#I’m too tired to care I spent hours on this with no break like an insane person

[laidenbreecatchall]

Somebody’s jealous…

[tiredsadpeach]

I keep asking myself why am I still here but I know it’s for Saturday

[mooncalvin]

Care to teach me? (Charles Leclerc)

Summary: sleeping can become quite difficult when it is hot and you have the object of your fantasies less than a meter away.

Warnings: +18, MDNI. Masturbation, fingering.

Words: 1k

You and Charles were inseparable. You met each other when you were playing in the park and he offered you his cars to play after he had pushed you off by accident. You weren’t really similar, him being the social butterfly he is and you hiding behind your mother’s legs every time you saw a stranger. It didn’t really matter, because you found in each other a long-needed comfort.

The sound of the sea and the city filled the comfortable silence in Charles’s Monaco’s apartment as you two got ready to go to sleep. It was normal for you to share a bed, given how close you are, and tonight was no different. You slipped into your pajamas, while Charles' back was turned to give you some privacy. When you finished, you made your way to his bed and got under the covers. He followed you getting on the other side of the bed before turning the lights off.

“Good night” he said sleepily.

“Night” you answered, turning your back to him.

You spent almost an hour turning around, but it was too hot for you to fall asleep. You spent another 30 minutes laying flat on your back, wondering if you should go to the kitchen to get some water or maybe open the window, but you came to the conclusion that you weren’t even tired. An idea came to your mind of how to get tired easily, but you immediately discarded it.

Absolutely not.

Even though it always worked for you, you had your limits. You weren’t going to masturbate while Charles was sleeping just one meter away.

You found your best friend attractive, objectively he was, every girl would admit it.

You had given some thought to it. The idea of having sex with Charles played in your mind more than you would like to admit, but of course you never told him. You would just die of embarrassment. You would see girls posting about him on social media or even flirting with him at the club, but he barely paid attention to them. His eyes would always find you, an angelic smile adorning his face. However, you found yourself wanting him to see you as something more than your best friend.

Thinking about him at the paddock after a race, sweat covering his skin, had your hand moving down to your underwear. It felt so wrong, but the more memories that came to your mind, the more you wanted to keep doing it. You removed your pants and moved your panties  to the side, letting your fingers run through your folds. You started rubbing your clit in circles, closing your eyes at the relief. You thought about how his hair had got longer during the break, how it would be to run your hands through it and grab it pushing his head between your thighs, hunger in his eyes.

You didn’t even notice you started squirming, and definitely didn’t notice the man next to you waking up. You were immersed in your vision, eyes still closed and fingers moving.

“Chérie” you froze when you heard his voice, and stopped moving, hoping he wouldn’t notice what you were just doing. “What are you doing down there?”

“I’m just trying to get comfortable,” you replied. 

“And are you comfortable with your hand down your pants?” the lights were off, but you'd bet anything that your face was completely red.

“I thought you were sleeping” you refused to make eye contact, your back still turned to him. He let out a laugh and you felt him moving closer, your back on his shirtless chest.

“Is that better?” you stayed silent. “Would you tell me what you were thinking about?”

“Nothing” you were quick to answer, but of course he didn’t believe you.

“Let me ask again, who you were thinking about that made you touch yourself while you are just in the same bed as me” 

“I said no one” He sighed.

“Well whoever it was wasn’t doing it”

“What’s that supposed to mean” you finally turned to him.

“If it was actually working you wouldn’t be so quiet”

“I think I know how to masturbate, thank you for your concern” you fought back.

“I’m not saying otherwise, I just think that you need some help if you want to achieve something” you let out a gasp when you realized what he meant.

“Care to teach me?” a sudden confidence grew inside you.

“Only if you let me,” he answered. You felt his hand going to yours, which was still in your clit. He moved it away so he could replace it with his own, rubbing circles as you had been doing just a few minutes before. He picked up some speed, making you let out a little moan.

“Just like that,” you said. He moved so he could have better access, but then moved his hand away. You whined at the loss of contact, but it was only before he put one of his fingers inside you, feeling the cold metal of his rings where you were most sensible. He pumped it in and out, relentless. He added a second one and his thumb started working on your bud.

The other hand reached your face, making you look at him while you grinded against his fingers. He was hitting the spot that had you seeing stars. You always imagined it would be good but feeling it was on another completely different level.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart?” he whispered in your ear. You answered with a moan, not being capable of building up a coherent sentence. “Use your words princess” he demanded.

“F-fuck, yes, please go faster” he obeyed your request, taking you to the edge. “I’m gonna cum Charles”

“Come on, I wanna feel you cum around my fingers”, he said in a low voice. You reached your high as you yelled his name, but that didn’t make him stop, as he was still moving his fingers inside you. 

“Feel better now?” he asked smugly. 

You did in fact feel better, but it wasn’t enough. Now you craved even more of him.

[sister-lucifer]

Goodnight, Darling 

Lucifer x Gender Neutral Reader 

Summary: Reader cant sleep, so they decide to go find Lucifer 

Genre: Fluff 

Content/Warnings: Lucifer and Reader already have a bit of a relationship but it’s mostly implied, Luci being sweet, very eepy reader

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

You’re not sure what time it is now, and you don’t care to turn over and check. The only sound in your room is the rain thundering down from the night sky, tapping on your window in a soft, erratic rhythm. It’s dark, but not too dark, a bit of light can still reach you from the hallway. Your blankets are as comfortable as ever, thick but not heavy and just warm enough. It’s the most ideally peaceful environment you could ever imagine. 

So why aren’t you asleep?

You’ve been asking yourself that for almost an hour now. By all means, you should’ve been out like a light. You spent all day today running errands and scampering around to do all those things you didn’t have time to this week. You’re exhausted. 

So why. Aren’t. You. Asleep?!

You groan in frustration and stretch out a bit before turning onto your side. You stare at the wall for a few moments, wondering what else you could do. 

It’s too late to make tea, you’ll make too much of a ruckus in the kitchen.

The only melatonin in the house is used by Asmodeus, and he guards his beauty sleep with his life. There’s no way you could sneak into his room. 

It’s probably not a good idea to do any sort of engaging activity, that’ll just wake you up more. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. Maybe you’re doomed to just lay here until the end of time. You’re starting to wonder if you pissed off one of the brothers enough for them to curse you. 

Wait. 

One of the brothers… 

There’s an idea. 

Before you can stop yourself you’re out of bed and on the ground, carrying a blanket with you on the way. You waste no time getting out of that stale room, and soon you’ve started down the hallway. Your feet patter softly on the pristine tile floors, and the only other noise is the rain coming down outside and video game soundtrack from behind Levi’s closed door. It’s definitely bedtime in the House of Lamentation. 

As you pass by the rooms of the younger brothers, you debate for a split second stopping by each of them, but you don’t. Levi won’t be going to sleep any time soon, Mammon sleep talks, Asmodeus is too stingy about his beauty sleep, Satan kicks in his sleep, and the twins’ unbearable snoring will certainly keep you awake. 

But that’s alright. You’re not looking for any of them. You’re headed for the red door at the end of the hall that’s cracked open just slightly, allowing some soft lamp light to leak out. 

You knew he’d still be awake. 

You press your palm to the door and gently push it open, the soft creaking alerting Lucifer to your presence. He looks up from the book he’s reading in bed, quirking a brow upon your appearance.

“…Human?” He questions, but he doesn’t seem unhappy to see you in the slightest.

“What are you doing here? At this hour, no less.” 

“I’m alright,” You assure him, shutting the door behind you, “I just can’t sleep.” 

He gives a nod of understanding. 

“I see. And you think I can help with that?” 

“Mhm,” You reply simply. You walk up to Lucifer’s bedside, not saying anything but silently asking for his attention with just a look. You clutch the blanket you brought to your chest, making your intentions clear. 

Lucifer sighs. 

He looks at you for a long few moments, and you almost think he’s going to say no. 

But then he marks his page, shuts his book, and sets it on the beside table. He opens his arms and pats the bed next to him. 

“Come on.” 

A tired smile breaks out on your face, and you eagerly crawl into bed next to Lucifer. You fit perfectly up against his side, and his warmth is the perfect sense of comfort in the cold HoL. You curl up a bit, trying to get as close to him as possible. He wraps an arm around you as you pull your blanket over yourself, sighing with content when you finally, truly feel like you could fall asleep. 

“…Comfortable?” Lucifer asks. You only nod in reply. You don’t see it, but he smiles at you before he leans down to kiss your head. He reaches over to turn off the lamp before making himself comfortable as well, though he’s careful not to disturb you. 

After a few moments, you feel him stop moving, and your eyes slowly fall shut. 

“Goodnight, Lucifer…” You say softly. 

“Goodnight,” He replies in kind. 

“I love you,” You add without thinking.

And then there’s silence. For a second your eyes open, and you worry that maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. Lucifer inhales slowly before finally giving his answer.

“…I love you too,” He says, giving you a little squeeze. 

You relax completely at that, your eyes shutting one more. You lay there only a moment or two before finally, finally, you can feel yourself falling asleep.

[retrosabers]

just a little thought about college!steve

“i’m not in the mood harrington.”

you can feel the smirk in his voice, no need to tear your eyes away from the textbook.

“come on, give that pretty little head of yours a break for five minutes.”

that pretty little head of yours. infuriation with him was hard when he knew how to get you in your sweet spot.

you sigh. “i have a big test steve.”

the table creaks lightly as the boy sets his weight atop it. you run a tired palm down your face.

“you need a break.” there’s sincerity in his tone that relaxes the tension in your neck, no matter how much you wish it wouldn’t. succumbing to his sweetness was going to be the end of you, but it would be a mighty fine way to die.

“fine.” you huff, tossing your pencil to the side and bookmarking the page. “you have five minutes.”

when you finally look at steve, his smug smirk is replaced by a boyish grin, brown eyes gleaming behind the frames of his glasses. he circles around the back of your chair, the woodsy scent of his cologne dizzying your already tired brain. he leans in close, breath tickling your ear.

“just relax.” the low timbre of his voice sends heat down your spine. he chuckles as you swallow hard. “i gotcha.”

his thumbs gently press into the base of your neck, rubbing circles in your tired muscles. you nearly moan at the sensation, having been hunched over the table for almost three hours straight. you bite your lip as your eyes flutter shut, leaning back into the chair and further into steve’s touch.

“atta girl.” he says breathlessly. “relax for me.”

this is starting to feel slightly more intimate than it should, but you’re too tired to care. his hands are working wonders for the tension in your body. steve digs the heels of his palms into your shoulders and this time the groan that leaves your lips is unavoidable.

“fuck, that feels good.” you preen, thankful there’s no one else in this area of the library baring witness to this moment.

“yeah?” he taunts. “feel good baby?”

“don’t call me baby” you huff out. “you know i hate it.”

“but you’re so hot when you get pissed off.”

“steve.” you whine. he’s smart enough to get the message; that you’re absolutely spent and just need this little moment of peace, no time for banter that takes up too much energy you don’t have.

he continues his ministrations in silence, taking note of the areas you seem to react to and giving them more attention. steve works his way to the ends of your shoulders before giving them a final squeeze. he moves around to sit on the edge of the table again.

“feel better?”

you sigh, eyes opening to meet his. the glow of the sunset streaming in from the long glass windows casts him in a glow that makes him look like a god. streaks of amber illuminating the high points of his face, capturing flecks of gold in those chocolate irises. your breath nearly hitches at the sight, and you swear a blush forms on his cheeks.

“much.” you shake whatever feeling started to bloom. “thank you.”

“no need to thank me.” he pushes off the edge of the table, heading for the double doors that lead back out to campus. “can’t have you falling on your pretty face before i get to take you out.”

you roll your eyes, but you both know it’s only teasing. steve leans back against the mahogany and crosses his arms, biceps flexing in a polo that hugs every curve of his body just right.

“so same time tomorrow?”

you quirk a brow. “i’m sorry?”

he gestures to you like this is the most obvious thing in the world. “i’m assuming this test isn’t until friday so you’ll be here again tomorrow.”

you glance back at your notebook, then back at steve. “uh, yeah. yeah you’re right.”

the smirk finally makes it appearance. “great. i’ll be here.”

“steve.”

“oh come on! i can quiz you with those flash cards you were making last week.”

your brows furrow. “how do you know about my flash cards?”

he winks, and your heart skips a beat. “i know a lot more about you than you think baby.”

you shake your head, reaching behind you to crumble a stray piece of paper and throw it at him. he dodges it swiftly, but not before bumping into a bookshelf.

“don’t call me that!” you say through your laughter. he laughs along with you, and the feeling from before creeps into your chest again. it’s your turn to put your chin up.

you cross your arms to match his pose. “you better be on time harrington.”

his eyes widen a bit, like he wasn’t expecting you to cave to his advances so easily. this time there’s no mistaking; the flush on his cheeks is evident. steve nods before backing away the last few paces. “see you tomorrow then.”

“see you then, pretty boy.” you quip, before turning back to your work, a smile plastered across your face.

steve catches a glimpse of it before turning on his feet out the door. he’s grateful to turn back around and find you still turned away from him, so you don’t see how he carries that same grin all the way back to his dorm.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

villain comforting a VERY beaten hero, platonic cuddling and lots of tears pls

have a nice day <3

“I’m not dead,” the hero whispered.

And yet they were hooked to an IV. And yet they hadn’t been able to breathe on their own for hours. The villain took in a deep breath. Of course, they were angry. Of course, the villain had been losing their mind in this hospital.

Quiet panic attacks in bathroom stalls, litres of coffee, endless questions for the nurses — this day had been way too long for their liking.

“I’m not dead,” the hero repeated a little louder this time. They sat up in bed and their face made horrible grimaces. As they looked around in excruciating pain, they saw the IV and reached for it.

“Hey, what are you doing?” The villain grabbed their wrist before the hero could rip it out.

The villain was sure they didn’t look much better than the hero; they hadn’t slept in forever.

“Lay back,” the villain said gently. They put a hand on the hero’s shoulder and pressed them back into the hospital bed. “It’s a miracle that you’re alright. Thank god you hit the gym. Your fitness basically saved you. Your heart was strong enough to keep you alive.”

The hero sighed and took the villain’s hand. They didn’t seem to be fully aware of it, so the villain just let it happen.

“I’m fine. It’s not a big deal,” the hero said. They closed their eyes. “I’m not dead, I’m okay.”

“You may not care what happens to you but I do. Do you think it was easy to call the ambulance and then disappear into thin air? Only to rush to the hospital as a civilian? Do you think it was easy to watch you bleed out? Do you think it was easy—”

“Shh.” The hero’s thumb rubbed over the villain’s knuckles a few times. They opened their eyes. “Please don’t cry.”

The villain swallowed. They had spent a lot of time with their conflicted feelings throughout the night. Mostly, they had tried to bury them but now that the hero was talking to them, they couldn’t help but splinter a little.

They wiped tears out of their eyes but it didn’t matter: they kept dropping anyways.

“Please…” the villain whispered. “Please don’t send me away like that ever again.”

Not even the hero’s hand in theirs felt strong. The hero was weak, too frail to function properly. All the villain could do was fall to their knees and pray for the hero’s health until their knees bled.

“I’m not going to the gym anymore,” the hero said. “I just fight with you a lot. So, I guess you saved me after all.”

They paused and closed their eyes again. The villain could see a sparkling tear roll down the hero’s cheek. Probably overwhelmed and tired, they leaned back.

Although they didn’t want to admit it, the villain felt responsible for everything. They had always had a special gift of blaming themselves. The hero looked at them through half-lidded eyes.

“I’ve never had any visitors in the hospital before. Thank you.” Their voice was soft, yet raspy. “And I’m sorry for sending you away. I thought I’d be fine.”

The hero had told the villain it was their last wish: for the villain to go home.

“I was scared and I didn’t want you to watch me die,” they said.

“You’re not gonna leave the bed for quite a while. I’ll chain you to it if I have to.” The villain stood up from their chair and sat down on the bed. “Let’s take a break from all this. You’ve suffered enough for several lifetimes.”

The hero smiled softly and then, they squeezed the villain’s hand.

[prodshima]

love language scenarios 𖤐

warnings: i wrote this a couple months ago and i just realized that it doesn’t really fit their languages but i’m too caught up to rewrite the whole thing :(

pinned: just cute scenarios of 2 of my baby boys that’ll hopefully get me out of writer’s block :) also, is haikyuu tumblr still alive? lol :p

click here for: part two

ATSUMU MIYA - physical touch.

“baby, where are you? i’m home” atsumu drowsily calls out from the front door, kicking his feet out of his shoes before hastily hanging his coat on the rack when he hears you call out his name

with fast strides, atsumu rushes to the bedroom and shoves the door open, his heart immediately melting at the sight of you all cozy in his shirt. you look so cute and he just can’t help but jump on you to bury himself in your warmth (which he’d been looking forward to since he left for work at 7 in the morning) —oh how he missed you so so much.

“hi there my baby, how was work?” you ask him as you run your fingers through his hair gently, untying the knots in the process before bursting into muffled giggles when he lets out a groan

“ ‘s okay but i missed ya” atsumu whispers and glares at you teasingly when you tell him that the both of you just spent the whole weekend together, he knows it’s true but he doesn’t care.

as a comfortable silence envelopes the bedroom, atsumu peppers feathery kisses on your jaw, soft sighs leaving his lips when your gentle hands stroke his cheek in circles, suddenly feeling overwhelmed after facing a lifeless computer for almost 16 hours

“wanna have dinner, tsum?” you ask him after a few minutes of silence, suddenly remembering that you prepared a small meal for him to eat because you figured he hasn’t eaten yet

but you’re weirded out when silence envelops the room so you look down and there welcomes you your boyfriend lying on your chest who’ve never looked so fragile with his head resting on your chest, his legs tangled with yours, and his arms wrapped around your waist

“i love you so much, tsum” you whisper as you feel your own eyes closing as well, the both of you left to enjoy each other’s warmth, finally letting the night past.

TSUKISHIMA KEI - quality time.

for someone like tsukishima kei who’s used to always spending his free time studying before he came across you, he cherishes every moment the both of you spend together because he knows he’s not good with his words— whether it’s spent on little dates, staying at his dorm and snuggling while watching cliché movies, or even just listening to music together, it’s a thing he’ll never admit it though.

“tsukki, wanna walk me home?“

tsukishima turns around to you batting your eyelashes in attempt to “lure” him to walk home with you— he thinks it’s kind of stupid though because you know he’ll do even if you don’t ask him to, he’d never make you walk home alone this late in the afternoon especially knowing that you’re tired from all the lessons you had to take in 

and of course also due to your hectic schedules kicking your asses these past few weeks as finals come to a close, the both of you don’t see each other much in campus except during lunch breaks

“of course i have to, i don’t trust you enough to walk alone” tsukishima says with a fake sigh as he looks forwards, avoiding your eyes, but you decide not to tease him any further about how he just won’t admit that he wants to be with you just a little longer but instead, enjoying this side of him

as the both of you walk together silently with his earphones shared, listening to the playlist he made for you, well that he denied making, his hand suddenly grabs yours hastily, but still somewhat gentle and buries it in the pocket of his hoodie, catching you by surprise and pulling you closer to his side

you can’t help but smile at him sheepishly, that of course goes unnoticed by the tall man, judging, he looks at you with an eyebrow raised all while trying to keep his own unfazed aura because he knows exactly what’s running on your mind

“what are you looking at? hurry up, we still need to study when we get home” he scoffs softly, attempting to remove your hand from his but you don’t budge, gripping his hand tightly as you gaze at him in surprise

“huh?! are you staying with me today? you’re not going back to your dorm, tsukki? tsukki? tsukki !” you whine, swaying your hands together as he grins widely, turning around to leave a quick peck on your lips and pinching your cheeks together

“yeah, i am so get used to it because i’ll be doing it a lot more”, he admits and you tug his arm lightly, smacking him as you repeatedly ask what he meant by that

this is perfect, he thinks.

yeah it is.

© all works belong to @prodshima — don’t plagiarize, copy, modify, or claim my works as your own.

[applejuicefruit]

do you write angst? in case can i ask for some angst with kylian where reader is his girlfriend but he’s having another relationship with a model because of pr and reader feels like she’s not good enough because she always has to hide and she can’t go in public with him and she gets tired of it so they break up ? like some toxic kylian who cares more about his career and then realises how stupid he was but it’s too late? thank uuu

in my lana del rey moment

kylian mbappe x reader

The other woman

“Do you really have to go?” you asked him as you were watching him getting ready in your master bedroom.

Kylian was invited to some kind of football event and, of course, he was attending it with his fake girlfriend instead of bringing you. You knew how it worked but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Yes mon amour…I have to go” he said not even looking at you while he was wearing his black leather jacket.

“But with her?”

“Y/n…we’ve been here a lot of times…I don’t wanna fight tonight” he said turning his head over you.

You hated it.

You and Kylian have been dating for over a year now and even if all of your family and friends knew about your relationship, the public eye didn’t know. At first, it was you who asked him to keep your relationship private because you were terrified of how the media would portrait you and a couple of months later his manager agreed on faking a relationship for Kylian just to help a new model rise.

A lot of Kylian fans knew that this relationship was fake, they saw how Kylian faked being happy around her, they even suspected he was in a relationship with someone else and that made you feel a little bit better.

But it was the constant fake kissing or holding hands in public that made you feel uncomfortable and jealous, only because she was able to do something you couldn’t.

You talked about it with Kylian and no matter how many times he reassured you, saying you were the one he was coming home to, the only one who had his heart and the only one who made his heart beat, you always felt inferior when he was with her.

“I don’t wanna fight too Kyky…but it’s just, what if the roles were inverted? What if I was the one dating someone else just for stunt! Wouldn’t you be jealous?” you asked him.

“Of course I would be jealous mon amour…but it’s not about you, we both agreed on keeping this relationship between us, what’s changing now?” he asked sitting on the bed next to you.

“The fact that we’ve been dating for a year now and never once you took me out of this four walls? The fact that you spent valentine’s day with her this year just because your manager told you so? When I was here waiting for you to come back home but I haven’t seen you until the morning after? It feels like I’m the only one in this relationship Kylian and its tiring” you said completely breaking down.

“Let’s not start this now…I really have to go, we’ll talk about it when I come back home okay?” he said kissing your forehead.

“You’re not even listening to me Kylian!” you screamed, so mad at the fact that you just gave him your heart, talked about your emotions and what was scaring you and he simply shoved you off because - apparently - this football even was more important than you.

“I said not now y/n…” he tried to keep it low but he was getting irritated.

“If not now, when?” you asked, not even caring if you were a sobbing mess.

“I’m running late…when I come back home we’re gonna talk about it okay!” he shouted at you.

“When you’ll come back home I’ll be somewhere else Kylian…” you warned him but he simply scoffed, not believing a word you were saying.

“I’ll be back in a few hours” he said closing the door behind him and leaving the apartment.

That gave you two or three hours to pack everything you had in his apartment and leave.

You had no time to cry or throw a tantrum even if all you wanted to do right now was sitting in your shower and let the water wash away all the stress and pain you were feeling.

You opened your spotify and put some good old Lana Del Rey songs and started packing your clothes in the suitcase you kept under your bed.

The moment your heard “The other woman” starting on your playlist your heart missed a few beats. You’ve never understood the lyrics of the song until now, until now that you were the other woman even if she was supposed to be the other woman.

But you remembered your mom’s words - “if a man makes you cry not tears of joy then, that man doesn’t deserve you at all”. Was this your case?

You’ve always been happy with Kylian but everything started going downhill a few months ago.

Once you finished packing your clothes you called a taxi and waited for it to arrive. You had no idea where you were going to stay but you wanted to leave that apartment all for once.

You decided to stay in some hotel for the night and then calling a friend of you in the morning, seeing if she could host you for a few days until you decided what to do.

Kylian came home around 2 am and he was greeted with silence.

He thought that maybe you were sleeping but when he saw the bed that was made and the closet half empty he knew you weren’t kidding when you said you were leaving.

“Where are you baby?” he texted you.

“Y/n please answer me I’m worried” he texted a few minutes after.

“I’m worried baby please come back home” he texted again.

Truth was that he was mad at himself for completely ignoring you and made you feel like your feelings didn’t matter. He knew he messed up badly when you started crying earlier, he knew he shouldn’t have left when you were feeling bad, he knew he acted as a complete dick when he put his career and that stupid football event over your emotions and now he was paying the consequences of his own actions.

“I’m fine but stop texting me, I need time” you texted him back.

“Time for what?”

“Y/n?”

“Baby answer me please, I’m so sorry”

“Okay I’ll give you space if you need it but please know how sorry I am, I never meant to make you cry or feel uncomfortable. Please believe me. I hope you’re safe, have a good night, I love you” he texted you and you left him on read.

You cried reading his last message, you knew Kylian was saying the truth but what hurt you the most was that he realised his love when it was too late.

[lolasimms]

hcs about your married life with abby pls 🙇🏽‍♀️

wife abby headcanons pt.1

part 2 part 3

౨ৎ she’s an early bird and is almost always up at 6 am.

౨ৎ starts her morning off with cuddling you and then she’s off to the gym.

౨ৎ you wake up to an empty bed most mornings which usually you rant to her about.

౨ৎ your breakfast is usually simple, overnight oats and fruit, which she bullies you for.

౨ৎ she on the other hand insists on eating a high protein breakfast, for “gains”.

౨ৎ she’s a certified gym rat, which you find super hot.

౨ৎ when you’re really horny she takes pre-workout to make sure her stamina is up for you.

౨ৎ this usually leaves you saddle sore and aching for the next two days

౨ৎ she gets off on your overly domestic nature, especially when you take care of her.

౨ৎ if she’s got a cold or a throat infection you always pamper her and insist on feeding her soups and tea.

౨ৎ most weekends are spent lounging around the house as she’s not a very social person, neither are you.

౨ৎ some weekends are also spent at her father, Jerry’s place.

౨ৎ the three of you make dinners, play board games and he loves breaking out the photo album to embarrass her.

౨ৎ she earns a lot (she’s a doctor) so she’s always spoiling you.

౨ৎ loves to wine and dine you, especially when you both have time off work.

౨ৎ she can only cook staple meals, so she’s always impressed by the food you make for her.

౨ৎ she tends to overwork herself and usually comes back home tired.

౨ৎ despite the fact that she comes home exhausted she still insists on pleasing you.

୨୧

“Abs we shouldn’t, you just got off a 12 hour shift, you need to rest.” You press your wife but she’s ignoring you and pulling you into her.

“Doesn’t matter baby, I’m perfectly fine. Need to please my wife, you know what they say.” Both her hands are griping your thighs and pulling you towards the end of the bed.

“What do they say?” You question, accepting defeat, and allowing her to manhandle you.

“Happy wife, happy life.” In one quick motion, she’s tugged your pyjama shorts, along with your underwear off.

“What if you fall asleep mid eating pussy and I crush you to death?”

“Trust me baby, death by your pussy would probably be the best way for me to die.”

You tried scooching up toward the pillows , but Abby’s hands had a tight grip on your thighs. She wasn't going to let you get away. You were all the way at the end of bed now with her head in between your legs. She was tasting every bit of you, nibbling and marking you up. Your hands made their way to her hair, grabbing handfuls as her tongue swiped over your clit. All feelings of exhaustion from her taxing 12 hour shift were thrown out the window once she got to taste you, and you were fucking enjoying it.

You gasped. "Mmm...Abs..." Abby was loving every minute as she lapped you up. She pulled you closer, practically burying her face in your pussy. Your moans only added fuel to the fire burning inside of her. She was sucking your clit now and you could hear how wet you were for her. As she worked your cunt, two of her fingers were deep inside of you, fucking you for all you were worth and drawing a whimper from your throat. She was so fucking enthusiastic about eating your pussy and damn good at it too.

"Fuck, you taste so sweet." She panted, her breath like fire against your skin. "Gonna make you cum for me."

୨୧

౨ৎ The two of you love watching tv shows together, though she has a habit of not paying attention.

౨ৎ You’ll be well into a show and she’ll be wondering where a certain character went, when they got killed off like 5 episodes ago.

౨ৎ Falls asleep in your lap while you’re watching movies and shows because the poor thing works so hard.

౨ৎ Your name in her phone is ‘wifey’

౨ৎ Once again, she loves to spoil you, against your will of-course.

౨ৎ Buys you things if you look at them for even a second too long.

౨ৎ Her anniversary presents are always the best.

౨ৎ She insists that you don’t buy her stuff simply because you being her wife is enough.

౨ৎ On your 5 year wedding anniversary you open a box that has a pregnancy test in it, as you’d been discussing having children.

[mitchellpete]

Kinktober Day 1 - Overstimulation

pairing: tom “iceman” kazansky x f!reader

cw: overstimulation, multiple orgasms, crying, fingering, penetrative sex, a hint of sub/dom dynamic, praise, cum marking

word count: 1211

kinktober masterlist here.

18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI

-

You’re not sure how much more you can take. 

Your body feels sticky with heat, sweat coating your forehead and your neck, and the obscene wet noises down below make it entirely difficult to differentiate where you’re sweating and where you’re dripping from Ice’s work on your tired and spent body. You feel wet everywhere.

A strangled moan escapes your throat as your legs start to coax up in sensitivity, but his fingers don’t stop their unrelenting thrusts into your leaking cunt. Three fingers, and the casual, tormenting tease of his tongue. Despite the very significant mess he’s created between your legs, he still hasn’t fucked you. It was all you’d wanted tonight, after rushing home from the O Club. You’d asked him to, moaned it into his mouth when he backed you against the wall as soon as you were behind closed doors. 

“Please fuck me.”

And now, an hour later, you’re exhausted, your fingers stiff from gripping the bed sheets. And there’s still a hard look of concentration on his face.

He’d started out with his usual foreplay, his kisses deep and full as he touched you all over. Tingling sensations and feather light touches, quiet praises against your skin. And when his big hand cupped your core and his first digit sank into your heat, he was set on what he wanted to do.

You’re not sure how many times he’s made you cum so far. Two, perhaps? Three, most likely. Or four…? You don’t know. All you can focus on is the tight, achy feeling in your core and his continued spill of praises as you take it.

And God, how good it feels.

“Tom,” you rasp, a whine stuck in the back of your throat as he scissors his fingers inside of you. The noises would probably embarrass you if you were in the right headspace to process them. “It hurts.”

He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t take pity on you. You’ve got a safe word. You can use it whenever you need to. And he knows you’re strong. He knows you can take it.

When he leans down to swipe his tongue over your nerves, it washes over you again. Another orgasm, and it feels so good, but so agonizing. It takes over you entirely, legs somehow shaking and going limp at the same time. You wearily reach between your legs to push him away, the sensitivity becoming too much, but he doesn’t budge. He does harshly draw his fingers out of you all of a sudden, though, eliciting a high-pitched noise from you at the unexpected emptiness.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, leaning up off his haunches to finally finish undressing himself. 

“Tom.” 

You feel so fucked out and overwhelmed, all you can speak is his name. Tears brim your eyes as the orgasm lingers, the buzz sticking to every corner of your insides. 

Ice gets his pants off, languidly stroking himself as he nears you. “You okay, baby?” he asks sweetly. 

You almost hiccup as a tear slips down your cheek, but you nod in response. 

He leans down to wipe it away, pressing a few kisses to your cheek. “You think you can handle one more?” he asks, voice still tender.

If it means finally having him inside you, you nod again, tired arms reaching up to wrap around his shoulders. “Yes,” you mumble weakly.

His face breaks out into a beautiful smile, and he kisses your lips one, two times. “I know, baby, I know you can.” Another kiss. “I’m gonna take good care of you.”

You’re distracted then, from everything except his grin above you, his full lips, the twinkle in his eye. He does take such good care of you. Softens you up and then tests your limits, makes you keep up with him. He’s always so fast, so collected, so well put together. You feel like you can do anything for him. Certainly this.

Although he’s still kissing you softly, your momentary relief comes to a halt when you suddenly feel him press the head of his cock against you. 

Yet another whine slips past your lips and against his when he very gently pushes in. Your grip around his shoulders tightens. It’s all too much again.

He’s got you, though, as always. His face hovers above yours, watching your lidded eyes and how your lashes flutter as he sinks into you. Despite how open he worked you, he feels too big, the stretch slightly more painful than pleasant. It’s not until his cock touches the same spot that he’d been agitating with his fingers that the budding feeling in the pit of your stomach returns. He swallows your moans with kisses, situating himself as deep inside of you as he can. 

You wail out when he starts thrusting. 

His lips remain soft against you but his pace immediately quickens as he chases his high. You’re an incoherent mess, your body wrecked in sensitivity.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he coos against your cheek, finding his rhythm in the slick of your walls. A stifled groan escapes him, his composure halting. 

“Tom,” you cry out. “Please.” You’re blinking and more tears are slipping down your cheeks, but you can still hold on, you think.

“You can do it,” he reiterates, a stern tone in his voice. Very Iceman of him. 

The budding feeling in your stomach grows as he pounds into you, but it feels inaccessible. Too far to reach. As if it were outside your body instead of in, but you feel it after all and it still feels good despite the pain.

Your moans begin to mix with choked out sobs, Ice’s pace harsh and punishing despite your state of disarray. You focus less on the sting inside you and on the decorative look of pleasure on his face, and it somehow alleviates your discomfort just a bit, white hot ecstasy licking you from head to toe.

You unintentionally claw at his freckled shoulders when you somehow cum again. 

Ice groans against your ear when he reaches his orgasm and then immediately pulls out,  pushing himself up on his knees and wrapping a hand around himself to paint you with his cum. Sticky and warm, it falls all over your throbbing core and around your upper thighs. He bites down on his plush bottom lip, trapping most of his moans. Always too good at controlling himself.

You, on the contrary, fling an arm over your eyes, wiping at your tears with your forearm. You’re a mess; still wet and flushed, body buzzing. You’re sniffling a lot and your face is probably puffy from crying, you think to yourself. You’re beat. 

Ice leans down again to kiss you deeply, grinning against your lips. Tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, he presses his forehead to yours and gently wipes at the tears marked on your face with the back of his hand. “You did good, baby.”

All you can do is pout in response.

Ice cups your face with both hands, kissing you gently as you both come down from your high. Your heavy breathing ceases eventually, his and yours, and so does the electricity flowing through your body. 

“How does a warm bath sound?” Ice asks.

[undiscovered-horizon]

"She is not a bird" - Hvitserk x Reader

SUMMARY: In Eddas, every great warrior falls in love with a Valkyrie - a winged goddess equally beautiful and imposing. Hvitserk finds his after a battle as she's stitching wounds and bringing comfort to those who will not see another dawn.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2k

In a colourful dress, she busses around, Time and time she turns her head, gives a smile, You could swear you saw her wings yesterday, How she hid them under the dress, But she’s not a bird, Can’t you see? She is not a bird.

Hvitserk has no interest in medicine or healing. Despite that, he has found himself watching one of the healers as she’s running back and forth between beds. She’s been at it for hours now and Hvitserk begins to wonder how come she’s not tired yet. Her feet and hands are equally quick as they had been when they arrived at the camp after the battle. The mesmerising glint in her eyes, something between curiosity and adoration, is still just as bright. Whenever one of the wounded warriors wants to talk to her, she sits at the edge of their bed. Her head nods gently before her lips curl into a reassuring smile and she says something in return. Maybe she’ll even chuckle at something. From where he’s standing, Hvitserk can’t make out her words but he can quite clearly see the faces of the people she’s talking to and it makes his curiosity consume him entirely to know what words turn agony into peace.

Lost in his own thoughts, the young Viking doesn’t notice jarl Friedgeir approaching him. 

“Enchanting, isn’t she?” he asks with a smirk. He’s seen this scenario one too many times to have any doubts about what Hvitserk is thinking about. Friedgeir himself has been in that very same position before.

Friedgeir Esrason is nimble for his age. White and silver hair circles his tired face like a halo. Sun-damaged skin makes him appear even older, although fuller of life. It’s a testimony of long days spent on adventures, seeing what the world has to offer. Despite nearing grandfather’s age, his torso is broad and his arms are about the size of a shieldmaiden’s thigh. Brass bracelets clink every time he moves his hands. The purple material of his tunic is clearly worn out, tearing in places of the most friction.

“She is,” Hvitserk admits.

Jarl puts his heavy hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder. For a moment, the young warrior wonders if Friedgeir could actually crush his bones should he squeeze his fingers a little tighter. 

“Can I entrust a secret to you, son of Ragnar?” Friedgeir asks in a low tone. His grey eyes look around the two of them as though expecting to find a prying set of ears. Everyone besides them appeared too preoccupied with their own duties and worries to care about the gossip shared between the Jarl and the famous Lothbrok boy.

Hvitserk looks at the older man with a frown.

“My brothers and I have risked our lives for your cause, Jarl Friedgeir,” he reminds the ruler. “I have no interest in breaking your trust. You know that already.”

“Good.” Friedgeir pats Hvitserk’s shoulder. He must be unaware of his strength as the gentle slaps are actually quite forceful, making Hvitserk answer his own question about crushing bones. Friedgeir can definitely turn someone’s skeleton into dust with a squeeze. “My wife mustn’t ever hear what I’m about to tell you. That girl…” he makes a pause and points his finger at the healer, “I think she might be a bird.”

Taken aback, Hvitserk looks up and down the Jarl.

“Did the Swedes hit you on the head?” he asks half-heartedly.

“I wish it was that. But no.” Friedgeir laughs bitterly and shakes his head. A shadow of melancholy flies past his sun-damaged face only to reside inside his silver eyes as a teary glint. “I always knew there was something strange about her but I came to understanding only after seeing the great viziers of the East and their pets locked in golden cages.”

Hvitserk glances towards the healer. His eyes follow her like hawk in hopes of some enlightenment that would make Friedgeir’s words clearer to him. Alas, she appears as she did before - enticing and human.

He shakes his head.

“I don’t understand.”

The Jarl lets out a sigh.

“Just look, dear Hvitserk. See the colourful dress like a parrot’s feathers.” Hvitserk has never heard of something called a parrot, so he is left to assume that they must look nothing like the birds in Norway. “And look at men’s faces when she talks to them. Pain and suffering change into hope and peace. The only time I’ve seen that was when one of the viziers asked his angry guests to listen to his oriole singing. After an hour, no one remembered what they were fighting about.”

Time as if slows down as Hvitserk is watching the healer sit on the edge of a cot belonging to a dying man. She holds his hand tightly and tirelessly wipes cold sweat from his forehead. The warrior is stuttering, fever and pain making his wants incomprehensible. The woman sitting beside him only nods her head, offering a warm smile and a short response. Soon, the man falls limp. His eyes turn blank as his head rolls lifelessly to the side. The healer squeezes the corpse’s hand and only then gets up to continue her work. A pair of healthy warriors wrap up the body in blankets only to carry it away, to the place where a great pyre will burn after nightfall.

Hvitserk is more intelligent than the jarl. More perceptive. He’s seen geese flying southwards when winter was coming, only to come back after snow thaws. But not her - she stayed until the warriors’ skin turned cold and grey. Let go of dead hands only after the heart stopped, never earlier.

“She’s not a bird,” the young Lothbrok speaks up. Friedgeir looks at him curiously. “Can’t you see?” he asks with a chuckle on his tongue. “She must be a Valkyrie, leading fallen warriors to the gates of Odin's hall.”

The Jarl only nods slowly, pondering Hvitserk’s words. 

“If she is, perhaps death isn’t a too high price to be by her side.”

But he’s too young to be this patient and Hvitserk has to find a reason to be beside her now.

You’re taken aback when someone suddenly takes the wooden crate from your hands. The unexpected helper reveals himself to be none other but Hvitserk with a playful grin on his face. Despite giving all he could in the battle, just hours prior, he appears to still be vigorous as though the fight was a mere warm-up.

The man puts the heavy crate on his shoulder, securing it with one arm. What has given you backpain and cold sweat, seems like no chore to him. The Ragnarsons really are a different strain.

“Where do you want this?” he asks casually.

“At the pyre.” You point in the vague direction of where the bodies will be burned. “Illness thrives within the old, used dressings.”

Hvitserk begins wandering to the place you have pointed out and, not sure why, you begin to follow him. His strides are long and sure, his breathing calm and steady. He hardly fits the image of a man who had to fight like a rabid dog to survive just earlier that day.

“Are you not tired afer the battle?” you ask him. Confusion slips past your words.

“I am.” Hvitserk glances at you. It’s a quick look but you manage to notice him staring you up and down. “But I thought you might need help. You’ve been tending to the wounded for hours.”

A melodic, light chuckle escapes your lips.

“You’ve been watching me?”

His playful half-grin turns into a genuine smile. Staring at the road ahead, he almost looks bashful.

“I have a habit of admiring enticing things,” Hvitserks admits.

You feel your cheeks burning at the nonchalant compliment but you don’t let him notice that. Neither do you let his sweet words distract you.

“Then you must lead a busy, beautiful life.”

The man’s voice seems faraway and absent as he answers, as though his mind is suddenly occupied with vivid daydreams:

“Not yet.”

The noise of the camp is inaudible now. Only pine trees and wild berries accompany Hvitserk and you. A murder of crows suddenly takes flight as you pass by. Their cawing echoes through the empty forest.

You can’t quite put a finger on this sensation but something about Hvitserk makes you feel warm and calm inside. It’s the same feeling one experiences when sitting in front of a warm hearth after spending long hours in the cold. When the blood begins flowing again and the relief of not freezing to death is forgotten, the warmth and safety make one sleepy and giddy. But how can a man make you feel the same as a fireplace on a cold night?

Hvitserk sets the crate down with a low thud. The sound shakes you awake from your thoughts. A strong, putrid smell of blood, fresh wood and animal fat fills your nostrils. Even after all those years, it never gets easier to prepare people for their final journey.

“Thank you,” you begin awkwardly. Some more anxious part of you is suddenly terrified that he will somehow learn of your thoughts about him. “I don’t know if I could have carried it by myself all the way here.”

His lips curve into a sly grin and you can tell he’s about to weave a string of charming words but something about him distracts you instantly. Hvitserk’s shirt, once greyish-beige, is now brown and crimson. Not thinking much, you suddenly grab his arm. He doesn’t even get a chance to protest when you roll up his sleeve to reveal a, re-opened wound.

“Your hand is bleeding,” you state.

Hvitserk is unsure whether your stern gaze scares him or excites.

“It’s nothing.”

He tries to roll his sleeve back down but you swat his arm away. Pushing down on his shoulder, you force him to sit down on the ground with you.

“Well, it’s definitely going to scar,” you say quietly as you inspect the deep cut in his skin. “But the good news is, some women like men with scars. I know I do.”

You take out a sewing needle made from animal bone. For practicality, you’re used to wearing it pinned somewhere in your clothing. After all, one can never know when they might need it like when a handsome, charming Viking suddenly needs his wound stitched. Gods work in mysterious ways, truly…

A drop of blood drips from the wound each time you push the needle through the pale skin. Hvitserk is impressively collected - he only grunts a few times and clenches his teeth. 

“All done,” you whisper more to yourself than him. In a quick, mechanical manner you wipe the skin of his arm again and roll down the sleeve of his shirt. 

You’re standing up when Hvitserk decides he’s not quite done being the apple of your eye:

“How hurt does a man have to be for you to stay around longer?”

As though he didn’t just get stabbed eigh times in his cut and bruised arm, he’s staring at you with than same insufferable mischieviousness that you’ve grown to love so much. Sometimes you wonder whether this is exactly the reason he’s never had trouble charming women.

“A broken rib would do it,” you say with a shrug. “Or you could just ask.”

Suddenly, Hvitserk jumps to his feet. A newfound fire is burning inside him - a flame known only to those, whose affections are returned.

“Please?”

Jokingly, you frown at him.

“I didn’t know the Lothbroks knew such words,” you say in a surprised tone.

You feel his fingers dragging up your arm until his palm gently brushes against your cheek. The skin of his hand is dry and calloused, standing in a stark opposition to its owner.

“We hold it for special occasions.” Hvitserk’s voice is low, almost raspy.

“And me standing here is somehow special?”

“You don’t even know,” he whispers. His breath is hot against your cheeks. But how can a man make you feel the same as a fireplace on a cold night?

“Then tell me.”

At that moment, he knows he will have his entire life to remind you just how special you are to him; he will have his whole saga to love a Valkyrie.

[mhahaikyuus]

Hair

wc:; 1.4k

tags: black reader x katsuki, newly established relationship (still trying to keep up the illusion for your partner), black reader doing her hair, emotional reader, Katsuki being the rational calm boyfriend, fluffy, cute ending.

a/n: i skimmed barely proofread sorry for any mistakes, hope you guys enjoy. reblogs appreciated.

“I can come over tonight?” Katsuki asked on speaker of your phone. 

You two spent everyday together since he had confessed to you by shoving flowers into your hands and running off before you had a chance to respond in slight shock. 

“Uh I’m busy tonight sorry.” You said watching yourself in the mirror studying your scalp distracted. 

“Okay what about tomorrow?” Katsuki grunted unhappy he would spend time away from you. 

“Tomorrow I'm busy too, i can’t hang out this weekend.” You said eyeing the thin black plastic bag filled with beauty supplies sitting on your vanity. 

He frowned, you always told him about upcoming plans you had. At lunch always rambling about whatever you wanted and him listening with small grunts and nods. You didn’t mention anything before about plans. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. Not wanting to pry so early into a relationship and scare you off. He had plans to make you his permanently but he was nosey. 

“My hair,” You answered honestly.

“What do you mean your hair? It takes that long?” He asked confused. 

“Yeah, it does. I have a lot of hair and it takes a lot of hours sometimes a couple of days.” You admitted with a sigh already dreading the process. 

Katsuki sat there on the other side of the phone with a small sigh of relief. You weren’t blowing him off with anyone else, just your hair. He had no idea about black hair but he knew he cared about you and that meant this was important. 

“Do you need help?” He offered making you silent in surprise widely blinking at the phone. 

The man that would tell his partner in the field to fuck off when he asked. Was readily offering you his help. 

You let out a small laugh, “I do but I don’t think you know what that entails. It’s a really long process and it’s tiring. Im okay though thanks for asking.” 

He just wanted to see you. After spending every day together for a month, he doesn’t know if he could go 3 days. 

“Alright the offer still stands if you change your mind. Don’t tire yourself out.” He sighed and you both said your goodbyes. 

You fiddled with the ends of your hair with a huff. 

“Let’s get this over with.” 

~

You wanted to ram your head into a wall. Staring at half your head being braided, 10 hours down and probably another 7 to go. 

Your back hurt, your arms hurt, your head hurt it was not ideal. Not eating all day and getting irritated at everything you were in a mood. 

Throwing the rat tail comb from your hands on the floor you flopped onto your bed in tears needing a break. 

Your phone began buzzing, face still in the mattress you reached around til you found it and pressed answer button. 

“Hello,” You answered muffled 

“Hey how’s it going?” Bakugo asked 

You sniffled pulling your head up tears running. 

“It’s fine.” 

Bakugo heard how upset you were causing his forehead to crease, “What’s wrong baby?” in a softer voice. 

“It’s nothing it’s just my hair and i’m tired and cranky and i haven’t eaten all day. I’ve only done maybe half of my head and i want to stop.” You said through tears. 

“Hey, hey please stop crying it’ll be okay.” Katsuki said trying to soothe you through the phone but it wasn’t working. Noticing a twinge in his chest at the sound of your soft sniffles.

You left out small huffs trying to control your breathing, “Yeah…sorry I should go you don’t want to hear me crying. Sorry to bother.” You realized you were probably scaring away the one guy you did like with your hysterics. 

“No I didn-“ 

“I have to go thanks for calling.” 

Katsuki stared at the phone feeling his stomach sink. 

~

You cried until your eyes were puffy and reluctantly went back to braiding your hair. You were so impatient and tender headed but you would not spend 200+ dollars on box braids. 

After about an hour you heard a knock on your door. You opened it to your boyfriend with a bag of takeout and one from the pharmacy. 

You yelped in surprise slamming the door just as fast as you opened it. 

Katsuki was very confused and kind of hurt at your reaction. 

“Y/n! What the fuck come on.” He yelled from the other side of the door. 

Your face held such embarrassment, hoping this was a figment of your imagination. 

Your boyfriend was NOT here when you looked like a hot mess. 

Your non-black boyfriend at that. 

This is a nightmare. 

“What are you doing here!” You yelled back through the door. 

“Baby you were crying and I haven’t seen you in almost 2 days!"

You groaned, “You can’t see me like this! you have to go home.” 

He grunted in annoyance, “You better open up. Im not leaving when you were crying.” 

You were silent waiting for him to go home and he wasn’t budging. With a sigh you opened the door peaking out at him. 

“Are ya gonna let me in?” He asked with raised blond eyebrows and pretty crimson eyes.

You opened the door and stepped aside. 

“What’s wrong why are you slamming doors and crying?” He asked looking down at you as he entered your apartment.  

You slowly closed the door behind you and leaned back against it. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” You admitted thankful that you didn't blush noticeably.

“Baby like what.” He sighed dropping the bags on your coffee table and bringing you in close. 

Your head fell into his muscular chest, smelling his cologne.

“My hair.” You mumbled into his shirt.

He pulled back and used one hand to push back your hair to see your face. Your hair is in sections and a half-braided mess. 

“I like you and your hair. So will you calm down please?” 

“Really?” You asked with teary eyes looking up at him. 

“Yes, I do.” He reassured his hands gently holding you, his main goal to calm you down from this tired anxiety driven mood.

“Okay.” You mumbled head falling back into his chest. 

He rubbed your back, “What’s going on?” asking again. 

“I stayed up all night and im not even halfway done. I have a headache.” You mumbled in tears. 

Katsuki led you to the couch and made you take a seat. 

“Take a break. You look hangry and I brought food.” He said propping you in his lap and handing you takeout. 

You finished your food and leaned your head in his neck. Your headache stopping. He was right as usual, you were hangry. 

“I’m sorry for slamming the door in your face that was mean.” You said wrapping him in a side hug. 

His hand rubbed the side of your thigh with a light kiss on your nose. 

“It’s okay, ya didnt break my nose with the door slam.” Katsuki said making you laugh.

“Can I?” He asked gesturing to your head and you nodded. 

Katsuki’s thick fingers touching your blow dried hair. 

“It’s soft.” He said with mild surprise, “Like really soft.” 

You laughed, “Yeah I do have soft hair, but so do you.” Reaching up and lightly tugging on his spiky blonde hair. His hair was getting longer in the back. It may be because he loves your hands all over him and especially his head, giving you more hair to yank. Just a theory of course you would never say to him.

He grunted, “You feel better?” 

“Yes…” You nodded as he smiled knowing what he was gonna say

“Crying over the being hungry?” He teased showing his canines with his smile and you rolled your eyes. 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m just saying.” 

“Are you discriminating against a black woman?” You squinted but Bakugo had heard that before. 

“I just came over here with food to stop your crying and got a door slammed in my face.” He said with narrowed eyes matching your own.

“Uh fine.” You sighed, “Can you not be a good boyfriend so I can call you a bigot.” Your hand trailing up his stomach under his shirt, wanting skin to skin contact.

He pinched the inside of your thigh making you yelp in pain in response. His head deeply buried into your neck just enjoying your touch

“Ow…”You whined rubbing the bruised spot. 

[aqricus]

SHAMELESS ! feat. bachira meguru

V SAYS . . . “bachira is greedy, especially when it comes to you, and he doesn’t care who knows about it.”

+ WC . . . 4.7k

+ sfw material. suggestive. character aged up 21+. fem reader. bachira is a little off his rocker. heavy(ish) makeout session. bachira likes lipstick prints. just take it, i’m too tired for real editing.

@m-ikage i can no longer be saved.

if there’s one thing you’ve come to learn about bachira, it’s that he’s selfish.

ever since your paths briefly intersected years ago when he was nothing more than a daredevil candidate for the national team with a tenacious streak and wild eyes housing an adrenaline-starved monster, he’s been self-centered. you’ve watched him from the sidelines, even if he wasn’t always aware, eyes analytical and inquisitive as you witnessed him storm the field with enough brazen confidence to shave four years off your life. it was evident from the jump that he preferred hoarding the ball, relying on his own abilities and viewing other players as experiments for his own personal gain rather than as teammates. you didn’t need to be perceptive to notice that the intense hunger for victory and superiority that flowed through his veins was palpable.

but, above all else, he’s selfish when it comes to your attention.

having been the first person to earnestly return his confession without regard to his idiosyncratic personality, he clung to you, craving to be showered in affection and reassurance that you do, indeed, still share his feelings. meeting and befriending like-minded individuals among blue lock was beneficial to healing his social detachment, but having a romantic partner was entirely different. the warmth that seeped beneath the old scar of loneliness was brand new to him. it was silken and ticklish, caressing the tips of his ears with heat every time you touched him, each word of praise or sentiment from you swaddling his brain in a honeyed varnish that left him tugging obnoxiously on your sleeve or whatever limb is closest just to ask you another question.

it’s intoxicating, leaving him desiring more and more of your touch, of your attention, of your time. he’s borderline obsessive, perhaps, in the passing—envious, bachira might also claim—opinion of certain teammates of his, but when you’ve always indulged his touchy-feely behavior, could you truly blame him?

even now, it's the same.

loose granules of cinder crunch beneath the sole of your sandal as you shift your weight from one leg to the other. the jumbled chatter and buzzing conversation swirling among bachira's team as they mingle a little ways away has dulled to nothing more than white noise as you focus your attention on rooting through the mess of miscellaneous items stashed in the bag slung over your shoulder. it's light, the straps not pressing too heavily into your shoulder. light . . . very light. almost too light, you notice with a furrow in your brow.

"something the matter?"

you glance up at the sound of a familiar voice to witness bachira separating himself from the sea of color-block jerseys with a slight, inquisitive tilt of his head and an easy upturn of his lips. you return his smile and shake your head. “no, i’m fine. i just thought my bag seemed a little lighter than i remember. it’s probably nothing.”

he hums and extends his hand without breaking eye contact, seeking your own as if out of habit. “you sure?” his fingers lace through yours. the pads are calloused from countless hours spent honing his chiseled physique and bear a slight chill against your skin. he lifts your hand and sandwiches it between his own as if attempting to shield it from the cool breeze wafting through the scenery. “mm, could just be nerves, y’know.” he muses. his round eyes spark with energy as he squeezes your hand between his own, energy practically rolling off him in waves and prickling along the light dusting of hair blanketing his arms. “i hear the team we’re gonna play is pretty tough!”

“yeah—”

“isn’t it exciting?” he exclaims abruptly, and your eyes soften.

whereas most people would be wracked with nerves when preparing to face a team rumored to be one of the most formidable on the field, bachira has always welcomed such challenges, rivaling them all with a ferocious tenacity and a drive to succeed. and, after spending all that time meditating in complete stillness and sharpening his mind’s focus before boarding the bus, it’s only natural that he’d be buzzing with such energy and enthusiasm. “i spent hours watching footage of their plays, so i know them like the back of my hand now. one of them is super good at dribbling, but i’m still better.” he boasts with a proud grin. “man, i can’t wait to crush them on their own turf! hey,” he leans forward until the tip of his nose is just shy of bumping into your own, gaze trained on yours in a moment of sobriety. his golden irises glimmer as he inquires, “you’re staying for the whole match again, right? you’ll be waiting for me?”

“of course,” your laughter is quiet, but his eyes sparkle, anyways. “i wouldn’t be anywhere else. i even brought—” your sentence is cut into silence when you’re struck by a moment of clarity, and your eyes widen as you finally recall the item absent from your bag. “my camera!” your hands wrench away from his with a gasp, and he makes a small sound of surprise at the sudden absence of warmth that engulfs his hands. the bite of your fingernails into his triceps when you grip at his upper arms is blunted by the polyester material of his jersey. but he doesn’t seem to mind, eyes instead darting feverishly over your own to analyze how dire the situation truly is. “i was gonna take pictures!” you lament to your boyfriend, a whine pitching your voice. “i was gonna be right up front, too! i wanted to print them out and put them in that scrapbook i bought. oh, my—how quickly do you think i can run?”

“pictures . . ?” bachira echoes, but his tone is remarkably less perturbed than yours and so low it can barely be classified as a murmur, as if the idea of you being his own personal photographer was too outlandish to process. ignorant to the way the cogs in his brain are rotating on overtime, you release your death grip on his arms with a groan and whirl around to face the cluttered rows of parked cars stretching nearly as far as the eye can perceive. but, bachira doesn’t seem even remotely interested in assisting you, all of his attention transfixed on the small wrinkle of frustration creasing your brow and the way the artificial light glistens off the fresh film of sparkly gloss overlaying your lips when you pensively press them into a line.

you’re unaware of the way his attention is trained on your side profile despite the intensity of his gaze, pupils constricted with a razor-sharp acuity that most would consider to be borderline predatory. his expression is completely neutral as his gaze sears holes into your temple, which would most certainly make the situation that much more unnerving and disconcerting—if you were paying enough attention to notice, that is. it’s as if his mind has stalled, suspended in limbo as he processes your words. “you . . . were gonna take pictures of me? and print them out? like, with ink and stuff? and put ‘em in a book?”

“why wouldn’t i?” you shift your attention back to him with little care for the off-putting way he’s surveying you, more aghast that he could even be so oblivious to how photogenic he appears whenever he’s focused on the game than anything else. granted, this would be your first time capturing snapshots of his time on the field with an actual camera instead of your phone; however, you both know that this definitely wouldn’t be his first time being photographed on the field. after bearing witness to the incessant clicking of shutters and obsessive fawning from the team’s fan base more times than you can count, you can say that with full certainty.

you hook your thumb beneath the strap of your bag and slide it higher up on your shoulder. “i take pictures of you all the time on my phone, as do your fans.” you explain casually, eliciting the pucker of his lips into a tiny ‘o.’ “i can promise you that there are at least a hundred people out there right now with personal photos they took of you taped to their wall. they . . . wait, you knew that, right?” you blink.

of course, he knew about his fans. after having numerous photos of himself and body parts shoved in his face, all vying for the opportunity to have his name scribbled across them in scarlet ink until his wrist ached, it’s impossible not to be aware of the spike in popularity that accompanies being a member of such a distinguished team. however, to have you, someone perched upon a golden pedestal of admiration and reverence in his mind, find such delight in his abilities that you wish to immortalize them is far different, and it makes his heart swell with pride. you really do like him, it seems. 

the suggestion of such a sentimental gesture only nourishes the pre-existing, vivid gleam of excitement alight in his eyes. plumes of fiery adoration seep through the depths of his gaze, bleeding all the way to his irises and trickling down his sternum to cause warmth to pool in his chest. this time, when he smiles, it’s unrestrained, and he does little to mask the faint flush of rose that scales the tips of his ears.

the thrum of his heartbeat now slightly more noticeable to him, he reaches for you. your attention shifts back to him at the feeling of his fingers curling around your upper arm. “is something wrong?” he wants to coo at the innocuous twinkle in your eye—so attentive yet unassuming, so blissfully ignorant to the underlying touch of mischief to the toothy grin curving his lips as he shuffles a step closer. 

sometimes, you tend to forget that bachira is romantically stunted from having dedicated himself to advancing his physical prowess, this exposure to a brand new situation causing his emotions to fester and swell without a proper outlet before finally manifesting in his own . . . interesting ways. even now, instead of attempting to vocalize his appreciation, his fingertips tingle with the urge to pinch your cheeks, to ensnare you in his arms and smush you against his chest until you have to fight for breath, to just engulf you until you feel him as intensely as he does you. he’s an ardent lover—always been, but that’s part of why you adore him so. 

“baby,” it’s the teasing, crooning lilt in his voice that you recognize as his hands start to drift toward your waist, a warning you’ve learned to identify that’s usually succeeded by some type of embrace or grip you end up having to struggle to escape. it lures you deeper, closer into range, his hold on you barely more than a whisper over your skin until the distance between you is short enough for it to snap shut around you, ensnaring you with an iron strength he has no business having.

he bears a playful glint in his eye and a ticklish touch to match, but you know better. “no, you don’t,” you laugh, palm pressing flat against his stomach to edge him back a step. “meguru, i need my camera.” you lean closer to place a chaste peck against his cheek, which, admittedly, was your first mistake. “you need to be with the rest of your teammates right now.”

your second mistake is lingering to offer him a warm smile. while bachira is sweet to you, you should know by now that he has no problem playing dirty. he tilts his head, teeth vanishing into a closed-lipped smile. “mhm!” however, as soon as you relax, he’s quick to take advantage of it. one of his hands clamps down on your hip before you can turn away, keeping you pinned in place. “but, only if you give me my kiss for good luck.” you’re not surprised at his attempt to bargain with you; although, with how firm his hold is on you, it’s less of a compromise and more of a demand. “it’s tradition.” he reminds you cheekily.

while that much is true, you both know that you would be more than willing to indulge him and uphold your little pre-game ritual, which means that, considering the way he’s taking extra precautions by holding you still, whatever is coming next most certainly entails more than one kiss.

still, you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt, knowing that utilizing all of the time allotted for warming up his muscles is quite valuable to him—your third mistake. “that’s correct,” you agree. “but, i’m wearing lip gloss, and you’re about to head inside, so we have to be careful.” with that, you clasp your hands behind your back and tilt your chin to plant a brief kiss on his almost comically puckered lips. 

but, it’s not enough for him. the retraction of your head is calm, a sharp contrast to the desperation in his touch as the hand resting on your hip abruptly flickers up to cup your jaw and halt your withdrawal. “me—” your gasp of surprise is interrupted by the sealing of his lips over yours once more. the motion is uncalculated and uncoordinated, more spawned from a yearning for close proximity than anything else, but you don’t particularly mind. the press of his lips to yours is firm, the tip of his nose smushed against yours in an endearing display of inelegance that causes the corners of your lips to quirk upward into a small smile. his fingertips are alight with a lively heat that dances over your skin as they adjust into a more comfortable position, and you giggle against his lips at the ticklish caress of his thumb over the hollow of your cheek.

the moment you slip from his hold and start to turn away from him, regret begins to settle in, and you find yourself wishing to return to the warmth of his body when the crisp evening air rushes to engulf the ghost of his touch. regardless, you need to hurry up. unfortunately—or fortunately, whichever you may decide—you only make it a few steps before you feel the familiar weight of his hand on your shoulder once more, spinning you back to face him. 

the silent inquiry twinkling in your eyes is met with a spark of something ravenous, insatiable, puddles of vibrant gold sharpened to an acute point that pierces directly to your core. despite the secluded area of the parking lot and the clear inattentiveness of his teammates, you feel exposed—vulnerable—as if bachira’s gaze alone is intense enough to feel as if you’re being riddled with countless stares from every angle, each watchful eye stripping you down to your bare skin. it’d be unsettling if you were any less involved with him; but, as you relax in his hold, you’d figure you’re well-accustomed.

“meguru,” you chuckle, “i have to go.”

but, he wants more. one more kiss—no, two more, or perhaps three more if fortune deems him worthy. bachira knows you like the back of his hand—knows how to talk to you, where to touch you, and how to kiss you to sap your knees of their strength and leave you pliant enough to refashion your will to align with his. “one more, promise.” his voice is sticky-sweet, but his vow is empty, devoid of even a modicum of truth. it always is when it comes to your affection. just spend five more minutes with him in bed, give him one more kiss before you bid him farewell and head off to work, just let him hold you for one more minute—lies, all of them.

although, when you recognize his attempts to pour a year’s worth of reverence and adoration into such a simple gesture, you can’t quite find it in yourself to protest. so, you allow it, acquiescently tipping your head to connect your lips in a single kiss. but, just as you anticipated, he has no intention of releasing you just yet. every small, unhurried shuffle you take backward, he takes one forward, closing the distance you try to gradually squeeze between you. his presence is inexorable, curling around you and encompassing you entirely until there’s nowhere you can look—nowhere you can reach—that isn’t already occupied by him. he trails after you as if his body is operating on autopilot and all brain activity has idled, unabashedly—obsessively—pursuing you with the intent of stealing a kiss with every footstep if manageable. 

you can feel your resolve weakening with every brush of his lips, heart fluttering and limbs growing cumbersome as you try to focus on placing one foot behind the other. you know you’re a goner, as does he. any long-term resistance is futile. but, it isn’t until the tip of his tongue sweeps mischievously over your bottom lip that you cease motion altogether. your muscles tense, and your eyes widen as you sharply break the kiss, voice a tad breathless when you anxiously object, “wait—”

but, even if he hears you, bachira doesn’t seem to care. you’ve always been more cautious about monitoring the affection you two show each other in public, constantly worried about intimate photographs being snapped and stamped along countless tabloids and magazines with both of your names smeared across the headlines like a stain. you enjoy the privacy you’re afforded, something he can understand. but, he also reasons that it isn’t quite a good enough reason to keep his hands off you. he’s positive his extroverted nature plays a major role in his thought process, but in his mind, it’s quite straightforward—you two are together, and he will not allow anyone to influence that.

it doesn’t matter how envious certain fans may become or how much his manager may gripe about such a “distraction,” every external force and nagging complaint dwindles to white noise with the press of your body against his. you’re all his—his pretty girl, his sweetheart, his girlfriend, and he knows that there exist those who would cheat and steal to experience a fleeting slice of the treatment you lavish bachira with on a daily basis. why wouldn’t he want to show you off? 

with that, he tilts his head forward one final time, enveloping your lips in a kiss far deeper and far more torrid than any of the previous ones. you tense, a small murmur of surprise slipping from your throat, when you feel the slick tip of his tongue delve between your lips, coaxing them further open to allow him unrestrained access to every nook and cranny. his kisses are always energetic, overwhelming in the best way that leaves your knees wobbly and your brain buzzing from oxygen deprivation—this one is no different.

it’s as if you have to switch off conscious control of the rest of your body in order to focus well enough to maintain the fervent movement of his lips against yours. you know that if you fall behind, he’ll be quick to seize the advantage, and that is something you cannot afford right this moment. bachira is shameless with his affection, and only god knows how he’ll utilize any inch of surrender you offer.

you blindly scramble for purchase to balance yourself and manage to curl your fingers into the material of his jersey. the tight pull of the fabric into your fist is met with the feeling of his lips twitching into a grin against your own. contrary to his typical touchy-feely behavior, this time he doesn’t make any move to steady you, and your ears burn at the thought of him actually deriving amusement from your dependence on him after previously demonstrating such resistance. bachira is nothing if not impish—you knew this; yet here you are, hopelessly entangled in another one of his countless ploys contrived to submerge you in the same desire that courses through his veins on a nearly daily basis. he made sure you’d be fighting an uphill battle the moment you allowed him to lay his hands on you; and now, that’s crystal clear to you.

although, you aren’t sure whether the heat coalescing in the pit of your stomach is one of indignation or carnality.

“bachira!”

your heartbeat spikes.

someone’s acknowledged him. someone sees you.

all you can muster is a spark of strength, but it’s enough to break the kiss and retract your head. your stomach flutters at the sight of a strand of saliva webbing between your and bachira’s lips, and you hastily smear the back of your hand across your mouth to disconnect it. oh, god, please let it at least be someone meguru knows. the heat brewing beneath your clothes is almost stifling, the new twinge of desire at the apex of your thighs even more so, and you promptly swivel your head toward an empty area of the parking lot. it’s safe to say that you’re still reeling from your boyfriend’s bold ministrations, so you’re certain that one glance at your face will incriminate you. you exhale slowly. i can’t be seen like this.

you’re embarrassed to have been noticed, to say the least; but, bachira clearly is not. he reacts without any sense of urgency. his eyes twinkle as he observes you, watching you lean closer to rest your cheek against whatever part of him you can reach first. she’s warm, he notices as he lifts a hand to cradle the back of your head, his pinky grazing the nape of your neck. how sweet. his giggle is quiet, an unnervingly sharp contrast to his prior actions. you’re so cute; it makes him want to eat you up—to swallow you whole and keep you all for himself. tempting. instead, he tucks you against his chest and nonchalantly turns his head toward one of his teammates who has detached from the main group and is now standing a few yards away with his hands planted on his hips.

he doesn’t appear ruffled in the least at having caught bachira’s tongue shoved down your throat—more exasperated than anything else. “hurry up,” he advises, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at where the rest of his team is still mingling. “we’re leaving in a few minutes.” 

“yeah, ‘m coming!” bachira calls back, as ebullient and carefree as ever.

his teammate starts to turn back, only to glance over his shoulder at the last minute. “and, wipe your face, too. the paparazzi will eat you alive.” he gripes.

wipe his face? you quizzically lift your head from its place nestled against him, only for your eyes to pop wide with horror at the sight. “meguru!” you gasp. his lips are framed with visible fragments of glitter from your lip gloss, saliva having trickled down to the point of his chin in rivulets of tacky translucence and kaleidoscopic shards. his jersey is a bit wrinkled from where you’d been clutching it, and you clumsily run your hand over the creases to try to smooth them out. “oh, my god, i totally forgot about the lip gloss. i—” you reach into your bag for a clean tissue or napkin—anything, really—and fish out a wadded napkin that seems otherwise untouched. “here, use this to wipe it off.”

“and let it all go to waste?” bachira lifts his chin a bit and touches his fingertips to his bottom lip with a cheeky grin, and your heart almost stops when he angles his face toward the more populated area of the parking lot. “don’t wanna. the color brings out my eyes.”

“what are you talking about? it’s clear—” your teeth close on the tip of your tongue, tension already beginning to stack in your chest. this isn’t new behavior by any means; he’s always had a strange fondness for having your lip prints stamped across his skin, whether it’s his cheeks, throat, or chest. and, it’s not that you don’t like it, no—it’s just that there cannot be a worse moment for him to decide to keep them.

“meg,” you reach for his face to squish his cheeks between your palms and turn his head back toward you, and his lips pucker at the fire in your eyes. “your fans will literally crucify me if you walk out there with lip gloss all over you. they’re insane.”

“ah,” you can tell he isn’t enthusiastic about having to adhere, but he accepts the napkin from you, nonetheless. “fine. but,” his toothy smile returns. “you gotta make it up to me when we get home, m’kay?”

“what do you mean?” your eyebrows furrow, perplexed. “you mean more kisses? i mean, of course, you can have more—”

but, you fall silent when he shakes his head. “nope. ‘s not all i want.” you don’t get the chance to ask for clarification before he’s inclining his head until his face stills mere inches from yours. your eyes flicker down to the space between you when he raises a hand to tap his forefinger against his cupid’s bow. you can’t bring yourself to avert your eyes, his gaze pinning yours in place. “i told you, i liked how it looked.” your stomach flips at his words. “sent a real good message, too.”

“but, you’re making me wipe it off.” he reminds you, as if the blame lies with you instead of his fans. you do like seeing your lip gloss on his skin; it proves that he’s yours. you just don’t want to have to deal with the consequences if photographs spread; because, while he’s not an actor or musician, he still has his own share of unsavory, possessive fans. “so, you gotta make it up to me by givin’ me some more after i win. one for each goal i score—and i get to leave it on.”

your brain idles for a split second. “that’s . . . what you want?”

“mhm,” he nods. “a favor for a favor. so,” he leans forward, bumping his forehead against yours. “we have a deal?”

you’re quiet for a moment, mulling over his words, before dissolving into soft laughter. to make a trade such as this, bachira truly is odd. but, you tilt your chin up to place a chaste peck to the tip of his nose. it’s cute. “we have a deal.” you agree with a smile. “now,” you press your palms against his abdomen to ease him back a few steps. “i’m getting my camera. your team is waiting for you.” this time, he doesn’t object and lets you go, but you can still feel his eyes fixated on your back as you begin your trek through the rows of vehicles. 

“actually . . . i changed my mind.”

you turn back at the sound of his voice to spot a roguish grin playing on his lips.

“the color. i want red, instead.”

[pensat-i-fet]

Not important enough (Rúben Dias x Reader)

**Another request I got a couple of weeks ago that really intrigued me when I first read it and I finally got what I thought was the right idea for it. I hope you enjoy a bit of angst and fluff on this lovely Sunday afternoon ❤️**

Word count: 2753

Masterlist

Wattpad

Your eyes hurt from staring at the laptop’s screen for too long so you took your glasses off to massage the inner corner of your eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure building near the bridge of your nose.

“Take a break”, said Rúben but you shook your head while keeping your eyes closed. “Come on, don’t be stubborn. You won’t be able to work properly while your eyes are teary from how tired they are”.

“Are you the doctor now?”

“Yes, it’s Dr Dias’ advice to take a break”.

You chuckled seeing his serious face. He was definitely not a doctor but he was right. So you got up and walked to the kitchen to make a cup of tea that could help you wake up a little.

“I could make it for you”, offered your boyfriend.

“I appreciate it but you never get the milk ratio right. And you always forget the honey”.

His pouty face made you laugh again and you got up on your tiptoes to peck his lips.

“I still love you despite your inability to make good tea”.

“It’s just you being too complicated”.

“I prefer high maintenance. Sounds more expensive”.

Even though Rúben couldn’t make tea, he was very good at getting your favourite biscuits so you could have them with your cuppa.

“Thank you. I can’t even remember when I last ate”.

“You’re working too hard”.

“Well, this project won’t finish itself, sadly. But it’s almost done. And then we enjoy showing it off to the world”.

Rúben moved closer to wrap his arms around your waist. “Everyone will see how smart you are and I’ll have to fight them all off. As if being pretty wasn’t enough for you. No, you had to be a genius too”.

Laughing at his joke, you turned to face him. “Well, when they see you by my side, they’ll know to keep their distance”.

“See me?”

“Yeah, you’re coming to the presentation, right?”

“Why would I? I’m not a doctor”.

“I’m not a football player and I go to your matches”, you said, removing his arms from around your body.

“It’s not the same, you understand football and can enjoy it. What am I supposed to do at that presentation? I won’t get anything you all say. I’m a dummy”, he tried to joke but you weren’t in the mood for jokes.

“It’s not about understanding it, Rúben. It’s about supporting me like I support you”.

Grabbing your cup, you went back to your desk. You were fuming but didn’t want to argue more. You were exhausted from all the hard work your boyfriend didn’t even care about.

“Of course I support you. I spent the last week worried about you working too much, trying to get you to take breaks, worried about your health…”.

“Sorry to be such an inconvenience to you”.

“That’s not what I meant. I like being worried”, he groaned, realising he just kept saying the wrong thing. “I don’t like being worried but I like looking after you. I don’t mind. I just…”.

“You look after me for weeks but can’t spend two hours sitting on some comfortable chairs listening to me talk about something I’ve worked on for months”.

“I told you, I won’t understand a thing so it’d be boring for me…”.

“Boring? You think I enjoy seeing 6-0 wins against Nottingham Forest?”

“You’re missing my point”.

“I’m not missing any points, Rúben. I see this very clearly. I'm not important enough for you to make a small effort”.

He flinched at your tone. You didn’t raise your voice but he could hear the hurt you felt in every word.

"It's like you only care about my career because it makes you look good".

“What? What does that even mean?”

"Every video you do, every interview is the same. Look at me. I'm so smart and I date someone smart. I'm not going out with bimbos like all the others".

“That’s not what I’m doing”.

“You might not notice but it is. It seems to me that you talk more about my career with others than you do with me”.

"Is that how you feel?"

"Yes, sometimes it is. Right now, for example".

“I never meant to make you feel like that”, he says, his voice so low you could barely hear him.

“Yeah, well…but thank you for giving me an excuse to not go to your matches. I also find them very boring. But I’ll make sure to tell everyone I’m dating a footballer just to show off”.

Rúben was hurt by your words but cared more about how he had been hurting you by doing something he wasn’t even aware of, so he just left you to keep working. When you were angry, you needed time to cool down. So he would give you time.

But by the time he was getting ready for bed, you were still working and he didn’t know what to do. Normally, he would try to get you to stop working so you could rest. But now he feared another argument happening so he didn’t say anything.

The following morning, Rúben woke up and found your side of the bed was empty and it looked like you hadn’t slept there. That really worried him. He knew you were capable of staying up all night working. You told him about all the times you did that in uni during exams.

But you weren’t working. You were asleep… on the sofa. He shook his head, noticing your bad posture. Now you’d be angry at him and in pain. Great.

“Wake up”, he said gently, caressing your face.

“No”.

“If you want to sleep, you need to go to bed. Your back will kill you later for sleeping here”.

You finally turned to face him and he noticed the way you looked at him. No longer angry, but still hurt.

“What do I need to do so you forgive me? Name it and I will”.

“Too late to pretend you care, Rúben”, you said, getting up and going to your bed.

He followed you, but when he saw you cover your head with the blankets, he let you rest. There will be time to talk later.

                                       **

Bernardo worried seeing how weird his friend was behaving since he got to the training centre. He didn’t push him around once, so there was something wrong for sure.

“What’s going on?”, he asked, sitting next to Rúben, who had been staring at his phone for a while.

“Huh?”

“You’re acting weird. Everything alright?”

“Sure, other than the fact that my girlfriend doesn’t even want to speak to me because I’m an idiot”.

“What did you do?”

“She’s been working on this huge project for months and has to do a presentation next week”, he said, and Bernardo kept nodding to show he was listening. “And she thought I would go to the presentation but I didn’t expect her to invite me. I mean, that’s for doctors and such. I’m not smart enough to be there. So she got angry at me for not supporting her”.

“She’s got a point”.

Rúben sighed. “I know she does. But that’s not the worst thing. She thinks I only care about her career because it makes me look good to date a doctor. But that’s not true”.

“So”, said Bernardo, looking at Rúben’s phone. “Your solution to that is buying flowers? Really?”

Rúben locked his phone, annoyed at his inability to fix this. “It’s a start. She likes flowers”.

“I think what you two need to do is talk”.

Rúben knew his friend was right but still bought a bouquet of flowers on his way home. It couldn’t hurt, right?

“Hello?”

No response. Maybe you were out. That’d actually be good because you need the fresh air.

“Hi”, you said, taking your laptop from the kitchen to go back to your desk.

“You don’t need to hide from me”.

“I need silence to work. And are those for me?”

“Yes, I just thought it could cheer you up to see some fresh flowers. I got your favourites”.

“Thanks”, you said, but barely looked at the bouquet and went back to your desk.

Rúben knew he should allow you all the time you needed to stop being angry but he had to leave in two hours.

“Please, let’s just talk and fix this. I have to leave and I don’t want to be away from you knowing you’re mad at me”.

“We can talk when you come back from the match”.

At least you wanted to talk. “Ok. I’ll leave the tickets under your name like always…”.

“Don’t bother. I’m not going”.

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

“Too boring. And I have work to do”.

“But you’re always at my matches supporting me”.

“Yes, I know. I wish the support went both ways instead of being so one-sided”.

With that, you closed the door and Rúben knew there was nothing he could do. So he picked up his things and left. He could drive around the city for a couple of hours and try to relax. But the guilt didn’t allow him to do it.

You hated arguments. Always had. But arguments with Rúben hurt even more. Still…you were right to be angry. You were only asking for two hours of his time when you had spent God knows how many at matches. Even travelling to other countries to support him.

But then you went to the kitchen and saw the flowers and felt terrible for being so harsh. You could feel the tears in your eyes while you got the vase and placed the flowers there. He was trying but just didn’t understand why he had hurt you so much.

Somehow, you managed to sleep for a couple of hours. And when you woke up, you headed to the shower to get ready for the day. There was a lot of work that needed to be done. And then there was Rúben.

Rúben also only slept for a couple of hours, which wasn’t ideal before a match. But he couldn’t stop thinking about your argument. And knowing you weren’t going to be there supporting him really showed him how painful it must have been for you to hear he wouldn’t attend your presentation.

The match was thankfully pretty uneventful. Otherwise, he would have been in trouble because he hadn’t been able to concentrate properly at all. His teammates must have noticed how silent he was but didn’t say anything. They knew he didn’t take it well when his performance was subpar so they just assumed that was what was bugging him.

“Hi. Can you drive me home?”, he turned when he heard your voice and found you standing awkwardly. “I called an Uber to come to the stadium so…can I go back home with you?”

He nodded, not believing you were there. “I thought you weren’t coming to the match”.

“I’m always here to support you, Rúben. No matter how badly you mess up”.

He finally had a reason to smile and the smile only got bigger when you hugged him. “I don’t deserve you”.

“Don’t say that. And I’m sorry I was so mean to you but you really hurt me”.

“I know”, he said, moving back to look at you. “I get it. And I’m sorry. I’d love to go to that presentation even if I don’t understand anything. I want to support you, always”.

“You don’t have to…”.

“But I do. And…yes, you were right about me showing off how smart you are. But it’s not to pretend to be better than others. It’s just because I can’t believe someone as smart as you would want to be with an idiot like me who only knows how to kick a ball”.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You also know how to head a ball”, you joked, making him laugh. “You aren’t stupid, Rúben. I would never date someone stupid. I've got high standards”.

“I feel very stupid now”.

“Wait until you go to the presentation, then”.

                                     **

After months of hard work, it was time to show it to the world and you were absolutely terrified.

"Why are you staring at yourself like that?", asked Rúben when he got inside the room and saw you standing in front of the mirror, only wearing a towel after your shower.

"I forgot everything I've ever learnt".

"No, you haven't. Did you take something for your anxiety?"

When you shook your head, he went back to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and then took one of your tablets from the nightstand. You thanked him and took the tablet, letting out a big sigh afterwards.

"Need anything else?"

"No, I just have to get dressed and do my hair and makeup. Nothing too fancy. I won't take long".

You grabbed the clothes and went to the bathroom. And just twenty minutes later, you came out and Rúben couldn't stop staring at you.

"You look so sexy".

"I'm not supposed to look sexy, Rúben. I'm supposed to look professional".

You went back to the mirror to see your outfit again. Was the skirt too short? Should you do the top button of the blouse too?

"You look professional. But also sexy because you just can't help it".

That made you chuckle. "Heels or flats?"

"Heels and that skirt…".

"Rúben, you're drooling".

"And that's just from imagining it. When I see you actually wearing them, I'll need CPR. Thank God I live with a doctor".

You rolled your eyes and found the earrings you wanted to wear before putting on your heels.

"See? You didn't faint".

"No, but is this normal?", he asked, grabbing your hand and putting it on his chest so you could notice how fast his heart was beating, which only made you roll your eyes again.

"Let's go or we'll be late".

Only five minutes into the presentation, Rúben realized how wrong he had been. Boring? This topic was fascinating!

He actually enjoyed listening to the physios whenever they chatted with each other about the player's injuries. Even if he didn't understand many words they said. But he made himself feel better thinking he probably knew them in Portuguese but not in English.

By the time you were done with the presentation, he was even more impressed by how smart you were. And you always played it down saying you just knew the same as every doctor but Rúben could hear other people whispering about how brilliant your presentation was so he knew that brain of yours was very special.

Everyone stood to applaud you and your colleagues but no one did as enthusiastically as Rúben. Actually, one of the men on his right looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"She's my girlfriend", he said, pointing at the stage.

The only boring part was having to wait for you by the car. So many people wanted to talk to you and congratulate you…but Rúben just wanted to get his girlfriend back.

"Finally!", you said, approaching the car and taking your shoes off.

"You were so brilliant!", said Rúben, lifting you in his arms and spinning you around. "Everyone talked about how good your research was. You should have heard them. And you looked so good too. My extremely smart and sexy doctor".

You were still laughing when he finally put you back down. "I take it wasn't boring then".

"Boring? I have so many questions. Let's get in the car and you can start answering them. That last bit about the muscle tissue blew my mind".

"I'm a bit tired of talking. Could we leave the questions for tomorrow?"

Rúben realized how exhausted you looked and nodded. "Sure, whenever you can and want".

You got into the car and closed your eyes, trying to calm down after such an intense event.

"But just one thing. That first procedure you explained, could it be applied to athletes too? I think our doctors would love to hear your presentation".

Opening your eyes, you turned your head to look at your boyfriend. And you couldn't help but smile at him and his excitement. "Do you want me to do the presentation again but for them?", you laughed.

"Only if I get to be there. I'll bring a notebook to take notes and everything".

"Don't worry. I heard you're sleeping with the professor, I'm sure she'll let you borrow her notes".

[littledollll]

Could I please request a sub!Larissa weems X dom!reader where they've been dating for a few months but haven't had sex yet because Larissa is always busy/they get interrupted and r thinks it's because Larissa doesn't think r is lying and that it's because she doesn't think r is attractive enough. This compounds r's thoughts that Larissa is fair too beautiful and kind to be with someone so average. One day it gets too much for r and they go to Larissa's office to try to break up with her but can't find her. This leads them to Larissa's private chambers where they accidentally walk in on Larissa masturbating while moaning r's name. This puts all of r's worries to bed so they ask Larissa if she wants some help. They end up having sex and afterwards Larissa tries to get back to her work but ends up nearly falling trying to walk to her desk causing r to laugh and make a snarky comment which makes Larissa throw a pillow at them?

Misunderstandings

Larissa weems x reader

A/n: MORE LARISSA I’m a simple person, I see Larissa, and I cry of joy.

Warnings: this is absolute filth, really idk what else to say. Begging, overstim, dom reader, sub Larissa, teasing, dirty talk, crying (but it’s pretty)

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Being with The Larissa Weems was every bit as wonderful as you’d expected it to be. She was a busy woman but the time you spent together was always worth the wait. She was beyond sweet and caring, and she’d take the opportunity to spoil you any chance she’d get, even when you’d argue against it.

There was one problem though. It’s been months and your sex life was- non existent. You have no problem waiting for her to be ready, but that’s never been a topic of conversation, it’s not that she wasn’t ready and wanted the “perfect time” or was inexperienced.

Truly you felt like you weren’t good enough for her, her power and elegance, she was beautiful, a goddess. And you thought of yourself as very- average. Yet she showered you with so much affection regularly so maybe she didn’t believe the same. Sometimes it felt like she did though, more specifically when she wouldn’t dare to touch you or let you touch her.

She seemed to have an excuse for every time you’d try to initiate something. Office work, students, a teacher asking for assistance. And those seemingly came out of nowhere and only when things started to get heated. Did she not want to be with you? Any time you’d try to talk about it she’d shut you down and you were getting quite tired of it.

You walked into her office with the intentions of ending things with her, but she was nowhere to be found. Could she be in her room? But Larissa being away from her office during school hours is extremely rare. Regardless you made your way to her chambers, set on at least confronting her.

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You tried knocking first, it’d be better than just storming in demanding answers from an unsuspecting Larissa. When she didn’t answer you decided to use your keys. You didn’t find her in the main areas so you walked in the direction of her bedroom only to be met with the sound of moans.

Was she cheating on you? No, Larissa would never. All suspicions cleared away when you heard her again, this time it was your name falling from her lips. She was lucky her chambers were the most secluded, otherwise anyone near her door would hear.

The sight you were met with once you decided to open the door was one you’ll surely never forget, all the anger and confusion you previously had washed away. Larissa was spread on her bed skirt bunched up to her hips and dress shirt opened to reveal her breast, both hands between her thighs one thrusting into her cunt while the other was moving frantically against her clit.

Her chest was heaving, pretty pussy red and absolutely soaked so she must’ve been at this for a while. Shame wasn’t a concept she understood at the moment as her hazy eyes practically begged you to finish her off. Her movements had only grown faster, more erratic since you caught her, thighs shaking and threatening to close around her hands.

You were positively stunned. As you watched her face contort in pleasure, any attempts at keeping eye contact with you thrown out the window when she felt your hand smooth down her inner thigh and meet with her own. She couldn’t take it anymore, she’s wanted you for so long and here you were actually touching her.

“You look so pretty for me darling, legs spread presenting your aching pussy, for my viewing only. You look seconds away from cumming just because I touched you.” You kneeled down to the end of the bed and were met with a whine when you pulled Larissa’s hand away from her twitching cunt, you shushed her, replacing her hand with your own making Larissa’s hips buck as she attempted to ride your fingers, a loud moan escaping her.

“That’s it baby just ride my fingers, keep playing with your clit darling, make yourself cum again.” You took Larissa’s now free hand and took her fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them, cleaning every last inch of her arousal and moaning at the taste. Her eyes snapped to meet you. Such a vulgar display and she wanted nothing more than to feel your tongue down her slit.

The sight of Larissa squirming from your touch had you soaked. Her constant moans and whines were driving you insane, specially how your name left her lips with pleading whimpers when you curled your fingers just right. A loud moan escaping her as she shook in your hold, thighs tensing and closing around your hand with the force of her orgasm.

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You could feel her arousal running down your hand. It was messy and absolutely heavenly. Her feet planted on the bed as she struggled with your pace, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to shift away from you or push herself harder against you. You changed from three fingers to four and she lost it.

A breathless, “Oh god- please!” was the start of many pleas as you crawled over her. You hands keeping a steady pace against her twitching hips when you met face to face with her. What a fucking sight, the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head, parted mouth accompanied by her head thrown back in pleasure could’ve made you come untouched.

Your free hand was wandering, calm and composed as if you didn’t have Larissa withering beneath you, from her lips down her neck and chest. “I've been neglecting your pretty tits havent I?” she moaned at your words and nodded, you had no shame when you spoke and she loved every second of it.

Her back arched when your mouth wrapped around her sensitive nipple, you were pinching and rolling the other between your fingers as you somehow pounded faster into her. Her eyes were blissfully squeezed shut and she made no attempt to cover her moans. “m gonna cum- please make me cum.”

With a hum you grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at you. “No more looking away, alright? Eyes on me or I’ll stop.” It was adorable, the way her eyes widened and she shook her head whimpering. “please don’t, don’t stop don’t stop-!” She cut herself off with a choked sob when she bucked her hips to meet your thrusts and rubbed her clit with even more vigor.

You cupped her face, cooing at her, making her slow her movements. “Slow down darling, just be good and you’ll have nothing to worry about, don’t want you torturing that pretty clit, I’ll make you cum doll, just look at me.” Her cries made your core burn with need but this was about her. You’d take care of that later.

You brought your hand to wipe away a tear that escaped her watery eyes. “My good girl, you look so pretty crying for me, you wanna let go doll?” She could only nod, nuzzling into you hand. “Let go pretty, come for me. Make a mess.” And that she did. She struggled to keep her eyes on you but like the good girl she is, she followed orders.

She stuttered and cried through her orgasm, her hand flinching away from her clit to stop the torture and found your arm to stabilize herself as you fucked her through it. She didn’t last an extra minute before both hands were struggling to push you away as she sobbed from overstimulation, reluctantly you gave into her pleading, pulling away slowly.

You settled on top of her, careful not to put your weight on her but her arms wrapped around you pulling you onto her. “You doing alright, pretty girl?”, You could feel the shivers and aftershocks running through her as she panted into your neck. “Just- give me a second.”

After a few minutes catching her breath she forced herself for leave your warmth. She had work to get to after all.

“You’re telling me you left your precious work, during school hours to quite literally go fuck yourself?” You said, amused as she sat up and gathered herself. Larissa glared at you and stood to fix herself, only to find her legs didn’t quite work and she had to catch herself with the side of the bed.

You tried covering your laugh and failed horribly, receiving another glare from Larissa. “You can’t blame me, really. Did I fuck you that good? Did I make your knees weak, pretty girl?” You were smug as you crawled your way to her only to be met with a pillow to the face. “Gah! I’m reporting you to the principal! Oh wait I can’t she’s busy recuperating from the best fuck of her life.”

“Don’t let this get to your head darling, you’ll regret it.” Could she get any hotter? Now she was threatening you? “Hm, you’re gonna mess me up real good right? When you can walk again of course. Id love to have you between my thighs, ready and focused on pleasing me.” The threats could make cover her submissiveness but they couldn’t cover up her flustered face.

“Another day, you have work to get to, needy girl.” You pushed her to sit on the bed, moving to her drawers you got her a fresh pair of panties and slipped them on for her. You fixed her dress, smoothing down every wrinkle before coming up and giving her a soft kiss. “You okay beautiful? I’d tell you to take the rest of the day off but you’ll never listen to me, on that at least.”

Larissa was completely mesmerized by you. No one had ever gone so far to make sure she was okay and comfortable. You could practically see the cogs turning in her head. “Riss?” She seemed to snap out of it then giving you a quick nod.

You wished she would take the rest of the day, you could spend more time on aftercare, maybe fulfill that little fantasy of having her between you legs too. But you’d make due with what you had. You took time to fix her hair and she relished in your gentle care.

When you were done you took an extra second to look at her. “You look beautiful.” Larissa blushed and stood, legs working far better this time around. She leaned down to give you a kiss which you gladly reciprocated. “And you came straight from a dream, my darling.”

When you were done you took an extra second to look at her. “You look beautiful.” Larissa blushed and stood, legs working far better this time around. She leaned down to give you a kiss which you gladly reciprocated. “And you came straight from a dream, my darling.”