me company on those long, lonely nights before you showed up, so put some respect on his name, thank you very much.” 

Sylus opens his mouth, then pauses—looking genuinely thoughtful for a moment. 

Finally, he nods, solemn. “Okay.”

“…Okay?”

He smirks at you, holding out a hand. 

Warily, you pass it back. He sets it delicately on the edge of a pile labelled: Essentials. 

“Maybe we’ll find the proper time to commemorate him later.”

Huh?

The smirk widens. “In his honor, sweetie.”

Oh. 

- - -

By the time the bulk of the unpacking is done, the apartment has started to resemble something partially lived-in; boxes are half-emptied, some of which lay deconstructed on the floor. The remaining daylight outside spills in through the windows, dust motes floating in the gold of the afternoon.

You can’t help but notice, as you're stacking plates and cutlery on the island counter, that Sylus’ share of belongings is quite modest compared to yours. 

Most of his things easily fit into one corner, almost swallowed up by the rest of the mess that surrounds it. A few changes of clothes—mostly denim and dark leather—a sleek black laptop, and some paper files that have already disappeared somewhere into the second room.

Mixed in with the rest are a couple of objects that catch your eye. Not because they’re particularly flashy, but because they’re familiar. 

There’s the iconic brooch you recognize from the game; the ruby stone center glinting under the light, ringed in tarnish-proof silver and his signature crow insignia. You’ve held it before, more than a few times, delightedly turning it over in your fingers with his—amused—permission.

Then, the silver glasses. The first time you caught a glimpse of him wearing them in your periphery, you let out an involuntary squeal and immediately dropped whatever it was you were doing prior to this titillating discovery. You spent a full hour circling him like an overexcited hawk—prodding, staring, unabashedly fawning at your unfairly hot boyfriend as he kept typing away on his computer, indulging your whims with nothing but resigned fondness reserved only for you.

You gesture at the pile. “So, just those?”

His gaze lingers, briefly, on the second drawer of the dresser a few feet away. You don’t notice.

Sylus hums noncommittally as he zips his bag shut. “More or less.”

There’s another thing, you’ll realize later. Small enough to fit in a palm. Tucked away somewhere out of sight—for now.

He pulls you in his arms as the sun starts to dip lower in the sky. The apartment is quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the usual creaks of the old building. His chin rests atop your head, and the two of you sway to the tune of some inaudible rhythm.

“This isn’t what you’re used to,” you murmur, breaking the silence. 

“Not quite, no.” 

Maru finally emerges out of hiding, cautiously padding out into the open. His nose twitches as he starts sniffing his way around the new place, tail flicking as he makes his rounds, like a fat little sentry inspecting the perimeter.

You hesitate. “You’re happy?” With this? With me?

He squeezes you tighter in response to the unspoken question.  

“Yes,” Sylus says. “I am. Very much.”

And it’s enough, you think, eyes dropping shut as he presses a kiss into your hair. More than you could ever ask for. 

End A/N: Yes, it’s the monster cock. Neither enemy nor foe. Mayhap?? Even a surprise tool that will help them later. 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited @magnoliaswriteatsunset @longlivedelusion @beesin03

[rbfclassy]

STILL IN LOVE! #7 — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after still messing around with your ex husband, you began to wonder if you’re still in love with him after finding out about his new girlfriend…

INFO...ex husband!toji x fem!reader, reader & toji have two kids, megumi is readers bio son, jealousy, smut, angst, arguments, alcohol, drinking problem, family problems, arguing in front of kids, toxic behaviors, crying, mentions of divorce

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Toji stood in the empty living room, the light illuminating from the television as it played some random show that you were watching before he came. It’s been so long since the last time he was here, at least that’s what it felt like. Nothing really changed for the most part, still the same decor, the layout still the same. He couldn’t help but notice the set of fresh roses that sat on your dining room table, paired with a detailed glass vase. He already had his guesses on who gave them to you.

Toji looked over his shoulder towards the corridor that led to the bedrooms, you were still busy helping Naya wash up. He walked over to the table, fingertips gently touching the delicate petals. There was still regret and jealously that bubbled in Toji’s chest. When it came to you, he was selfish, never thought in a million years he’d lose you once he had you. That was his problem. With each longing look at the roses, it reminded him of when he did have you, the beginning of things. He used to buy you flowers just for the hell of it, buy you small trinkets he knew you’d like, addicted to your smile when he’d handed them to you. But like almost everything in this world, things fall apart.

Those moments turned into him coming home while you were in the kitchen, eating dinner with Naya and Megumi, not even glancing your way. Not a word to you or his kids all because of an argument you had before he left for work that morning. Of course he regrets it all now, when it’s too late for something to be done and said. It’s cliche, but it was true.

His eyes flickered towards the small card by the roses, his jaw clenched as he grabbed it, slowly opening it to read:

Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman — Kento

“Hey.” The sound of your voice snapped Toji out of his thoughts, quickly placing the card down and facing you. “The kids are, uh, asleep.” You nodded.

“Should we talk here or?” Toji cleared his throat, stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

“Bedroom should be fine.” As you walked down the corridor, Toji followed behind you. There was still that picture of you and the kids on the wall, the one that he took when you all went to the water park. It was a bittersweet moment, but he’s glad that you still had it up despite the memory that came with it.

He shut the bedroom door behind him as you stood in the middle of the room. “So, you wanted to talk about the kids and us?”

“Yeah, I just want us to find a level placement where we can co-parent healthily. You know…where we don’t fight and argue every time we talk to each other,” you explained with a slight chuckle. “I just want better communication. Like if you can’t or can take the kids, if you’ll be going to their school events or something.” You fiddled with your hands.

Toji stared at you even while you avoided eye content with him. He took notice you how you played with your hands too, something you always did when you were anxious, thinking about things. He could tell something else was on your mind. Something else was on his mind too.

“What I’m saying is, I just think we should strictly keep communication minimal. Just about our kids. What we do with our personal lives should be kept private unless it involves Naya and Megs somehow.” You inhaled, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

Toji’s brows furrowed at your statement. “Isn’t that what we have been doing?” He questioned, leaning against your wall.

“Despite what you might think, no. And to be honest, I know that you know that not what we’ve doing, Toji,” you scoff.

“If this is about what’s been going on the last few months, I apologize,” he spoke.

“It’s,” you sigh, “it’s more than that. Ever since the divorce, we never acted divorced.”

“You mean how we were still sleeping together,” he bluntly said.

You rolled your eyes at how honest he was, but you should know by now that he was no different from when you first met him. “Yes,” you answered.

“We haven’t slept together in months—”

“And about the unresolved feelings that we still hold for each other. That needs to stop. All of it,” You interrupt.

Toji was at a loss for words, staring at you, and finally for the first time in this conversation, you locked eyes with him. “You’re really taking this guy seriously, huh?”

You sigh, plopping down on the edge of your bed. “He’s a good guy, Toji.”

“I never said he wasn’t.” He shrugged, standing up straight.

“Okay, but you’re acting weird about it. Why can’t you accept that I’ve moved on? You should do the same.” You stood upright. “Me and you,” you gestured between you and Toji, “it won’t work out.”

Toji knew in the back of his head that you were right, but to hear those words out loud felt like a knife to the heart. Both of you stood in silence. All kinds of thoughts were running through his head, every single of them screaming at him to say something, to try and get you to change your mind. He doesn’t want to argue or fight, not anymore, so he holds his thoughts and feelings back even if it does hurt.

Say something. Don’t. Say it. Just keep quiet. Tell her.

“I’ve tried to move on just so you know. I’ve really tried, y/n.” And there it goes. There goes the words spilling out of his mouth despite what may come next. He just needs you to hear him just this one last time. He doesn’t care if it doesn’t change a thing between you two, he needs you to know regardless. “Trying to get with different woman, having sex, drinking, pretending to be who I was before I met you. But where did I end up each time? Right back to you, right back in your bed, in your home, holding you, kissing you, regretting everything bad I’ve ever done to you, to our kids.”

“Toji—”

“We were together for 10 years, married for 8 . As soon as you told me you were pregnant with Megs, I knew right then I wanted to make you my wife, to build a bigger family with you, to do right by you and our kids. I can’t just throw all that away, all those memories. Even the bad ones. You changed me, made me want to be better. No other woman has done that but you.” Toji walked closer towards you. It felt like your feet were glued to the floor, incapable of moving.

“Then why did you treat me that way?” Your voice slightly broke as you held back tears. “Like you were beginning to hate me, to hate us.” The thought made you clench your eyes shut as a frown formed on your lips. You hated to remember. Your should began to shake as a sob racked through your body. “You don’t understand how that made me feel,” you whimpered.

Toji looked at you with soft eyes. “I never hated you or the kids, not a fucking second. That thought would never even cross my mind. Hate the woman who brought me the most beautiful thing life can bring you? Hate them? Even though they can be a pain in the ass,” he chuckled. You laughed along with him, nodding in agreement. “Look at me, mama.” Toji lifted your chin, wiping the tears off of your cheeks. “I can never hate you or our kids. Tell me that you understand that.”

“I understand.” You sniffled.

“I know the way I started treating you and our family towards the end is what caused everything to fall apart. I don’t know why I did what I did. Arguing with you over stupid shit, acting like a fucking asshole, not being there when I should’ve. You had every right to leave. It’s my own fault that I didn’t realize what I had before it was gone. I’ll live with that for the rest of my life. You’re an amazing woman, a beautiful person, a wonderful mother. You were everything I could ever ask for. I’m sorry for making you feel like you were any less than that.” He wrapped his arms around you, hugging you tightly while you cried into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

For the first time in years, you and Toji had a conversation without it turning into a heated argument. It was like a huge weight lifted off of your shoulders, like you could finally take a deep breath of fresh air. Toji just held you while you cried it out, rubbing your back gently. Though it hurts, he’s glad he was able to tell you, to apologize. “Mama, you deserve to move on and be happy. It’ll hurt like hell for me, but that’s what I deserve for what I did. My karma. I’ll level with you, I’ll do what you want.”

You pulled away from him, teary eyes staring up into his. “You mean it?”

Without hesitation he replied, “of course.” If it wasn’t painfully obvious already, Toji was still in love with you. How could he not be? He’ll miss you, miss the times you spent together. He wishes he could make up for all those bad times, replace those memories with good ones.

“Thank you, Toji.” You softly smiled.

“Dont thank me. It’s the least I could do.” He held onto your hand, his warm touch lingering on your skin before he pulled it away. “I’ll see you around, y/n.” Before he said anything else, he needed to walk away. Opening your bedroom door, he disappeared from your sight down the hall. You bit down on your bottom lip, brows furrowed as you sat there and began to process everything that happened.

Toji sat in his car outside your house. “Fuck,” he sighed. It should be him. You and him. He should be buying you flowers, kissing your soft lips, holding you tight, making love to you, telling you he loves you. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as looked at your front door. In front of him, a familiar car pulled into your driveway. Toji sat and watched closely, noticing it was the man he caught a glimpse of in your house, your new boyfriend, Kento. As he walked up the steps, you opened the door for him before he knocked, wrapping your arms around him and kissing his lips with a smile. His hands were on your waist as he kissed you back, pulling you closer towards him.

Toji tore his eyes away from the sight in front of him, jaw clenched as he started his car. You were his karma and the woman he was in love with.

series masterlist

tag list (comment to be added):

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[8-rae-rae-8]

CoD AU where Soap moves into Ghost's childhood home to start fixing it up, where carpets were stained in blood, walls with fist-shaped holes, mold on every ceiling, water damage in the roof... And it's Soap's job to make it a home. He saw the state of the place, and knew it needed gutted. But it looked like it was once a quaint little place, somewhere it would've been pristine if a kind family had been the ones who moved in those 35-odd years ago.

Johnny's going to fix it up, because that's the line of work he's decided on now his knee is permanently braced and his SAS tattoo is scarred to hell. He saw the potential in the place, the perfect layout, the fireplace, the gorgeous backsplash in the kitchen. All it needed was love. Love that it never got before, not to the wood floorings, it's clear in blood that seeped into them.

Everything needed gutted, and Johnny made it his best effort to make the house a home that it clearly never had been before. Thats what he does, loves things far too much, makes it his entire job to make it better. He'll make it a home.

And he does—he cleans up and scraps everything. All of the walls come down, floor is ripped out, everything gets replaced. It's years in the making, years Johnny is so fucking pleased to do. He's on his own, mostly. Making the choices, gladly. He'll lay each brick if that's what it takes. Something speaks to him about this place, that he can make it somewhere worth loving.

He changes things here and there, adds charm where it was lacking. Delicate wooden crown moulding, handcrafted railings over the stairs, a carpet runner down the entryway.

And by the end, there's an open house.

And a little card left in the mailbox that Johnny knew was empty since he replaced it. A messy cursive, not in an envelope but just tossed in. His name at the top..

"Soap,

Thank you for fixing up the place. I grew up here, not the finest place, my mum did her best. But, I think you really found her vision and perfected it. You saw the potential, like she did. It's better than I could've thought... I didn't know it could be fixed, or even cleaned. But thank you, for making it a home. It always had the potential to be a home. You did it justice.

-SR XXXX-XXX-XXX"

[dannyriccsystem]

hey z! i’m in desperate need of comfort from osc or lan. if you’re comfortable could you do reader getting used for nudes and blocked and one of the boys comfort her? only if you’re comfy ily

BUT THESE DAYS ARE BETTER WITHOUT ONE ANOTHER.

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

SUMMARY: Oscar comforting you when you’ve been ruthlessly rejected.

WORD COUNT: 905

WARNINGS: Reader is used for their body, mentions of suggestive topics such as nudity and sex, hurt with comfort

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Reader

NOTE: I feel it’s important to add that you, yes YOU, my beautiful reader, are not defined by your body but rather your amazing spirit and individuality! If you’re being treated poorly or like an object by someone in your life, get rid of them. You deserve a partner who will respect your boundaries and appreciate you for you!

YOU’RE A MESS WHEN YOU KNOCK ON THE DOOR. Oscar’s slow to answer, but that’s always the case. He likes to take his time as he saunters to the door, that way any potential salesmen have enough time to scamper off under the assumption he’s not there, but it’s not so long that welcomed visitors are scared away by the radio silence. Even still, you’re counting the milliseconds in your head.

He has that typical polite grin on his face when he opens the door. You can see his cute rabbit teeth poking up from behind his upper lip, enhancing the warmth of his smile. But when Oscar lays eyes on you, his demeanor falters. He recognizes the state you’re in and it’s not a pleasant one. You’ve got tear stained cheeks and puffy eyeballs that hint towards one thing and one thing only: You’ve been crying.

“Y/N,” He says your name so softly, like he’s afraid that he’ll shatter you into pieces by speaking too loud. Oscar steps aside, and you welcome yourself into his home without another question. “Sit down, I’ll make you some tea,” he suggests as he closes the door behind you.

You’re all too familiar with the layout of his home. The entrance hall leads straight into the living room, with the kitchen only separated by a singular wall. You sit upon his sofa, your hands neatly folded in your lap. You feel utterly ridiculous with the fact you decided to come here of all places, but in your moment of weakness you chose to seek one of very few people to appreciate your company.

Oscar arrived with two hand painted cups filled to the brim with tea. He set one down on the coffee table in front of you. You stared at the murky liquid, but you didn’t touch it. Even as he sat beside you— leaving a respectful distance, of course— you still didn’t pay it any mind. You seemed zoned out and distant, like you were still processing something.

He sighs, setting his cup down next to yours. “What’s going on?” He can’t dance around the elephant in the room. You’re upset and he has the desperate urge to fix it. Whether or not he’ll know how is still up for debate. You’re not allowed to make a bet until the coin has been tossed.

“I just feel stupid,” Your voice cracks, and out come the waterworks once again. Oscar places a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder. He’s quietly urging you to continue. “I really liked this guy. I thought for sure he was the one…” You wipe at your tears hastily, but your efforts fail. You can’t seem to keep up with the continuous stream of liquid.

“Hey,” he whispers soothingly, pulling you in for a tight hug. You wrap your arms around Oscar’s broad frame, burying your face in his chest. His arms are warm and strong, which makes them perfect for holding you in your time of need. “Shh,” He lightly scratches your scalp, enveloping you in an embrace so sweet.

“I’m just tired of being used,” You cry out with your voice muffled in his sweatshirt. Even though you can’t see him, he’s wearing an empathetic smile. When you seem to have simmered down, Oscar pulls away to look you in your eyes. His thumbs tenderly wipe away tears, warm hands cradling your face.

“What did he do?” He sounds serious— Almost angry. Not at you, but for you. It’s refreshing to have someone on your side. You open your mouth to speak, but a choked sob comes out instead. Oscar leans in slightly, still gently caressing your soft skin. “If you’re not okay with saying it, then don’t.”

“No, no…” You take a deep breath, shaking your head. He lets go as you sit back. You breathe steadily, shoulders shaking with the occasional escaped cry. “He kept asking for… for nudes, and I was fine with it at first so I sent them, but then- then I told him I didn’t want to anymore, and he acted like it was fine, but this morning I…” You bury your face in your hands with distress. Oscar is quick to rub your back again. “I woke up and he had blocked me on everything. I’m scared, I’m so scared he’s gonna show other people.”

Oscar’s jaw is clenched. He so badly wants to beat the shit out of this guy, but he knows that right now you need him, and you need him to be warm and soft and loving. “He’s an idiot.” Oscar whispers as he pulls you back in. You let him hug you, because you really need it right now. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing. You’re incredibly smart, funny, emotionally intelligent… You’re the whole package.”

You listen to him compliment you quietly, your pouty face pressed to his chest. He’s so sincere. That’s how you know he’s being truthful. “Thank you,” Your voice is soft. It’s weak, but it’s there.

“Why don’t we go get dinner when you’re feeling better?” He doesn’t say it because he knows you’re vulnerable right now, but Oscar wants to show you how true love is made up of so much more than sex.

“Yes please.” You don’t miss the way he places a soft kiss to your scalp. Instead of pulling away, you nuzzle closer and relax in his hold. “Thank you.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I was not prepared for the interior of this 1830 townhouse in Alexandria, VA. 6bds, 5ba, 3,183sqft, $4m. The listing states, "Included but not limited to curated European and Early American antiques and artifacts which enrich the property." I don't know what that means, b/c it doesn't say furnishings.

The name of the home is "The Prince." Look at the 2 big fonts high up in the foyer. An inlaid floor medallion reads "The Prince."

It has the layout of a typical historic townhouse, but not the decor.

This is creepy to me, I have a phobia of electronic mechanisms. If this thing works, I wouldn't set foot in it. I think it's just a lamp now.

The main living area is an open living/dining room. A wall must've come down here, b/c it looks like there was a hall w/another fireplace- that white one that's blocked off.

Closeup of the original, but newly painted, stairs.

Lots of chandeliers. The walls remind me of a banquet hall venue.

Look at the folding panels on the windows.

I love that they at least left the brick wall. The architectural feature, the arch, must've been made after they removed part of the wall.

Black & gold chef's kitchen with marble surfaces.

Why does it look like the old cabinets were just sprayed black and the hardware was changed out.

Closet size wine cooler.

I'm confused. Do you have to go outside to go downstairs? Maybe it's a rear entrance.

Can't tell if this is a bedroom or a family room, b/c they don't show any bedrooms. Modern gas flame unit set into a reworked fireplace.

Laundry and gold toilet.

There's also a kitchen down here.

A gated alley.

It looks like the stairs go to the rooftop deck.

There's an outdoor kitchen with a wine cooler. I wonder why they didn't put a roof over it. Why would you leave this exposed to the elements on a roof?

Are flat screens waterproof?

A little putting green.

The property includes private parking and a garage that's larger than is usually allowed, according to the listing. There's also a small grassy area. The lot is 2,042sqft.

Quite a bit of off-street parking.

Very nice. That's 4 "The Prince" signs I've counted so far.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/810-Prince-St-Alexandria-VA-22314/192121529_zpid/

[dragoneyelashart]

private viewing

smut ୨ৎ warnings: g!p billie, daddy kink, breeding kink, cheating wc: 2.7k

the house was nearly silent, save for the slow, measured sound of your heels clicking against polished hardwood. sunlight spilled in through the tall windows, painting long, lazy rectangles of gold across the floor. dust hung in the air like a held breath. it was beautiful, elegant without trying, modern without losing its warmth. it felt lived in, but untouched. waiting.

you ran your fingers lightly over the smooth marble countertop in the kitchen, admiring the details your husband had only skimmed over. he was the one who wanted this house  talked about the space, the layout, the investment, but now, he was conveniently absent, letting you meet the agent alone to “finalize the paperwork.”

that agent being billie.

you’d met her once before, briefly — polite, professional, perfectly collected. but today? something was different. her blazer was off. the top buttons of her shirt were undone. her posture was just a bit more relaxed, her voice lower, eyes lingering too long when she thought you weren’t looking. she showed you the master bedroom last, almost like she knew that was where everything would end.

“so,” billie said, standing near the large bay window in the bedroom, arms crossed casually. “what do you think?”

you turned slowly, letting your gaze travel from the ceiling to the walls to her. “it’s... gorgeous,” you said, stepping closer. “quiet. private. sturdy.” you tilted your head, smirking slightly. “important qualities.”

billie’s eyes flicked to your mouth for a beat too long. “we like to make sure our clients feel secure. like they’re building something that lasts.”

you raised a brow, taking another step toward her, deliberately slow. “secure, huh? that what you want for me?”

a flicker of something passed across her face, not quite surprise, not quite guilt. desire, maybe. she didn’t answer right away. she didn’t need to.

you reached past her to run your hand along the windowsill, brushing her arm in the process. “this would be the view from my bed,” you murmured. “waking up here every morning, wrapped up in someone warm…”

billie let out the softest breath, not a word, but something just as telling. you smiled to yourself.

the tension was a slow build, not a fire, but a low, steady burn. every time she looked at you, her eyes betrayed her composure. she kept trying to stay professional, but you watched it crack, inch by inch.

you circled her like a predator playing with its prey, brushing your fingers against the soft cotton of her shirt, pausing behind her to whisper in her ear, “bet the bed creaks, doesn’t it?”

billie swallowed hard, her jaw tightening.

you turned back to the bed and let yourself fall onto it with a graceful flop, legs crossed at the ankle. “you mind?” you asked, knowing full well she didn’t.

she shook her head once, barely.

“this would be the room,” you said absently, toying with the edge of the throw blanket. “where i’d spend my nights. my mornings. maybe make a few life-changing decisions…”

you trailed off. then looked at her.

she was already looking at you.

you patted the bed beside you. “come here.”

billie hesitated for a breath — not from reluctance, but the sheer weight of anticipation — then obeyed. she sat at the foot of the bed, hands in her lap, trying to act like she was still in control of something.

you leaned forward slightly, your voice dropping to a whisper. “are you nervous, billie?”

“no,” she said too quickly.

you grinned. your hand found her thigh, and that was all it took for the dam to break. her posture crumbled, her breath caught. she turned to you like she couldn’t help it, like gravity was pulling her in.

you didn’t kiss her. not yet. you just leaned close, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “if you want this sale to go through… you’re gonna have to show me this house is worth it.”

“a-again?” she stammered out, her voice cracking in that desperate way you’d come to savor. you nod quietly sinking to your knees. you swear you can hear the thoughts racing through billie’s mind as you unbutton her baggy pants. something straining against her boxer material, bringing a smirk to your face. 

the bedroom was drenched in warm, late-afternoon sunlight that filtered in through gauzy white curtains, casting golden ribbons across the hardwood floor. dust particles danced lazily in the quiet air, the stillness of the empty house broken only by the soft creak of the bedframe and the occasional, breathy whimper echoing off bare walls. the place was pristine, too pristine, like it was waiting for something to stain it, claim it.

billie sat at the foot of what could soon be your shared bed, legs parted slightly, knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the mattress. her usually sharp demeanor was softened, melted down to something pliant, almost fragile. sweat clung to her temple, slicking dark strands of hair to her flushed skin. she looked up at you with glassy eyes, pupils wide, lips parted and trembling.

you smiled slowly, fingers tightening around the base of her cock, which twitched under your touch. “well,” you breathed, tone low and syrupy as honey, “if you're gonna sell this house to my husband and i... we have to make sure it's sturdy. wouldn’t want the foundation crumbling, would we?”

you were on your knees before her, framed by the soft halo of light, satin dress ruched up around your thighs. every movement you made was deliberate, calculated, but looked effortless, like you were built for this room, for this moment. your fingers moved with featherlight precision, and billie gasped at the contact, her hips giving the smallest of thrusts despite the restraint she tried to hold onto.

“so needy, baby,” you cooed, tilting your head as you looked up at her with mock concern, your mouth dangerously close to her slick, aching tip. “you’ve been so helpful through this whole process, think you deserve a little thank you.”

she whimpered again, low and broken, her head falling back against the headboard. the way her muscles tensed told you everything, how close she was, how little it took to unravel her.

“please,” she begged, voice rough and ragged. “please just wanna feel you around me, please ma—”

you cut her off by pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the sensitive underside of her cock, then another near the head, before finally taking her tip into your mouth, just enough to make her buck her hips involuntarily.

“so impatient,” you murmured as you pulled back with a wet pop, letting a line of spit fall from your lips to her shaft. “what? did i spoil you with making you cum so many times that you’ve so dumb you forgot your manners already?”

“i’m sorry,” she whimpered, hands now clawing at the sheets. “m’sorry, daddy... just wanna be your good slut. please — i’ll take whatever you give me—”

you giggled softly, delighted by the pathetic way her voice cracked and trembled. her cheeks were flushed a deep rose, her thighs shaking with restraint. her body screamed for permission, her expression begging you to take her apart.

“fuck, daddy, i’m close, so close,” billie gasped, eyes glassy, pleading.

you rose gracefully, letting her see every inch of your slow, sultry movement. her eyes followed you with reverence, pupils dilated, chest heaving. you slipped out of your dress with ease, letting it fall in a quiet whisper to the floor. your black lace set clung to your frame like sin itself, hugging every curve with intention. billie's breath hitched at the sight, her mouth falling open slightly.

you straddled her lap and gave her a smug, sultry smile before pushing her down into the mattress, her body yielding to your command. she propped herself on her elbows to watch as you peeled away the rest of your lingerie, baring yourself in the golden light of the bedroom that would soon be yours.

she looked like a starving woman, utterly undone at the sight of you.

you took her cock in your hand, guiding it to your entrance as you sank down slowly, both of you moaning in unison as she filled you inch by inch. the heat, the stretch, the pressure, it was nearly too much, too perfect.

your forehead rested in the crook of her neck as you adjusted to her size, lips trailing kisses along her shoulder until you found that tender space just beneath her jaw.

“please, please let me fill you up,” she choked out, barely able to keep her voice steady. “m’so close.”

“yeah? already?” you whispered, your voice turning breathy as your pace shifted, your walls tightening around her. “want to put your babies in me?”

“please, ma — need it. i’m such a fucking slut for your pussy please”

you rocked your hips with more intention now, your nails digging into her sides. 

“yeah, i know baby,” you purred. “fucking pathetic. so desperate to please daddy, huh? just need someone to make a mess in hm?”

your hand moved to billie’s bringing it towards your body to press against your lower stomach, feeling the bulge where she throbbed inside you. you looked down and bit your lip, moaning.

“look, i can feel you in my tummy, baby. feel how deep you are? you’re gonna turn all my insides to mush hm?”

that alone was enough to make billie jerk her hips up again, dragging another sharp moan from your lips. her head nodding furiously, as you continue to bounce on her cock, taking what you wanted from billie.

“gosh, i love your noises, daddy,” she babbled, her voice wet with emotion. “need your babies so bad… want this house for us.”

you let out a soft giggle as billie’s cock twitches inside you again, she’s panting, cheeks flushed, hips bucking up into you like she’s the one in charge.

you lean back slightly, hands planted on her chest, bouncing on her cock, slow at first, rolling your hips just right, letting her feel every single inch.

“god,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “you feel so good, baby. filling me up so perfect, you always do, letting me use you and your dick how i wany…”

billie lets out a desperate moan beneath you, her hands gripping your thighs, trying to force you down faster.

you tsk gently, smile wide and breathless. “oh? trying to take charge baby?” you look down at her, pouty and playful. “that’s so cute.”

“i— i can make you feel so good,” billie grits out, her voice a little deeper now, trying to be dominant. “i can fuck you how you need. just let me—”

you start riding her faster. harder. skin slapping against skin as her breath cuts off in her throat.

her head falls back. her hips jerk up involuntarily. she’s close again. the knot threatening to break.

“aww, you poor thing” you croon, giggling again, leaning forward and dragging your nails down her chest, rolling her nipples between your fingers. “were you saying something, baby? come on use your fucking words billie”

“fuck,” billie chokes, eyes wide, mouth open, her whole body trembling. “i’m gonna— i’m gonna cum—”

you stop.

just like that. your hips still, clenching around her, but no movement. her body bucks up automatically, chasing it, but you press your palm flat against her belly, pinning her down.

her whole face crumples. “no— no no no— please—”

you giggle, brushing sweaty hair off her forehead. “oh my gosh, baby… you were so close, huh?” you whisper, voice all sugar and cruelty. “aw. pretty little girl, daddy’s sorry.”

“please,” she whines, breathless. “i was so close— daddy please, let me— i need to—”

“you need to?” you tease, eyes sparkling. “oh princess… that’s not how this works. you don’t cum just because you want to.”

you start moving again, this time slower, dragging it out. the way her body twitches, how her hips try to fight it, you can feel the war happening inside her. she’s trying to be good. trying to obey. but her body wants.

“be a good girl,” you purr. “beg for it. tell me how badly you want to fill me up.”

billie gasps, moaning as her cock pulses again inside you. she looks up at you, broken and desperate. “please, daddy— i’ll do anything. i’m so close— want to cum in you, please, wanna give you everything— wanna be your good girl, let me prove it, i’ll be so good, i swear—”

you tilt your head, pretending to think. “hmmm…”

you slam your hips down hard, once, then again, watching her whole body seize with pleasure.

“i guess you’ve been good,” you say sweetly. “even with that little act you pulled earlier” you reach forward, caressing her cheek, moving the tiny strands of hair out of her face. “but let’s be real, baby. you were never in charge, just pretending hm? you know only i can make you feel this good ever.”

billie lets out a shuddering moan, eyes glassy, mouth open.

“you want it, baby?” you whisper. “you wanna cum inside daddy’s pussy?”

“yes— yes please, i’m begging you—please—”

“mmmm. good girl.”

and then you ride her.

hard. merciless. wet, loud, and messily, your moans tangled with hers as your nails scratch down her chest, your body grinding against hers until her whole body is shaking.

“cum,” you whisper in her ear. “fill me up, sweet girl. let me have your babies.”

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[wolfdeans]

so anyway Eddie starts by seeing it as some kind of petty payback for all the times that Buck sabotaged his potential renters. he’s finally embracing the juice or whatever and so he’s indulging. and that means fucking with bucks potential places. so he starts pointing out things wrong with potential listings. small kitchen. No natural light. the layout is weird. and Buck listens to him. of course he does. Eddie has a silver star and he would never steer Buck wrong, right? wrong. it’s been months now and Buck still hasn’t found a place. they’ve graduated to sharing the bed because that long on a couch is hell on their backs. Eddie hasn’t actually bothered getting another car in LA because well they just carpool everywhere. and bucks never minded driving Chris places. anyway Eddie ends up on bucks insurance and they’re sharing a house and a car and a son. and this is totally normal for them right? no one thinks it’s weird. Maddie isn’t pulling her hair out, Chim wdym that’s just the newborn stage kicking in! and they’re operating fine on this, taking Chris back to school shopping, working the same schedule, driving Cap Chim up the wall (Bobby is alive here and retired okay!) and they’re fine, totally fine until Ravi one day stops them and asks them if they finally got it together and got remarried and their brains both explode with that thought :)