#anyway I will find a way to double down on the feet thing in an artsy way.

[stairain]

Conditioned response

You knew training someone like a dog wasn't the most ethical, but Spencer just makes it too easy to pass up.

Warnings: Sub Spencer, Mean reader, conditioning, forced orgasm, cumming in pants, dry orgasm, crying, begging, manipulation, ropes. 

WC: 1.2K

Training Spencer to cum on command was a labor of love. Having spent hours studying Pavlov and Skinner just to be able to make a  mess of your poor boyfriend on whim.

Spencer was almost unrecognizable, his face a deep shade of red and pink, slathered in a dripping layer of sweat, and a puddle of his own spend at his feet. 

Throwing his head back and swallowing breathlessly, he looks to you and pleads.

“P-Please—Stop. Can we stop, please?”

His rug burned wrists desperately trembling in their binds as he tries so hard to be good for you. It’s wearing him down, you’ve made him cum at least three times now simply by the snap of your fingers. 

It wasn’t this easy at first, and it didn’t even register what you were doing when you finally gave him permission to cum and just so happened to snap at the same time. 

No, it took a while. After the next few times, it confused him, he ignored it, but then it became an expectation to him. 

Whenever your hand was tightly wound against the sensitive tip of his dripping cock, he’d look to you with those desperate pleading eyes before mustering up the courage to beg for release. 

After he’d ask, he wouldn’t wait for your call, no, instead he’d look down at wherever your free hand was. 

As a man of extensive knowledge, especially to things pertaining something as simple as conditioning, Spencer knew these things worked. 

He just hadn’t even expected himself to be the lab rat in your little experiment. 

But now, you’d find him adjusting just fine. At least to your standards. 

As soon as he arrived home, you had dragged him to the garage. He’d made no attempt to stop you, even as you sat him down on a cold metal chair. 

He didn’t even raise an eyebrow when you began to tie him to aforementioned chair. 

Spencer knew better than to question you, and he knew better than to speak without being spoken to. So when he dared open his mouth to talk, you’d quickly snapped your fingers, the sound reverberating through the empty, cold garage. 

Whatever word he tried to say had been quickly replaced with a weak whimper. You let out a small huff of amusement, you’d expected this. 

The dull brown cotton of his slacks were out to get him, he was convinced. You’d had enough of an ego boost knowing he just came untouched, but as the light fabric began to darken as it soaked with semen, you just couldn’t help yourself. 

“Look at you, making a mess so easily.”

You almost scoff, your words taunting and mean.  This was your own doing, how could you possibly blame him for this? But you did anyways, and he hung his head in shame as he tried to ignore the sticky spend seeping into his briefs. 

“I-I’m sorry, couldn’t help it.” 

It’s recommended to ask for permission before you beg for forgiveness, but you made sure he’d never be able to attempt the former. 

“Tell me what you know about counterconditioning, Spence.”

You say as you crouch down in front of him, granting the littlest bit of kindness as you start to undress him and rid him of his soiled clothes. 

The brunet stumbles over his words at first, but answers nonetheless. 

“I-It’s a way to reverse the effects of classical conditioning, associating a set conditioned response—“

You snap. He cums.

Spencer almost doubles over in shock as he shoots another load of sticky seed into his pants. 

“With another un—fuck—unconditioned stimulus.” 

You nod as you pull his cum drenched briefs and pants down his legs, and look up to him with eyes that render him absolutely useless. 

“And how would I do that, to stop this?”

You emphasize your question with the swipe of your fingers across his slick covered tip. His thighs twitch around your head and he licks his lips, trying to take back what little composure he’s ever had.

“Y-You could do that–“ His eyes flicker down to where you’re touching his cock “A-And stop snapping. E-Eventually there won’t be an association between the stimuli.” 

Spencer speaks with an urgency that’s only found in those who know they’re done for. 

“But you don’t want that, do you?”

Your voice drips in a malicious seduction, tilting your head to the side as if to feign an innocence only he should have. 

It doesn’t take more than a second for him to shake his head. Even with his cock aching and his thighs sticky, his need to obey you was stronger than the pain of his self. 

So when you smile up at him, looking genuinely proud, it makes the ache worth it. He smiles back, albeit crooked and broken. 

The moment doesn’t last long, of course it doesn’t. As soon as he saw you raise your hand and press your fingers together, his eyebrows wrung together and his thighs quickly shut. 

It was fascinating, it was as if his body just couldn’t stop itself. Even as only a few spurts shot out of his throbbing cock. Thick white drops of cum dripped down the veiny shaft, falling all the day down his balls and onto the chair beneath him. 

Spencer throws his head back and lets out a strained moan, one that was full of pain and little pleasure. 

It hurt so badly, and he could barely keep up. You were simply torturing him because you could.

“I-I can’t, please.”

He begs, shaking his head when you stand up from your knelt position and look down on him like he was a filthy animal. 

“I’ve only touched you once, and here you are cumming without my permission three times. How selfish.”

You degrade him, reducing him to the villain in the scenario. Tears begin to stream down his face and he can feel his heart twisting in his chest. 

You’re right, he’s failed you more times than acceptable. He should feel ashamed.

“I-I know, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Spencer practically sobs, his entire body trembles as it aches with the aftershocks of three forced orgasms. 

A small huff expels from your nose and you shake your head. It was unfair, really, how easily manipulated he was. 

It was your fault after all, but what was it worth if not the satisfaction of reducing this know-it-all of a man down to desperate pleads and animal-esque behavior? 

You’ve got your hand held up behind your back, he knows it. He knows you too well to ever even entertain the idea you’d ever listen to him, but he’s hopeless enough to try anyways. 

A sob wrecks through his throat and he feels as though he can barely breathe. 

“P-Please—Stop. Can we stop, please? I-I can’t do this anymore.” 

It’s cruel, the way you laugh in his face as he drowns in his tears. How foolish of him to even ask.

Maybe you were being a touch too cruel, but it was all worth it the moment you saw genuine fear fill his eyes and the slight shake of his head as he begged you one last time to end it. 

But he knew better, and he couldn’t help himself as the hand behind your back echoed a snap right through his ears and out his length. 

You see the way his mouth drops open in a shrill cry, and relish in the sight of nothing coming out of his poor cock in a torturous dry orgasm.

His body’s given you everything it possibly can, and yet, you just can’t help yourself. 

[fuctacles]

wiggly wormy wednesday

Thanks @formosusiniquis for tagging me!!! Here's a thing inspired by that one fanart of Eddie in that one t-shirt that I can't find now

Steve works during the summer as a pool boy. 

It's a good ego boost as he's been in high demand among the housewives in the area. His schedule is full, to the point he has to start declining some offers to have time for himself. When his phone rings with another job offer, he doesn't reject it right away because he's startled to hear a man's voice for a change. Then he hears he'll double the salary and he agrees. 

The address he jotted down leads him to the oldest mansion in town, dark and looming over the neighborhood. He understands the raise in money now and is glad that he told Robin where he'll be. 

The gate is open, so he pushes his way through the artfully neglected garden towards the door, where a note is waiting for him.

You'll find cleaning tools in the shed. Knock on the back door when you're done.

Steve knew of eccentric old people but this one was slowly taking the cake. He rounds the estate to find the pool behind it, and the cake is pulled out of his grip. Who in their right mind paints the pool red? 

By the state it's in, it probably hasn't been used in weeks. The surface is fully covered in leaves and twigs, and the tiles around it are covered in grime. It's a wild 180 after being called to clean pools just so he can hand out sodas and towels to a group of old ladies, but he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work.

Every now and then, he looks up from his work, expecting to find someone ogling him, but he never finds anyone. It's a weird thing to consider a constant of his job, but he came to expect it. Double-checking that he's really alone, he starts humming to himself to make the time go faster. If he's ever called here again, he might take a radio or a walkman with him. 

He's done surprisingly fast, with the sun still high when he goes to knock on the back door. His curiosity is through the roof to see what kind of person his employer is. 

He hears a click by his feet and when he looks down, he realizes the cat door has spat out an envelope. Inside he finds his payment and a note. 

Will double it if you come at 5pm next week

So Steve does, not worried much because the sun is still up, even if it casts ominous shadows around the mansion. 

In one of these dark corners, he spots a lawn chair, the shade doubled with a huge umbrella over it. He wonders if this time, some rich lady is going to join him. Or, the tiny bi-curious bone in his body supplies, the guy who hired him. For the time being, he focuses on his task. 

It's so dark, that he almost misses it. But when he does a double take as he's swiping the poolside, he yells. 

On the chair in the double shade, wearing all black, a huge straw hat, and sunglasses, sits a figure. Steve's eyes are confused as to why they're seeing a black-and-white picture in the middle of his technicolor world. 

The figure raises its hand, making its features more distinguishable. 

"Sorry!" says a voice Steve vaguely recognizes from the phone call. "Don't mind me, just getting my money's worth!" The man grins, sharp and bright, and relaxes against the chair with intent to stay, a glass of wine held in his hand.

Steve considers him for all of two seconds, before grabbing at the bottom of his t-shirt. Fuck it. This is what half of the job is about anyway.

The fabric hits the ground, and he gets a surprisingly goofy whoop of approval. 

tagging if u wanna join: @stevesjockstrap @yesdangerpls @stevieharringtonwifeguy @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly @adverbally

[nvuy]

nuvy. nuvy have you heard of the boothill leaks.

YES i did *salutes*

boothill story leaks under cut;

girl dad girl dad

soooo what about boothill falling in love with a single parent with a daughter hmm hmm

like god if he doesn’t just accidently run into the kid and she squeals over him because “hey!! cool robot man!!” and you chase her down and apologise.

he freezes, because your daughter looks so much like his did.

same hair colour, same eye colour, same energy that he could barely keep up with, just learning to walk on two feet properly and string together words to form simple sentences.

it absolutely destroys him. in the worst and best way possible. especially since your daughter practically develops an admiration for him on the spot, begs to be carried, and you’re confused because “sweetie, you shouldn’t be talking to strangers.”

like like.,,,, example……..

Something small and warm wraps around his hand and Boothill glances up quickly from his lap.

There was a little girl searching for his fingers, barely three years old by the looks of it. Pretty tresses of black hair flowing in the wind near the shoreline, sniffling and barely standing on short wobbly legs.

“I need help,” she hiccups, and Boothill melts on the spot. So small and helpless, like a baby bird away from its mother’s nest. “I can’t find my–”

And of course, he stands up, dusts off his pants, and offers her his hand. He guides her away from the beach back towards the market where crowds of people swarm the stalls.

It’s nighttime, cold, and definitely no place for a little girl to be by herself.

“What’s your parents look like, princess?”

He busies himself searching for any targets that would make sense given the girl’s prattling of your appearance down to the colour of your shoes—“White. Like mine.” Hers light up purple with each step she takes—too many faces, too many people.

He stands to give up when he hears somebody frantically running around like a lunatic to every single store, asking if they’ve seen a little girl with light up sneakers wandering about.

“Calm down. I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” he heard one of the assistants try.

Another shopkeeper offers a pitiful frown and shakes their head.

Boothill nudges the girl, squeezing her small hand in his, careful of his strength around fragile bones. “Is that them?”

She quickly wipes the tears from her face. She then nods and takes off into a sprint to lunge at you, still sobbing when she wraps her arms around your leg.

You sigh in relief and scoop her up into your arms.

Boothill then has an entire conundrum in the middle of the market square. For one, your daughter is waving him over with a smile on her face. Two, you looked like you were about two seconds away from passing out in shock. Your clothes are askew, hair a mess, face flushed and yet simultaneously drained of blood.

He steps closer anyway, though hesitantly. He can’t say no to the little thing whose grin has now grown double the size of her face.

“This is the man that helped me,” she explained softly to you, pointing at him with a small finger.

You scanned him over.

For a moment, he thought you were going to turn around and book it in the other direction. A random ‘robot man’ in the centre of the town square was probably the least most inviting thing he could’ve been. Not to mention he had been sitting at the docks for so long staring out into the water he knew his hair had been tossed wildly from the wind.

Not that you appeared anymore put together.

Instead, you grab his face with a free hand and kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you,” you whispered hoarsely.

He almost damn near blue screens. The words ‘anything for you’ fight to come forth out of his throat.

Instead, he lets out a garbled noise before he clears his throat. “Of course. Couldn’t let the little princess run too far.” He teased your daughter with a tap to her nose.

She grabs his finger and presses the pads of her own across the metal rivets and joints like she’s studying them curiously.

Your daughter stared up at you with giant puppy eyes, still holding his hand. “Can we keep him?”

It was your turn to make a weird noise, spluttering with your face heating up. “You can’t keep people.”

All the while, Boothill was staring at you as you chastised her with hot cheeks.

No spouse by the looks of it—nor had the little princess mentioned somebody else. He knew kids liked to ramble on about their parents.

Well, his daughter did. Something cold and metallic turned in his stomach. She used to think her dad was a hero.

He wondered if she still would.

No ring on your finger. Adoration was such a gentle expression on your face, and the way you held her so firmly, yet so delicately, said it all.

Oh, if he wasn’t completely head over heels from the very beginning.

the angst potential. The angst potential. Theeee angst potential. i’m gritting my teeth.

i’m going insan e

[sun-snatcher]

That Kitsch!Gambit is so steamy LORD PLEASE write a Channing!Gambit version. I know you don't write smut but. Just a taste. Please. You'd be doing the Channing girlies a service.

♧ |  own sweet time  ;  ‘24!Gambit

summ.  A supply run goes sour. You and Remy pass time in the Void the only way you know how.  pairing.  Void!Gambit x f!Void!reader a/n.  A blurb. Allusions to smut but really it's just heavy-petting and a make out. Anyway. Don’t look at ME. You people asked for this!

The Void is vast.

Vast usually means quiet.

Which, really, is a double-edged sword for your situation at the moment. It all depends— but logistics is honestly the last thing you’re caring about in this seedy, rundown 80’s Diner that you and Remy have temporarily camped in for the night after that tragedy of a supply run, no—

Not when you’re purring under his heaty touch, and he’s sweeping you off your feet to corner you against the counter with his eyes half-mast, and that damn smirk across his face.

He always likes to play with his food.

“Foldin’ your cards already, chèr?” 

Your hands roam uselessly across the armour over his chest, finding purchase at the thick muscles of his arms caging you in.

“Mh. You’re a cheater,” you volley, dragging him close by his coat and tip-toeing to meet him in a quick there-and-away kiss.

A dimpled smile. “S’only one thing I play dirty at, chèr.”

You roll your eyes, but your huff of laughter betrays you. “You talk too much.”

“That so?” he hums, cutting.

You can’t even answer.

The taunt is enough to have him dipping down, snaking his hand loose around your neck like a collar, and devouring you like his life depended on it. Raw hunger. It sends your world careening; body unravelling. You want to reach out incase you fall apart— you want to be touched and surrounded and kissed.

“Up,” he instructs, voice like roughstone; and when you obliged obediently, let him hike you up around his hips and keep you from falling with nothing but a single arm wrapped around you, he croons out the approval that makes your head swim; 

“Attagirl.”

Some strangled sound— a wanton plea, probably— escapes you. It’s hard to miss his smile against your lips; Likes when you preen for him, the smug bastard. 

He settles you fluidly on a booth table, and you barely have the time to catch your breath until he’s leaning his tousled-head down again, tilting your chin up with his fingers, and nosing a bruising kiss over your lips and to the tender pulse beneath your jawline.

“Remy,” you manage, half-whined and half-croaked. “Please.”

He shushes you. Three consecutive tuts, almost. Chiding. It stirs something in you. 

This— arrangement— has been routine enough for him to know exactly what makes you tick; know what disarms you; lets him have his way. You hardly remember when it all started. Time doesn’t matter in the Void. Somewhere between his suggestive banter, and your wandering gazes, and both of your lingering, purposeful touches— you and he found comfort burying in each other with this make-shift intimacy.

Casual, you remind yourself. This is… casual.

He grazes tongue and teeth against your collar. Canine-sharp. 

Christ. The whole Devil thing makes sense, doesn't it?

And Gambit runs hot. Smouldering to the touch— warm and kindling and as searing as brimstone. You wonder, idly, if it has something to do with all the kinetic energy coursing through him; if it’s ever intentional. An exposed livewire that singes and thrums throughout your body as he mouths at the thin skin of your flesh.

“Remy.” You arch, helpless, trying to get impossibly closer to him.

He slides his palms up, rough and excited, working your body firmly where and how he wants you, back down the cold metal of the table.

It’s enough force that you thud the back of your head.

You barely notice it, too distracted with the pressure of him, but Remy does— and then he’s quickly pulling away from a wet kiss at the hollow of your throat.

“Y’alright?” he withdraws, slowing considerably. Irises fade bright fuschia to sea-green. The roughness in his touch quickly melts away. "M’sorry, chèr."

His powers bleed through sometimes whenever he’s kickstarted with adrenaline; tends to give way and have him end up using more force than necessary. His thumb sits at your bottom lip, breath curling with yours as he checks you over with a flickering gaze.

“It's okay,” you murmur, already pulling him forward. (You forget just how much that Cajun accent of his does it for you.) "Didn't hurt me, sweetheart."

He seals you into a talisman of a kiss. Another apology; a promise. Gambit didn’t mean to, chèr, it translates. 'Lemme make it up to you.

Gentleman at heart. Always. You love it about him.

Gambit may have learned how to make himself a hard read from his years being a thieving, gambling, cheat; but Remy’s touch— sleight, dextrous hands borne from mastered legerdemain— never fails to give everything about him away. 

Everything devolves into something more tender, now. Like he’s making up for his harshness. You can feel his fingers slide from your jaw and run through your hair to cradle the crown of your head— quiet precaution from hitting it again as he latches onto your mouth. 

Subtle awareness; Not only a turn-on, but also sickeningly sweet of him.

Too much, truthfully, for this to be just a casual thing between you both.

Sweeter than whatever had been in the air that day Elektra had sent you both out on a recon that turned sour, and he came away with bruises on his chest so dark he looked like a walking contusion— and you took care of him afterwards in the only way you knew how: 

Sitting astride on his lap, and letting him mould you into his blissful distraction; have him forget the pain; disassemble the raw dread in his marrows after such a close call.

He shifts you carefully to the table edge, nudges your knees wide so he can stand bracketed between your legs. The skirting coat he shoulders slowly slips off.

...God. You’re going to leave half-crescents around his biceps by the time he’s done with you.

“Easy, chèr,” he laughs, when you entwine your fingers with his, anticipatory. It's a cigarette-burn of a voice; drowned in hazy, saccharine affection. “Gambit ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Too sweet, you want to scold him—

But then he’s pressing against you, looming above you like a shadow, and every single thought dissolves into eager pleasure as he curls another hand under your shirt and drags up, up, up.

Too sweet. Sweet, and takin’ his own sweet time.

Laissez les bons temps rouler, or whatever it is he says.

[bigification]

Step Daddy

"You really need to get over your stepdad man." My friend tells me, concerned.

"Look, I'll try this one last thing and if it doesn't work then I'll give it up." I respond. "Did you bring the sunglasses?"

"Yes, but just remember he's like 25 years older than you. He's probably not going to be into you, even after this." He says as he hands me a pair of old pilot shades.

I told him I could let it go, but I can't. I'm just putting all my eggs into this basket, the sunglasses. Apparently they're supposed to transform someone who wears them mentally and physically to match my type. He already is my type, but I guess I wouldn't mind him bulking up a bit and growing some hair. It would be sexy if he got more charming, but he's already charming as it is. I guess there's only one way to find out.

I wait on the living room couch watching tv. He always gets home from work at the same time, so I know he'll be here any minute. I sit and stare at my reflection in the glasses. Am I really ready to change this man's life so drastically. My friend said no one else would take notice of the change, so it'll be like nothing happened. As I'm thinking over it, I hear the roar of his engine from the driveway. I try to calm down, but I can feel my body vibrate from the nerves. The door flies open.

"Hey buddy, hows it goin?" He asks me with his hot southern accent.

"Not bad. By the way, I found these sunglasses lying around, and assumed they were yours." I try to play it cool as I lie to his face.

"Oh, thanks. But these aren't mine." He responds.

"Well you might as well keep em, they don't fit me anyway." I try to convince him to take them without seeming too pushy.

"Well alright, thanks kid." He swipes the glasses and throws them on.

That was easier than I thought. As soon as he put them on, he stopped moving. His jaw slacked as if there was not a thought running through his mind. It started slow, his button up started to look a little bit tighter. His once flat chest started to push against his shirt and the shape of a belly started to show. Then it started to speed up. His chest started to pulse, growing in size with each one. They grew until the button on his collar popped off, then another button popped, then another and another. His juicy pecs flopped down after being released from his shirt. His stomach was next. His midsection widened and his stomach grew into a respectable beer belly, straining against his shirt. It wasn't long before more buttons began to pop, until his shirt was completely open. His arms also looked like they doubled in size, filling out his sleeves with thick muscles.

Next his legs start to look like they're gonna burst out of his dress pants. I can hear the rips ripple through his pants as his thighs grow inside of them. His ass fills out all the space in his pants and proceeds to rip open his fly and snap his belt in half. I can tell his underwear is barely staying in one piece as a large bulge formed in between his legs.

Finally his face begins to change. His once skinny face fills out with fat, giving him a rounder look. I can see that hair is falling out of his hat until he is left completely bald under there. Though in return his clean shaven face grows a bushy beard. But the hair doesn't stop there. It continues down his chest and to his belly, and presumably the rest of his body. He finally regains control of his body. He sighs as he stretched out his arms and cracks his knuckles before looking right at me.

"Come here, son." He says in a deep buttery voice.

A shock travels through my spine as I think he might know what I've done to him.

"What'd I say boy!" He raises his voice.

I jump a bit before I walk closer to him. I realize how imposing he is up close. He must have gotten taller because he seems well over six feet tall now, and at least 250 pounds.

"Daddy had a stressful day, why don't you help him release some tension." He says as he pushes me to my knees.

I blush, this is everything I wanted from this, it just happened so much faster than I thought.

"Don't be shy, boy. This will be our little secret." He says as he pulls his underwear down.

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 2 - ( c.s )

part one

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- swearing, kissing, that’s it i think

neighbor/hockey!chris x fem!reader

a/n: PART TWOOOOO!!!! i hope u guys like this series i’m having a lot of fun with it (and s/o to my girl @cutenote for letting me use her name). self-indulged this chapter and made the reader a flyers fan so SRY but anyways, enjoy! next thing im putting out is a matt request and then i’ll be working on this series and the tattooartist!reader x matt series. if you have other reqs, questions, confessions, etc, my inbox is open 🫶🏻

@cutenote @mattsmunch @mattybsbitch @breeloveschris @st7rnioioss

your stomach flips as you stare in the mirror, twisting and turning every which way to make sure you look alright. you’re in one of chris’s jerseys, repping the scarlet and white colors of boston university, complete with the little ‘C’ emblem for captain.

he left it in your mailbox earlier on his way to the arena, demanding that you wear it instead of the BU sweatshirt you had planned on going in. so you listened to him, even though you’re not really sure why.

your hair and makeup are all done, contrary to the last time chris saw you, when you were in his house threatening to call the cops. it feels performative, getting all dressed up for something you don’t even want to go to.

but what the hell, you hadn’t seen the team play at all this year, and if you look your best you’ll feel your best. at least, that’s what you convinced yourself would happen.

“are you done up there? we need to leave, games gonna start soon!” one of your roommates calls from the living room.

you sigh and turn away from your own reflection so you can head for the stairs. cassidy and ramona are both waiting for you on the couch as you round the corner, also decked out in BU merch.

you’re just lucky you had been able to convince them both to come with you, so you don’t have to stand by yourself.

“took you long enough.” cassidy mumbles under her breath as she stretches her legs and stands up.

mona mimicks her movements, but not without shooting her a glare. “be nice, she’s obviously nervous.”

“no i’m not!” you protest, and now they both give you an eye roll as they pass you to get their coats from the closet.

“your voice just went up ten octaves.” cass snarks.

you are anxious, but it’s just because of the unknown. you still haven’t figured out what chris is angling at, besides maybe sleeping with you, which isn’t gonna happen. well, probably not at least.

no, not ever. oh my god.

“i’m not nervous. i just wish i could back out.” you double down, turning to see them both pulling on their big winter jackets.

“you used to love hockey, you just don’t like chris. one game won’t kill you.” ramona replies.

“and you also didn’t have to agree.”

this accusation makes your face flush, in embarrassment and in denial. “he wouldn’t have stopped that party if i didn’t. and you know i could never actually call the cops.”

ramona stays silent as cass laces up her shoes. “whatever you say babe. you look cute in his jersey either way.”

“cassidy!” you whine in exasperation.

“i’m honestly not sorry.”

the entire walk to the get to the game is spent harassing you, which is a solid twenty minutes because you live off campus. ramona does try to keep it to a minimum, though you can’t really blame them for the questions. you have them too.

it’s always been weird with you and chris. you hate his attitude, how people fall to his feet like he’s some sort of god. you can’t stand the way he talks to you like he can read your mind, or how you always catch him staring at your lips just so he can pretend like he wasn’t.

he does it to every girl, and you don’t know why he’s taking all of these extra steps to try and get you into bed.

maybe because you see through it, and you don’t want any part of him. he said it himself, he doesn’t want a relationship, and you’re not looking to get an STD, so you don’t know why he’s bothering.

you finally arrive at the facility, and your stomach flips. tons of people are out tonight, of course. the sun is long gone with it being winter and all, so the lights are extra overwhelming as you step inside.

you head through security and scan your passes, ones that are specifically right beside the student section in the very front. chris gifted them to you for free since you didn’t get season tickets, right by the glass so he knows where you are.

even when you were a pain in the ass and insisted you needed two more for your roommates, he made it work. it was a little impressive.

you find your seats, and the boys are already on the ice warming up. you spot chris from the jersey number, 3, and you can see his long hair poking out from underneath his helmet.

he’s focused on taking a practice shot, but as he skates by the glass afterwards you see him looking, like he isn’t sure if you showed up. but then he finds you, and you can actually see his stupid smile.

he waves, just a tiny one, before he goes right back to drills. you’re thankful he didn’t make it dramatic, because you know there’s plenty of girls in the stands who want him, and have probably already been with him.

you each take your coats off and hang them on your chairs. you know the fact that you having his last name plastered across your back doesn’t help the attention, but people can think what they want.

you don’t give a fuck. cassidy was right, it’s cuter on you anyways.

they head into the locker room quickly after your arrival, and even more people fill in to watch the show. the student section is loud as the facility finally goes dark, and the team skates back onto the ice moments later.

spotlights flood the stadium, highlighting different players as both teams line up along the neutral zone. you cheer extra loud when they announce the starting lineup and call chris’s name, even despite your vendetta against him.

no use being a shitty fan if you’re already here.

they get ready for the face off after the national anthem, and BU gets the puck. it’s back and forth for a while, and you find yourself groaning and cheering with the rest of the crowd during every play.

the first goal of the game is scored within fifteen minutes, by one of his other roommates ben, of all people. you and your friends are jumping around like maniacs, and you can see him laughing at you guys after they’re all done celebrating on the ice.

it makes you wonder if chris told them you’d be here, but you force yourself to eat the popcorn cass bought and stop thinking about it.

the second period begins and BU keeps possession for most of it, pretty much dominating their opponent. in the final thirty seconds, chris drives down the rink to score another goal.

you throw your hands up without thinking, and you let the excitement take over. “fuck yeah!”

cassidy and ramona are screaming too, shaking you by the shoulders wildly.

he comes skating over, pointing right at you as he does a lap near the student section. heads turn, and you can literally feel people staring at you now, even despite the noise and the chaos.

but you’re alive, and you can’t get enough of this environment, so you keep cheering for him regardless of the burning feeling of eyes on you.

“that was cute.” ramona nudges you with a genuine smile, and you’re fighting your own grin as you shake your head.

“whatever.”

the rest of the game is swift. your goalie makes a couple great saves, and a guy named dylan, who you’ve met before at parties, scores the final point of the night.

it just twists the knife further, because it’s a total shutout. the fans go wild as the final buzzer sounds, and you’re right there with them. you relish in the lights, the feeling.

you really did miss watching hockey in person. and you can’t even say you necessarily hate watching chris anymore. there’s just something about the way he skates, so locked in on the game.

he’s a threat, to be completely honest, and you kind of love it.

“that was fucking crazy.” cassidy is beaming happily as you guys gather your things ten minutes post-game, and ramona nods along.

“we’re gonna have to do this more often.” she glances at you with hope.

“hey, don’t look at me. i’m in it for the free tickets, and i’m not sure how long that’ll last.” you’re lying through your teeth, because you enjoyed it just as much.

but again. who knows what he’s really trying to do here.

“you could give him the benefit of the doubt.” mona suggests dryly.

“does he really deserve it? he’s going to think he’s the shit either way.” you point out, and she goes quiet.

“maybe that’s true, but i’ve never heard of him doing whatever that celebration was with other girls.” cassidy takes over, and she’s honestly check-mated you.

it is strange, because when you watched games last season, before you had chris as your neighbor, before you even really knew of him, you hadn’t ever seen that. and from current knowledge, you’re pretty sure he had a short term girlfriend during one of those months.

“touché, i guess.” you grumble, and as if right on que your phone vibrates in your pocket.

chris

wait for me, 15 mins max

ramona and cassidy take the bus home, leaving you on your lonesome as the crowd clears out slowly but surely.

you can hear girls whispering about you as they walk by, but it’s not even worth it. you’re not scared of what they have to say. maybe when you were younger, you would have reacted, but it’s just displaced jealousy anyways.

they don’t even know the truth.

finally, after what feels like a painful amount of time, you get a text from chris with directions toward the locker rooms.

it’s far more quiet now as you make your way to the ground level of the arena, headed to the section of the rink you know is closed off to pretty much everyone else. there’s a guy standing there, dressed in his black shirt with the facility logo on it.

he goes to stop you, but chris comes strutting through the hall, out of uniform now. his brown hair is all messy, and he’s dressed down in a matching black sweat set.

“she’s cool, i have a pass for her.”

he walks right up to you, looping a red lanyard over your head. his fingertips brush the skin of your neck as he collects your hair with his hands, flipping it out from underneath the string for you.

it’s a small thing. his touch is barely there, and yet it still burns.

the security guy smiles at you as you follow chris down the hall. you’ve never been back here before, and you have to admit it’s kind of cool.

you can see where the arena workers go on and off the ice, and the large garage type doors that let the zambonis in and out.

“so.” he breaks the silence, and you almost jump at the sound of his voice.

you were in your own world, and you kind of forgot what was actually going on here.

“so.” you parrot, waiting for him to continue as he leads you around a corner.

“looked like you actually had fun for once.” chris jokes, and you shove his shoulder half-heartedly.

“shut up, i’ve always liked hockey. you though? i’m not so sure.” you give him a look and he opens his mouth like he’s shocked.

“come on, i pointed you out after my goal and everything. you’re telling me you didn’t like it even a little?”

you liked it more than you care to admit, so you don’t. “it’s gonna take more than that to impress me, christopher, but i will say it was a good game.”

“you might just be our lucky charm.” chris glances at you out of the corner of the corner of his eye as he slows to a stop in front of the locker room.

you cross your arms over your chest. “now you're just patronizing me.”

“always assuming the worst.”

“well, you make it easy.” you tease.

he pauses to look down at your defensive stance, at his jersey all scrunched up around your body, and you can tell by his smirk that he’s loving it a little too much.

you clear your throat to try and alleviate some of the tension and chris snaps out of it, turning to head through the little entryway.

“i’m gonna grab my bag, don’t go anywhere.”

“you’re my ride, dumbass.” you remind him, and you hear his chuckle reverberate against the walls as he disappears.

a few players head out as you wait, ones you don’t recognize, and they nod at you politely as they chat amongst themselves. it actually takes you by surprise, but you try not to show it.

chris comes back into the hall a minute later, bag slung around his shoulder. he’s got a black bruins beanie on now, and you raise an eyebrow instinctively.

“why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, waving his hand so you follow him further down the wide corridor.

“your hat.” you point, and he looks offended.

“what’s your problem with it?”

“not everyone who goes to school here is actually from boston, genius. i’m a flyers fan.” you smile at him sweetly, and he literally groans.

“how did i not know this?” he asks as you guys reach the door that leads to the team parking lot.

“because you don’t know me.” you reply swiftly.

chris pushes the door open and holds it for you, another move you don’t expect. “i know more than you think.”

you shiver slightly as you step past him into the cold, wrapping your coat around yourself a bit tighter.

“if it helps you sleep at night.” you chirp over your shoulder.

you know his car, a black jeep grand cherokee that you’ve always been a little jealous of, and it’s sitting in the middle of the lot. not many others are still here, and you can hear both of your feet kicking up gravel as you walk.

chris picks up his pace so he can beat you there, swinging the passenger door open before you can do it yourself.

“wow, chivalry’s not dead.” you say blankly, sliding into the seat so he can close you in.

“what can i say, i’m a real gentleman.”

the interior smells like a pine air freshener, which actually isn’t a bad touch. chris walks around so he can toss his bag in the back and get behind the wheel, starting the engine and peeling out of the spot.

it’s quiet for a moment, aside from the music, and you can’t help but peek over at him sitting across from you. the shadows accentuate his striking features as he mumbles lyrics under his breath, nodding his head along ever so slightly.

he looks pretty, and you don’t like it one bit.

“i can feel you staring at me, you know.” chris turns to glance at you for a brief moment before he puts his eyes back on the road.

it makes your palms sweat, because he caught you in the act and now there’s no shying away.

deny, deny, deny.

“just wondering why your face looks like that.”

“what, devilishly handsome?” he smirks.

“i was thinking gremlin-esque, but sure.” you deadpan, and he just shakes his head and laughs lowly.

“so scared of your own feelings. it’s cute.”

it’s a major call-out, and it normally doesn’t phase you. but tonight it’s different. he’s being so fucking strange, and it’s clearly been messing with your head.

“i’m not scared of shit, because the only thing i feel is sorry for all the girls who have actually fallen for this.” you retort, and the frustration is clear in your voice.

“other girls don’t get the princess treatment like you do.” his self-satisfied demeanor doesn’t falter for a second, even despite your low blow.

“yeah, right. i’m sure i’m really special.”

chris grips the wheel tighter as he turns onto your street, and you have to rip your eyes away from his long fingers.

“well you’re the only one who’s ever worn my jersey, so that’s something.” he admits, scratching his neck absentmindedly.

you’re not sure whether you believe it, but this time he actually does sound genuinely nervous. well, nervous for chris.

“and i wear it best too.” you brush some imaginary dust off of your shoulder as he pulls up into his driveway and puts the car in park.

“won’t argue on that one.” he shrugs, shooting you an easy grin.

“that’s surprising.”

you step back out into the crisp night air, slamming the door shut behind you. you meet chris at the front of the car and try to move around him, headed for your own place.

he takes a step to block you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “where are you going?”

you put some distance between your bodies, because he’s once again too close for comfort, and it’s hard to focus on your words when he’s inches from your face.

“home, obviously.”

“why? i thought we were going to hang out.” he frowns.

“nothing good ever happens in your house past nine p.m.”

this makes him smirk. “very good things happen in that house past nine p.m.”

“your charm is irresistible, truly.” you bite back sarcastically, maneuvering around him as you try to ignore the fire burning in your stomach.

you’ve only taken two steps before chris grabs your arm, pulling you back into his chest quickly. his other hand goes to hold the side of your face, tangling in your hair as he leans in close.

his lips ghost over yours, just barely. you can smell the cologne he must have put on after the game, can feel his slight stubble scratching your face, and it’s all too much.

you haven’t been kissed in so long, and right now it doesn’t matter that it’s chris, and that it goes against everything you stand for. your eyes flutter closed and you fill the gap, pressing your mouth against his hard.

it shocks him, so much so that he almost forgets how to do this properly. chris can taste your berry chapstick, and your lips are so much fucking softer than he even imagined.

his tongue slides against yours skillfully, deepening the kiss as he presses his body flush against yours. you can feel his thumb brushing your cheek as your mouths clash together continuously. its passionate and angry and intense, and you can’t believe it’s happening.

why is this happening?

the thought snaps you out of it, and you put your hand on his chest to force him away roughly. chris is surprised, and you’re both slack-jawed and breathing heavily as your body tries to catch up with your brain.

“i…i’m gonna go.” you mumble quietly, because you have no idea what else to say.

“or you could stay.”

“i don’t want to.”

“you’re a terrible liar.” he counters, and you can see how raw and red his lips are even in the moonlight.

you shake your head and turn toward your own front porch. it’s too hard to continue meeting his fiery gaze, because he’s looking at you like he actually needs you.

“goodnight, chris.”

“this isn’t over, you know. one day you’ll finally admit it.” he calls after you, and you don’t gratify him with a response.

there’s nothing that’ll change his mind, especially after you had actually caved in during that moment of weakness. it was so unwarranted, and you’re angry that kissing him didn’t feel as wrong as it should have.

you take the steps two at a time and hurry through the door, closing it behind you and pressing your back to the wood.

your fingers dance across your lips, and you swear you can still feel his mouth on yours.

[misctf]

I had a dream once I found a pair of cleats and tried them on, and transformed into a big, dumb, horny football jock, then came load after load of cum , all sweaty and drooling as my new team arrived. How I wish I could experience that, do you know a way?

Huh, a dream you say? And just once? Part of me doubts that. And I can tell by how you’re blushing that you’ve likely had this dream a few times. And each time, you’ve woken up with your boxers soaked with jizz. Okay, okay... maybe I didn’t need to call you out like that. Anyway.... A big, dumb, horny football jock. Look, I’m not here to judge, but are you... of course you are.... Sigh.... Well, I’ll stop wasting our time. Risks yada yada, things going wrong yada yada... You get the point. Now follow me...

You follow close behind as I lead us through a few pairs of double doors. I have to unlock a few more doors and suddenly, we find ourselves within a large warehouse. There are thousands of articles of clothing. Underwear, socks, athletic shirts... you look around in awe.

Yes, I know, very impressive. We have a lot of magical items that we’ve collected over the years. Let me just grab a pair of gloves... Some of these items are quite potent actually. Like just a touch and bam! Stupid jock! Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but... And here we go! A pair of red football cleats... Just like in your dream? Well, what can I say, I’m a miracle worker. Okay, I’ll put them down right here. Look at that, they’re brand new too, they even have the paper still stuffed in them... Just give me one second, I have to grab a special tool. I can tell this pair is quite potent.... Wait... Don’t try to remove the paper with your... Fuck.... Didn’t I say... Hey! Don’t get too close!

The cleats are stuck around your hands. You’re shaking your hands, looking up at me desperately. No matter how much you flail, they seem locked in place. You’re breathing heavily. A sense of panic filling you. Something feels very wrong. You feel warmer and you’re sweating profusely.

This is very bad... Okay, give me a second to just... what do you mean your hands hurt? Oh fuck... Ok not good, not good... I need to...

You cry out as you feel your hands start to shift and change within the cleats. It feels like your hands are lengthening, while your fingers are painful shortened. But it’s not just your feet. You watch as your forearms start to shift and change. Packing on muscle that more resembles thick calves rather than forearms.

Oh yeah, these cleats are quite potent. Okay... uh, I would be lying if I said I’ve dealt with this before. This is something we in the business call a... okay yeah, maybe I’ll spare you the details. But... Oh careful now!

Your legs suddenly give way and you’ve fallen onto you’re abdomen. You let out another cry as your arms start to shift and change even more. They’re forced above your head and you yelp as thick muscle starts to fill in. Your once mediocre arms are now a set of two built legs, crushing your head in between new thighs. But the pain in your new legs pales in comparison to the feelings from your dick. It’s throbbing in a mixture of pain, then pleasure. You feel nauseous as the room is filled with the sounds of your body cracking and shifting. Yet you moan as your body continues its metamorphosis.

Oh fascinating... I’ve never seen this before... So the pecs become the abs, and the abs become the pecs. Fuck, they're getting huge too... What am I talking about? It’s uh... oh! Give me a second! Well, hello there... Huh, still barely a whisper... Who am I talking to? Well, uh... it’s complicated. But...

You yelp when you suddenly feel your body push itself up. You’re forced to look down at the floor, and it feels like you’re doing a handstand. You clearly see the red cleats,  and the firm calf and thigh muscles that used to be your arms. You try to crane your neck to look up, but are unable to.

Well fuck... this is, uh... What did you say? I can’t... your voice is a bit garbled now... Something salty? Yeah... I think that might be semen... Really? Come on, isn’t is obvious? Are you getting the idea now? Oh, don’t look at me like that, there were risks...

You yelp as a firm hand suddenly wraps around your neck. You’re afraid you won’t be able to breath, but instead, you just feel the salty liquid leave your lips. And as the hand moves up and down, more of it dribbles from your mouth. You try to speak, but you find your mouth has been forced to remain in a small “O” shape, no matter how desperately you try to move it. Worse yet, you watch as your hair falls from your head, decorating the floor beneath you.

Yeah, I doubt he’s gonna be able to talk much at this stage... So what did you say your name was....? Brett? Makes sense, you definitely look like a Brett. I gotta say, watching your arms grow in was quite the sight. And the muscle here... your biceps are so firm... oh sorry... right I’ll let you finish...

The deep moans that fill the air are not your own. You’ve never heard moans like this before. But soon your vision and hearing dwindle significantly. Instead, all you can feel is the rough calloused hand that jerks your hardened body, as well as the stream of cum that’s leaving your new mouth. And as the pressure builds and builds, so does the pleasure. It’s numbing. Numbing to the point you feel your complex thinking dwindle. All you can focus on is pleasure. Anyway, anyhow. And then you feel it. Cum bursts from your new mouth, and Brett lets out a loud moan, falling back against the wall. You feel your body softening, your mind only able to focus on your need for more.

Okay... I guess I’ll be cleaning that up... Oh? What’s happening? The room is spinning and... Wait, where are we...? The locker room? Damn, those cleats were potent... Oh sorry, you gotta get ready for your game. And I can hear your teammates coming in... Wait... You’re already getting hard again? And you’re already leaking? Shit... Well, I guess this isn’t what we expected. But, you’re certainly a horny, dumb football jock. And you’re certainly drooling there quite a bit, just in time for your team to see.... Well I guess I should go....Huh? Wait for you...? After the game...? In the locker room...? Sigh.... you stupid jock types are my weakness... see you soon...

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Let the Light In

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Fingering, male masturbation, smut. Word count: ~1.6k

Summary: Having stumbled back too late from the pub, Tom finds Lois and Douglas have locked him out for the night. Thankfully, the girl across the road takes pity on him.

Author's note: Day ten of the Smuffmas prompts - "bed sharing and accidental stimulation". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

“Lois! Lois! Come on, let me up, don’t be tight!”

The shouting filters through to her subconscious, and she grumbles, slowly blinking her eyes open, mind foggy with sleep.

“Lois! It’s freezing out here!”

She flicks on the lamp on the bedside table, lifting her watch to look at the time.

Almost 1am. Bloody pillock.

She has lived opposite the Bennett family her entire life, and though she doesn’t know them well, they’re neighbourly, exchanging polite “hellos” when they pass in the street. Though Tom’s is usually accompanied by a wink that makes her skin feel too hot.

Over the last year or so, she’s grown used to being woken up by Tom stumbling back home at some ungodly hour, waking her up as he shouts for his sister, Lois, to open the window and let him up into their shared bedroom. He knows he’ll cop an earful from their dad, Douglas, if he comes in through the front door. It’s usually double locked anyway, so his key wouldn’t work even if he were to try.

Lois has never left him out on the street for this long though, but she can’t blame her, she’s probably sick of it by now.

“Lois!”

Fuck’s sake.

There’s no point in leaving him out there, his shouting will wake up half the street. She considers it a good job that her own dad works nights, and that her mum has taken to wearing earplugs to bed so that he doesn’t wake her when he returns in the early hours of the morning.

She sighs, throwing off the duvet and stepping out of bed. She parts the curtains, lifting the sash window and shivers as the coldness of the air outside chills her skin through her nightdress as she leans out.

Tom stands outside of his house, leaning back with a lit cigarette between his lips as he stares up at his bedroom window. He’s about to shout again, when she interrupts.

“You’re gonna wake the whole bloody street if you keep on!” She hisses.

He turns, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and exhales a tight line of smoke through pursed lips.

“She won’t let me up,” he calls back. “don’t s’pose there’s any room at your inn? It’s Christmas Eve tomorrow, after all.”

“It’s Christmas Eve right now. Have you got any idea what the time is?!”

“Tomorrow doesn’t start ‘til I wake up, sweetheart.”

He flashes a lopsided grin up at her, and she has to fight the urge to smile back as she feels familiar flutters in her stomach.

Cheeky git.

“Wait there,” she sighs, sliding the window closed.

She wraps herself in her dressing gown, picking her way carefully down the stairs, before switching on the hallway light and opening the front door.

Tom is there already, leaning against the doorframe, the crushed butt of his cigarette inches away from his feet.

“You’re a star. Shall I take the sofa then?” He asks, crowding the small space in which her family hangs their coats as she closes the door behind him.

“Absolutely not. Last thing I need is dad coming back from work and seeing you sprawled out in the living room, he’ll throw a fit. Shoes off.”

Tom bends down, unlacing and kicking off his shoes. “Where you putting me?”

“You can kip in my room. Bring those with you.”

“Oh,” he smirks, “if you insist.”

She rolls her eyes, making her way back upstairs, with Tom following close behind.

“You can sleep on the floor,” she tells him, chucking him the knitted blanket from the end of her bed, and the extra pillow she sleeps with.

“Thanks,” he sounds almost disappointed as he catches them, setting them down and busying himself with shrugging out of his jacket and leaving it on a heap on the floor with his shoes.

She had expected him to sleep fully clothed, so she is shocked when she hears the metallic clink of him opening his belt as he lowers his trousers. Feeling her skin prickle with heat, and her heartbeat begin to race, she quickly turns away, shedding her dressing gown and climbing into bed.

She pulls the duvet up around herself, remaining facing away as she listens to the rustle of clothing as he pulls off his jumper, and arranges his bedding.

When it finally grows quiet, she leans over to turn the lamp off and lays back down.

“Night then,” Tom says quietly.

“Night.”

She lays there in the darkness, eyes closed, willing herself to fall asleep and yet it won’t seem to pull her under. It isn’t helped by the relentless shifting around and sighing she can hear coming from the floor beside the bed.

After five minutes of listening to Tom toss and turn, and grumble to himself, she groans and finally switches the lamp back on, leaning down to look at him.

“Can you not just go to sleep?!” She whispers in frustration.

He pulls himself to sit up, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s uncomfortable down here. And I’m cold.”

She presses her lips into a tight line, before exhaling loudly through her nose. “Fine. Come on then.”

Shuffling to the far side of the mattress, she throws the duvet back for Tom and he climbs in eagerly.

“Smashing,” he says with a wink, before turning the lamp off.

They lay back to back and, in her tiny single bed, the angle pushes both of them to the far edges of the mattress, neither one of them comfortably having enough space to stretch out and go to sleep.

“This is awful,” she complains quietly.

“Mmm,” he agrees. “Let me just…”

Tom rolls over and her breath catches in her throat as she feels his chest press against her back, his body slotting itself against hers.

Admittedly, it’s comfier like this, they both have more room, and yet she is certain she won’t sleep a wink with the heat of his body so close to hers. He must be able to feel the way her heart thuds in her ribcage.

He shifts slightly and she feels the press of a bulge against her backside, she knows precisely what it is, and it sets her pulse racing. Instinctively, without thinking, she presses back and his breath shudders hotly against the shell of her ear, his nose pressed into her hair.

Tentatively, his fingertips spread out over her hip, pulling her back against him as he rolls his hips forward, and she feels sticky heat pool between her legs as he hardens against her.

She’s not entirely sure why she’s allowing this, just knows that it feels good and she doesn’t want it to stop as they move rhythmically together, both chasing a friction that neither can quite achieve.

“Have…have you ever…” he whispers, trailing off.

She swallows thickly, afraid to disappoint him, but wanting to be honest. “No.”

“Can I touch you?” 

His hand tightens on her hip and she nods. “Yes.”

Slowly, his fingers trail down her thigh, until he reaches the hem of her nightgown. His hand travels the same path again, only this time upwards and against her bare skin.

She whimpers as he cups her mound through the cotton of her knickers, the pads of his fingers pressing against the dampness of the gusset.

“Christ, you’re soaked,” he breathes shakily.

“Sorry,” she whispers back, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

“Not a bad thing, darlin’,” she can hear the smile in his voice, “nothin’ to be sorry for at all.”

His hand slides upwards, pressing flat against her lower abdomen, and then slides down again, creeping beneath the waistband of her underwear.

“Fuck,” Tom grits out, as his index finger slides between her folds, gathering her wetness before circling her pearl.

She buries her face into the pillow, to stifle the moan that leaves her. She has touched herself before, but it has always been hesitant, secretive, just enough to feel nice. This makes her feel as though her body is on fire.

Tom shuffles behind her, and for a moment she wonders what he is up to, until she feels the brush of his knuckles against her back. She doesn’t need to look to know that he’s pulled his cock out and is stroking himself. The idea makes her throat run dry.

His breaths come in hot puffs, the slick sound of him pleasuring himself, coupled with the squelch of his fingers as they slide and circle against her is lewd, and she knows she ought to feel ashamed, but she is desperate to fall from the edge that he’s eagerly pushing her towards.

She screws her eyes shut when his digit slides inside of her, her walls clenching around him as he curls his finger upwards, dragging against her and making her thighs shake.

“So tight,” he groans, before withdrawing, circling faster against her sensitive bundle of nerves with newly applied arousal.

She whines, arching against him and she feels the movement of the hand he has on himself speed up, as quiet grunts escape him.

“You’re close, aren’t ya?”

“Please…”

“Let go. Come for me.”

She bites down on the pillow, muffling the squeal that bursts out of her as her thighs clamp around Tom’s wrist, and her entire body shudders with the force of her peak. She feels like a bottle of pop that someone has shaken too hard, every part of her body coming apart in tiny bubbles.

Tom presses his face harder into her hair, his nose touching her scalp as he groans low in relief, his hips stuttering against hers as he finds his own release.

Slowly she turns to face him. His blue eyes shine in the moonlight, his full lips slightly parted as he breathes raggedly. He leans in, brushing his lips against hers, but not quite kissing her as they lay there together in blissful, tired silence.

“You’ll let me in next time, won’t you?” He rasps.

The double meaning is not lost on her, and yet it does nothing to affect her answer.

“Yes.”

[football-and-fanfics]

The Medic #18 - Jude Bellingham

Who: Jude Bellingham Request: hi, so this request is about jude getting injured or just plain stressed on the pitch to the point where he has a panic attack. you (the medic) come and try to calm him down but it progressively gets worse, but obviously after like 10 minutes he does calm down. after that, you bring him off pitch and comfort him by like hugging? not like a ship just pure fluff :) thank u! Requested by: @pinkishpearls Word count: 1132 Warnings: contains descriptions of panic / anxiety attack.

Already when he was changing into his kit before the match, Jude knew something was off with himself. The nerves he felt prior to England's first group stage match of this Euro 2024 weren't strange per se. They stood at the start of a big and important tournament, so nerves were normal, but not like this.

Whatever caused his nerves to spiral so out of control, was doing a demolition job on him already. Jude's hands shook as he pulled his shirt over his head, and his breath was high in his chest. Everything happened in a blur to Jude, as a panic so feral took a hold of him and he had no way to get himself out of it again. But the team was counting on him, so, against his better judgement, Jude pushed through it and stepped out onto the pitch anyway.

---

Jude should have spoken up, told someone that he wasn't feeling right. That realization dawned on him not even 15 minutes into the match. He suddenly felt like he lost all control over himself. His entire body trembled and breathing became harder with each rapid inhale, as it felt like his chest was being squeezed to bits. The stadium swam in and out of focus around him.

Jude wasn't actively aware that he had sunk to the ground, sitting in a heap. The only thing he could focus on was how absolutely terrifying this feeling was, and how it scared him even more that he had no control over it whatsoever. People around him seemed to freak out, which did nothing either to ease Jude's still rising panic.

"Jude?" A soft, gentle hand wrapping around his wrist made Jude the slightest bit aware of his surroundings again. He glanced up to find you sitting on your haunches in front of him. "I... something's wrong... I'm scared." Jude managed to get out in between rapid, hitching pants of breath. You nodded understandingly. "I'm going to take you back inside, okay? We're going to take you out of the match and see what's going on."

You had needed only one look at Jude to know he would not be able to continue this match. Your hand around his wrist also doubled as a heart rate check, which you found racing, but steady and strong. Already you leaned towards the diagnosis of a panic attack.

Jude let himself be helped to his feet, but he looked like a deer in the headlights as he walked beside you off the pitch. You had the distinct feeling he was trying to keep it at least a little bit together as long as he was in view of the public.

And indeed...

You had set only a few steps into the players' tunnel when Jude broke completely. "I c-can't do it!" Everything about him shook with emotion, and tears were streaming down his face now. "What's happening to me? Why am I feeling like this?" "Jude, Jude." You moved to stand in front of him, resting your hands on his arms. "Calm down. You're having a panic attack. I know it's really scary, but I need to you to try and calm down." Jude frantically shook his head, gulping for air, and completely out of control over himself.

You recognized how this was going from bad to worse, and how you needed to diffuse this situation somehow. "Come on, we'll find some place quieter." You gently took him by the elbow and steered him into the first empty treatment room you came across. You ushered Jude inside and closed the door behind the both of you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Jude repeated the words over and over. He paced up and down the small room, trembling and crying. "Calm down, it'll be alright." You spoke calmly as you stepped into the path of his pacing. "I'm guessing the stress and nerves for today got a little bit too much. That's nothing to be ashamed of, but I do need you to calm down." Jude looked at you with eyes filled with tears. "I don't know how."

Your heart broke for him, so much hurt emanated from him. "But I do know what might help." You smiled warmly. "Come here." You opened your arms and invited him into an embrace. Jude didn't hesitate for a second. He almost launched himself at you, burying his face in your shoulder and wrapping his arms tightly around you. You answered his embrace by gently rubbing his back and speaking soft words of comfort.

It might not be the most conventional way, but it worked for Jude. Where he had been trembling and crying before, he finally seemed to calm down after a while. Still, he held on to your embrace, and you let him.

On the other side of the door sounded the stampede of players and staff coming back in for half-time. Jude made absolutely no move to go see his teammates in the dressing room, and you were fine with that. It was all up to Jude to determine what he felt ready for.

"No, get away from me! Tell me where he is, I need to see him!"

A sudden ruckus from outside made you and Jude finally release the embrace. The both of you easily recognized Trent's Scouse accent, and he sounded absolutely freaked out. You exchanged a look with Jude. "He's worried about me," Jude said softly. "Yeah." Those were exactly your thoughts, too. "Do you feel up to talking to him?" "Yes." Jude nodded. "I can't leave him this distraught."

You opened the door and poked your head out. A little further down the hallway stood Trent, looking panicked now, too. "Trent." You called him over. Trent sprinted over to you. "Is he in there with you? Is he alright?" "Easy," you soothed, "he's fine. He had a panic attack, but he's starting to feel better already."

Trent was relieved to hear your words, but still trotted past you into the treatment room. He flung himself at Jude, almost knocking him clean off his feet, and pulled his friend into a tight bear hug. "Thank heavens you're alright!" Trent exclaimed. "I was so worried." "I'm alright now." Jude tried to ease Trent. Trent released the hug and stepped back a few paces. "Don't mind if I needed to see that for myself. You scared me senseless just now!" Jude smiled a little awkwardly. "I'm sorry about that."

"So there's nothing seriously wrong?" Trent now turned to you. "No." You shook your head. "He's going to be perfectly fine. A panic attack feels and looks really scary, though." "Yeah." Jude passed a hand over his face, but a weary smile played on his lips, too. "I can definitely confirm that."

Tags: The tags list has been moved to the comment section. If you want to be added to the tags list, you can sign up for it through here.

Request an imagine Writing masterlist | Jude Bellingham masterlist

[alchemistc]

Couched In Metaphor

"You want a beer man?"

Eddie tilts a look over his shoulder, already halfway through the doorway to his kitchen, and Tommy shoots a glance at his watch. "Mmm, no can do. I'm meeting Evan in a bit."

"Is this my cue to act a fool for your attention?"

There's a moment where Tommy wants to double down on defense for Evan, but it's a joke, it's just a joke and if Evan were right next to him he'd definitely enjoy the gentle ribbing. He tries not to examine the immediate desire to defend him too closely. Too much, too soon, it's barely been a few months.

"And he's got jokes, ladies and gentlemen."

Eddie grins: wide, amused. It's what he came for - the chance to get Eddie out of his own head for a few hours. "You guys doing anything special?"

"We're on a mission to pick out a new couch, apparently."

When Eddie stills, Tommy swears it's like he's just been frozen in place; the beer in his hand raised halfway to his mouth, lips pursed, brows raised, a cartoon character stuck in time. He plays it off a moment later, hastily lowering the bottle, nodding. "Don't let him bring a clipboard."

It's Tommy's turn to wrinkle his brow.

"No good can come when that man's got a prioritized list, Tommy, I'm serious."

"So we're ignoring the fact that there's apparently something about tagging along for furniture shopping that just made you freeze frame?"

Eddie tilts his head, squints his eyes, takes a drag off his beer. "That's a Buck and Tommy conversation, not an Eddie and Tommy conversation. You wanna know more about the clipboard, though, I've got about thirty horror stories."

---

"I feel like maybe I've been bamboozled," Tommy says, three furniture stores in. The couch Evan is currently testing is -- just like every other couch they've looked at so far.

"None of them have been right."

He's got that look in his eyes like he's been knocking on doors in a structure fire for too long.

"Are we worried about aesthetics, here, or comfort, or whether or not they fit the space? Eddie warned me about Clipboard Buck but maybe you should pull up your notes app and make a pro con list."

Evan flushes. Darts a glance down at his feet, and his thumbs dig into the seams of his hoodie pocket. "I just thought I'd walk in and find what I was looking for. Sort of thought it'd just - call to me, or something."

"It's a couch Evan, not a lifetime commitment."

And Evan flushes deeper, cheeks pinking, lips twisting. Tommy, who's been hovering nearby while Evan tests out what feels like half a million identical couches, feels himself sigh, bending and twisting to settle next to him, one hand reaching out to squeeze at Evan's knee.

"So it seems like maybe there's a story here I'm not aware of."

It sort of tumbles out of Evan, then, a rush of half apologies and stumbling explanations, and Tommy thinks of the snatches of conversations they've had about their past partners, their admittedly not great parents.

"And - you know, I just thought. I mean. I figured." He gestures, vaguely, and then more pointedly, a glance from beneath his lashes to catch Tommy's gaze as he waggles a finger between the two of them.

Oh.

Tommy waits a beat. Sometimes it's better to let Evan work it out in his own head for a second.

Also, he's - sort of reeling, a bit. Too much, too soon, he'd thought, but here he was, unaware of the significance of being asked on this little errand until he suddenly wasn't, and -

"Sorry. That's - it's not like - anyway, I've clearly put way too much weight into the couch thing, you're right, it's just a couch."

He's been ignoring the urge to curl his fingers around Evan's for the better part of two hours, now. He doesn't question it, usually, but in this specific scenario it's felt too couple-y, too forward, too much like begging a sales associate to make some assumptions Evan wasn't prepared to deal with.

Evan's still twisting his hands together inside the pocket of his jacket, and Tommy makes the snap decision before he can talk himself out of it - two fingers tucking into the pocket, pressing into the meat of Evan's palm, pressing up and pulling without any real force, and it's like Evan deflates, a bit, hand immediately following the soft drag out of the fabric to curl four fingers around Tommy's palm.

"It doesn't have to be just a couch."

---

They have their first fight, navigating the stairwell up to Evan's floor, and situate it in the room in stony silence. Tommy considers leaving, once it's exactly as Evan wants it. He's good at that - jumping ship at the first sign of trouble, and he has to swallow the urge down while Evan glares a hole into the armrest.

He's just opening his mouth to speak when Evan's voice drifts over to him, quieter than he'd expected. "I really don't want it to just be a couch."

And Tommy's never -

He's dated plenty of people - cared for less, and loved very few, but he's never steeped shit in metaphor and he's also never gone from "attracted to the straight guy again" to "this inanimate object is a symbol of our relationship" in -- ever.

"Evan."

There's a flatness to his voice that only ever comes out when he's truly upset, and he hates it, hates that he can just shut it all off. He makes a conscious effort, unfurls the fists shoved into his pants pockets. Tries again.

"We're hiring someone if you ever wanna move that damn thing again."

Evan's smile splits across his face like the sun breaking over the horizon.

---

Christopher eyes the couch with suspicion.

"It's a lot bigger than your old ones," he finally manages, with a shifty glance between the two of them, and Tommy has to remind himself that Evan had gone down a rabbit hole of research trying to find the best way to clean leather once they'd finally gotten over themselves and proceeded with the making up part of their argument.

Eddie clocks the look running across his face, and makes a face at Evan. Evan tucks his tongue into his cheek, but he can't quite hide his grin, and Tommy tries not to imagine the next time they'll need to go furniture shopping.

---

"Can I admit something?" Evan asks, fingers shifting across the expanse of Tommy's chest, head tucked neatly beneath his chin.

Tommy hums, still half asleep, trying to ignore the crick in his neck and the wide expanse of his lower back that keeps sinking into the crack between the cushions.

Evan presses his lips lazily into the side of Tommy's neck. "I actually hate this couch. It's the worst."

Tommy laughs, and laughs, and laughs some more when Evan presses up on his elbow to pout straight into his face.

Tommy can't help but curl a palm around his jaw, ring and middle finger sliding up to cup his cheek, reaching for the marks at his brow. "Can we skip the torture of another horrendous shopping trip and just toss this one to the curb when I ask you to move in with me?"

He only stills for half a moment, eyes already bright and wide and happy before he nods. "When?" he repeats, all puppy enthusiasm as he buries his face back in Tommy's neck.

"Keep it to yourself, though, I haven't decided how I'm gonna ask. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

Evan hums, fingers drifting down his arm, now - it's a familiar, teasing path that always drives Tommy a little wild, and - yep, they skate over his wrist, dancing right along the length of his fingers and down across his hip, little finger spreading wide towards his inseam.

---

Evan breaks his couch the first night all his things have been unpacked.

He makes a little pleased hum, low in his throat, when Tommy pulls up the same site he'd used to buy it, adds three to his cart, and passes the laptop off to Evan for opinions. Curls a warm hand around the back of Tommy's neck, presses his lips to the crown of Tommy's head. Tommy takes a moment to enjoy the feel of it.

"Pick one," he manages through gritted teeth when Evan nips at his earlobe.

"It's just a couch, babe, whichever one you want."

[themultifandomgal]

can you do a hank voight x reader where she had a dream about him and is avoiding him untill he corners her and she admits and the rest is up to you!!

Hank Voight- Stop Avoiding Me

Just a small request hope you enjoy!

Hank Voigt a man I secretly like, secretly because 1 I work for him and 2 he’s double my age. It’s almost like a forbidden romance type of thing, but I know there’s no way he feels the same. I’ve been trying to avoid him any time I can. He walks into the kitchen I walk out. And now to add on to this I woke up this morning from having a dream about Hank, about how he kissed my lips, then my jaw and down my neck.

Interrupting my thinking a cup is placed on my desk. I look up to see my partner Jay

“Thanks”

“Looked like you needed it. Tough night last night?” He asks me

“Something like that” I take a small sip of coffee before looking back at my computer

“You want to talk about whatever is bothering you?”

“What makes you think somethings bothering me?” I frown turning on my swivel chair go face Jay who’s now got his eyebrows raised

“You’ve been staring at Voights office door for the last 20 minute. What did you do?”

“Nothing, I just… nothing I’m fine. Anyway thanks for the coffee. You better get back to writing the assault report. Voight will want it by the end of the day. Just as I say that Hank leaves his office. His tight shirt fitting around his muscles, shaking my head I look back to my computer screen trying to forget my dream last night

“YN Jay I need you to check out a wear house. Lindsey and I will be your back up but I’ve had a tip-off that we’re going to find drugs and possible weapons. Gear up” he says. Quickly I get to my feet and move passed Jay towards the lockers so I can grab my vest. I begin trying to do it up but fail miserably, sighing I leave the locker room and outside where Jay, Erin and Hank are all waiting

“Need some help?” Hank asks looking at me

“Err Jay can you” I point towards my back signalling I need help with my vest. Nodding his head he turns me around and does up my vest. I walk past Erin and Hank and get into the car. I can see from the wing mirror Hank is talking to Jay who then shrugs his shoulders before walking to the drivers side of the car. He starts it up and we make our way to the wearhouse.

Walking through we split off in pairs, Jay and I walking back to back with our guns in our hands

“No one else is here YN, you going to tell me know what’s going on?”

“Really Jay you want to do this now?” I question

“Yes because you won’t tell me when Voight is around. He’s not here so tell me what’s going on. What did you do?”

“I had a sex dream about him alright. I’ve been avoiding him because I like him and last night I had a sex dream. I know it’s wrong but fuck Jay I….” Before I can continue I hear gun shots being fired. Jay pulls me down behind an abandoned car

“You both ok?” Voight radios to me

“Yeah we’re fine” I reply as Jay starts shooting back

“Lindsay and I are coming in” I hear as I help Jay out by shooting back.

Erin and Jay arrest 2 men at the wearhouse while I do a sweep to make sure I’ve missed no one

“YLN” I hear Voight, but try to ignore him and continue walking “YN will you stop! What’s going on. Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not” I say still walking away

“YN” I feel him push me towards a wall, turning me to face him. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to him before…. well in the real world, in my dream last night…. No YN stop “tell me”

“I can’t” I say quietly looking into his eyes

“Why?”

“Because it will ruin everything. I’ll get transferred and…” for the third time today I’m cut off, but this time is by Hank kissing me. I kiss him back before we pull apart

“Sorry I didn’t know how else to shut you up”

“Really?” I chuckle “you really didn’t know how else to get me to stop?” Hank just shrugs “why did you kiss me?” I frown

“Why do you think YN? Why do you think I always join you on busts like this? You won’t be transferred and your not ruining anything. We’re both consenting adults” Hank then starts to let me go. We start to walk back to the car outside “next time you have a dream like that just tell me and I’ll help” I freeze at that

“How did you know about that. I only told Jay”

“Your partner can be an idiot sometimes. Had his radio on”

“I’m gonna kill him” I say between gritted teeth making Hank laugh at me. We all out of the building and stood by the car is a guilty looking Jay and Erin smirking

“Jason mother fucking Halstead I hope you you have your bullet proof vest on because I’m about to murder your ass!” I shout storming over to him. I guess though if he hadn’t of done that Hank wouldn’t have kissed me so maybe I should be thanking him.

[lucygxybaird]

you're pregnant with billy's baby, and you've started to show tw: pregnancy

You stand in a shaft of sunlight, stirring porridge with one hand while the other rests on the small of your back, which has begun to ache when you stand for too long lately. Not that you’ve had the opportunity to exert yourself even in such a minimal way over the past few months — ever since Billy found out you were carrying his baby, he’s been true to his word that you won’t lift a finger. And as much as you appreciate the way Billy dotes on you, you’ve started to find yourself missing simple things, like cooking or gardening. 

Right now, you’re intent on making breakfast, planning on having it on the table by the time your fiancee wakes up. Maybe he’ll be less concerned about you standing on your feet for more than five minutes if you’re already sitting down when he— 

You hear a sharp intake of breath, and you pause mid-stir, pressing your lips together and squeezing one eye shut as though bracing yourself for impact. After a moment of silence, you turn your head, meeting Billy’s wide-open gaze. He’s still sprawled on the bed across the room; the only thing separating the kitchen from your bedroom, such as it is, is a filmy, flimsy curtain that really could do with replacing. He can see you standing there clear as day. 

You turn to face him, still clutching the spoon. “Billy, really, you don’t have to worry,” you insist, before he can even open his mouth. “I’m not doing anything too strenuous. I know you just wanna take care of me, but I—”

Billy gets out of bed, pushing the curtain aside and taking a few steps toward you. “Turn back toward the stove,” he says, his voice soft and husky, almost like he’s talking in his sleep. In fact, he’s looking at you right now as though he’s in a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from — wide-eyed, his lips parted like he wants to drink you in, moving closer like he’s swimming through syrup. 

“What?” 

He gestures with his hand, a little semicircular motion. “Please,” he says. “Just turn back toward the stove.” 

So you do, hesitantly sticking the spoon back in the porridge and starting to stir again. You look at Billy from the corner of your eye to find him staring at you. It’s hard to tell when you can’t actually face him, but it looks like his eyes are shining. “Billy?” 

He gives a little start, as if you’ve splashed him with cold water. “You…you’re showin’,” he says, his voice trembling ever so slightly. 

You look down at yourself, raising an eyebrow. “Oh.”

Of course, you’ve noticed that your body is changing, giving way to the life the two of you created. But it’s been such a gradual process — outwardly, at least — that you’ve started to think no one else is really going to notice. Not until you’re the size of a house, anyway. It’s especially true considering the nightgown you’re wearing, which is so voluminous that it could double as a sail. “How can you even tell? This thing fits me like a circus tent.” 

Billy laughs. “I could see your silhouette when you were standin’ just there, with the sun hittin’ you just so,” he says. “At first I was just thinkin’ about how you looked like an angel in that light, and then” He swallows, smiling a little. “I noticed…there’s a little bump. C’mere.” 

He holds out a hand for you, and you don’t hesitate to go to him, sticking the spoon in the gently bubbling porridge. He puts his hand at the small of your back, drawing you closer; his free hand grabs at the material laying against your hip, pulling it closer to you, so you can see your shape better. “Look,” he says softly. 

You look down again, and now you see the little curve of your belly. You doubt anyone except Billy — who knows your body so well, who has been so attentive (to say the least) to you — would even see it, but now that he’s drawn attention to it, you find that you can’t look away. “Hi,” you say softly, putting your hand against your stomach. “Look at you.” 

Billy covers your hand with his, and in a moment, he’s on his knees in front of you. He puts his other hand on your other hip, pulling at the material there, too, so that your little bump is even more defined. “Hi,” he echoes, and you put your hand gently along the back of his head as you realize his voice is choked. “Oh, I can’t wait to meet you. I hope you know I love you and your mama so much.”

You weave your fingers into his hair. “Oh, I’m sure they know,” you say. “I do.”

He kisses the thin cotton stretched over your belly, which makes you giggle — it does tickle — and he does it again, earning another helpless little laugh from you. Billy looks up at you, grinning, his eyes still very bright. 

On the stove, the porridge gives a particularly insistent boil, as if it’s about set to spill from the confines of the pot. 

“Let me get that,” he says, practically jumping to his feet, and you have to bite back a groan.

“No, you sit,” you say firmly, putting yourself between him and the stove. You prop your hands on your hips. “I’m serving you breakfast whether you like it or not, damn it.”  

He smiles crookedly, a little sheepish. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, and drops into a chair. He looks over at you, wrinkling his nose. “I’ve been drivin’ you crazy, huh?” 

“Well…” You hesitate, taking a moment to grab a couple of bowls and ladle porridge into them, reaching for a bowl of fresh strawberries sitting on the counter. (Yesterday, Billy went into town to buy a bunch for you when you mentioned, in passing, that you’d like one.) You chop some up and sprinkle them into each bowl, setting one in front of Billy. You can almost feel the weight of his gaze on you, waiting on your answer. Of course, you don’t want to hurt his feelings, but you need to be honest. 

You clear your throat, setting your bowl on the table, too. “Well, I…” 

Before you can sit in your chair, he reaches for you, gently pulling you into his lap. He pulls your own bowl toward you, hooking his chin over your shoulder. “You can just say yes,” he says, and you hear his smile in the warmth of his voice. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t wanna drive you up the wall, I just wanna take care of you.” 

He smooths his hand over the soft curve of your belly. ‘The both of you,” he adds, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your neck. 

“I know,” you assure him, putting your hand over his. “And I appreciate it, I really do. But I can still do things for myself, you know? I promise you I’ll let you know if I ever feel like it’s too much, or if I need your help, but until then…I’m still me, even if I’m carrying a baby. I can do things for myself, and for us.”

Billy kisses your temple. “I know you’re still you,” he says. “Believe me, I’m grateful for you being exactly who you are, every day.” 

You smile, shifting more comfortably onto his lap. “I’m grateful for you, too,” you say. “And I’m grateful that we’ve always been equal partners. I always have been.”

Another kiss to your temple. “Equal partners,” he agrees. “I’ll take care of you, you’ll take care of me, and we’ll both take care of little Lasairfhíona.” 

You laugh. “Who?”

Billy grins. “Lasairfhíona. It’s a Gaelic name for a little girl. Means somethin’ about wine, I think.” 

You giggle helplessly. “We’re not naming our baby that. I don’t even know how to spell it. Or pronounce it, for that matter. Besides, what if it’s a boy?” 

“Deasmhumhnach.” 

You shake your head, still laughing. “Well, I was thinking William for a boy, but we can talk about it.” 

You feel his soft huff fall against your neck, as he slides his hands gently over your stomach again. It seems that he can’t stop touching your bump, not that you mind. 

“William, huh?” he says quietly. “What about Patrick William?”

You smile, leaning back against him. “I like that.” 

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, with you remaining in Billy’s lap. You have time, you know, to talk about baby names, to plan the wedding, to imagine your future. The most important thing is that it’s the two of you — well, the three of you — together, always. 

There’s nothing in the world more important to you, and you know Billy feels the same. 

Equal partners, after all. 

[painfulstretch]

idea/fantasy: i’m your overdue trans guy roommate. i share everything with you not knowing about your kink. i’ve started complaining about how sick I am of being pregnant, eventually you give into temptation and offer your help. you use teas and herbs and massages to jumpstart my labor. i comply happily, appreciating the help, and am even excited when i feel the first light contractions, i even have you time them to figure out when i should head to the hospital. i have no idea what i’m in for. 12 hours later im still in our apartment, totally at your mercy. i realized far too late why you’d been so eager to assist, and now i’m stuck on the bathroom floor trying to bring a 12lb baby to crown. i’m shouting and crying hysterically as each push wrenches me open, and there’s still a massive bulge sitting just inside. i’ve long given up on begging, the only help you’ll give is to hold my thighs wide apart so you can enjoy the show.

fuckkk anon, that sounds like the dream. getting the chance to see your huge belly everyday would already be great - i'd always be watching you, seeing how your struggle grows everyday, how you're constantly rubbing circles into your aching back and strained bump, hurting all over even before the contractions first started.

i have to bite my tongue when you say you're sick of being pregnant. i would love to see you like this a little longer, just to see how much more weight you'd be able to carry on your slim hips. but i also can't deny i'm excited for your labor. the desire to see you scream out your baby is far stronger than the wish to see you pregnant. so i help you kickstart your labor, and fuck the sight of you doubling over, moaning and panting in pain, every time a contraction hits, is just exquisite.

you're too busy riding out the waves of pain to notice my grin as i time your contractions and announce how short the pauses become, getting closer and closer to the real deal. i reach over to touch your massive belly every now and then, you lean into my hand not yet realising that it's not the touch of a friend trying to be supportive but more akin to a predator toying with its prey. i can't get enough of feeling your bump contracting harshly, and hearing you moan and grunt.

i keep up the act for so long, i start to internally laugh at your naive nature. only when you say it's time to go to the hospital and i flatly deny it, do you become suspicious. suspicion turns to nervousness when you insist and i still don't comply, and then slowly morphs into panic, the clearer it becomes i'm serious and not just playing a mean joke. you become frantic, your words become pleading. i find i enjoy it massively. you've sunken to your knees, the contractions too strong to stay standing, and you're clutching your distended, rippling belly, tears forming in your eyes. you're begging, you're begging for quite some time. you cry, panicked, when i force my fingers inside you to check your dilation - you're dilating fast.

it takes hours until you give up and surrender to your fate of being my own personal entertainment. by now you're too deep into labor to try and argue anymore anyway. your panting and moaning has turned to screaming and sobbing. transition was definitely one of my favorite things to witness - the most painful part of labor. the way you shrieked and thrashed, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks. it lasted almost two hours, and i was thrilled the entire time, couldn't take my eyes off you for a single moment. i was kind of disappointed when it was over and you calmed down a little to take a breather. i decided you needed a proper birthing place - if you kept doing it here, our fine carpet might get dirty with your fluids. i dragged you to your feet, forcing you to walk to the bathroom despite the unbearable pressure in your pelvis. gravity brought the baby down faster.

and now we're here, on the bathroom floor. we have been for several hours now. the head is truly enormous, that bulge is probably the most beautiful thing i've ever seen. your skin stretched taut, an angry bruised red, and your lips fluttering around the top of the baby's head, trying to open up enough to let it pass. you've been trying for so long and still can barely get it crowning. i'm surprised you even got it all the way to your lips through your narrow hips if i'm honest.

your shouting and crying is music to my ears. your trembling, sweating body and your face scrunched up in agony are what my dreams are made of. i've watched you for twelve hours already, i'll gladly watch you for another twelve, or even more. i don't want it to end. i'll wait until you've got the head to a crown - i want to see how you react to the famous ring of fire, i want to see you writhe and wail as the burning stretch reaches its widest, most agonizing point -, i'll let you have that feeling of success for a few minutes because i'm not a monster, despite what you may think right now, you know? you can feel happy about your accomplishment. and when you've had your share, i'll place my hand on your bulging pussy.

didn’t i say i'd love to see you pregnant a bit longer but prefer seeing you suffer through labor? well, i realised... why choose when i can have both? i'll place my hand on the baby's head and give it a nice gentle shove. oh, the scream you let out as that white hot pain sears through your nether region up into your entire body will be glorious

[venusandsaturnsrings]

Okay lemme just

I have jjk brainrot and lemme just try to categorise my thoughts instead of letting them go !!!!!!!!

GOJO:

-Special grade teaser, this man will have you begging and edging you till you're crying

-def into letting you wear his blindfold, bonus if you're tied up

GETO

Pet play, corruption kink, need i go on- also if going with bottom Geto, def whimpers if you tug on his hair

MEGUMI

Purely basing this on an rp i had with a friend- lactation kink. Absolutely down for 3 somes with his SO + Yuji, we stan a bi king

SUKUNA

Blood kink, marking, anyway he can show off that you're his. Prolly bites you on the darn daily

MAHITO (making this extra long for you <3)

Hear me out- virgin but freaky AF

Watersports, spit, blood, cum, he's down for anything

Def has fantasies about carving his name into his fav human toy (you <3) preferably on the chest for all to see

Wil push you to your limits, prolly sucks at aftercare but can be bribed ibto beibg the best with it jn return for some new games and toys *nudge nudge wink wink*

Bonus-

Geeting double penetrated by Mahito and Foul Legacy Taru <3

IM LISTENING IM HEARING U OUT IM BRAINROTTING WITH U!! i’m crafting up a silly au where everyone lives and no one suffers and everyone gets to be happy and go to uni together and and and… so given that, i’m writing gumi n junpei as over 18!! crazy to think about but in canon time im younger than all of them… fucked up how time works huh… ANYWAYS…

includes: this is just general headcanons building off what you said my dearest + adding a couple of my own thoughts!! has Gojo, Geto, Megumi, Sukuna, Mahito, and Junpei bc he is so special to me <3 i am one of 3 Junpei kinnies on this planet i swear…

i’m not a major Gojo fucker, if anything we have hate sex that is fuelled by pent up arousal and being big time touch starved… but the idea of him using his blindfold on you?? oh dear oh my… it’s both a big step in trust and vulnerability. given that he finds not having his eyes covered to be immensely overwhelming, i imagine there’d be a strong bond between him and his partner to do this. he’s used to seeing you through the way he detects energy, it’s second nature to him, but he’ll never quite get over what it’s like to actually see you with his real eyes. his fingertips are shaking and he can’t seem to look at anything other than your face twisted in pleasure as he denies you your nth release of the day; it’s a carnal satisfaction. he tends to be very mouthy and loud whenever you’re going at it but with you splayed out in front of him like this, your body shielded by absolutely nothing, he’s rather quiet as he takes in every inch of you. it’s a form of depraved worship, in a way, that he feels so compelled to hardly even breathe to appreciate you and only you as much as he possibly can.

i’d be a liar if i said i wasn’t terribly down bad for Geto. long-haired men get me good and he’s no exception… he’s 100% into pet play and corruption you hit the nail on the head!! it’s half a control thing and half a desire to please, he doesn’t feel a lot of power over his life and being able to get some of that from what you two do together his cathartic. he’s partial to cat girls, having a little kitty for him to play with and to kneel at his feet brings him satisfaction like nothing else. Geto is also the best at aftercare!! he’s very tender in how he treats you, already having a nice warm bath and a glass of water ready… anything you need, just ask, he’d give the world to stay by your side as long as he possibly can.

prior to this ask, i’d never actually thought of Megumi before… but, hear me out, going off of his thing of sharing you with Yuji, i think he’s into being cucked. i’m sorry to be the one to say it but to my core i believe this is true and canon… when it’s just the two of you, Gumi has the tendency to get a bit nervous and lost at times so seeing someone he trusts so deeply take the reigns and really work to make you feel good without hesitation gets him going. sometimes he does get a bit jealous of the way Yuji palms at your tits or the way he gets you to squeal so loud but ultimately he knows you’re his. even if Yuji offered to snag you away, you wouldn’t accept because Gumi is the one you want (reassure him from time to time though). plus, after watching so many times, he gains a better grasp on what to do!! i think he also likes letting Yuji instruct him on just how to fuck you proper. <3

Sukuna… you are a man of many wonders and arms. he is absolutely the biggest biter of them all!! will use his normal mouth most of the time but really enjoys using his stomach mouth to nip at your ass when he’s plowing you from behind as the way you yelp in surprise never fails to get him going. he loves that having four arms means he can keep your hips still, choke you, and grope at whatever skin he wants all at the same time; there’s never a part of your body that goes missed. despite his claims of not caring about humans, there’s nothing that he loves more than having you dangle off his arm and getting to touch you in a way nobody else ever could. also, two cocks absolutely. prepare yourself to be stuffed full, he’s partial to having them both balls deep in your pussy.

FREAKY VIRGIN MAHITO IS REAL!! he’s all about experimenting so there’s really nothing he wouldn’t try honestly, it’s more of a challenge to convince him to not do certain things *shivers*… but that does come with a lot of bonuses seeing that he won’t write off anything so it’s free game for you!! odds are he’ll enjoy anything so long as he learns something from it, if it gets him off then even better. he’s naturally most interested in anything that’ll induce pain, emotional or physical, and things that allow him to be in complete control (submitting to a human? fat chance). Depending on how exactly he sees you, and how ooc you’re willing to take, you’re either going to be a good ol fashion pump n dump that he brutally slaughters OR you’ll end up being his forever pet that he won’t let out of his sight for more than fifteen seconds… both are a unique form of suffering but it’s Mahito, so there’s really no white picket fence ending option… regardless, prepare yourself to be used in the grossest ways. he’s got a particular fondness for watersports and anything that results in blood, with a preference for knife play and good ol aggressive biting, simply because he likes seeing you become a filthy depraved mess even when he’s being so cruel. i have a vague concept for a human au but even then he’s a nasty freak with no boundaries!!

adding Junpei onto this because he’s so dear to my heart and also the biggest incel. affection doesn’t come easy to him especially when it’s sexual, he finds being on the receiving end to feel as though it’s only because you pity him. try as you might, convincing him otherwise is going to take some time but he has no problem understanding his own feelings to be true although he’s shy… major panty sniffer alert, he’s too scared to actually try anything with you but he’s got his needs!! stealing a cute white cotton pair from your hamper is the next best thing to him and he’ll spend the next week with them pressed to his face whenever he’s alone, dick rutting into his hand messily. it’s subconscious but he also has a habit of stalking you around a little bit when he’s too nervous to actually talk to you but he swears it’s an accident!! he didn’t mean to learn your whole schedule it’s just that he sees you doing certain things more often!! he’s supposed to be on the other side of the city at that time for work?? you’re delusional, he was just… sent there for some sort of project, nothing weird at all he’d never!! huge whiner btw, babbles a lot when he’s finally fucking you.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Mellow Embers: The Kindling

summary: takin’ our time, let the world turn.

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS, eventual smut (in pt. ii), internal angst if you squint, impatient!reader, joel being a balm to the rushing soul & a lovely (modern but still a little traditional) southern man, unkmowingly insecure!joel, first date, kissing

wc: 2,604

an: a song based fic that inspired this concept! everyone say thank you kacey musgraves <3. perhaps…perhaps i am back. i hope to be, pls be patient with me.

misc. masterlist | the crescendo (pt. ii)

Quick, fast, and in a hurry.

That’s the mantra you always lived your life by, passed down from generation to generation. Raised in the most independent hoard of women, you were taught that you didn’t have a choice. You have to work hard, diligently, fast in order to get things done. There is no sulking, no thinking, no waiting. If you want something done, you’ll do it yourself and you’ll do it with a brisk ease. Everything in life is a task– even finding someone you want to spend your life with.

While you have some hesitancy about putting the petal to the metal when it comes to love–what with the failed marriages of your mother, and her mother and mother– you know no other way. You know no other way, until you met Joel Miller.

Joel trudges into your bar one night and you can’t take your eyes off of him. His eyes are a warm brown that rivals the shine of amber, his jacket a bit dusty, his hair a little wild. He’s moving a bit slowly, rubbing at his back when he takes a seat on the stool a couple strides down the bar from you. You wrap things up with the patron in front of you, sliding their food order down the bar to a runner before making your way to this mystery man.

You lean over the bar with a cheeky grin, pushing your cleavage together, “What can I get you? It's on the house.”

“Whiskey, a double. It ain’t good manners not to pay,” He murmurs, throwing down a couple bills.

Your interest is further piqued. What’s a southern man like him doing in a place up so north? You wonder where he’s from, what his life was like before coming to live in a city such as this one.

“Isn’t it rude to refuse good hospitality?”

He shrugs, the tiniest smile on his face, “I personally like to take my flirtin’ a little slower.”

You tilt your head, raising a brow at him, “But not your conclusion jumping? Who says I was flirting?”

“You’re not very good at being discreet about your stare, sweetheart.”

Your face grows extremely hot, and for a moment you open your mouth to give him a rebuttal but soon close it once you realize you don’t have one. Instead, you murmur something about his drink and turn away to fetch a glass and a bottle of whiskey. When you return, your pour is fast. You’d been eager to talk to him and now you couldn’t be more eager to get away.

The man leans across the bar, as he takes the drink from your hand, careful not to touch you. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. Can I get you anything else?” The words fly out of your mouth, almost slurring together with how quickly you say them.

“You just can’t slow down, can you there, honey?” His tone isn't unkind or condescending, just observant. You find yourself growing defensive anyway.

“It's a bar, it comes with the territory.”

“So does the quick flirtin’?”

“I know what I want and I go after it. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Doesn’t give you much time to appreciate things,” He says thoughtfully.

“Right.”

“I’m interested, darlin’. I am. But let’s take our feet off the gas. I’m Joel,” He introduces himself, holding a hand out to you.

You take it, unable to look away from his warm, inviting eyes despite his hesitancy. And that was the simple, slow start of you and Joel.

Syrupy slow. Thick as molasses.

—

It takes weeks for Joel to ask you on a proper date. He’s said he was interested, and clearly was by how often he frequented the bar you work at. He’d order the same double, sit at your end of the bar, and then the two of you would chat between patrons. He’s charming and hilarious, and so godly fucking slow at dating. If it wasn’t endearing, if he wasn’t so handsome you wouldn’t give him the time of day.

It’s nearing the end of the third week you two have done this but it’s Friday, and tonight Joel stays until your shift is over so he can walk you to your car. He even helps you clean once all the other patrons are out, wiping down the bar for you as you finish loading glasses in the dishwasher.

The summer air is a little chilly once you two exit the bar, and Joel notices the way you shiver in your tiny little top— the one that shows cleavage that he tries to be conscious of, that he tries not to look at. He’s successful…most of the time.

“S’a little dusty, but here,” He murmurs, shrugging out of the jacket he’s wearing, gently draping it around your shoulder.

It’s shit like this that keeps your heart so tender for a man you haven’t even held hands with. You’ve wondered if it’s just his southern charm, or if someone before you had hurt him and made him more mindful of the way he pursues women.

His gesture has your heart fluttering, palms growing slick like you’re back in high school, having your first date with Nathan from second period. Sometimes you think about what your family might say about Joel. That he’s too traditional, that he probably wants you barefoot and pregnant in his kitchen, a ring on your hand. But, you don’t get that vibe from him. You think that maybe he just wants to treat you well, and maybe you finally think you deserve something like that. Even if it’s moving much slower than you would prefer.

“Thank you, Joel,” You say, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

Something about Joel and his soft, slow intensity is different than anything you've ever had before. Once to your car, you start to slip out of his jacket but he shakes his head.

“Keep it, darlin’. I’ll come get it tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Wondered if I could take you out to dinner tomorrow since you're off.”

“Finally,” You huff playfully, grinning at him.

If you’re not mistaken, Joel blushes, scratching the nape of his neck. “Alright, alright, don't you start now.”

“I’m just giving you a hard time. You know we could do breakfast instead— or lunch,” You suggest, feeling a little impatient. Did you really want to wait the entire day to see him?

“Dinner,” He repeats, a knowing grin on his face. “Be patient, girl.”

“Fine, fine. Dinner, I’ll just twiddle my thumbs all day.”

“We both know you’ll be runnin’ around like a chicken with its head cut off by 10 a.m.”

It feels good that he knows you. You laugh, nodding begrudgingly. He’s right— it might even be earlier than that.

“Just make sure you pace yourself on the coffee.”

“I make no promises. Goodnight, Joel.”

For the first time since your handshake, Joel touches you. He takes your hand into his, helping you into your car, and before shutting the door behind you, he presses a chaste kiss to your skin. Warmth spreads slowly through your hand, creeping up your arm and neck, into your cheeks.

“Goodnight, honey.”

—

Joel doesn’t touch you again the entire night. He’s careful when you return his jacket, careful when he’s guiding you, only letting his hand ghost behind you as you walk. It’s driving you nuts. You wore a silk dress, floral and clingy in all the right places— even wore a flower in your hair to match, and still there was nothing. Well, he had called you beautiful, so beautiful to be exact, when you answered the door.

During dinner, he told you about his daughters, Sarah and Ellie. Things sort of clicked, of course, he would want to take things slow when there are children involved. He doesn’t speak ill of Sarah’s mother when he mentions that they co-parent, explains that Ellie is sort of a stray he ended up taking in. It’s impossible to miss the way he lights up when speaking about his girls. He says that Sarah welcomed Ellie with open arms, that they’re nearly inseparable and do nothing but give him a hard time together.

You don’t say it, but you hope that one day you’ll get to meet them. With your disposition, you wouldn’t be opposed to meeting them right now. But that’s now how this works, especially not with Joel in the driver’s seat.

You respect it. You respect him. It doesn’t stop you from being a little forward when he walks you to your door.

“Do you want to come in?”

Joel gives you a shy smile, shaking his head. “You know the answer to that, sweetheart.”

You nod, pouting a little. Joel thinks it’s adorable, and wants to reach out and run a thumb over the swell of your bottom lip to push away. But he knows you, and the moment he laid his hands on you, you’d bounce on him. He’s not sure he’d be able to resist, even with his reservations.

“Well, there was no harm in me trying,” You say salaciously, raising a brow at him.

“I appreciate your eagerness, but we’re still takin’ this slow.”

“I know, I respect it, Joel. It’s just not something I’m used to.”

He doesn’t like the way you deflate a little, as if you’re feeling some sort of shame. He’d never want you to feel that way.

He takes a step forward, cupping your cheek gently, “You know there’s nothin’ wrong with taking things fast, honey. But, I think this is good for the both of us. How does it feel?”

How does it feel? When you get beyond the initial impatience, the clumsiness of not always flirting and immediately getting physical, it feels…certainly different, and maybe good. Really good. To know his interests, and intentions, his values, and pieces of his life before diving in head first. Yeah, it feels good. Because there is no making things work as they come at you— Joel is slowly showing you what you get with him, proving as time inches forward that you two fit together just fine.

You don’t have to rush into it to make him stay. He just will.

That restless energy you feel like you were born with settles as you try to formulate your answer. How could you tell him all of that without seeming like you were rushing into things feeling perfectly right?

You decide to keep it vague, feeling a little nervous for once. “It feels good. Nice. Different…not what I’m used to, but nice.”

Joel’s thumb slowly skates across your cheek, trying to soothe you. His voice is a soft gravelly hum. “Feels good for me too, sweetheart.”

He’s making your head foggy, with his gently dominant disposition. Unable to stop yourself, you lean further into his palm, enjoying the callousness here and there. His eyes don’t leave yours, as if they’re looking into you and not just at you. His presence is overwhelming, a single glance from him consuming you. You find yourself trembling slightly despite the dreadfully warm air tonight.

Joel bends slightly, his nose just an inch away from ghosting yours. “I’m gonna kiss you now, alright?”

You make a soft, affirmative sound, the ability to find your voice escaping you.

It’s so slow. So Joel. It feels like the slow drip of caramelized sugar. Like a snail making its way across the pavement. Your brain slips away further there's nothing but warmth and happiness and pleasure as Joel kisses you on your porch. He presses his mouth to yours, guiding your head back with the hand that still cups your cheek. He takes your hand, bringing it up so that you mirror his actions. Once your hand is there his drops away, taking your other hand and guiding it to his chest.

He wants you to feel. To take this moment to stop time and not get lost in it, not drift away like you were before. He wants you to stay present, to savor every languid stroke of his tongue against yours.

And as if you can feel him saying that through the simple connection of lips, you become sharply aware of what the sensation of kissing Joel Miller feels like.

How his lips are as soft as they look, his tongue tasting of the dark ale he drank at dinner. How the shadow of a beard that trails his jaw tickles at your palm. How firm and solid and warm his chest feels beneath your fingertips. More than that— both of his hands now cup your face with a gentle intimacy you’ve never experienced, not even with others who have seen and touched much more of your body than he has.

Despite sinking into him and his patience, there’s a hunger inside of you that you can’t ignore. You give into your urges and instruments. It’s as if this was the calm before the storm— the storm being you, starting to clutch him closer, kiss him deeper, frantically so.

Joel chuckles into your mouth when he feels the way you start to pillage him; there’s no other word for it. Your message is as clear as his: you want more and you want it now.

“Down, girl,” He slurs into your mouth, getting a grip on your hands and gently prying them from the fabric of his flannel.

“Sorry,” You whisper, completely breathless. You take a step back towards the door, your expression apologetic. “Sometimes— most of the time, I get a little carried away. I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

“You didn’t cross a line— at least not one I don’t eventually intend to cross,” He assures you softly, taking a step forward to maintain proximity to you.

It makes butterflies flutter in your tummy even as you laugh, nodding in understanding. He was being genuine despite moving slower than molasses. He’s worth the wait. At least that confirms the worst of your worries. He’d said from the day you met he was interested but there was a silly part of you— insecure and swirly, you try not to engage with it much— that thought that maybe he was just being a gentleman. Taking pity on you, giving you the time of day to boost your confidence and spare your feelings.

“What do think about say to us doin’ this again next week, sweetheart?”

“I think…I would really like that, Joel.”

“Great. Now hold your horses and let me kiss you again.”

He does that thing again like he did last night, his voice infused with honey, low and delicious as he crowds you up against your door. The combination is threatening to make your legs give out and you brace yourself by the doorknob, looking up at him with eager eyes.

Joel kisses you breathless once more, taking both of your wrists in his grasp if only to keep you at bay, and maybe to feel soft your skin is under his palms…how you let him take the lead despite it being a new concept. The thought has his cock stirring and he pulls away, knowing that he’s pressed his luck enough with you tonight.

He raises his eyebrows, unable to keep the smirk off his face. “Goodnight, honey.”

“Goodnight, Joel,” You murmur, feeling tingly all over.

You let yourself in and watch Joel walk to his car through the screendoor. And when he pulls off, he gives you a cute little wave, one that you return, warmth blooming in your chest.

Joel and his sweet southern charm, sweeping you off your feet.

joel taglist: @honeybrowne, @campingwiththecharmings, @lesbianhotch

[ash5monster01]

#18 #18!!

Valentines pizza mixup with Steve! 🍕

Pizza Mixup

Valentines Celebration Prompt

Pairing: Steve Harrington x FemReader

Warnings: fluff, language, no use of y/n, lots of teasing, minor minor allusions to smut.

18. A sad valentines night spent home alone requires pizza but what happens when the delivery guy mixes up your order with the guy from upstairs?

word count: 1.6k

Masterlist

Nonsense plays on the TV in front of you while you await your pizza. You had been starved, working a double shift and dealing with the constant candy heart bullshit had you in a bad mood, and gotten in the way of your lunch. The only thing you had to look forward to on this day was the perfect large pizza from the great place down the street. You couldn’t wait to eat it and watch mindless TV in your cotton pajama bottoms and black tank top. It was heaven on earth actually. The real American dream.

When the knock finally sounds at the door you’re lifting to your feet in an instant. The weight of yourself pushing down on your pink bunny slippers and lifting its ears. A gift from a friend that was supposed to be a joke but you were enamored with the silly slippers that perked up with every step you took. You’re already digging through your wallet for a twenty as you pop the door open and spot the young delivery boy holding your beloved pizza.

“That’ll be $16.75” he says, voice bored with probably one of the busiest delivery nights for him. You briefly wondered how many heart shape pizzas he’d already given out tonight.

“Keep the change” you tell him, trading the money for the box. The smell hits your nose in an instant and you can’t help the way your mouth waters as you shut the door and walk your prize possession to the kitchen counter.

Flipping the lid you’re prepared to find the perfect pizza with melty cheese and crisped pepperoni just to be met with an absolute terror. The sweetness of the pineapple hits your nose and you can’t help the scowl that crosses your face. Curse that delivery boy. If it was any other night you’d just suffer but tonight that would not do. You had been counting on that perfect pizza, anticipating it all day. Who the hell ordered a single hawaii pizza anyway?

“What a fucking joke?” you can’t help but laugh out at yourself and the irony of this situation. Maybe it was karma, punishment for cursing every cute couple you saw today. Slamming the box closed you spot the receipt taped to the top and to your surprise the delivery address is on floor above you. A sly grin crosses your face.

“Not today satan” you growl before starting towards your door with the pizza box propped in your arm. The ears on your bunny slippers frantically move up and down as you stomp to the elevator determined to get your pizza back. You find the apartment quickly, fist banging against the door as you realized your pizza could be just behind that door.

“I’m coming!” a voice calls out, muffled by the door but your arm doesn’t let up. Not even when the door is swinging open and revealing one of the most handsome men you have ever seen. What shocks you even more is how he looks you up and down, an amused look covering his face.

“Nice slippers” is the first thing he says, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Thanks, I’m pretty sure you have my pizza” you say, head leaning forward to try and peak for it inside his apartment. His brows furrow as he looks at the pizza in your arms.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this but you’ve been holding it the whole time” he says and you roll your eyes quickly, pulling the box in front of you and opening it to show him.

“No it’s not, it’s yours. Who orders hawaiian pizza by the way?” you say, unable to hide the slight disgust in your voice.

“Oh shit, the delivery guy must’ve screwed it up. Come on in” he finally says, now moving out of the way. You cautiously step inside, taking in the apartment all together. It’s not that different from your own and you slowly follow him to the kitchen where you finally spot your pizza box on the counter.

“Made it just in time, I was about to dig in” the boy says and you discard his pizza on the counter beside it, rushing for your own and lifting the cover.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me” you mutter, eyes shutting and head falling with disappointment.

“Don’t tell me it’s still wrong” he says, curiously looking over your shoulder and you shake your head.

“No, it’s just in the shape of a heart” you pout and suddenly the boy beside you is laughing. You glare at him, leaning down to at least take in the scent of the pizza you had been waiting on all night.

“What? You didn’t order this to feed to your boyfriend tonight?” he asked once his laughter calmed and all you can do is sigh as you shut the pizza box.

“No I wanted a regular pizza because I’m a single girl who doesn’t give a shit that it’s Valentine’s Day” you tell him and his eyebrows raise lightly.

“Well it’s nice to meet you bunny slippers. I’m Steve, and I also don’t give a shit about Valentine’s Day” he says holding his hand out and you decide you can no longer take your annoyance out on this innocent, yet very cute man beside you.

“Nice to meet you Steve, I guess I better get going. Eat this thing till it no longer looks so cute” you say starting to slide the box of the counter but his hand quickly stops it from going any further.

“What do you say to eating it here? Since neither of us have anything better to do. Plus if we get to know each other better maybe we can start ordering one pizza for us both. Save the money” the snort that comes from your nose has him cracking a small smile even though your reaction is not one he expected.

“As long as it’s not Hawaiian I may be interested but I don’t know how much that says about me being cheap” you tell him and finally release the pizza box in defeat. After all this option was better than rotting alone on your couch watching Alf.

“I think I can deal” he says reaching into a cupboard and freeing two plates for you both. You waste no time in picking the two largest slices from the heart shaped pizza and setting them on your plate. Steve does the same, grinning at you while he does.

“You seem way too excited about this for a guy who clearly had plans to spend the evening alone” you tell him as he guides you to the couch. Steve laughs, freeing two Coke’s from the mini fridge in the living room. What a boy.

“I don’t think excited would be the right word, more like intrigued” he says now joining you on the couch. You don’t miss the way it dips from his weight and how naturally his leg crosses in front of him.

“Was this your plan all along, bribe the delivery boy to get the cute girl from downstairs into your apartment where you proceed to murder her?” and Steve can’t help but laugh from the wildness of your imagination. If he knew tonight was going to turn out like this he would’ve been a little more happy about the holiday.

“If only I was clever enough but I’m just an innocent boy who got delivered the wrong pizza tonight and is now lucky enough to share it with the cute girl from downstairs” and his words have you blushing in an instant. Pink shading from your neck all the way up to your ears and Steve can only grin as he takes a bite of his fruity pizza.

“Fine but if I suspect any foul play I’m out that door” you say with a pointed finger before finally taking that first bite of perfect pizza. Thankfully you had solved the mixup quickly and it was still warm. What surprises both you and Steve is the low moan that comes out from the flavor hitting your tastebuds.

“Maybe I really am interrupting something” Steve teases and you lightly smack his arm which makes him laugh.

“I just really love Ilio’s Pizza. Best pizza ever” you say before two more bites and Steve is grinning ear to ear as he watches you.

“Maybe you should try the Hawaiian” he suggests and the giggle that escapes your lips lifts to his ears. You’re surprised at how comfortable he has made you in just these few moments. Maybe it was how handsome he was, or the way his brown hair was swept perfectly over his head, or possibly the realization of just how lonely you were on a quiet and empty Valentines night.

“Maybe, but for now I can compromise and order half pepperoni, half hawaiian for our next one” Steve’s eyebrows raise at the sentence and you know immediately what he was thinking.

“So there will be a next one?” he curiously asks and as your eyes search his own you can’t help the soft smile that slides across your lips.

“If you find a way to call me cute again I can almost guarantee it” you tell him and he grins, hand reaching over to push some stray hair behind your ear.

“Only I could get lucky enough to have the cute downstairs neighbor come banging on my door for pizza, in a pair of pink bunny slippers” he says and this time you don’t hide the blush that crosses your cheeks.

“So, you free next weekend?”