#the micro expressions on both of them

[weepynymph]

Props to Nicola because during the first kiss right as Colin's leaning in Pen closes her eyes for a second and looks almost like embarrassed or regretful?? like 'damn I should not be doing this this is a new low I can't believe I asked him to kiss me and he's actually going to do it' before her face shifts and she forces herself to soften and I swear you just heard her brain go 'shut up and just enjoy this' and then she just lets herself be in the moment until its over and the embarassment and sadness comes back

[jamiesfootball]

Roy does not look happy with Jamie’s Amsterdam story long before Jamie meanders towards what happened.

Like the second Jamie says ‘he was acting like some sort of super dad or some shit’ Roy shoots him a look like where’s this fucking going and his brow does not un-crease from there

[bastardlybonkers]

i feel like not enough ppl are factoring in the cultural clash between laios and shuro and the many micro agressions shuro faced while being in their group. literally the name 'shuro' in itself is one

his name is toshiro 😭 lets also not forget that he has his own communication issues, in the opposite way that laios does- thats literally a factor in their argument, that his envy for laios's ability to express himself sincerely manifested as part of his distaste for him.

ig all this to say like, was their fight heart wrenching, especially when reading laios as autistic? absolutely. anybody whos ever been in laios's position knows how much it hurts to realize someone you thought was your friend doesnt actually like having you around, especially when they didnt tell you and you had no way of knowing due to not understanding their cues. but im begging yall to step back and see the nuance of this situation cause im gonna be real a lot of you are kinda just brushing over it acting like everything is toshiros fault and that hes a terrible person when in reality hes an average guy who really, really clashed with laios and it led to a very long misunderstanding due to their supremely opposite methods of communication. even laios and toshiro, after letting everything out in their fight, were able to come to an understanding and start a foundation for an actual friendship built on better communication

ok yknow what Edit: i shouldve made it even more explicit at the end of this post, i hadnt thought i would need to since i started the post with this, but i think a few too many people are missing my point so i just wanna clarify. i shouldnt have said 'really clashed' and left it at that because yeah they did, but it wasnt just their opposite methods of communication, it is also very much that toshiro was experiencing microaggressions via laios. it may have been unintentional on laios's part, but it still happened and wore him down, made it harder for him to communicate on top of both the more subtle social cues that he was raised with and his own communication difficulties. i also want to say that the fandom reaction to toshiro and the complete ignorance of this point is also racist tbh or at the very least ignorant. i understand that the anime did not cover this panel, and neither did the manga, as this was an omake, but im gonna be real with you guys. there are enough context clues within the story to clue you into this. if you didnt pick up on it thats ok, but i think this is a good lesson in picking up subtext in the stories that youre watching and/or reading. kui shouldnt have to explicitly say 'by the way laios was racist to toshiro' for this point to be understood, and at the very least, when the author portrays a character in a sympathetic light (as kui clearly does) it should make you question Why they are doing so and what makes them sympathetic, rather than youre immediate and only reaction to be 'well i hated what this guy did/said so i hate them and they suck'. idk exactly how to finish this, just. idk. question your biases and gut reactions to things you see in media and stories, and think about whether or not theres subtext that youre missing.

[guppiechuu]

bestfriend!jake who’d always come over after school with the single intention of getting his face between your thighs as soon as humanly possible.

who loved listening to the sound of your breathy moans as he ate you out. how you tried to stifle them—always a little shy about the fact that he was down there in the first place—before eventually losing all control.

“h-hng, jake… f-fuck,” you’d whimper, thighs tensed around his head.

“feels good?” he’d ask, his tongue wedged firmly between your legs as you trembled beneath him. “love making you feel good.”

bestfriend!jake who was always taking you out on dates and threatening to beat up your shitty boyfriends if they treated you badly. who never once forgot a plan, a birthday, an anniversary—even ones that had nothing to do with him.

jake, who was so obviously head-over-heels for you that people always assumed you were together, just from the way he spoke about you. who liked it when your boyfriends got pissed about it.

“you wouldn’t happen to know why two separate people asked me if we were dating today, jake, would you?”

he looked up from his phone, smiling innocently at you. “i dunno, probably cuz we should be.”

“i was with y/bf/n.”

“okay?”

“he was pissed. he doesn’t like you, you know. like, not even a little.”

jake, who’d just smile and say, “good.”

bestfriend!jake who was begrudging but accepting when you started taking things more seriously with someone. who was willing to be patient. you’d come around someday, both of you knew it.

your relationships never lasted very long anyways. couldn’t stand being away from your best friend’s mouth for that long.

“f-fuck, we can’t ke-keep doing this, jake,” you panted, rocking your hips upwards.

jake kept his hand steady between your legs, angling his palm to give you something up to grind on. he watched your expression with his lip between his teeth, trying to memorize every micro-expression that crossed your face as you got off on his fingers.

“i disagree,” he said, leaning down to suck on your collarbone. “you could just go out with me, then we could keep doing this forever.”

“i’m— ah! m’not gonna go out with you, loser,” you said stubbornly, tilting your head back as he dug his fingers into the soft velvet of your cunt.

“mhm, okay,” he said contentedly, drawing his hand away from you. “whatever you want, y/n.”

you groaned as he disappeared below your waist, hoisting your leg over his shoulder. as his lips pressed against your pussy, his tongue curling into the well of your cunt, it became all too clear that what you wanted, what maybe you’d always wanted, was him.

[bemusedlybespectacled]

proposing what I'm going to call Gaylor's Razor, which is: never explain normal shit as being part of a secret message that can only be decoded by over-analysis.

"These Taylor Swift lyrics are actually coded messages saying that she's a lesbian and is forced to stay in the closet! Any lyrics that are clearly about being attracted to a man are just to throw us off the scent!" Sometimes people, like Taylor Swift, are straight and write about being straight, because they are straight.

"The fourth series of Sherlock was deliberately bad because it was actually a coded message to us fans that there is a secret fourth episode that will make Johnlock canon and will actually be good!" Sometimes writers (even experienced writers who are normally good at their jobs) will write something that's not good, because no one is perfect. They're not going to waste everyone's time and money and energy creating something terrible on purpose as part of a grand master plan.

"Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir, the Canadian Olympic ice dancers, are secretly married (with kids)! Their public relationships with people who are not each other and them repeatedly saying 'we dated as kids and now we're just friends' are just to hide the truth! Which they need to hide for some reason! Their relationship is obvious just from their physical chemistry when competing! JUST LOOK AT THIS TWO SECOND CLIP OF HIM BLINKING AT HER!" It seems counterproductive to put all that thought into hiding a relationship that doesn't need to be hidden but then also telegraph that same relationship in front of millions of people through planned choreography.

"But BB, what about times that people really are speaking in code or hiding something due to outside influences?"

If it requires huge leaps in logic, like adding all the letters in a sentence together and dividing by seventeen and that number matches the binary sequence for the color yellow so YELLOW MUST BE SIGNIFICANT, it's not a secret code.

If it requires focusing on teeny tiny details but discards huge ones, like analyzing someone's micro-expressions but handwaving away what the person is actually saying out loud with their mouth, or focusing on one specific line instead of the entire scene or song or whatever, it's not a secret code.

If both supporting and contradictory evidence are used to come to the same conclusion (ex: when Taylor says something that I interpret as gay, that means she's gay, and when she says something that I interpret as straight, that still means she's gay and just hiding it), it's not a secret code.

Trying to apply fandom meta analysis techniques to real life is a really good way of fall into conspiratorial thinking that can be easily exploited. You can totally try to predict what's going to happen in a story or choose to interpret a scene in a specific way; you can't do that in real life with real people. That way lies the kind of nonsense that leads to shit like "this image of pizza on a children's toy is actually subliminal messaging by The Cabal™ that proves that Pizzagate is real."

[kashverse]

Hey! Not 100% sure if your requests are open, but can I get an SMAU of you doing a double take at a random hot guy the boys and you walk past on the street? Crack would be so funny lmaoo! Thanks, love ur work!😆🤭

read till the end to see choso in cosplay (not clickbait)

it was supposed to be a simple grocery run. a peaceful, uneventful, married couple activity. you and nanami were at the organic section—him carefully selecting the perfect tomatoes, you texting him from two feet away about getting more oat milk. normal. civil. domestic.

then it happened.

a man—tall, broad, effortlessly stylish—walked past you with a bulging bag of groceries. your eyes followed him. your head whipped so fast you swore you heard your neck crack. and beside you, nanami stopped mid-reach for an avocado, eyes slowly narrowing. “really?” he muttered, voice dangerously calm. you blinked at him, confused. “what?”

“nothing.” his jaw twitched. nanami kento, mature and self-assured, was obviously not sulking.

but you saw the way his grip on the avocado tightened. saw the micro twitch in his brow. your dear husband thought you were checking out grocery bag man. except you were not. oh, no. this was far worse. you turned to nanami, eyes wide, voice trembling with despair.

“he took the last loaf.”

nanami’s expression barely shifted. “what?”

“the last loaf, kento. the ethically sourced, imported-from-a-french-village, aged-like-fine-wine, vegan-friendly bread you waited weeks for—he has it.”

nanami’s world shattered. his entire soul left his body.

the betrayal, the injustice, the absolute audacity of that man, casually walking out with his bread like he didn’t just ruin two people’s week. you grabbed his arm before he could start forward. “babe, no.”

his fingers twitched, torn between rationality and primal rage. “he doesn’t deserve it,” he whispered, haunted. you spent the rest of the grocery run in silence. nanami didn’t even flinch when the cashier told him the total. he was mourning.

ah, evening walks. a staple of married life. you and geto, hands intertwined, nodding politely at neighbors like you were the wholesome, friendly couple everyone thought you were.  then you saw him. a man striding down the street, his pants fluttering with each step. the most perfect pair of bell-bottoms you had ever seen.

you grabbed geto’s arm, halting mid-walk. your jaw went slack.

“sugu—”

his expression darkened. his fingers tensed around yours.

“so that’s your type?”

you blinked, confused. “what?”

“oh, nothing.” he smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. it was a ‘hmm, my love is a traitor’ smile.

you turned back to bell-bottom man.

“he’s wearing the exact pair you’ve been looking for.”

geto froze. the tension evaporated. he squinted. studied. analyzed.

“…cotton blend,” he murmured.

“definitely imported,” you added. you both stood there. staring. geto’s eyebrows twitched.

“i need to know where he got them.”

“we could follow him.”

“we absolutely could.”

and so, two grown adults—former sorcerers, parents, functioning members of society—spent the next ten minutes covertly (not covertly) stalking a man for the sole purpose of inquiring about his pants.

it was a good day. you and toji had just finished at the butcher, a prime cut of steak nestled in your bag, and toji was already humming about grilling it up with butter. then you saw the officer.

your head whipped around so fast toji felt it. his shoulders tensed. his jaw clenched. a cop? a cop? that’s what you were into? he could deal with gym bros, maybe even pretty boys, but an officer?

…he was gonna have to commit a crime.

toji was seething. fuming. trying so hard not to snarl about how he could handle you better than some uniformed pretty boy. then you leaned into him, tugging his sleeve.

“look at his gun.”

toji blinked. “huh?”

“that’s a customized SIG. high-end, lightweight, reinforced barrel—”

oh.

oh.

toji let out the deepest sigh of his life. his entire soul exhaled. you weren’t ogling some officer’s ass. you were checking out his gun.

for the first time ever, toji felt defeated by an inanimate object.

there were three things gojo satoru could not tolerate:

being ignored

being ignored in public

being ignored in public while you were looking at another man

so when he caught you staring—staring—at some guy while he, the love of your life, stood next to you in all his six-eyed, beautiful glory, he reacted in the only way he knew how. loudly.

“are you actually serious right now?” gojo gasped, clutching his chest. “ogling another man? in front of me? your one true love?”

you didn’t even look at him. you were still staring at sunglasses man, an impressed hum under your breath. gojo clutched your sleeve. “babe, look at me. me."

“he’s wearing chopard.”

the air changed.

gojo stopped breathing. his hand went limp. his pupils shrank. his jaw—previously running at a hundred miles per hour—snapped shut.

“ch-chopard?” his voice cracked. you nodded, grave.

now both of you were wailing.

“we could’ve been him,” gojo cried. “we could’ve been walking around dripping in wealth!”

“he looks so effortless.”

“his life is together.”

you both mourned the lack of chopard in your lives, heads bowed in devastation, like you had just witnessed your futures slipping through your fingers. that night, gojo went home and bought three pairs online.

sukuna had seen it. the way your eyes lingered. the way your gaze flickered over some gym bro’s barely covered pecs like you had just discovered the meaning of life. he crossed his arms, seething. “seriously?” you, completely unaware of your impending doom, glanced at him. “huh?”

“you checked him out.”

you blinked. “no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

“no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

“read his shirt.”

sukuna’s eye twitched. but fine. he’d play your little game. he begrudgingly looked over, prepared to see some cringe gym brand logo, only to be met with the words:

“I ❤️ MY PARTNER.”

in bold. right across the pecs.

sukuna froze. the world went silent. for once in his entire existence, he felt true, undeniable embarrassment.

“…oh.”

you smacked the back of his head.

the next day, sukuna walked into his gym wearing that exact shirt, except his was customized.

“I ❤️ MY PARTNER MORE THAN YOU LOVE YOURS.”

choso was panicking. he had seen you do it. the double take. the slight pause in your step. the way your eyes lingered on another man. his hands clenched into fists. his heart dropped into his stomach.

his brain? already drafting up worst-case scenarios. his soul? leaving his body. his spirit? crushed.

“please don’t leave me,” he whispered, eyes pleading. you blinked. “what?”

“i saw you looking at him.”

you glanced at the man in question. he was carrying a big shopping bag filled with sanrio plushies.

“…babe.”

choso swallowed. “just tell me now so i can emotionally prepare—”

“babe, i was looking at the plushies.”

choso went silent. the blood drained from his face.

he stared at the bag, then at you.

back at the bag, then at you.

then back at the bag.

“oh,” he whispered. he didn’t sleep that night. he spent hours on his phone.

on valentine’s day you opened the door, expecting something sweet—flowers, chocolates, maybe a heartfelt love letter. instead, you were met with choso.

in a inflatable cinnamoroll costume.

his entire body was swallowed by the plush suit. his face? peeking out of cinnamoroll’s giant, smiling head.

“…choso?”

“do you like it?” he asked, voice muffled through the fabric. you did not know whether to laugh or cry. he shuffled closer, arms outstretched.

“i’m your sanrio plush now.”

[writingunderneathawillow]

novelty (bucky barnes x fem!reader)

content warnings: smut, mdni pretty please, first time, loss of virginity, inexperienced reader, female reader, soft bucky (i love him), established relationship, fluff word count: 2.6k a/n: i'm lowkey thinking about making this a series, but one where every part can be read as a stand alone? i've got so many ideas, basically all of them about bucky and inexperienced reader trying new things. is that weird?

Bucky and you had been dating for a month now.

He was always so sweet to you, making sure you felt comfortable with everything he did.

He never wanted you to feel like you had to do anything other than what you were willing to do.

The first time you stayed over at his apartment, he had even offered to sleep on the couch which had left you laughing and feeling luckier than anyone else. You declined this and both of you spend the night entangled with each other in his bed.

On the night of your one-month anniversary, the two of you sat together on the bed after a fancy dinner and lots of flowers. When the light outside faded and the sunset coloured his bedroom in golden hues, you kissed him. Half lying on him, half sitting on his lap, your lips crashed onto his, relishing in the flavour of him.

Your hands ran through his hair while his fingers ghosted over your waist, holding you closely to him.

His tongue moved against your slightly parted lips, pushing them apart and exploring the inside of your mouth.

With a gentleness that contrasted so strongly with his usual demeanour, he cradled the back of your head with one hand and rested the other on the small of your back.

A moan escaped his mouth which seemed to bring him back to reality and he gently pushed you away to look at your face.

He took in your glassy eyes and warmed skin, slowly dragging his knuckles over your cheek.

"We gotta go a little slower," he rasped, keeping his hand against your cheek.

"Why?" You asked, a shy smile curving your mouth.

"Cause you're killing me when you do... this," Bucky replied, smirking as he looked you up and down.

Your smile expanded and you looked at him through heavy lidded eyes, desire coursing through your veins.

"Maybe that's the plan," you confessed and gazed at him, waiting for his reaction.

He took in a sharp breath, fingers twitching on your sides as he seemingly struggled to hold himself back from taking you up on your offer.

"Doll," he rasped quietly, muscles flexing under his shirt as he pulled you flush against him.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Yeah, I do," you retorted, your fingers wandering over his neck and into his hair, slowly dragging between his locks as you met his lips again.

His breath stuttered against your mouth and his hands slipped underneath your shirt, ghosting against the clasps of your bra.

Then he pulled away again, his cheeks flushed and eyes hungry with desire.

"This is a big step, sweetheart," he whispered, and held you at bay, taking in every micro expression of your face.

"I'll wait as long as you want," Bucky insisted.

"I don't wanna wait," you replied, scrunching up your eyebrows. "I'm ready. I wanna do it... with you."

For a few seconds, he closed his eyes, relishing in your words. His mouth corners twitched as if he was fighting a smile.

"Are you sure?" He asked then, cupping your face in order not to miss a single sign of uncertainty.

"Yes," you answered and there was no room for doubt in your voice, simply excitement.

If a smile could truly light up a room, it would be Bucky's right now.

He leaned back in to kiss you again, this time with more vigour.

Breathless and messily, your faces connected while his hands traced shapeless motions on your bare stomach. He fumbled with the hem of your shirt, taking his time in peeling away the layer that separated the two of you.

You could tell that he was slowing himself down, letting you feel every inch of his patience in his movements

When he finally rid you of your shirt, his eyes hungrily darted over your body, taking in all of you.

Excitement pooled in your stomach along with some nerves that sparked little bolts of electricity underneath your skin.

To even out the playing field, you began to take off his shirt, dragging the material over his chest and slowly exposing more of his skin.

The low lighting in the room bounced off on his abs, highlighting the dips and crooks.

With a feathery finger, you slowly traced the lines on his abdomen, travelling further south. His breath hitched and he reflexively caught your hand.

You looked at him and saw a hint of a smile on his lips when he grabbed your other hand as well, bringing them above your head. He inched closer to you and played with the waistband of your jeans, one hand slipping towards the button and zipper.

A feeling which was a mix of lust and nervousness coursed through you as he removed your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear before him.

Again, he let his gaze wander over you before conquering your mouth in a wet kiss, that sent heat between your legs.

You hooked your ankles behind his back, pulling him in closer.

The material of his trousers was rough against your bare skin, every shift dragging across you. Pressed up against him, you felt his clothed arousal digging into your core and it made your stomach flutter.

Bucky’s lips travelled down from your lips to your jaw, then your collarbone. He stayed there a while, sucking and licking the sensitive skin until he was satisfied with the blooming red underneath that promised a deep purple mark tomorrow.

When he looked up at you, chin hovering just over your breasts, the breath was stolen from your lungs.

His pupils were dilated with lust and there was a faint line of saliva around his lips. To see him like this, absolutely taken with you, it made you lightheaded with joy. The fact that you had this kind of effect on him eased your nerves.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice rough but attentive.

“Yeah, better than okay,” you replied, and he nodded.

“You just tell me when to stop, alright, doll?” His gaze was fixed on you, sure not to miss a single indication of you.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you answered truthfully, writhing a little underneath him with pure yearning.

You felt the damp patch in your panties as you shifted around and almost wished that he wouldn’t be so considerate. A hunger that you had never experienced like this before had taken a hold of you and it only increased when he started to unhook the clasps of your bra.

He looked at you like you were a masterpiece, a painting that should be admired by billions of people when his eyes followed every contour of your exposed body.

It would have been instinctual for you to feel just a bit self-conscious, your body bare before his eyes, just covered by your panties, but how could you when he looked at you like that. Like you were born to be pressed flush against him, born to be his.

His tongue trailed down between your breasts, leaving a trail of him down to your belly button.

Only then he began to take off his pants, the tent in his boxers leaving you speechless and clenching your legs together a little.

He smirked as he saw the tremors in your legs, one large hand brought down to rest on your thigh, so close to the hem of your panties.

“Nervous?” He asked, no trace of cockiness in his voice as he fixated you with his eyes.

“A little. But the good kind,” you responded truthfully.

“The good kind,” he repeated, a husky chuckle following. “Alright.”

With one swift motion he advanced closer to you on the mattress and rested his hands on your hips, just on the edge of your underwear.

He hooked his fingers into the material and slowly, torturously freed you of them. With the phantom of a smug grin did he drag the pad of his thumb over the wet patch on them before dropping them to the ground.

Now, fully bare before him, the nerves returned fully. You closed your eyes, trying to slow your heartbeat and get lost in the sensation of being exactly where you wanted to be.

Only when Bucky softly spoke did your eyes snap back open.

“Sweetheart? Do you wanna stop?”

You couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh.

“Not at all. I just… need a second.”

He nodded and said: “Take all the time you need.”

It didn’t seem possible for your heart to be any fuller with adoration for him but with words like that, it was seconds away from bursting.

You pulled him back towards you, connecting your lips with his and felt his tongue drag along the entrance of your mouth, teasing your until you opened up.

While his tongue explored your mouth, his right hand dipped down between your legs, brushing up ever so gently against your slick folds.

An exhale caught in your lungs as you felt his fingers toying with you, gathering your arousal and coming up against your clit for a few seconds.

He deepened the kiss, and you bucked your hips towards him, looking to replicate the feeling of his hands on you again. You felt him grin against your lips, but you were so high on his touch that you didn’t care.

One of his fingers circled your entrance and he pulled back to look at you, wanting to take in your face as he pushed into you.

A stifled gasp broke from your lips as you felt him slowly widening you out, pumping in and out of you at a steady rhythm.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, and you felt his dick twitch against you, still covered by his boxers. “Gonna take a second to get you ready.”

He added a second and then a third finger, filling you up so deliciously that you couldn’t stifle the moan that escaped your lips.

“You like that?” He asked, still as attentive and focused on you as before.

“Yeah,” you replied, nothing more than a shaky gasp as you felt your insides tighten around his finger, sucking him in greedily.

Your head swam with oxytocin and when he brushed up against your clit with his thumb, your whole body began to quiver.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, not that Bucky showed any inclination to do that. You searched for something to hold onto, digging your nails into his back as he continued to encircle your clit, giving you the friction that you needed.

Heat was building up in your lower stomach like a knot coming closer to detangling with every single movement of his. You felt the warmth spread to your neck and chest, the pressure strengthening with every second that passed until it broke. The knot unravelled and you came with such a force that you had to press your mouth against his shoulder as blinding satisfaction flooded your veins.

Bucky continued to work you through your orgasm until you caught your breath and looked up at him with gleaming eyes.

Next to the craving in his eyes was pride. In you, in himself, in the connection that you shared.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead that gleamed with sweat, and you closed your eyes, radiant with the burn of your release.

When your breathing evened out, you parted your legs again, allowing Bucky to fit himself against your body. He took off his boxers and his cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach. Beads of precum wetted the pink tip.

You held your breath as you appraised him and a second of doubt clouded your mind. His dick was a lot bigger than just his fingers. But when you looked at Bucky and saw the adoration plastered across his face, you breathed out your worries and nodded.

“I’m ready,” you said and meant it.

He cupped your face and replied: “You just tell me if I gotta stop, ok? I promise I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I know.”

He beamed down at you and then moved forward until he lined up with your entrance.

With his hand he slowly guided himself in. You felt the stretch immediately, but it didn’t hurt. It was more of a burning sensation that excited you.

Bucky kept his eyes on you, searching for signs to stop.

Since there were none, he moved further, and you held onto his muscular arm as he spread you open.

Bucky groaned as he felt your walls flutter around him at the same time as your nails dug into his forearm and it took a lot for him to not fully push himself into you.

He gave you time to adjust, to shape yourself around him. It was a snug fit, but sensually so, you could feel every vein on his dick.

When you nodded again, he pulled back a little only to then move further into you as your walls allowed for him to enter your almost completely.

You weren’t sure which one of you felt more bliss in this second.

The sensation of him filling you out, stuffing you to the brim until you thought you could never feel lonely again, spread through your body and sent warm shock waves into your limbs.

He trembled in you, clearly enjoying the sensation of being enveloped by you and then bridged the last uncovered inches of his dick, fully filling you out until the hairs at his base tickled against your skin.

A moan broke from your lips as you felt the spongy tip of his head kiss a spot so deep within you.

After a few seconds of letting you adjust again, he began to move his hips, pulling out almost fully only to snap his hips against yours again.

He sat a pace that kept him on edge and almost sent you into your next orgasm. When he added a finger to your clit, swift motions flicking against it, you had to ground yourself by gripping the sheets to not immediately give into your release.

Sweat beaded from his forehead and mingled with yours.

“You’re so perfect,” he gasped, as he pumped into you, “So fucking perfect.”

You felt lightheaded and fought to come undone so quickly, but his praise made your velvety walls flutter, and you knew he could feel it.

“So fucking amazing,” he whispered, now almost teasingly as he increased the pressure on your clit, dragging the mix of your wetness and his precum across the sensitive nerves.

“J-James,” you hiccupped, holding onto his shoulders.

He silenced you with a kiss, wet and sloppily dragging his lips against yours while keeping intense pressure on your clit.

“Come for me,” he panted, “I know you want to, doll.”

A sound that you didn’t even know you could make parted your lips as his words pushed you over the edge, while he relished in the feeling of you tightening around him. Blinding white lights filled your vision as you rode out your second orgasm.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured into your ear as the aftershocks of your release coursed through your body.

He increased his pace, hips snapping back and forth against you and as he saw your eyes, glazy with satisfaction, he let himself go.

You could feel his spent coating your walls, painting your insides with his cum while he groaned, lips pressed against yours.

He sank onto you, careful not to squeeze you under him and closed his eyes while he caught his breath.

With your head still in the clouds, you caressed his back until he declined onto the mattress, pulling you snug against his chest.

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[actual-changeling]

i have watched the kiss scene and the breakup as a whole more times than i can count and my brain is still trying to process all the things it picked up on.

my newest painful obsession: aziraphale thought crowley came back for him.

they kiss, aziraphale says i forgive you and instead condemns them both, crowley leaves. the lip touching itself is fucking essay worthy because holy SHIT the amount of micro expressions flickering across his face is endless, michael sheen acted his ass off.

i think it's a mixture of surprise, unspoken love, a HEAVY dose of fear, disbelief, and oh my god what did he just do what did i just do. he turns away from the door and we get a very very quick shot of how exactly he is angled.

standing up straight with faked spiteful anger, the same anger he spit at crowley out of fear and insecurity, chin up, clearly waiting for something - or rather someone. we gotta remember that every single time crowley has left aziraphale, he came back. every. single. time. he came back and apologized, that's what they do.

crowley comes back and aziraphale forgives him and they continue bearing their silence.

the bell rings when the door opens again, just like it did when crowley left, and just. look at his face. how quickly he swivels around. the blink and you will miss it spark of hope.

and then the pure devastation when he realizes it's not crowley.

aziraphale thought crowley was coming back for him. he was WAITING for him to come back. even after all that, he couldn't imagine crowley actually leaving him behind, especially not after that kiss and his entire indirect love confession.

just like crowley thought for a tiny heartbeat that aziraphale was kissing him back, aziraphale hoped, hell, he fucking thought he KNEW crowley would never abandon him. not after "i could always rely on you. you could always rely on me." aziraphale has taken him for granted, of course he thought it was him coming through the door.

but that spark of hope gets stomped out beneath the metatrash's feet and he fully turns around, unable to face him and the reality of it all.

this time, he went too far.

this time, crowley did not want forgiveness.

he was about to say i love you and turned it into i forgive you, still clinging to their old ways, their old rituals, just that they are no longer those beings, no longer in that specific relationship. everything has changed.

they both thought the other would never abandon them. turns out they were both wrong.

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

✮ tags ; gn! reader, established relationship, fluff, alcohol.

"Shouto,"

"Hm?"

"You're drunk,"

Your boyfriend leans his head on your shoulder and makes a noise in the back of his throat. "A bit."

More than a bit, you think. In actuality, you don't think you've ever seen him this drunk before. He's okay with alcohol, usually - but tends to stay away from drinking too much. You think the last time you saw him get actually drunk at all, you were both twenty and he was barely tipsy then.

He doesn't like getting drunk, he's told you before. A few times. The lack of control and hazy memories make him just slightly anxious, so he's careful around liquor.

You've been dating for years now, and unless he's living some double-life (a different one than being a hero) - you've never seen him get this wasted. Ever. To everyone else in your surroundings, it probably doesn't look that way.

But you've spent enough time to know him, and he's not like this usually. Nowhere near as absent minded he is now, at least. He hasn't been able to sit still since he downed that last bottle of shochu. He went to go play with Bakugou's cat, Momo and you couldn't find him afterwards. You lost sight of him for about half-an-hour until you finally found him in the living room while everyone else was outside, feeding Momo some treat that squeezes from a tube.

(You still don't know where or how he found where Bakugou kept the treats, but you decide it's better you don't ask. Plausible deniability, or something.)

You're both grown-ups, and you're not one to worry about his liquor intake. Still, though - you're worried. Even if it seems like he's not different to everyone else, you can tell. And it's bothering you.

"Shouto," You call out to him, your hands reaching to pet the back of his neck. He's a head taller than you, and a little heavy. Palms smooth against the prickly ends of his hair - tapered and neat. He presses his cheek to your shoulder. "Shouto, love."

"Oh," He says, suddenly remember where he is. He stands up but doesn't back away far enough to give you space. You're in a far off empty corner. Most people are in the backyard but Shouto wanted some air - so you're crowded against a wooden fence and wall with your boyfriend locking you in out by the entrance. He smells nice, you think - clean with a soft touch of aftershave. You look up at him. "Hi,"

"You're drunk," You repeat, watching him blink rapidly - bleary eyes and the faintest line of a smile whenever he glances at you. He's bent over, staring at you hard. "Is something wrong?"

His expression is the same as always. Unchangingly neutral with a strong and uncharacteristic rosiness to it. Your boyfriend is handsome, alarmingly so. You're aware of it constantly, but this new face knocks the air out of your lungs.

He's... pouting you think. But not fully. His lips aren't drawn together, it's subtle like most expressions on him.

But it's...there. You're not imagining it - the soft furrow of his brow, the press of his lips. His expression grows warmer and it only makes you more confused. He shakes it off, all of a sudden, a micro-expression that fades just as quickly as it appears.

"I'm okay."

"Are you?""

He blinks slowly at that. Concern aside, you can't help but think he's cute like this. His ears are pink enough to stick out against his skin, cold air making them flush even darker.

"I'm okay," He says, then looks at you. He sobers up if only for that moment. "Had something on my mind."

"Something you can't tell me?"

"It's supposed to be a secret," He mumbles. He's really drunk. You realize this late. "So I don't know if I can."

"Mm," You reply. You feel like doting on him suddenly, so you do, petting the back of his neck before hugging him a little. "That's okay."

He follows up with a light groan. You've never heard him complain like that, so you laugh. "But I want to tell you."

"I promise I'll keep your secret at least."

He smiles at you more fully that time.

He pauses for a minute, thinking it over. You don't do or say anything in return. A beat passes of you two standing and swaying with silence where Shout to grabs your hands from in front of you. You think he's being affectionate again, wanting to hold them.

He draws your hands to his pocket though. The angle is awkward, makes you bend your wrist on the inside of coat pocket until you feel something hard and square touch your fingers. It's velvet from the material. A box of some kind.

...A box?

Shouto guides your hand again, this time out. When you pull it out, his palm is over yours. It's a jewellery box. You blink a few times, confused. Shouto hasn't let go of your hand.

"I keep missing the timing," He says, hiccuping. The lack of sobriety more clear than ever from the slight slur in his words. "It's been in my pockets for a while."

Your eyes go wide open. You can feel your own confusion and excitement twist and tangle inside of you, frantic to get a better read on the situation. He smiles down at you, disarmingly and then closes his eyes. His forehead is warm as it touches yours.

"...I thought you didn't want to married. Not really, at least." You whisper.

"Me too," He says, a wetness to his laugh that tugs at your heart . "It was on a whim. I wanted to talk to you about it. But." He frowns a little "It's tough."

You chuckle, a sudden wetness to your voice too. "I bet it was,"

He smiles at you, big and stupid. "I love you," He closes is eyes and presses his forehead to yours more. "Thank you for everything."

"Shouto," You repeat, unsure of what else to say. "What brought this up?"

"Mm," He shrugs, getting sleepier by the minute. "I thought giving you my last name would make you suffer." He admits, soft and unsure. "But taking yours. That felt...okay. Felt nice."

"You're silly."

"Yes," He says, not denying it. "And I love you."

"And you love me." You repeat, a grin splitting your face. Big tears at the corner of your eyes, making your vision sting and your cheeks ache. You look up at him again. "Enough to marry me?"

He seems almost sheepish that time. "If you'll have me."

"Are you sober enough to even remember this?"

His embarrassment makes him blush and laugh again. "My heart is beating so loud I'm a little afraid of it. So yes. I'm sure I'll remember." He admits.

"Let's get married, then." You repeat to him, so achingly happy you think you could die. You wonder when to tell your friends. Bakugou will be pissed you did at his place. "If you'll have me."

He smiles. "I'd like too."

You lean up to press a kiss to his mouth, and Shouto holds you there to kiss you longer than you expect. When you're done kissing, he's smiling.

"Anymore secrets?"

He thinks on it, then hums.

"We should get a cat."

[tryagainenthusiast]

mdni!

thinking about…

how unbelievably pussy drunk jeong jaehyun gets. his element is truly with his fingers gripping around your inner thighs, spreading them open for him. and keeping them open too—even when you start squirming, back arching away from the bed sheets just to try and move in some way. your brows furrowed together in an overwhelming sensation of dizzying pleasure while jaehyun eats you out, breath exhaling out of his nose and mouth completely muffled against you, eyes glancing up to memorise and sear every micro-expression you make into his head forever.

it all started the first time you let him go down on you. he was already turned on seeing you completely bare in front of him, his hands groping your boobs like its the first time he’s ever seen them, just glancing between your expression and the way his fingers curl around the flesh. your hair sprawled out around you, him stood between your legs looking like he might eat all of you up whole. but when he finally lowered himself down to your wriggling hips, pressing gentle kisses onto your skin all the way from your jaw, down the soft plane of your stomach and the space where the waistband of your panties once was, his mouth fell open a little at how lewd you were acting already, stringing out breathy little moans of his name. it almost felt like his stomach was curling in on itself. the kind of feeling you get only when you’re still a virgin, when the amateur hormone overload betrays you.

but he still pushed through, for you. ignored the tent in his sweatpants. ignored the way his own breath quickened and his face started to flush with a warmth. he still buried himself between your legs, mouth parted, eyes a little wide. he didn’t have to do much for your hips to buck up instinctively against his face, your head lifting suddenly from the bed to look down at what exactly he’s doing to you, hands already reaching for his hair. only to be met with his eyes already glancing up at you, pupils blown, letting out a moan against your slick middle he didn’t even know he could make.

his boxers grew unbearably tight, painfully stretching over his length until he considered just pulling his trousers down in that very moment. but he wouldn’t. he couldn’t when his hands were already preoccupied, wrapped tightly around the back of your thighs, lifting your hips up towards his greedy mouth at the perfect angle. his wet lips consuming everything you can give him until it dribbled down his chin and made the tip of his nose glisten. he mirrored your moans without even realising, feeling his face get even hotter, his crotch almost numb as he desperately moaned for your release in a way he never thought he could.

even as he gazed up at you, through his dark lashes and past the curves of your breasts, at the small glimpses of your exposed throat as you tilt your head back in pleasure sent jolts of something unexplainable to his cock. and as he listened to the final gasp of his name, felt your fingers grip tighter onto his hair and the heels of your feet digging into his back a little harder he didn’t even realise it was happening.

he spluttered a mewl against you, his hands gripping onto your thighs even tighter, his hips jerking forward automatically into nothing as his cum shot into his boxers, leaking through onto his sweats and leaving a dark grey stain. his brows furrowed, lips unsealing from around you for a moment, just so he can inhale a sharp breath. and then let his face fall back down between your legs, his cheek resting softly against your inner thigh, both of you panting like the room doesn’t have enough oxygen.

“i came.” he breathed out against your skin through the aftershocks, before you could even say anything. he wasn’t embarrassed, he was just putting it out there. letting you know that you made him come without touching him. that the sheer overdrive of his five senses with you turned him on enough to make him come in his pants. and you tilted your head to look down at him, a small, lazy smile on your face. and when you sat up, he let you run a soft fingertip down the stain. let you commit it to memory the way jaehyun has you.

and now every time he eats you out, slips his fingers around the waistband of your panties, pulling them down with one strong tug, you ask him, “are you going to come this time?” and he lets out a quiet chuckle, lowering himself to press a tiny kiss to your cheek and whisper back to you, “no promises. do you want me to?”

[transboyswitchytales]

Pretty Girl I'll Make You Famous 🔐

🔒Maya MasonxArtistReaderMason🔑

Part 1, Bitter pill, I'll make it painless, Show you how the stars are made I promise that they'll know your name Pretty girl, I'll make you famous

Part 2, So, gather 'round and run your mouths Did you forget you're in my fuckin' house?

Part 3, - Don’t test the switchblade in between my legs You wanna gain my trust and earn my respect Who’s to say a woman can’t think with her dick?

You are Maya Mason's wife and the head artist of Continental Studio's Animation division. You both haven't told the team that you are married. But the key to Maya's lock hangs around your neck..and that might just be a give away.

My Masterlist of Works

Pretty Girl MasterList

Mommy Kink!/G!PMaya/Impregnation kink/Video Game Discussions/ Manipulative Maya

You’d been in this industry for a while now. And you knew how these meetings usually went. But as of April, you’d been promoted. You were now the head artist of Animation for Continental Studios. So far, you have been greenlit for working on a new franchise. They wanted to make a popular video game series into an animated show. So you were sitting on a Tuesday afternoon with your best storyboard artist, Jennifer Kale. And the usual bigwigs: Matt, Sal, Quinn, Patty, and Maya. Of course.

Plus Alice, you’d figured taking Alice Wu-Gulliver would be a good idea. Knowing she could talk shop and not get her feelings hurt in the harsh crowd. While Jen would remain silent and take notes, Alice would politely defuse the conversation. Jennifer definitely could stir the drama, which is why you’d instructed her to be as quiet as she could stand. Which you knew was a losing game.  

Alice and you had spent some time with the storyboard team and made some concept sketches. A few mock posters for God of War, Red Dead, Halo, and Resident Evil. They were currently propped up, and your, Jen, and Alice drawings were spread across the conference table. 

What should have taken two hours was now going on six because none of them could agree on a fucking thing. You desperately wanted a new iced coffee, but you sat next to Alice as the guys paced. Patty was groaning with her feet on the table. Maya was across from you, but she wasn’t looking at the mockup drawings. She was looking at you, and you both knew why. 

Alice was talking to Matt and Sal while you and Maya had a silent debate wordlessly across the table. 

“So you like the God of War idea? Is it the idea of making it into more of an anime style that you don’t like?” Alice asked honestly, it was a good question. Seeing as how they’d been going around and around like school children for hours. 

“I like the anime idea,” Matt says, but then he looks down at a drawing and winces. 

“You keep making that face, what is it?” Quinn asks, and you are thankful for the woman. 

“Is it too hentai?” Matt questions. 

“What is hentai?” Patty says, groaning and pulling her hair in frustration. 

“Oh god.” Maya rolled her eyes, not wanting to explain it. She always knew what was in. 

“Porn.” You say through gritted teeth, surprising Sal in that moment. You’d kept your demeanor neutral for most of the meeting. Besides the communication of micro expressions with Maya. 

“Specificlly asian porn, so you don’t want to make it look like anime? Y/n made mock-ups that aren’t that-” Alice says delicately. 

“Look, I don’t mean to offend you-” Matt says, looking at Alice, and you try not to roll your eyes like Maya. Of course the white guy was saying that to the asian artist in the fucking room. Jen chuckled but didn’t say a word. 

“Not taking it personal-” Alice says, cutting him off before he can actually say something offensive. You decide to stop this before it’s an HR complaint you have to fix, again. 

“Matt, if you don’t want it to look like any kind of anime, we can go back to a more claymation look. 2D vector is in because of Rick and Morty.” You offer, and Maya nods, agreeing with you. Because you two always shared thoughts. 

“3D, 2D, hand-drawn is cool again because of Cuphead,” Alice adds, and you see Maya’s face twitch, she didn’t like the goth artist. Mostly because Alice had asked you out before you were her boss, and you had to tell Maya what happened. You two didn’t do secrets. You’d walked in with hickies the next day that would put a hentai artist to shame. 

“The point is, if you don’t like the more anime style, we can scrap it. No questions asked, we put it in because Netflix and Castlevania, and a bunch of the other ones. Listen, they aren’t producing it, but they’re marketing and distributing it. We just want to make sure our department gives you options. Whatever you guys decide is fine; we haven’t picked a franchise yet. Maybe we start there?” You try to keep it constructive, but Matt is staring at the Resident Evil drawing you’d made of Lady Dimitrescu. The over nine-foot-tall, large-breasted, vampire villain. And you tried to keep your face from looking annoyed at him ignoring you for boobs. Maya eyed you and followed your line of vision to see what was bothering you now. 

“Oh god, Matt put the damn drawing down. Don’t get an errection from a fucking drawing ok?” Maya snapped at the exec, who blushed and put it down. 

“No wait, that’s a good point. Matt, what gave you a boner?” Patty said, and you closed your eyes. You’d known this was going to happen. You’d drawn it, for god's sake, Maya had seen you drawing it. It was around four am, and you had your drawing table at a tilt as you made sure her breasts were proportionate to the video game. Maya had been in a mood since she couldn’t sleep without you next to her after all these years. But she’d seen you drawing and teased you about your concentration, until she saw what you were drawing, and her jealousy flared. She realized you’d not been in bed with your wife and instead been drawing boobs. So Maya took her top off to show you real boobs and fucked you against the drawing to prove that a vampire had nothing on her. 

Looking up at your wife in the conference room, she arched an eyebrow, her lips pursing a bit. You couldn’t talk to her about this even silently right now. 

Turning back to Patty and trying to tune back into the debate. 

“It has sex appeal.” Sal and Patty were, of course, on the same page. Quinn was looking at the drawing now, and she seemed to be having a sexual awakening. Maybe she’d finally figured out she was gay. Both you and Maya had been taking bets on how long it would take. 

Alice was explaining ‘The Village’ to the group. You took off your leather jacket and took a hair tie to tie up your long hair. As you stood and riffled through paperwork. You realized people were staring at you. Not just Maya, that was normal, but you realized men were looking. You turned to see Matt and Sal staring at your cleavage as you wore a low-cut shirt that was Maya’s today. 

But then you realized Patty was staring too, and she hadn’t been queer since the 80’s so something was up. Turning to Alice, who was looking too you realized that they were looking at your necklace. 

“Is that a key?” Sal asked as he had no ability to hold a thought in. 

“What?” You said trying to catch up with what they were curious about. 

You look over at Maya, who is smirking. Your eyes go down to her lock, the one around her neck. And then you realize, usually your chain is longer, more hidden, but it had broken during sex this morning. So Maya had grabbed a simple chain from her jewelry box. Then you’d moved the key that went to her lock onto it. 

“Oh…” You look down, realizing it’s visible and dangling from your neck. As you are hunched over the table.

“What’s the key go to?” Matt chuckled, and then Patty eyed Maya. 

“What’s your last name? Everyone calls you the what is it?” Patty snaps her fingers trying to remember. Quinn nods, trying to remember too and Alice winces at the names. She knew what people called her boss. But Maya licked her lips. Jen tensened next to Alice. 

“Yeah, before you got the promotion, they called you Walt’s Monster or the Reckless Rembrandt, and the Deviant of Da Vinci,” Sal said, and your fingers twitched. You knew what they’d called you. You were cutthroat, and you weren’t embarrassed. Maya and you both weren’t afraid of being crazy. You’d once set fire to an animator's desk because he wouldn’t listen to you. And he kept drawing dicks ontop of one of the queer interns illustrations. You felt for the young queer artists, poor Billly. You’d given Billy the assholes job, and you’d made an HR complaint against yourself.

 One of many���Because you’d set said assholes desk on fire. You’d taught everyone quickly that bullying wouldn’t be tolerated at your animation house. 

But you were feared in the Studio, and you didn’t mind. Maya was feared even more, and you two were a perfect match. Matching each other's freak, but you also were safety for each other. 

Nothing was embarrassing or too much in your house. Neither of you ever judged the other. Not for weird spirits of anger or workaholic-like tendencies. You had rules in your house about bedtime and self-care. But Maya knew what it took for an illustrator to make it. And you understood she was the thing between a movie that made it and a movie that tanked. And that was a lot on anyone's shoulders. 

But you’d found a home in each other long ago. Before you’d even worked for Maya’s studio. 

“Let’s stay on topic.” You interjected through clenched jaw, and Maya just tilted her head at you. You’d both made it a point to not mention that you were married. You’d been worried that people with think that Maya favored your projects because you were her wife. But you didn’t try to hide it that much. Your last name was Mason. But no one called you that; everyone just knew the nicknames. 

Maya laughs because she’d planned this. You see that now. She’d been getting annoyed at your desire to not tell people you were married to each other. The two of you had argued about it last weekend. 

“We aren’t teenagers. Baby, I don’t like that they don’t know you're mine!”

Maya complained having just got off the phone with her assistant. It was very late. She was in her bra and boxers and you were in her pajama pants and sports bra. Both of you were seated in the theater room. A long L shaped sofa that you were laying on as she paced. Her acrylic nails were perfect as she threw her hands in the air. 

You had your large iPad on your lap with your Apple Pencil between your lips. You don’t know what the silly assistant had said, but it had pissed off your wife. Because you were drawing and tuning them out, and now the veins were popping from Maya’s forehead. 

You rubbed your temples and took the pencil out of your mouth to respond. 

“Maya, I am yours. We know that. I wear my wedding ring to work every day! I’m not exactly hiding you in a closet!” You knew you shouldn’t have met her anger with irritation. 

“Alice didn’t seem to notice your wedding ring.”

You roll your eyes at her and she growls.

“You know I shut that down. She’s also one of my best concept and sketch artists. I’m not going to-“

“Mentioning it to HR, protects you both!” 

You’d told her you weren’t going to HR because of a harmless, casual ask-out. Alice wasn’t a perv who couldn’t take no for an answer. You’d told her you were married, and she’d apologized. That was that. You’d know if you’d taken her to HR, that would mean Maya could pull her file and make life hell for the poor artist. She’d even blacklist her if Maya wanted.

“Baby-“

“We were talking about trying for a kid! What happens when you are pregnant? I’m not allowed to bring you lunch? Can’t have lunch with my wife?!”

You knew now that Maya was upset yes, but she was scared. Something that you didn’t see from your wife often. You try to ground her in facts. 

“Maya you bring me coffee and lunch now! Why would that change?” You say more patient then before. 

“So the studio thinks your husband got you pregnant? That you are straight?” Maya sneers and she looks at the large projector screen. You’d put on ‘The Visit’ which had been a fun pick. Maya had not seen it yet, but you didn’t miss a Kathryn Hahn film.

 It was the scene where the grandma is getting the young girl to crawl into the oven. Maya looks momentarily distracted but you knew better. She grabs the remote and pauses it. Which you take to mean she is actually enjoying the film enough to not want to miss it. 

“No one thinks I’m straight at work.” You tell her and she plops down onto the sofa next to you. She grabs your knees and pulls you into her lap. You are all too happy to sit on Maya’s lap. 

“I know you just got that promotion. I’m so proud of you darling. We aren’t on different levels now-” Maya tries to reason with you.

“Say that to my paycheck, Mama still makes a lot more than me.” You tease and smile and Maya doesn’t fall for the distraction. 

“You are my wife. I heard my assistant talking with Matt, who was asking Patty if you were single. No one is paying attention to your wedding ring, which is rude since I spent so long picking it. Now I’m tired of this. I want to have your pussy in my mouth in the office. And I want people to get scared when they’re rude to you, because they know your Mommy will skin them alive.” Maya smirks at her sinister thoughts, and you kiss her. She moans as your tongue seeks hers. You start to make out, and it does distract her this time. Maya’s need to possess you, be inside you, it’s just too much. 

You’d been an idiot to think that was the end of the conversation. Now looking at Maya with a gleam in her eye and her hair cascading down her gorgeous back that you’d scratched up this morning. You realize she’d planned all of this. 

“No I really don’t remember her last name!” Patty said annoyed, not one to be distracted like your wife by your breasts. 

“Boss?” Jennifer asks her eyebrows knit in confusion on what to do. Jennifer tended to defend you in the workplace. Which was sweet but not needed. Jen told the men in the office that if you’d been a guy, they wouldn’t have given you such nicknames or questioned your authority. They’d all see you for the talented artist and the sharp business mind you were. You’d fucking studied animation at CalArts. You’d undergrad at the Rhode Island School of Design. 

You were a triple threat with illustration. You could paint, animate, concept art, story board, block a fucking scene. You knew so much about special effects that Maya when you first started dating would call you and send you top secret scenes to make sure they didn’t look stupid. You’d helped her, free of charge of course. But somehow Maya always paid you for your work, in fancy dinners, in weekends away, in new art equipment, even in hours of her between your thighs. Maya always liked treating her favorite artist. 

“It’s fine Jen, my last name is Mason.” You don’t look at Maya but you turn to Patty and tilt your head much like your wife does. You roll your tongue over your front teeth. 

“Shit. Fucking..oh shit.” Sal says, and his eyes look at your wife. 

Patty starts to laugh so hard you think she might have broken. Quinn’s mind can’t seem to catch up to how you both are gay and married, and successful. 

“Oh my god.” Alice whispers looking down at her lap as if she’s about to totally be fired. 

“It’s fine Alice.” You whisper to her and she looks like she doesn’t believe you for a second. So Jen pats her shoulder to comfort the poor artist. Jen wasn’t shocked as she’d worked for you before.

“Woah that’s crazy coincidence! Unless, are you guys like related though, like cousins?” Matt says over Pattys laughter. And Sal looks like he’s gonna combust at Matt’s dumb ass. 

“Would she be wearing the key to Maya’s lock if they were cousins Mathew? It’s a fucking kinky thing idiot.” Sal whisper screams at him. You force a smile at the head of the studio. 

“Oh my god.” Matt’s mind is starting to catch up and it’s hilarious. Meanwhile Maya just looks like the king of the table. She’s smiling broadly like she’s won the lotto. She’s made everyone uncomfortable and the cat is out of the bag. 

Patty finally stands up to stop laughing as she goes over to find the booze and she pours three whiskeys. 

“Isn’t it a little early to be-” Quinn says not liking that Patty was drinking in a meeting. But Patty holds the tops of the three glasses pinching them to carry them and the bottle. She pushes one towards Matt. But Sal takes it instead and downs it. Then she walks over to Maya. 

“Mozel Tov.” She says and hands Maya a drink. Maya clicks her glass against Patty’s and the two down their drinks. 

“Boss?” Jennifer asks again unsure of how to defend you. You’d not needed her defending. But you’d hired Jen when she was like twenty two out of art school. And she’d followed you to the studio. So you knew Kale was ready to walk out if you were. 

“Relax Kale, no one’s in trouble. And we are making the Resident Evil and God of War animated films. Matt they’re brilliant and my wife will need a full budget. She’s already got the story board mostly complete but I’m sure Maximoff got a script already, right Babe?” Maya looks at you now and you roll your eyes and nod. Wanda had been your friend for a long time and you two had already been working on stories. The two of you could make anything fantastic together. 

“Sounds good to me Matt.” Patty agrees and refills Maya and her own glass. 

“So vampires?” Sal asks and Matt is still reeling, his eyes are huge and you don’t know if he can even hear the room anymore. You look over at Alice but she’s gawking at Maya with so much fear. So you turn to Jen to back you and she doesn’t need to be told twice. 

“Vampires are part of it, but not all of it. It’s supernatural beings meets Daddy Daughter day. Think The Last of Us kind of a thing.” Jen tells the team and you wish you’d let her talk instead of Alice now. She’d been solid at pitching ideas in the animators room. But she’d not liked white dudes in power, and you couldn’t blame her.

“God of War should be a different type of animation. So people don’t think we’re just re-doing the last thing.” Quinn says and Maya looks ready to tell her she’s an idiot. 

“We could do the anime style for Resident Evil, because the sex appeal. Then we’ll make more of a Marvel comic look for God of War. Lots of blood in both but different amount of visual carnage.” You instruct. 

“I like it, like Kill Bill animation scene?” Matt says finally looking at you. 

“Exactly.” You agree with him, and he smiles. Patty leans down to pour more alcohol into his and Sal’s cup. Like they’d earned it this time. Sal let’s Matt drink this time. 

“So manga style for Resident Evil and God of War get’s comic book. Do we lean more towards Deadpool type of humor?” Jen asks and she’s not looking at the room but writing things down. 

“No, it’s not gonna sell as well. Keep the Last of Us idea for both. Make it heartfelt but gory and marketable.” Maya says and she sips at her drink. 

“Does Hr?” Quinn starts asking Maya who holds up her hand. 

“We’re married, and I didn’t hire my girl. The Studio knew the Deviant of Da Vinci was the best fit. I didn’t do a thing. So there will be no complaints or silly favoritism.”

It was a half-truth, Maya was always doing something behind the scenes. But your portfolio got you the job. As for the raise and promotion you weren’t a hundred percent sure she didn’t do something. But Maya kept talking firmly with the class. 

“Mrs. Mason got here because she’s the best. My wife also saved our last animated film. Which I was able to market and profit the studio two billion dollars. So does anyone want to complain?” Maya asked and the look in her eyes was enough to make the grown men feel scared. 

“Let’s just focus on the films. I’ll have Wanda send over her script for Resident Evil. I’ve got Romanoff and Barton ready to write for God of War. Does anyone have anyone else they want to throw in the ring?” You ask and Patty drinks before shaking her head in surprise. 

“You got Wanda Inc and R&B Productions in your back pocket? Matt your head animator needs a fucking raise. Besides if you piss her of she’ll set the place on fire and then Maya will kill you with her bare hands. Da Vinci, honey, you just email me when you've got them all lined up. I’ll come over and produce. Not that it seems like you need any help. We always knew whoever Maya ended up with would be a firecracker.”

“More like a pitbull.” Quinn murmured and you turned and glared at her. She seems a bit scared of you and her eyes went down to her notes. 

“Natasha won’t work with us.” Sal said and he took the glass from Matt and drank the last of his whiskey. 

“Why not?” Patty angrily snapped at him.

“Because someone tried to hit on her at a Cat Blanchet party and now she thinks our studio is the plague.” Matt said staring at Sal and everyone knew exactly what happened. 

“She’ll work with me. Just keep Sal out of the studio when she’s on my side of the lot.” You said confidently and Maya grinned at you. She’d been telling you that the Animation building was ‘yours.’ And now in front of Matt you were owning it. And she couldn’t be more proud. 

“We can do that.” Matt said and he grabbed the Resident Evil drawing you’d done of Ethan Winters. “Do we really want him to be white?”

This made another four hours of discussion over voice actors. 

_________________

When the meeting was finally over, Matt offered to take everyone out to dinner. You turned to Maya, who didn’t look like she felt anyway about it. But you two spoke a different language for each other. So when you finished your silent discussion, you turned to Matt.

“Sorry Mr. Remick, I need to start illustrations for the first teaser-” He shook his head at you not taking no for an answer.

All of you were walking out of the conference room and you cursed yourself for being friendly. 

“It’s Matt! And no way, we’ve never gone drinking together! And with your promotion we gotta celebrate! Right Patty!”  He said as you guys walked out the front door in a group. Jen shook her head and you touched her shoulder to bring her to the side. Jen had the big mock ups under her arm and she’d have to bring them back to work tomorrow. 

“Bye girl, I’m going the fuck home,” Jen said as Patty, Sal, and Matt bickered about restaurants. 

“See you tomorrow. Drive safe, Kale.” You tell her, and she smiles at you.

“Good job today Boss. Two feature films, our old boss could never have gotten them to do one. Continental is about to get rocked by it’s illustrators!” Jennifer shouts at you before she crosses the studio to her side of the parkinglot. Alice waits until Jen is away to ask you something.

“Do I still have a job?”

“Oh my god Alice, yes. I can’t do these films without you-”

“Yeah you could, you could totally Miyazaki the shit out of this. But is Maya gonna let me stay?” Alice asks just as you feel your wife coming over to you. Her hand grabs your ass and you know she’s not a fan of you alone with your flirty animator. So her possessive hand holds your right asscheek to remind everyone on the lot what happens in your bedroom.

“Yes, you have a job. Do not worry. Go get some rest. Early start tomorrow with Wanda, ok?” You tell her and she smiles more reassured and eyes Maya before waving goodbye to you both and running after Jen. You hoped the two of them would get drunk and date each other already.

“You sure know how to manage your minions, Baby,” Maya whispers before her body is flush with yours. One hand coming around your hips. You are holding the file with all the drawings from today. You ignored her compliment and closed your eyes, letting your head fall back onto her shoulder. Her long, dark hair tickling your ear. Before you straightened back up remembering what the three of them were talking about behind you. Maya made a noise of irritation at you moving away from her shoulder. She liked how cuddly you were, she demanded PDA. And now you had no reason not to touch each other at work. 

But you broke her pout with your own. 

“Please tell me we aren’t going to get drinks with Matt and the gang.” You didn’t turn to look at her as she kissed behind your ear. You felt the last traces of her lipstick against your skin. 

“I already told you my thoughts, and you read me better than anyone.” She teases and you knew from before she didn’t want to hang out with them tonight. Maya usually bitched about Matt and Sal after work for twenty minutes each night before she sighed and said ‘ok enough of them, give Mama a kiss’ and you guys continued your night without their names. 

“Ok, we settled on a nightclub!” Matt says coming over to you both. You try to hold your grimace but Maya’s hand on your ass squeezes and you know she is aware of your displeasure. The two of you tolerated clubs but neither of you were in your twenties anymore. Clubs weren’t so much fun when you had things like responsibilities and mortgages. 

“I’m taking my wife home Matt. You guys have fun.” Maya says and it’s stern and leaves no room for arguing but Quinn comes around with her iphone. And she’s typing and looking up to Sal. 

“We have to go! We all have to go! It’s bonding!” She squeals, and you take a half step back towards Maya’s side, and she knows what that means. You feel anxious, and it’s her job to get you out. She’d appointed herself your protector in all things. 

“We are leaving, see ya tomorrow!” Maya turns you around and she flips her long hair over her shoulder. 

“We need to go by your office and get your stuff?” You ask Maya and she shakes her head. She pulled the keys to her car out of her pocket. 

“Nah, Baby, it can all wait until tomorrow. Straight home or do you wanna get Indian on the way?” She asked, and your mood shifted and you beamed at her. Maya always knew what to say. 

“Indian, you’ll even let me get it super spicy?”

“Whatever my little artist wants, she gets.” Maya teased and you rolled your eyes at her. But she came around to the front of the executive's lot, where she had one of the best parking spots. 

Opening the passenger side you threw your art in the back like it didn’t matter, and her eyebrows furrowed. But Maya closed the car door. You let your head lean back against the sports car's headrest. Maya has a few cars, but you never cared much about vehicles. But she’s got a big Hummer, a SUV, and this little red Bugatti Chiron. 

It’s got a gorgeous interior and it costs 3.5 million. You had been shocked when she’d brought it home. You both usually talked about big purchases. 

But that was when Maya had been promoted and made the big bucks. So you’d let her celebrate and she’d fucked you inside and on the hood to christen it. 

You close your eyes and try to box breathe through the anxiety, and Maya opens her side and she goes over to your thrown art. You hear papers moving, and you open one eye, confused. But Maya is collecting all of you and your team's drawings and putting them back into the folder carefully. 

“What are you doing?” You finally ask and she’s put the drawing on the back seat now that they weren’t wrecked all over. “Were you mad I made a mess in your pretty car?” You tease. 

She snorts at you.

“No, I just don’t like the idea that my wife’s drawings are crumpled in a pile like they aren’t stunning. Like she didn’t spend a week preparing for that meeting.”

“Maya..” You say like she’s the sweetest, and her face softens, and she leans over and pecks your lips.  

“Your art matters to me.”

“You mean because it’s gonna make you a bunch of money and you can buy a Bugatti in blue this time?”

Now Maya throws her head back and laughs. 

“No, but that’s not untrue. I cared about your art long before it made Mama any money baby. You have more talent in your pinky finger than every soul combined in this whole lot.” She says starting her car like it’s just a fact she says everyday and no big deal. You grab her strong bicep and she turns to you. 

“You actually believe that?”

“Of course I do. And you should too if you know what’s good for you.” Your wife says, and then the Bugatti is revved and she burns rubber as she speeds off the lot. 

_______

After you put the order in on your phone, the two of you picked up dinner. You are stuck in traffic now with everyone else in LA. And you groan before grabbing your phone and start checking work emails. Maya has at one point pulled her sunglasses on, and she’s looking at you and not at the road. 

You know Maya, you’d been married for thirteen years now going on fourteen and you’d both never stopped fucking. So you didn’t need to see her eyes, or an inch of her face to know what she was thinking. 

“Whatever your cock wants right now it’s gonna have to wait until we get home.” You say as you write an email back to Natasha about how the meeting went and what the story elements she wants to incorporate. 

It’s not the first film you're going to work on. You figured you’d break your team in half, one side for Jen and one for Alice. You’d have Jen focus on God of War because the comic was more her speed. Alice obviously like you, enjoyed more supernatural animes, and she’d rather work on Resident Evil. Also, Alice played more video games in general so she’d be good on both. So maybe you should need to make her go on both projects and then mayb-

“Darling, stop it.” You looked up to see you were still sitting in traffic, you turned to Maya who had lifted up her sunglasses and was looking at you like she’d caught you doing something naughty. 

“What? Is there something on my face? Is it pen again, and you are just now telling me?” You wipe at your nose. You always had pencil or charcoal on your nose. You’d been worse with paint during college. Maya always found it adorable and you knew sometimes she didn’t even tell you, just liked to watch you. 

“No, you don’t have anything on your face. You are ignoring your wife though. You are sitting there thinking of how you want to divy up your team. Your answering emails and I need your full attention.”

“You aren’t getting head while we are on the 405 again. You are going to wait until we get home and then you can fuck my throat until the cows come home.” You tell her putting your phone down.

“That’s a visual, what a dirty girl I stole. No, I’m talking about how I’ve been talking to you for the past six minutes and you haven’t listened to a word of it! If we were just now dating I’d be offended. But since we’re married, I know where you sleep. I’ll just get my revenge when you least expect it.” She smirks, showing her teeth now. 

“Maya Mason, I apologize for being such a bad wife. What were you wanting to talk about?”

“This week, I was thinking we should have you stop taking birth control. I can call tomorrow and get you in with your OBGYN. I’ll have my assistant clear whatever day you want this week, and we’ll go together. That’s what I was talking about.” Maya wiggled her eyebrows, and it had the effect she wanted as you laughed. But then you did what she didn’t want and you shook your head. And she groaned in clear upset. 

“My love, we talked about this. I just got promoted, we need to wait a few years. Let me make a few billion for the studio and have job security-”

“You already have job security because I’ll never let them get rid of you!” Maya says offended that you thought she’d let something so stupid happen at her studio. To you of all people!

“And then once everything's running smoothly, we will take the IUD out. I promise, then you can get me pregnant as many times as you want.” You say, and you see Maya is annoyed and also delighted all at the same time. Before she speaks again. 

“Ok, first off, nothing in the studio will ever run smoothly. That’s just showbiz, my girl. Secondly, you are saying I get to pick now how many kids we have?”

“We can compromise, I get to say when and you get to say how many, how about that?” You knew Maya was a business girl down to her bones, and she thought for a minute. 

“I am gonna draw up a contract tonight.” 

You laugh at her in shock. Your eyebrows went high up your forehead.

“Will this be as legally binding as the key and lock situation we have?” You tease and Maya bites her lip and you can see she’s excited. 

“You are going to regret your terms now, baby girl.”

“Oh my god Maya how many do you want!”

“I’m thinking eight.”

“NO WAY! YOU want my vagina to be as congestied as the 405! Your dick will never be snug inside me again! It’ll be a hot dog in a hallway situation!”

“You are unbelievably tight already, and I’m not worried about it. I want eight kids running around who look like you and swear like me. You already said I could have as many as I want, you fucking blew it superstar. I gotta teach you how to negotiate again.” Maya laughs, and the traffic is moving now. 

“Is it too late to get a divorce?” You tease, but you see Maya’s lip twitch. She didn’t like joking about divorce and you knew that. She’d never been divorced, never had kids, and she never wanted either. Not until she’d met you. 

“Baby.” She said and you slide over and kiss her jaw. 

“Sorry Mommy. That wasn’t very nice. Can I make it up to you?” You ask and your hand is on her thigh. It moves up her tight pants and you don’t have to travel far to feel her cock twitch under your hand. 

“You know I don’t like it when you say the D word.” Maya whispers and you know she’s not happy. 

“You know I’d never. Let me make it up to you? Let me taste you?” You say and you kiss the side of her mouth and you feel her cock harden under your touch. Blood pumping to her shaft and out of her head. And you have Maya Mason wrapped around your finger. You have the key to her heart. 

To be continued..

Pretty Girl I’ll Make You Famous MasterList

[ariestrxsh]

pervy!bsf!chris x innocent!bsf!reader

᧔•᧓ content warning: smut, innocence corruption, degradation, panty stealing, pillow riding, vouyerism, masturbation, chris thinks about you while having sex with another girl

᧔•᧓ summary: after chris witnesses a private moment you had with your pillow, he steals the pair of your panties you had on

requested/inspired by this ask ᧔•᧓

dividers by @/anitalenia

Creeping

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 |

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"You should have seen her face," Chris told you, the corners of his lip turning up in a conceited smile. Your very experienced best friend was sitting at the edge of your bed beside you, recounting his most recent sexual encounter to you in great detail. "Eyes rolled back in her head while she took it like a little slut," Chris gazed into your eyes, leaning in and wetting his lips.

His seductive stare made your heartbeat quicken, and your body temperature rose. "While she took what like a little slut?" You innocently asked, crinkling your nose. You had a vague idea, but you were dying to hear him say it. "My cock, silly," Chris chuckled at you, nudging you in the arm.

You were a virgin, and Chris knew this. Despite never having had sex, you were very curious about the subject, and it always piqued your interest, the way Chris talked about sex. "Do girls like that? When you call them a slut?" You wondered aloud. "Depends on the girl. Some can't get enough of it," Chris replied, his voice thick with lust.

"I don't know if I'd like it. I mean, I'm not one," you giggled. "Well, I think you really like when I tell you this kind of stuff, so I don't know. You might be a little bit of a slut," Chris teased you, immediately sending blood rushing to your cheeks and a wetness between your legs. "No, I'm not!" You gently shoved him, trying to conceal your embarrassed smile. He could tell you liked it, but you weren't sure if you were allowed to like it.

"You're right. Only a little slut would wanna hear me talk about how I filled up another girl and watched it all drip out," he snickered, watching the way you blushed at his words. You bit your lip, and a micro-expression of desire slipped into your facial features. You couldn't help the way your body was reacting to him.

Chris grew hard from watching your reactions to his escapades, especially because he knew you'd always had a big crush on him, and he knew how much you liked picturing him in such a compromising position despite the fact that you tried to hide it. "You're imagining it, aren't you?" Chris taunted you, reading your body language and searching your features with his blue eyes.

"I am not!" You huffed in response, denying his claim and crossing your arms over your chest. "If you say so," Chris said, remaining unconvinced. "Well, I'm gonna head out. I'm going to see that girl again," Chris responded, getting up from your bed and pulling you into a long hug.

You felt a range of emotions - incredibly turned on by the images he'd just filled your head with, but you also felt jealous and heartbroken. You couldn't help the way you felt for Chris, and you desperately wanted to be the one that he was doing all of those things to. However, you knew he was a player, and you figured he'd only ever go for the experienced girls anyway.

"Stay out of trouble while I'm gone, hmm?" He joked, ruffling your hair. After he kissed you on the forehead, which awakened a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, he took off down your stairs and out your front door.

He got into his car, turned the key in the ignition, and rolled down his windows, letting the fresh air in. He was right about to turn on some music when he patted both his jeans pockets in search of his phone only to remember he'd left it in your bedroom. He sighed, cutting the engine and making his way back up to your house.

He knocked on the door and waited a few moments, but when you didn't answer, Chris decided to let himself in. It's not like he could call you.

He climbed back up your stairs, his heavy shoes hitting the ground beneath him as he hurried. He wandered down your hallway, heading towards your room. He could see his phone sitting face up on top of your vanity through the crack in the door. "Hey, I -" Chris started to say, but as he nearly entered your bedroom, he abruptly stopped and watched in awe.

There you were on your bed, eyes screwed shut, eyebrows pinned together, and lips parted as you straddled your pillow, rocking your hips back and forth. You were using one hand to stabilize yourself on the bed, and the other was clutching your breast through your shirt. A smug smile crossed Chris' face as he peeped on you from the hallway.

His hand immediately flew up to his hard cock, and he started gently palming it as he fixed his gaze on your expression. No wonder you hadn't heard his knock or his voice before he'd nearly walked in unannounced. You were completely immersed in pleasure, grinding away on your pillow.

You bucked your hips faster, reaching up your blouse and gently rolling your nipple between two of your fingertips, unknowingly flashing him the underside of your breast. The boy you were fantasizing about while doing such a vulnerable thing was still staring at you through the crack in the door, mouth wide open and eyebrows raised.

"Oh, fuck," Chris quietly whispered to himself as the scene unfolded before him, reaching into his jeans and wrapping his fingers around his cock. He started pumping his hand over his length, every once in a while, lightly brushing over his tip that was beginning to gush with precum.

Your breath was picking up, your hips were moving back and forth at a faster pace as you felt the wonderful tension in your lower stomach. "Oh, Chris," he heard you hiss as your whole body trembled. You came unraveled, moans unfurling from your lips as you threw your head back. You were completely lost in the throes of ecstasy, your thrashing hips starting to slow to an unhurried grind.

A satisfied smile crept across your face as you glanced down at the wet spot on your pillow case. Chris immediately stopped jerking off, worried you'd look up and see him through the crack in your door. He tucked his erection back into his pants and hurriedly closed his zipper.

You tugged the pillowcase off and threw it on the floor. You pulled yourself to your feet, your legs still feeling weak and wobbly from your intense orgasm. Chris watched as you faced away from him, pulling down your bottoms and tugging off your shirt, discarding them on the ground next to your soiled pillowcase.

He admired your curves, taking in the sight of your perfectly shaped ass and the way it bounced as you walked into your connected bathroom. You shut the door behind you, a click sounding as it latched shut, and he heard the shower kick on. His eyes were drawn to the mess of clothes in the middle of your bedroom floor.

There laid the band t-shirt you'd just had on, the cut off shorts you were just in, and the pink panties you were just wearing. He creeped into your room, leaned down, and picked your underwear up off the floor. They were pretty and silky, and Chris immediately noticed the soaked spot on the front of them.

A faint smirk graced his features as he stuffed them into his back pocket. He was so enamored with what he'd just seen, he nearly forgot his phone, the whole reason he'd come back in the first place. He slipped back out before you had any idea.

Once you got out of the shower, you gathered the pile of clothes. You were about to throw them in your hamper and take them to do your laundry when you noticed an important item was missing. You started to search around, looking under your bed, under the floor mat in your bathroom, and you even started to question if you'd even worn underwear that day, which would have been strange for you not to notice you'd forgotten to put them on.

You eventually gave up on finding them, certain that they'd turn up at some point, and you walked off with your hamper to go wash the rest of your clothes. Chris found himself in his most recent hook up's bed, bending her over while he took her from behind.

Things had gotten so heated between the two of them so quickly that they hadn't even made it all the way out of their clothes. Chris had lazily pulled his date's thong to the side with his pants still halfway on when he'd stuck his cock into her. The only problem was Chris couldn't get you off his mind.

He was in the middle of delivering a powerful thrust when he remembered he had your panties. Chris was usually against thinking about someone else when he was having sex with a woman, because he considered it rude, and he wanted to be fully present with the person in front of him, but it felt like he had no control over what happened next.

He retrieved the silk fabric from his back pocket, admiring how pretty they were once again. He couldn't stop thinking about the fact that they'd had direct contact with your pussy and how you'd soaked through them while thinking about him. He closed his eyes and pressed the soft material up to his nose, taking a deep inhale, your arousal filling his senses.

He sped up his movements, his date moaning his name and begging him to fill her up again. He couldn't help himself. He kept imagining it was you beneath him, his mind swirling with how your cunt would feel stretching around him for the first time and how his name would sound leaving your lips in your most desperate moment. It was almost too much for him to handle.

"Take it. Take my cock like the little slut you know you are," he whispered, pretending you were the one he was saying it to. "Chris! Don't stop!" The woman beneath him practically screamed as her pussy started rhythmically clenching around his length. With your panties still balled up in his fist, Chris came, pumping his date full of his warm, sticky load with the thought of you humping your pillow and moaning his name still lingering in his mind.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, driving his dick as far deep in as it could go into her before coming to a stop. "Wow, Chris. That was amazing," she breathlessly said, slumping forward into her pillow as she recovered. A smirk spread across his lips. He loved hearing how good he was from his satisfied partners.

He quickly shoved your panties back into his back pocket, cleared his throat, and pulled out. "Fuck, that never gets old," he whispered, watching his seed overflowing from her hole and spilling out onto the sheets. "You're such a perv, Chris," his date laughed, rolling her eyes, secretly loving that about him. "I'm not as pervy as you are slutty," he shot back, chuckling and pulling up his boxers and his jeans. "Can't argue with that," she said, smiling as she shifted around her bed to face him.

"Hey, are you okay? The sex was great and all, but you just seem preoccupied, like you're mentally checked out or something," she asked, cradling his face while her gaze met his. Chris' eyes quickly veered away from her's, a bit of guilt seeping into his conscience. He liked getting off to you, but he didn't like thinking about you when he was with another girl, and he felt bad that she could feel his displaced energy.

"You know, I'm sorry. My mind is just kinda somewhere else right now," he admitted, shrugging. "Come on. Lay down with me. Let's talk about it," she said, covering herself in her sheet as she curled up into her bed. Chris shook his head. "I'm so sorry. I can't stay the night tonight. I have a lot to think about," Chris replied, grabbing his shirt off the floor and throwing it on. "That's okay. Maybe next time?" She smiled. He leaned in and kissed her. "Goodnight," he said before leaving her house.

Chris stepped out into the darkness. He heard the crickets chirping nearby and the distant sound of cars whooshing passed each other on the overpass. He unlocked his car door and collapsed down into his seat to join the rest of the late night drivers, wondering what had gotten into him and why he still couldn't get you out of his head.

click to read part 2 ᧔•᧓

[internetdaddy98]

Checkmate

Previous | Next [Series Masterlist]

Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!SeniorResident!Reader Summary: The aftermath of the kiss simmers beneath the surface of the ER like a live wire, crackling just out of sight. Dr. Robby and Dr. Sheridan haven’t spoken since the night in the alley, but the silence between them is deafening. Word Count: 1.4 K Content Warning: 18+ MDNI, Explicit Content, Explicit Language, Medical procedures, will most likely be medically inaccurate at times, unresolved tension.

There was an unspoken charge in the air that made everyone sharper, edgier, like a thunderstorm was coiled somewhere in the hallways. And at the center of it were Dr. Sheridan and Dr. Robby, both too quiet, too stiff, and too carefully avoiding each other’s eyes.

They hadn’t spoken since the alleyway.

Since the kiss.

Since the pull of years of restraint finally snapped and Robby had pushed you away, not because he didn’t want you, but because he did.

Now, under the clinical glare of the ER, everything they hadn’t said the night before was screaming in the space between them.

You stood at the workstation, hoodie off, stethoscope looped around your neck, typing through a patient chart. Calm. Focused. Barely a flicker of emotion on your face.

Robby walked past you to grab a tablet, not meeting your eyes.

Dana noticed it before lunch.

She was many things, charge nurse, ER gatekeeper, queen of organized chaos, but above all, Dana was observant. She noticed the way Robby’s voice dropped a degree colder when he addressed you that morning. She noticed the micro-expressions that flickered across your face whenever he gave an order, a clench of your jaw, a tightness in your posture.

And she noticed Robby, usually steady, controlled, slow to anger, snapping at interns and pacing like a caged animal.

At noon, she cornered Langdon.

“Something’s up with those two,” she muttered. Langdon raised a brow. “You think they finally—”

“I don’t know what they did,” Dana said, folding her arms. “But if they keep this up, someone’s going to bleed.”

She wasn’t wrong.

The trauma bay doors flung open, a GSW to the abdomen, male, 20s, hypotensive, intubated in the field. The trauma team mobilized fast. Robby took the lead, you beside him, Santos and Whittaker flanking.

“Prep for laparotomy,” Robby snapped. “He’s actively bleeding out.”

“He’s stable enough for CT,” you pushed, already reviewing vitals. “We need imaging, if we open him without knowing the path, we might waste time.”

“We don’t have time.”

“You’re not listening”

“I said we’re doing the laparotomy,” Robby barked, eyes sharp. His voice cracked across the trauma bay like thunder, silencing everyone in earshot.

You stepped back, stunned silent for a breath.

The patient’s blood dripped onto the floor. Nurses moved faster. Santos shot you a side glance that said do not escalate this here. And you, with your heart hammering, clenched your jaw and stepped back, swallowing the fury that rose like bile in your throat.

It wasn’t about the patient. Not entirely.

It was about you.

About what had happened. About what they’d let happen.

About everything he was trying not to feel. By the end of the shift, you were suffocating. You hadn’t eaten. You hadn’t breathed. You were sick of pretending you were fine.

He waited for you near the ambulance bay, leaning against his car like a shadow waiting to snatch you. You barely had time to process it before Robby caught you by the sleeve just outside his car.

He didn’t blink. “We need to talk. Get in the car.”

You stared at him, arms crossed, defiant. “I don’t take orders off shift.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

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

The car ride was unbearable.

The tension was a noose. His hands gripped the steering wheel too tightly. Your arms were crossed, gaze fixed out the window. Not even the radio dared to play. For ten full minutes, nothing was said. Only the hum of the tires on wet asphalt and the storm churning between them. You sat beside him, arms folded, heart hammering. The air between you was too quiet, too dense. You could feel him there, the nearness of him, the warmth radiating off his body. It burned.

You finally exhaled. “Are you going to pretend forever that nothing happened?”

Robby pulled the car down and parked in the alleyway of a closed flower shop. The street was empty. The only sound was the ticking of the engine.

“I’ve spent three years telling myself I’m your mentor. Your advocate. Someone who’s supposed to keep you safe. And then I—” he stopped, exhaled, ran a hand through his hair. “And then I kissed you like I’ve wanted to do for the past goddamn year.”

You stared at him, throat tight. “So what now? You push me away again? Pretend it didn’t happen?”

“I’m trying to protect you from me.”

“Well, don’t,” you said softly. “Because it’s too late.”

You leaned toward him, voice low. “You think I don’t know? That you look at me like I’m some innocent thing you want to break?”

He swallowed hard.

“You already did,” you whispered. “And I’d let you do it again.”

He leaned into you like a magnet being called home. Your mouths met with bruising force, years of restraint shattering. His hands tangled in your hair, yours clawed at his hoodie. The windows fogged. His breath was ragged against your skin. You gasped when he kissed the space just beneath your ear, and he moaned your name like it was a confession.

Your hand curled around the back of his neck, tugging him to your mouth again. The kiss was messy this time, desperate. His hands found your hips, dragged you across the console like he needed you there, like he couldn’t breathe unless you were closer.

Your mouths moved in sync, raw and full of hunger. You moaned into his mouth when his hands slipped beneath your shirt, palms dragging up the warm skin of your back. His breath stuttered when your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his pants.

His mouth trailed down your neck, and you gasped. “Michael…”

The sound of your voice, his name — not Dr. Robinavitch, not Robby, but Michael, it made something break open in him.

He groaned, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath ragged. “We have to stop.”

You froze against him.

He was panting. Torn.

“If we don’t stop now, I won’t,” he said, voice gravel-thick. “And you deserve better than the front seat of my Subaru.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your skin. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you breathed. “Please. Please. Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

Their clothes were tugged, shifted, pulled aside in desperation. Your breath hitched when his hands slid up to cup your breasts, over your ribs, your chest. His mouth followed, teeth grazing, lips soothing. You clawed at his collar, fingers shaking. Your head fell back when he whispered your name against your throat.

When you reached down and freed him from his waistband, he groaned into your shoulder, hands trembling.

“This is insane,” he panted. “This is, fuck, Y/N—”

“I want you,” you said. “I want you,”

You guided him with a slow grind of your hips and he caught your mouth in his just as he slid inside. The sound you both made was guttural, shock and relief and need colliding all at once.

Robby held you in a tight embrace, had you constricted against him as he rocked into you, as you continued riding him. Your eyes shut and mouth open in a moan, you throw your head back to expose the long column of your throat. The windows fogged. The car rocked. Your gasps filled the small space like a secret song. He kissed you like he wanted to ruin you and worship you all at once, rough and desperate and sacred.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t pretty.

It was honest.

And when you came, buried in his shoulder, biting his neck, he followed seconds later, breaking with a sound he’d never made before. Like something inside him had finally cracked wide open.

When you finally pulled back, lips swollen, hair mussed, breath uneven, you met his gaze and asked quietly, “Now what?”

He rested his forehead against yours, breath shaky.

“Now?” he said softly.

“I try not to fall in love with you.”

Too late.

-------------------------------------------------------------------- Want to join the taglist? shoot me a comment! @rosiepoise88 @nosebeers

[kwistowee]

I don't know how well I can put my thoughts about this exchange into words, but I'm gonna try.

Kate has resolutely kept her walls up around Tyler for the majority of their interactions, but she just chose to be incredibly vulnerable with him. She let him see a fraction of how much pain she carries with her and it stops him in his tracks. (The camera literally stops panning around them the moment her dam bursts, and he stands completely still as she pours out her guilt over her past failure.)

Tyler respects Kate. He admires her capacity to read and to tackle this thing they both love. But now, for the first time, he's beginning to understand just how challenging storm chasing again actually is for her. How much fear and sorrow, how much trauma and torment it carries for her. He is stilled by the realization that this clever, fascinating woman is trapped under the weight of her past, and he gently encourages her to consider taking ownership of that pain by acting rather than surrendering.

But she's not ready. She side-steps his question entirely, stating that he should rest so he doesn't miss any storms the next day while wiping her tears away and trying for a bit of a smile.

And look at the way that shatters him.

He cuts himself off from replying and the grief in his face as he shakes his head and looks down shreds my heartstrings. Storm chasing is absolutely the last thing on his mind right now; he's concerned for her. He has taken every possible opportunity to seek her out in an effort to understand her since the moment their paths crossed. So maybe he's blindsided by the idea that she thinks his primary concern is not missing any storms. Normally, that might be true. He absolutely loves his job. The joy he finds out in the field chasing tornadoes radiates from his entire being every time he does it. And yet none of that passion comes close to how much he is centered on her and her pain in this moment.

But he can't tell her that. He's not ready to admit she is his primary concern and I think he recognizes in this moment that she's not ready to hear that yet either. She has effectively ended the conversation and dismissed him for the night. So he raises his eyebrows in a subtle agreement to go along with what she has said and he clamps his mouth shut. He returns her research notes to her and silently exits the barn to give her space.

And I cannot stop thinking about how much he just conveyed about the depth of his feelings for her with just a few micro expressions.

[miange1]

Would you write an effeminate male reader? Who wears some clothes or jewelry/costume jewelry considered feminine? I'm asking because the last time I made a request like this on another profile, people said in the comments that I was reinforcing stereotypes(?) as if effeminate men didn't exist

Anyway! I'd like an imagine where Patrick Bateman is intrigued and somewhat bothered by the spontaneous way the reader expresses himself (perhaps internalized homophobia?) and it all culminates in angry sex! 

Totally inspired by that bathroom scene 🤒

𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍 — weirdo

tw: male reader(he mainly wears women's jewellery and is described to look like a girl), (internalized) homophobia, micro misogyny, one sides angry sex, desk sex, sigma mindset, reader is written to have a slim and feminine body(it is NOT sugarcoated), reader 'flirting' is all in his head, feminization, breeding kink

note: i'm so bored bro can something happen fr

he hated you.

if you were dehydrated on an island with him and he had two bottles of water, he'd drink both of them right in front of your face.

when you came here, he thought you were some short haired woman in a suit. he already hated you then, thinking you were a lesbian or some shit. but learning you were a man? who willingly uplifted your feminine features? it drove him insane, he hated when you stepped foot in his office.

every time you handed him something, he could feel those rings along your fingers. they weren't bulky or big. they were thin and dainty, with little jewels in the holder. disgusting.

next came the earrings. now he guessed diamond earrings would be okay for a man, but you wore those..dangly ones. either that, or hoop earrings and flowered studs.

then the necklaces, almost made him lose his mind. now, almost. what genuinely made him lose it was the lip gloss. you swore to him it was lip balm, but he wasn't stupid.

"here you are mr. bateman, the finished files and a few customer names written down." your fingers would graze, and he'd barely hide back the look of disgust.

then he saw it, glistening from the sun and onto your lips. a gloss. "excuse me," he stopped you, clearing his throat. "what is that, on your lips." you'd blink a bit, like you were confused before you made an 'oh' sound. "it's just lip balm mr. bateman, my lips have been getting awfully dry." you'd flash him a smile, and be on your way.

as he'd watch you go he had to stop himself from thinking. nice ass..

if he was really that below himself he'd wolf whistle.

you've been working now about a good month or two, and this feeling in his chest and stomach has just been getting worse and worse. the night before, he had been thinking of you, and thought a bit too hard.

he could tell you felt it too. you were leading this on, making him feel this way. you'd wave at him a certain way, lean over his desk, give him looks. he knew it, knew damn well. he got a lot of flirts, but you, you weren't even bothering to hide it.

but he needed you..in his office. now.

"someone said you needed me, mr. bateman?" you came inside, different types of jewelry on this time. he was so angry, so pissed off at you and himself. at you for just being you, and at himself for simply being attracted to you.

his mind was so clouded. he didn't see his hand at your waist, didn't feel himself gripping the skin beneath your suit jacket, didn't feel his lips on yours, didn't remember himself bending you over the desk.

each thrust made the desk urge forward from time to time, the legs scraping at the floor beneath it. was the door locked? he didn't know, was one hundred percent sure he didn't care either.

"mr. bateman!" yeah, but he heard that. heard your constant babbling and moaning, felt your squirming and cries of pleasure and he fucking loved it.

his hips were getting tired, but he couldn't stop, it felt too damn good. he saw the way your ass jiggled with each thrust, his fingers gripping along the slim curve of your waist, and leaving faint agitated marks.

"never fucked another man before," he breathed out, slowing his thrusts but making them harder. one of his hands came to your neck, pushing you lower down. "but i guess you don't count, do you?" his voice was low and patronizing, teasing you to get you upset and not aroused.

but shit did it have your dick twitching, you liked it you wanted even more. "look at this.." his fingers wrapped around your necklace, pulling it to choke you up. "dressed like some woman, body looks like one too. it's ridiculous."

his lips caught yours, tasting the flavour of your so called 'lip balm'.

a gasp caught in his throat, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt himself cum inside. he hadn't even known he was close, he was far too caught up in the pleasure.

"damn.." he pulled out, watching you twitch and writhe as his cum oozed and glopped out of you wantonly. "i could probably get you pregnant like one, have you full of me."

he sighed shakily, his dick softening up. "get out." your head turned over, looking confused. how the hell could you just leave with his cum leaking out of you?

but damn it, whatever. you cleaned yourself up best you could, getting your clothes on messily yet trying to look somewhat presentable.

you twisted the knob to his office,

"come back tomorrow."

[keferon]

Sorry in advance for the word vomit but. I love the whole Jazz-and-Prowl figuring out the language barrier but also consider:

They don't.

Prowl's been captured by Quintessons and is currently thinking of ways to completely scrape his processor so they can't get any useful data, only to get rescued by a random mech. They fight their way out (the mech is extremely proficient in combat). At first he thinks it's a drone- it looks at him when he asks questions but doesn't answer (responds to noise, not language), it is sparkless (not alive) and it makes random but entirely incoherent noises and doesn't even ping (not able to communicate). Prowl has no idea what's going on but he's too injured to make it back to base alone and it's helping him? So. He chalks it up to some waylaid stealth military asset and tries to think of ways to both get it back to base whilst also making sure it's not some sort of Quintesson Trojan-horse [10%].

Meanwhile, Jazz was sent to blow up a Quintesson command camp by his organisation but instead he got thrown through a weird portal, and found a pilot all tied down and probably being tortured so naturally he busted him out but uh. He has no idea what the other is saying. He's talking in total tonal gibberish. Not that he's judging, he's heard some stuff about how far other piloting programs are willing to go to advance neural technology. And his face! He has one! A handsome one. Must be some advanced shit because he's got micro expressions and he's using them to frown as him. Anyways, Jazz's got bigger fish to fry. The sky's a different colour, there are two suns and atmo is reading terribly low levels of O2. Maybe he and this pilot got thrown into an alien planet? Cool- well, actually pretty bad but hey they're in this together.

Prowl knows by models that they're bound to run into another Quintesson patrol eventually, and based on the drones alertness to its surroundings, his previous observations to its capacity to fight, and how it doesn't stray to far from him, if patrol numbers are favourable [1-8 range] they can survive [70, .5]% the route back to base. But the drone is reckless and abandons him to the melee (how can a drone be reckless?) and Prowl gets injured worse. Energon drips from wounds, and the angle makes it challenging for him to patch it. But the drone creeps closer, folds to its (knees? Its joints are in an odd but effective configuration) and gently (gently?) begins to mimic (clumsily) Prowl's motions of patching his wounds. Here is where Prowl falters, because drones are not so careful. Drones do not do not look up multiple times at his faceplates, and become more delicate when they see you in pain. Drones don't hold out a servo and help you to your pedes when your done. Which begs the question, if he's not a drone, so what has been done to this mech?

Jazz on the other hand is freaking the fuck out. Naturally. Because uh, he started slicing Quints, expecting Frowny to do the same because his mech was still clearly operational, only for the idiot to completely disregarded normal combat standards which can be summarised as 'fight hard or die' and instead get chewed on by some big ass teeth.

Only to see the glowing purple dripping from his torn sides, only to see that he's bleeding.

Machines don't bleed.

So Jazz figures out Frowny is an alien first. He starts pointing at himself and saying his name, insistently, until Frowny repeats it. He points at Frowny, and records and replays whatever sound bite Frowny makes until Frowny's also nodding in confirmation. He still calls him Frowny, because even though he has his name? Probably? He has no idea what it means and can't actually pronounce it (no idea how to get a mouth to move that way) but hey! Progress! He does this again and again with small things (rock, hand, cyber?animals, music (Frowny's confused at that one it's pretty adorable) ect.

Prowl has no idea what to make of this strange mech. Is he a failed experiment? A runaway from Cybertron following the Functionalists rise or power? Thennn Prowl finds out one fateful night that the mech is actually an alien organic (in a fit of misunderstandings, and squeezes him pretty hard for it ouch and feels SO guilty about it later) and suddenly the language/culture barrier makes way more sense.

Prowl's injuries degrade (a line splits). He has no way to communicate this except for the energon dripping out of his chassis. The organic is clearly worried (how did he think he was ever sparkless), and Prowl can't reach the injury himself. So he guides the mech's servos past armour and wiring, down to protoform (near his sparkchamber) to the split line. Gestures and hopes the mech can figure out what to do from his miming[#^%]. That'll he'll be careful, and won't hurt him [5%, 87%, #*%, *########%].

Frowny is later picking shrapnel stuck in his forearm that's too small for him to remove, so Jazz gets out of his mech to help with his small human hands. Jazz has no way to communicate to Frowny that if he moves, he'll sheer Jazz's limbs clean off, but he goes in anyway, because Frowny's hurt, and speckled in blood. Because he's clearly struggling and hurt and tired. Because Jazz has to trust that he won't.

Frowny's injures eventually make him collapse, and Jazz carries him the rest of the way. Jazz has no idea how they'll be received (especially considering how Frowny reacted when he found out Jazz was organic). Jazz knows he might be dissected. Knows he might be pulled apart (again) but.

He remembers all the little moments they had on their journey (Frowny shielding him from falling rubble when Jazz was out of his mech once, them getting to gesticulating arguments, Frowny's reaction to his music, how he fell asleep on Jazz once and it was fricken adorable).

It doesn't matter that Jazz can't say (barely understands) his actual name. That Frowny probably doesn't understand his. It doesn't matter that they talk in halting miming, in broken sound clips and touches and half-glares.

He's already gone out on all his limbs, might as well put his head on the chopping block. And if it causes him to lose the damn thing, well.

He's a pilot. Dying horribly is practically his job description.

OOOUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHHHH DYING HORRIBLY IS PRACTICALLY HIS JOB DESCRIPTION,,,,,,,,,,,