#even the ones I didn't go through with I felt it buckle a bit

[autogeneity]

oh my god you guys I am not unreasonably weak and slow and whatnot, people are just shit at holding boards

[barcaatthemoon]

party girl || barcelona x reader ||

a night out at the club takes an interesting turn for you.

minors dni, 18+, smut warning.

a huge thank you to everybody who has followed me. 1500 is a lot for a blog i never really thought anyone would pay attention to.

the club was a mess of sweaty bodies grinding against each other just barely to the beat. it was like you were in a bubble with every single person on the dance floor. within your little bubble, life was great. you had a sense of euphoria as the strong hands that had been holding your hips for the past three songs moved up along your sides.

it was always risky to let strangers touch you like this, but you knew that you were in a somewhat safe space. the club had good security, and nearly every patron you had come across was a woman. you felt lips press against your neck and your head fell back against a slender shoulder. your eyes were closed as you turned around, perfectly catching this woman's lips.

you felt your knees grow a bit weak as this woman deepened the kiss. just before your knees did buckle, you felt very familiar hands on your waist. lucy tugged your head back a bit as your eyes opened to see ingrid standing in front of you. immediately, your heart began to race with panic as you started to look around for mapi.

"don't get scared now," lucy teased. you turned around to glare at her, but you stopped when you caught sight of mapi and ona behind her.

"come back with us," ona told you. she reached out and took your hands in hers. you were a bit too shocked to argue as ona led you out of the club. it wasn't until you were in the back of an uber heading towards what you assumed was ona's apartment that you realized what you had done.

"mapi's going to kill me," you groaned helplessly. lucy rolled her eyes as she placed her hand on the back of your neck. "i'm a dead woman, i kissed ingrid."

"ingrid kissed you, first of all. second, she's not going to kill you, trust me. we wouldn't be bringing you over if we thought she'd kill you," lucy promised. you let out a small whimper, and lucy pecked your lips before you could start pouting. "lucy!"

"it's fine," lucy huffed. you were torn between arguing with lucy and apologizing to ona. ona seemed to understand what was going through your mind, and before you could do either, she kissed you. you had never kissed ona before, and you didn't think that you'd ever kiss anyone like that again. you had expected her to be softer, but instead, ona kissed you roughly. your lips were definitely bruised, and you were surprised that she didn't draw blood when she nipped at your lips. "come on, we're here."

"what am i here for, exactly?" you asked as lucy pulled you out of the car.

"we're gonna fuck you, obviously," lucy said. your hands began to sweat a bit as they brought you into the building. everything was moving quickly, but you weren't sure that you would have even considered going home alone if you had the chance to. "you still like this sort of thing, don't you?"

"lucy," you hissed as you swatted at her to be quiet. the blush on your cheeks told lucy everything that she needed to know.

"come on, we wouldn't want to keep our guests waiting." this time, you were surprised by ona being the one to push you forward. you wondered what lucy had told her about you from your days as a lioness. you weren't overly proud of all the things you had done or let people do to you, but there had never been a dull night for you at camp before.

mapi and ingrid stood in the hallway waiting for the three of you. it felt wrong to watch as ingrid greeted ona with a kiss. you found yourself turning away, but also desperately trying to avoid mapi's gaze. you couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow upset with you for kissing ingrid despite both of them being here waiting for you.

"hola chica." mapi greeted you the same way that she did at practice when you tried to keep to yourself. it was hard, but you had finally shaken the "party girl" persona that you had been dubbed with at the beginning of your career. "no kisses for me? i am sure that everybody else got one."

"she's always a little shy at first," lucy said as she unlocked the door. mapi stuck by your side as the group made their way inside. ingrid didn't seem to mind at all, far too preoccupied with ona. "if you don't want to do this, let me know, okay? i know that i sprung this on you, but it's always a little spontaneous isn't it?"

"i'm fine, i promise," you said quietly. lucy nodded and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. she walked off, leaving you alone with mapi on the couch. this time, you couldn't ignore the older spanish defender. "d-did you know that ingrid was going to kiss me?"

"no, but i hoped that she would. one of us had to make a move to get this started, right?" mapi asked. it was stupid, but you felt embarrassed as you nodded. you had never made the first move with anybody before, always the one sought after by teammates and strangers alike. although, you'd never do something like this with a group of people that you didn't trust to take care of you. lucy had hooked up with you both by herself and with others, so she knew all of your rules by now. "can i tell you a secret?"

"sure." you glanced over at mapi, who leaned in close to whisper in your ear.

"ingrid made most of our first moves. other than the ring, that is. i did the big one, and that's what counts," mapi told you. you weren't surprised, having noticed how mapi and ingrid were with each other when nobody else was looking. "i can make this move with you, don't worry."

mapi gently cupped your face in her hands. her thumbs rubbed along your cheekbones as she leaned in. mapi moved much slower than you had expected, but you didn't mind it. the build up made the kiss even better, and you found yourself melting back into the couch as mapi covered her body with yours. her tongue swiped past your lips, giving you a taste of the mint from her drink that expertly masked the bit of alcohol.

"you're being greedy." ona wedged herself behind you. mapi broke the kiss to say something back to ona, who wasn't listening in the slightest. ona cared much more about pawing at your clothes as she kissed you. once again, you could feel your lips begin to bruise from the roughness of ona's mouth against yours. you felt your stomach tighten as you thought about how rough she'd be with you in bed.

"let's go somewhere with more room," lucy suggested. you were led out of the living room with mapi and ona both competing for your attention. lucy and ingrid didn't seem surprised in the slightest by any of this. you could see lucy's hands on ingrid's body as they slid beneath ingrid's top. that was the first article of clothing successfully removed.

you tried to lean towards where ingrid and lucy were, but it was no use. mapi finally managed to get the top of your dress undone, causing it to fall in a pool at your ankles. you didn't even have a chance to step out of it before you were being pulled onto mapi's lap on the bed. ona followed up closely, placing herself in between everything happening.

out of the corner of your eye, you could see lucy splitting her attention between ona and ingrid. you couldn't do much aside from watch as clothing disappeared at breakneck speed while mapi hooked her legs around yours to keep them open.

"lucia has told us a lot about you, but i want to know what you like," mapi said. she ran her fingers through your hair, smirking when your body went lax against hers. "talk to me, chica. what do you want me to do to you?"

"i want you to fuck me so good that your name is the only one i can think to scream," you told her. mapi took it for what it was, an open challenge. "i want you to split me wide fucking open."

"careful what you wish for (y/n)," lucy warned. you shot her a glare before turning your attention back to mapi. the spanish defender captured your lips in another kiss as her hand moved down your body to rest in between your legs. she wasn't doing much other than just letting her hand cup your pussy, but you were still moving your hips to seek out more contact. "she'll break you if you tell her to."

"mapi wouldn't hurt me unless i really wanted it, isn't that right?" your tone was dripping with false innocence and sweetness. mapi bit her lip as she let her hand lay flat against you. you continued to grind your hips, now getting yourself off by rubbing against her fingers. you let out a soft moan, one that prompted mapi to kiss you a little more.

those kisses were interrupted by ona, who pulled your face away from mapi's. you could see ingrid behind her, thrusting harshly, and lucy's body beneath the both of them being the only thing keeping ona from slamming into you. the kiss with her was messy and desperate, like ona had been craving her moment with you all night.

mapi slowly began to pull more of your attention away from everything else in the room. she had two fingers plunging deep inside of you, keeping a steady rhythm as she began to fuck you. next to you, ingrid and lucy were fucking ona harshly, and mapi noticed that your eyes continuously drifted over towards them.

"do you like it rough? i can fuck you like that. i'll bend you over so you can get a better look too," mapi offered. "would you like that? just say the word and it's all yours."

"mapi please, i want it so bad," you told her. you were surprised how quickly you were reduced to whining. lucy had always liked to joke that you were easy to break, that it was why you were so fun to pass around for a night. you could spend an hour getting fucked relentlessly and once you had the energy to would be asking for it all over again.

"bring her over here," ingrid said. mapi moved you over ona and lucy's bodies. ingrid helped to position you once you were close enough. her touch was less gentle now than it had been earlier in the night. she was being less careful with you, like she was no longer afraid of scaring you away. "do you want to taste ona?"

"yes, please." ingrid surprised you by pulling out of ona and guiding your mouth to the tip of her strap. the subtle smirk on her face grew as she watched you swallow up every inch of her strap that she offered to you. mapi eased into you as ingrid pulled out and pushed your face down towards ona's cunt.

you could hear lucy fucking into ona's ass from beneath her as ingrid guided each stroke of your tongue. occasionally, she'd pull your head away from ona to have you suck on her strap or give you a close up as she fucked ona. it was a lot, and the way that mapi roughly thrust in and out of you had your legs shaking quicker than anybody else had in a long time.

mapi kept thrusting into you even after your body had stilled. her pace was relentless, and you could only get her to stop by squirming away. you laid back against the pillows for a moment as you watched the scene in front of you. you got the sense that they had definitely done this together without you. mapi's strap found a home in ona's mouth, guided by lucy's gentle praises and the strong grip of her hand in ona's hair.

their positioning switched, and you found yourself invited onto lucy's face. lucy's tongue was comfortable and familiar, something that you had come to know well. lucy moved the same way that she always did with you, holding your thighs to keep you on her face until she was finished. you had more than enough freedom to wiggle around and position yourself more comfortably on lucy's face. she knew how important control over your own pleasure was for you sometimes, often having her own reservations about giving that sort of thing up, especially in front of a group.

"you look so good on lucy's face." ona's words were just barely strung together as ingrid began to fuck her once again. mapi was beneath ingrid, eating her out like how lucy was eating you out. you wondered if you were in what would normally be ona's spot, and if you were, the small spanish woman didn't seem to mind one bit.

she relished in the harsh thrusts of ingrid's strap moving in and out of her. you wondered what it would have felt like to be in her position, but you were content where you were. lucy's tongue brought you right up to your peak before easing you away from it only to work you up again and again. you weren't to the point of begging. you had never been able to hold out well, but lucy knew how to edge you for explosive orgasms.

you drenched her face as you squirmed and wriggled your hips wildly. ona was leaned over to lick away the cum you had left on lucy's face. you couldn't believe what you were seeing, and if your body didn't feel so spent, you would have re-joined them. lucy seemed to understand your exhaustion as she pulled you away from the bed to the bathroom.

the shower was spacious with a little ledge for you to rest on. lucy took care in helping you clean up, and the two of you soon found yourselves joined by ona, who seemed to be in a similar state to you. lucy took care of both of you with equal amounts of effort. the three of you were nearly finished when ingrid and mapi came into the bathroom. ona wrapped you up in a robe and led you into a different bedroom than the one you had just been in.

"do you want to stay?" ona asked you. you weren't used to having a space to stay. someone was always there with you, usually a roommate or close friend. someone who never judged you or would raise too many questions in the morning. everybody knew what you got up to, but none of them really ever put much thought into whether or not you spent the rest of your night alone.

"the question is do you want to sleep in here with us or do you want to go back to mapi and ingrid's room? it'll be cooler in here and mapi sleeps naked," lucy said as she walked into the room. there was an extra pep in her step, the one you recognized as her pride from making you and ona cum. she was feeling herself, and the confidence was extremely sexy.

"i don't think that-," ona started, only to be cut off by both you and lucy speaking in unison.

"it's different," the two of you said. ona rolled her eyes as she put a sleep shirt on and nothing else. you found yourself in a pair of lucy's boxers and one of your old england shirts that had mysteriously gone missing years ago. lucy got dressed in her own pajamas before she got in bed with the two of you, placing herself in the middle. the three of you fell asleep together, both you and ona laying there comfortably with one of lucy's arms around your shoulders each.

[flanaganfilm]

Good day Mr Flanagan. please what does "the rest is confetti" mean to you and in the context it was used in hill house??

Okay, here we go. Buckle up for a long read.

To answer this, I've got to explain a little bit about what was happening and where I was when I sat down to write episode 10 of The Haunting of Hill House.

Hill House was not a fun shoot. The picture above is from very early in production, when I was still chubby and happy.

It was my first foray into television. I was absolutely terrified that I'd mess it up. So I'd opted to direct all of the episodes myself, figuring that - if nothing else - I'd have no one else to blame if it went south.

It was the most grueling professional experience of my career. The shoot was by no means a smooth one, every day was an uphill battle from a budgetary perspective, and between the three giant production entities involved with the production, I spent a lot of time fighting over the creative and logistical elements of the series.

I began losing weight. I was smoking two packs of cigarettes a day.

By the end of the shoot, I had dropped almost 40 lbs.

I was very depressed. Every day was a battle, and for the first time in my career, I wasn't excited to go to work in the morning. We were fighting for basic resources, fighting for the show we wanted, and even fighting amongst ourselves by the end. It was grueling.

We hadn't written all of the scripts when we started production. I believe we had finished through episode 7, but the rest of the scripts had to be finished while we were already shooting.

We'd mapped everything out in the writers room, and I had great support on the other episodes, but I was writing the finale solo. I'd thought I'd be able to juggle it with everything else. I quickly fell behind.

I finally got to the script about halfway through production. I'd work on it between takes at the monitor, and then get home to our tiny rental house in Atlanta, where Kate was waiting with our baby son. (One of the rare bright spots of this shoot came when Kate found out she was pregnant about halfway through production. We even named our daughter Theodora, in honor of her origins.)

I'd typically fall down from exhaustion when I got home, but I had to push through it and work on the script. My weekends were spent shotlisting and prepping for upcoming episodes. We didn't have enough time to stay ahead of prep, so every available day was used for that... I went three months without a single day off at one point.

I'd sit up late staring at the script. I was in a dark, dark place. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and feeling like I lived in an eternal present. Each day bled into the next and it didn't feel like there was an end in sight. That feeling of unreality was heightened because we kept returning to the same sets, same locations, and even the same scenes throughout the 100 shooting-day production. Stepping back into the exact room we had shot in days or weeks or even months ago made the whole thing feel absolutely surreal. Making movies is always an non-linear experience, but this one felt particularly so... it was like the days of our lives were happening to us all out of order.

I remember feeling something like despair creeping into my daily experience on the show. And I remember dwelling on that when I got into the scene work of episode 10.

As I worked through the draft, I recall that despair coloring a lot of what was on the page. My filter was breaking down. There's a monologue at the beginning of the episode where Steven's wife Leigh (played by my dear friend Samantha Sloyan) spews out a torrent of eviscerating insults about Steve's value as a writer. That is just me vomiting onto myself. She was voicing all of my deepest insecurities about myself at the time, and of what I was doing with this series.

She says "Is anything real before you write it, Steve? The things you write about, they're real. Those people are real, their feelings are real, their pain is real - but not to you, is it. Not until you chew it up, digest it, and shit it out onto a piece of paper and even then, it's a pale imitation at best."

This was the mindset I was in for a lot of the shoot. The writing became a reflection of a lot of that turmoil, and I knew who I was referring to in that monologue - I was talking about my family. I was talking about how much of their lives I'd used as building material for this show. I was talking about the fact that I'd lost two loved ones to suicide, and seen what it had done to my mother in particular. And I knew I was using - possibly even exploiting - those people for this series.

There's a lot of despair in this episode. The Red Room, as we conceived it, was a place that would feed upon those emotions. Grief, sadness, loss... those were the real ghosts of our series, and where our characters find themselves at the start of the finale. They're being slowly digested - eaten alive - by those feelings.

So finally, it came time to write Nell's final scene with her siblings. I knew from the outline we'd constructed in the writers room what this was supposed to accomplish - she was supposed to be their salvation. She was supposed to take all of these feelings that we'd been wrestling with and finally provide catharsis... finally say something that would free everyone.

I remember sitting with a blinking cursor for a long time. The Crain siblings had just turned and seen Nellie standing by the door, and suddenly were able to hear her speak. But what should she say? What would I say? What would I want someone to say to me?

What she ultimately says lays bare a lot of what I was thinking about when it comes to grief. It exists outside of linear time, much as I felt I existed at the time. That sense of eternal present, that sense of a nonlinear eternity of moments and memories - it all came out in her speech to her brothers and sisters.

I remember feeling, looking at my insane present and looking back at my past, how strangely overwhelmed I was by memories. That I wasn't experiencing time in a straight line, and hadn't been for a while - for the better part of a year, I'd felt more like I was standing in a whirlwind of moments. "Our moments fall around us like..." Nell said, and I recall sitting back and trying to find the words.

"Rain," for certain, but there was something too uniform about that. The moments of life as I experienced them weren't that orderly, they weren't that small. They didn't fall the same way. Some sailed by, fast and unremarkable, while others lingered in front of me, twisting and stretching. So it was a good word, but not the right word. I left it on the page though.

"Snow" was my next attempt. Better, in that I imagined the snow blowing in the wind, swirling and dancing and feeling more organic. More chaotic. More like life. But for some reason, the word that stuck with me, the word I felt Nell Crain would connect with was...

"Confetti."

And that was because I was thinking not of Victoria Pedretti at this point, but of Violet McGraw.

Violet played Young Nell, and I wondered what she might have said if she experienced time this way. As an adult, Nell was despairing. Nell was overwhelmed. But as a child... there was an innocence to the word. There was a joy to the word.

I imagined moments falling around her, this little girl with the big smile and the wide eyes. Her moments would be colorful. They would be of different shapes and sizes, some falling fast and some falling slow, flipping and turning and dancing in the air, independent of the others. Sparkling, whirling, doing lazy summersaults as they sauntered down to Earth.

I thought of myself, and of the members of my family. I thought of those we'd lost. I realized what I hoped for them, and for us all, in the end... was to look upon that mosaic of experience, that avalanche of days and minutes and moments... and to smile with some of the joy we had as children.

And this, I thought, was something that gave me hope. This gave me a glimpse of some kind of salvation for them. This was also how I hoped my life might seem if I was a ghost - a cascade of color and light and shape and movement, something I could dance in.

So Nell smiled and said... "or confetti."

It stuck with me. The rest of her monologue gets heavy again, and gets to the real point of the show - the point of the whole series, if I'm honest - and that's forgiveness.

I figured the only thing that would let the Crain children out of the Red Room was to be forgiven. I thought of the losses in my own family, and I thought of what I wished for my mother and for my aunts and uncles and cousins and I tried to pour that into her final words.

"I loved you completely, and you loved me the same," she said, "that's all." And this was the point I wanted the most to make. That at the end of our life, if we can say this about each other, the rest doesn't matter. The rest is that rainstorm, or that blizzard, that fell around this one central truth, and maybe built itself in piles around it, to the point we lost sight of it along the way.

And I thought again of that little girl, and almost as an afterthought, wrote "The rest is confetti."

I liked the way it sounded, but I was insecure about the line. I almost took it out, in fact. I remember asking Kate to read the scene and talking about that last line with her. "Is it too cute?" I wondered. She was on the fence. "Depends on how it's acted," she said, and I figured she was right. We could always take it out if it didn't work. The scene could end with "I loved you completely, and you loved me the same. That's all."

Why not shoot it and see what happened.

I turned in the script, we published it quickly so that we could start breaking it down and prepping it. And the next morning I was back on set. I'd deal with episode 10 when it came down the pipe again, sometime in the coming months. We had a lot of shooting to get through before I had to worry about it.

I recall Netflix asking me to cut a lot of that monologue, and I remember them also having questions about the "confetti" line. I pointed out that it didn't cost us any extra to shoot it all, it was only words, and fought to keep the script intact.

Ultimately, they insisted I make a series of cuts on the page. I begrudgingly agreed, but left Nell's speech alone. I made superficial cuts around it, throughout the draft, and even considered changing the font size to fool them into thinking it had gotten shorter (I ultimately was told I wouldn't fool anyone and not to risk starting a war). But Nellie's final goodbye stayed intact.

It must be said - Victoria Pedretti SLAUGHTERED this scene.

By the time we got around to filming it, things had never been worse for the production. There was almost nothing left for a lot of us. Tensions were sky-high, resources had been exhausted completely, and we were all ready to give up.

Filming in the mold-ridden Red Room was depressing, morose, and led to a lot of arguments and unpleasantness. The room itself just felt gross, always, and we were in there for days at a time. The last thing we had to shoot in there was Nellie's goodbye.

Victoria came to set having to push through pages of monologue, and she did so with captivating bravado. I recall being teary-eyed at the monitor watching her work. And when we finally made it to the last line, I watched her deliver it with... a smile. A sincere, innocent, longing, joyful smile. A smile informed by the sadness, grief, and loss of her own situation, of her own life... but a smile that finds forgiveness and grace after all. Pedretti knew how to say the line, and how that word would work.

And as she said it, I knew it would stay in the show.

Over the years, that sentence has become something of a tagline for The Haunting of Hill House. I'm always a bit mystified and touched when I see people approach me with the line on T-shirts, or even tattooed on their bodies.

I started signing it with autographs back in 2020 after enough fans asked me to. Now it's my go-to when I sign anything related to Hill House.

The line, for me, represents a lot of things.

It's about the insane, chaotic, non-linear experience of making that show. It's about trying to find and hold onto joy, even in the grips of despair.

It's about the way the moments of our lives aren't linear, not really, and how we may be unable to understand them as we exist in their flurry. It's about finding hope, innocence and forgiveness in the final reckoning.

And it's about how, outside of our love for each other, the rest is just... well, it's fleeting. It's colorful. It's overwhelming. It's blinding. It's dancing. And, if we look at it right, it's beautiful. But it's also light. It's tinsel. It flits and dances and falls and fades, it's as light as air.

The rest is the stuff that falls around us, and flits away into nothing.

It's the love that stays.

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Somehow the timing was just right, and Bradley's arrival meant he could join you for your appointment. He'd find out if he was having a son or daughter in person, with you. The enormity of Bradley's affection seemed to grow every day now, just like the Nugget he loved so much.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, swearing, pregnancy

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

"Bradley," you gasped, head tipped back against the pillar that was pressing into your shoulder. "Your duffle is here. I can see it." Actually, it was just going around and around on the conveyor belt while Bradley sucked gently on your neck and slowly bunched the fabric of your dress in his hand over your bump. And just like that, once again, your focus drifted away from the bag as soon as he spoke.

"I'll get it in a minute," he murmured next to your ear. "I'm a little busy."

You were getting side eye from a woman, and a random man was outright gawking at you, but you didn't really care. The airport was busy, but it wasn't enough to make you pull your fingers from Bradley's soft hair or tell him to stop kissing his way back to your lips. His bristly mustache made you sigh when he reached his destination once again, and you let him taste your tongue before you pulled away slightly.

"Roo. We're kind of on a tight schedule." When he just grunted in response and headed for your lips again, you laughed. "Daddy! Let's go see the Nugget."

He seemed to snap out of it a little bit, the desire in his eyes giving way to excitement. "Right. Let's go. I can taste you everywhere at home later."

When he took you by the hand, you had to dig your heels in. "We need your bag!" you said with a smile. Then he led you in the opposite direction and snatched his massive duffle up like it was nothing and tossed it over his shoulder. You had to hustle along next to him as he exited the airport through the sliding doors and headed for the parking garage. It was like he knew you parked near the spot where he totaled your beloved little Honda when he finally got you pregnant on his birthday. You felt your cheeks grow warm as you recalled the details.

He must have seen his blue Bronco in the last row, because he picked up his pace a little bit more. "I don't think we have time for reunion sex yet," he muttered, glancing at you and letting his gaze dip down your body. "But I'll take care of you later. You got along okay without me?"

You let out a little squeak as he tossed his bag in the back and headed for the passenger side door so he could unlock it for you. "Honestly? I haven't been as insatiable since the first trimester ended," you told him, leaning closer to inhale the scent of his deodorant. "At least... I wasn't until right now."

He pulled you close again and tilted your chin up so you were looking at him. "Listen, I'm a little keyed up, and I don't think I can be quick. Can you wait until later?"

"Oh, God," you whined, your skin tingling at the thought of how long he might last for you and how good he would feel. "This is just as exciting as when I felt the baby moving on Halloween."

His brown eyes went wide, and his lips parted in surprise. "You felt the Nugget?!" When you nodded, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me before?"

You just gaped at him. "Seriously? You had your mouth all over mine! How was I supposed to tell you anything?"

"Shit," he hissed and handed you the keys before his hands settled on your belly, drifting around, trying to feel something. "You drive," he said, slowly guiding you to the other side of the Bronco. "I need to work on feeling a kick." 

As he buckled you in behind the wheel, you didn't have the heart to tell him that the baby wasn't even moving around much right now, or that it would probably be weeks before he'd be able to feel anything externally. He was too adorable when he was this excited, and you watched him run around the hood and jump inside like an overgrown golden retriever who had been offered a treat. His eyes were wide as he got himself buckled before placing both hands on your belly.

"Okay. I'm ready to go," he informed you with a nod.

"You sure?" you asked, smirking as you put the key in the ignition. "A minute ago, you looked like you were ready to have parking garage sex again, and now you're all over me and the Nugget."

You shifted into gear, and he whispered, "I'm ready, Baby Girl. I'm so fucking ready to learn what we're having, and if I feel a little kick on the way, it'll be like a cherry on top of the best day."

You paid the parking fee and pulled out onto the main road as you realized you only had about twenty minutes to get to Dr. Morris's office on time. "Don't get your hopes up," you said while Bradley felt you all over. "You probably won't be able to feel anything. It's still early for that."

"Hey, not to be rude, Sweetheart, but I'm actually going to need you to stop talking."

"What?" you asked, so startled you laughed a little bit. "Did you just ask me to be quiet?"

He kissed your cheek while you drove and whispered, "It's just that I can't tell if it's the vibrations from your voice or the baby moving. Please? I love you." Now you were laughing even harder as his big hands moved all around on you. "No, no, that's- see you're actually moving more when you laugh though." He kissed your cheek again as you rolled your eyes and smothered your laughter. "That's better."

When you pulled into the parking lot of the medical complex, your husband's fingers were stroking your belly gently, and when you parked again and looked at him, you saw a few tears in his eyes. "You okay?" you asked softly. 

"Yeah. I'm good. Like really fucking good."

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

Bradley was forever wondering when his luck would run out. His life just seemed too good to be true. He was holding hands with his hot, pregnant wife in the waiting room, just buzzing with excitement. In a few short minutes, he was going to find out if he was having a son or a daughter. He wondered if this was how his dad felt in 1984. He wondered if Nick Bradshaw ever wanted to randomly get on his knees for his wife for no reason.

"They called us," you whispered, kissing his cheek before you stood up. Bradley jumped to his feet as well, so deep in thought, he hadn't heard anything. He'd never admit it to you, but this was probably more exciting than the day the two of you got married.

He pressed his sweaty palm to yours and walked past the reception desk at your side. Three short hallways later, and a nurse led you into a large, dimly lit room with huge computer monitors on one wall. "I'm so fucking excited, I might pass out," he said, voice deep and raspy. 

The nurse eyed him cautiously. "Perhaps you should have a seat while Dr. Morris performs the scan?"

He nodded, intercepting the cotton gown before you could take it from her. "That's a great idea. I'll do that."

Once she was gone, Bradley turned to you and started unfolding the gown while you stepped out of your boat shoes. "Are you really going to pass out?" you asked him as you started to pull your sinfully snug dress up your legs.

"Let me do that," he grunted, kneeling on the floor and pushing the fabric up and over your belly. He kissed your tattoo through your underwear, and then he kissed the spot next to your belly button where he always imagined the Nugget was hanging out. "I love you," he whispered before getting to his feet again and pulling the dress up and over your head. You weren't wearing a bra, and your breasts looked so fucking incredible, he wanted them in his mouth.

"You're staring at me," you said, reaching for the gown as you shifted back and forth in place like you were getting cold. "I know I look different. I gained like eight or nine pounds while you were gone once I stopped throwing up all the time."

Bradley let you take the gown from his hands. "Jesus Christ, maybe I really should sit down," he muttered, dragging a chair over next to the table where you'd be sitting in a moment. "And I was just staring at your tits, Baby Girl. You don't look different, you look fucking hot pregnant. God, this is more exciting than when you let me fuck you in the ass."

And that was the exact moment when Dr. Morris entered the room and cleared her throat. "Lieutenant Bradshaw," she said, reaching out to shake his hand as he hovered awkwardly over the chair before standing up again. "It's so nice to have you back with us." You were cradling your head in your hand in embarrassment as he shook hands with your obstetrician.

"Dr. Morris," he murmured. "I only missed the last appointments, because I was deployed. There's nothing else that could have kept me away, I swear."

She laughed and looked between the two of you and said, "Well, we do like a supportive and adventurous partner."

"Roo," you groaned softly as you started to climb up on the table. Bradley turned to help you, and you let him.

"She's a doctor, Sweetheart," he whispered. "She's heard it all."

"That's true," Dr. Morris said as she washed her hands, and you gave Bradley a bland look as you settled back on the table which was bent at an angle that would let you see the monitors. He was so excited, he just kissed your forehead a bunch of times while Dr. Morris asked, "Are we ready to get started?"

"Yes!" he practically shouted while you responded in a much calmer tone. He eased himself down into the chair and looked up at you as he reached for your hand.

"This is it," you told him with a nervous smile. "Any final guesses?"

He shook his head, his attention drawn to the monitors as they came to life. "I don't care one way or the other. I just want to know everything I can about the Nugget." 

Then he took your hand in both of his bigger ones and brought your fingers up to his lips as you said, "Me, too."

Bradley's heart skipped around as Dr. Morris spread the warm gel on your belly, and he had to press his lips together to keep quiet. He'd imagined himself holding a son, and he'd imagined himself holding a daughter. He had thought about names he liked for both. He considered what wild colors he might one day paint the bedroom walls, and he looked forward to it. He thought he'd be good at being a basketball dad or a dance dad or a cheer dad or a soccer dad. And that's why it didn't really matter what Dr. Morris said today. It didn't really matter what his kid was into or not into, because the Nugget was going to be an extension of the two of you. Somehow that equated to perfection in his mind.

"Let's count some little toes," Dr. Morris said, and then Bradley squeezed your hand as two tiny feet appeared on the screen.

"Holy shit," he whispered. There were ten perfect toes on his perfect baby, and he had to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand as you laughed softly in awe. The Nugget would be smart and confident just like you were. Bradley would get the attic taken care of, and he'd put together the jungle gym. He would do every single thing that needed to be done to make a perfect home for this child. He would take care of you every day right now until he was taking care of both of you.

"Now let's check on the fingers."

Ten tiny fingers, attached to the cutest baby he'd ever seen in his life. Bradley took a deep breath and let his forehead rest against your arm as he tried to get himself under control. "Oh my God," he whispered, knowing he'd be able to count those toes and fingers in person next year. He could tickle them and send piggies to the market. He could kiss them and watch them toddle across the living room floor after Tramp.

"Let's just get a look at the heartbeat and a few other things here." Dr. Morris was taking her time, which Bradley appreciated. He liked a thorough doctor, but the anticipation was killing him. 

The heartbeat on the screen had you mesmerized when he looked at your beautiful face, but then you turned to look at him. Once again, he had no idea how he ended up this lucky. "I love you, Roo."

His already blurry vision just got worse as he sucked in a deep breath. "I love you so much." 

This time you brought his fingers up to your lips and kissed him as Dr. Morris added a little more gel to your belly and smashed it down with the ultrasound paddle. "Are you sure you want to find out the sex?"

"Yes!" you said, smiling at Bradley like you fucking knew you were his whole world. Like you didn't mind sharing him with the Nugget from now on. "We want to know!"

Bradley watched your face as you watched the monitor. His fingers on your wrist told him your heart was racing just like his was, and you were licking your lips in anticipation. You were perfect. His life was perfect. His baby was going to follow suit, no doubt about that. A smile found its way to his lips, and his shoulders relaxed, knowing that the next words he heard were going to be perfect, too. How could they not be?

"Congratulations. It's a girl."

The feeling inside his body was something he never knew before. He felt as much love as he had when he listened to you read your wedding vows, but this was something more. He was going to have a perfect little girl. Tears filled his eyes as he realized he was going to get to love and take responsibility for raising a daughter.

"Roo!" you sobbed, reaching for him, and then he was on his feet and kissing you.

"A girl," he said even as he mashed his lips to yours. "A daughter."

He wasn't sure if he felt his own tears or yours on his cheeks as you pressed your forehead to his and asked, "Are you happy?"

It took him a few seconds to get control of his voice as he held your face in his hands. "I'm living the life of my dreams."

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

Bradley had tears in his eyes and ultrasound images clutched to his chest as you led him outside to the Bronco. His free hand was clasped tight with yours, and you'd never seen him look so happy in your life. "A little girl," he said, handing you his keys once again, and you already knew what he was going to do when he buckled you into the driver's seat. "We're having a girl," he whispered, brown eyes wide as he kissed your wedding rings.

You nodded and wiped your thumb along his cheek. "It just makes sense somehow."

"It does," he agreed, kissing your lips before leaning down to kiss your bump through your dress. "I love this Nugget," he whispered. "My daughter."

You whined his name as he said those words, and when he looked up at you, all you could say was, "You're going to be the best Daddy, Roo." You thought about it all the time. The way he'd carry the baby around and read bedtime stories. The way he'd always be patient and sweet. You weren't sure if you'd always imagined a little girl or not, but it made so much sense right now.

"Let's go home," he rasped, kissing his way up from your belly until he got to your tender breasts. Technically you were supposed to work this afternoon, at least that's what you'd told Bickel. As Bradley ran around to the passenger side, you dug your phone out and texted your boss, letting him know that the baby was fine, and you'd see him on Monday. 

"What's wrong?" Bradley asked as you tossed your phone aside and started the engine.

"Nothing. Everything is right. I'm taking the rest of the day off so we can spend it together," you replied softly as his hands found their way back to your belly. It had been too many weeks since you'd been touched, and it felt so good, you had to press your lips together to keep from moaning. "I want to spend it with you."

He grunted and kissed the side of your neck as you pulled out of the parking lot. "I'm not letting my girls out of my sight all weekend."

"Bradley," you whined, feeling so much desire for him. The two of you could start talking about nursery decor and girl names and when you wanted to break the news to everyone else. You could do all of those things this weekend now that he was home. But you were also just needy for him.

You made a little noise as you tried your best to go the speed limit, and you knew that your husband knew what you needed. "I'll take care of you, Sweetheart. Don't worry about that. I'll take care of everything." 

He was tracing hearts along your belly, and you turned to look at his slightly lovesick eyes when you stopped at an intersection. "I know you will." You delighted in the fact that you were having a little girl who would get to share all of his love with you. The enormity of Bradley's affection seemed to grow every day now, just like the Nugget, and pretty soon she would be showered in it too.

When you pulled into the driveway and parked in the tight spot next to your red Bronco, Bradley eyed the pallets of jungle gym pieces. "I can't fucking wait to build that thing. I've been dreaming about it for so long." Then he was jumping out the door as you shifted into park, and he was around to your side in an instant. "Been dreaming about this day for ages," he whispered as you climbed down and into his arms. His hands found your lower back as he added, "Been thinking about you and the Nugget since I left."

You smiled up at him. "You know what might be fun, Daddy?"

"What?" he asked, keeping his eyes on yours as he started to lead you up to the porch.

"If you start building the Nugget's playset tomorrow, and you get all sweaty and let me watch," you said, your voice turning into a soft whimper at the end. 

Bradley jammed the house key into the lock, and shoved the door open. He hooked one arm around your waist and pulled you inside with him as Tramp started jumping around like a maniac. "Hey, buddy," Bradley told him with a smile. "I missed you, too. But I need some time with my girls first."

"It's okay," you said as you closed the door behind you. "He probably won't calm down until you play with him a little bit."

But Bradley was pushing you back against the door even as Tramp ran around in circles. "Wait right here," he commanded softly, and lust rippled through you at the sight of his pupils blown wide. "Don't move an inch." 

You felt like you were barely even breathing as you stood very still and watched Bradley lead Tramp past the piano and out the back sliding glass door. "I promise I'll play with you next. I just desperately need to fuck my wife." Then he made his way back to you, his lips set in a determined smirk, and his movements beyond sexy. "I promised I wouldn't leave you hanging."

You closed your eyes as his palm came to rest on the wooden door just next to your head. His warmth was so close, but he wasn't touching you yet as you whispered, "You always take care of me."

His fingers started to pull up the hem of your dress as he crooned, "Why don't you go ahead and tell me how much you missed me."

You tipped your head back until it met the door, and you kept your eyes squeezed closed as you whined, "Couldn't go another day without you." When his lips met your cleavage, your eyes flew open. His lips grazed your nipple through the thin fabric as he slowly knelt in front of you, and you told him, "Your daughter and I missed you terribly."

When he looked up at your face, he pulled your dress up and said, "I'm so in love with you." He ran his lips along your bare belly. "And you." Then he pressed the bunched up fabric against your ribs, and when he said, "Hold this for me, Baby Girl," you did exactly as you were told.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Fuck," he grunted, rough hands on your thighs as he kissed your belly button. "Do you have any idea how perfect you are?" His eyes met yours again. "You asked me if I was happy. I've been happy since I met you. Since you gave me a purpose. Since you let me love you." His hands found the scrap of your white lace underwear and started to pull it down your thighs. "God, I missed this," he murmured, pressing his lips to your pussy as soon as you were free of the lace which slipped all the way down until your panties hit your boat shoes.

"Bradley," you croaked, the second syllable sounding much longer than the first as he licked his way up your slit to the patch of hair that you kept neatly trimmed. He licked along this same path again, this time pressing deeper with his tongue. The third time, he separated you a little more, and then he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked gently. All the while he kept his big hands on the swell of your belly. "I really missed you."

He responded by kissing your dainty rooster tattoo and burying his face in your pussy. Bradley gently nudged your legs further apart so he could taste you everywhere, and each time you started to buck, he pushed your hips back. You were gripping your dress so tight in both hands, you were afraid you might rip the fabric, but he just kept going in a smooth up and down stripe until you could tell you were dripping wet.

"Yeah, you missed me," he grunted, kissing your tattoo one more time. "I can taste how much."

"Roo."

He got to his feet and cupped your pussy below the swell of your belly, circling your opening with the tip of one finger as he leaned in close. "Will you let me take you to bed and show you how much I missed you?"

Your voice shook as he pushed his finger inside you, just a promise of what was to come if you agreed. "Please!"

Barely ten seconds later, you were on your back in bed, your dress pushed all the way up, exposing your breasts and belly to him. Your soaked pussy was already clenching as the cool air hit your skin, and you watched Bradley wrench his shirt off and unzip his pants. But he didn't penetrate you yet. He pushed on the backs of your thighs so your knees got a little closer to your shoulders, and you whimpered his name.

His eyes were a little wild as he said, "Yeah, I'll take care of everything, Sweetheart." Bradley wrapped his hands around your thighs and leaned down to kiss at your furled nipples, his mustache leaving you squirming, searching for release. "Your fucking tits are huge. My God. And so warm." 

He nuzzled himself against your breasts which were in fact getting to the point where your bras were fitting a little too tight. He sucked and swiped his tongue along, and you let your fingers sink into his hair as he brought you close with his mouth wrapped around one nipple then the other. "Oh my God," you panted, just spurring him on. Because next, his mouth trailed back down to your belly where he whispered and worshipped you.

"I love my girls," he crooned, spreading your legs open wider as you tugged on his hair to keep yourself grounded. "I love you so much."

"Please," you begged softly, and he finally put that mouth back on your soaking wet core. You were about to come, grinding against his lips and his nose, his name falling from you like a depraved prayer. Eventually he paused before filling you with his cock instead. You cried out as he stretched you fully for the first time in so long, and almost immediately he was fucking you to completion. You came hard, your back arching off the bed as you grabbed at his shoulders, but you knew he wanted his share, too.

Bradley fucked you through your orgasm, lips pressed to your ear so you could hear every word he said and every deep rumble at the back of his throat. "You were made for me, weren't you, Baby Girl? And I was made to worship you."

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

By the time Bradley came, he was sweaty and babbling like a lovesick idiot. Everything he cared about most was right there in his arms as you took him deep, always welcoming him into your sweetness. The relief he felt was incredible as he finally rolled onto his back, pulling you a little closer as he went.

"I'm gonna be a girl dad," he said with a smile as he looked at the ceiling through his post orgasm haze. "I can't wait."

The slick friction from his cum teased at his leg hairs as your pussy rested against his thigh, and you snuggled up against his chest. "Me too, Roo. I'm so excited to meet her." 

Your fingers teased along his abs, lulling him ever closer to an afternoon nap. He knew that one of you needed to let Tramp back inside, and he was going to have to scrape together something for you to eat soon. But right now, he didn't want to move.

"What happened with your deployment?" you asked softly as he yawned. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now when he knew you were carrying his little girl, but he should have known you'd have questions. 

"It fucking sucked. Being away from you gets harder and harder each time now. They kept tacking on more weeks of these random bombing runs, and the weather was miserable. We had to fly in the rain half the time."

He listened to you hum, contemplating what he said. "It was so scary when you got called to action in the middle of talking to me over FaceTime. I couldn't stop crying. And then it was weeks before some random guy in personnel called me to let me know you were on your way home."

It was hard to believe he was on that flight back to San Diego just a few hours ago. "Honestly, in all of the excitement today, that already feels so distant in my mind," he told you, kissing your forehead as he thought about how long he had been away from you. "We didn't really know we were heading home until it was happening. And it was so late here when we got released, they told me they'd have someone reach out so I didn't have to wake you up again. Then there was only one seat left on the first flight home, and once Payback and I were being airlifted to Hong Kong, they told us to decide who was taking that spot. He gave it to me, no questions asked. Told me to get home to you and the Nugget."

You gasped and murmured, "Reuben is the sweetest."

Bradley chuckled as his fingers grazed along the side of your bump. "Yeah, well, you actually owe him three dozen chocolate chip cookies. That was the only stipulation for the deal."

Your laughter made Bradley's smile grow. "Totally worth it. Actually, since you made it home in time for my appointment, I'll make five dozen for him."

"No wonder everyone thinks I'm spoiled," he told you, tugging on you until you were straddling his hips and looking down at him with your hands braced on his chest. "Fuck. Just look at you." 

His sticky cum was matted in your pubic hair, and your tits looked delicious. There was no way he'd be able to keep his hands away from you now that he'd seen and felt your little bump in person. His daughter was growing in there. He smiled and ran his palm gently over your skin, stroking you with his thumb as your pretty gaze stayed transfixed on his.

"I'm happy you're home, Roo."

He nodded, eye lids growing heavy from jet lag and the time zones, and he simply didn't argue when you kissed his cheek and said you were going to let Tramp inside and then take a nap with him. Soon enough, Bradley was snuggled up in bed with his head resting next to your belly and your fingers tangled in his hair. Your sweet voice lulled him to sleep for the best afternoon nap of his life.

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

This has been a very emotional day for Bradley. He's home with his hot wife, and now he gets to start planning for the arrival of their daughter in a few more months! Thank you so much for reading about the Nugget! More to come soon, including the first wedding anniversary! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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[withahappyrefrain]

Deserve it (Bob Floyd x reader)

Summary: After working hard, your boyfriend gives you several rewards.

Warnings: older BF Bob, slight daddy kink, definitely some dd/lg vibes in here, older BF Bob eats it from the back okay, fingering, language

“Hey sweet girl,” his voice was deep, the gravel showing off his age. The very sound made your knees nearly buckle.

Not that you had to worry about falling; Bob already had one arm wrapped around your waist, the other draped around your leg, long fingers gently tracing the soft flesh of your bare thigh.

His broad chest was pressed against your back, salt and pepper stubble gently brushing against your temple.

Despite feeling so small in his arms, you had never felt more secure.

When Natasha invited you to her co -worker's barbeque a year ago, you knew it was done out of politeness. You had just moved to the area and her sister, your best friend, wanted to make sure you were actually going out and meeting folks. Nat was doing you a favor, nothing more or less.

You just wanted to get through that night, to beat your anxiety over being the youngest person there by nearly a decade. The most you were expecting that night was a few conversations and drinks.

Meeting a real life prince charming that night was not on your Bingo card.

At first, you thought Bob was just being a good host as he spoke to you. That was the polite thing to do, considering he was in his late thirties and you were just a friend of a friend.

Even when he asked for your number, you tried to be realistic. You had been led on before, had placed your whole heart in someone just to be disappointed.

A year later, Bob had more than proved he was serious about his relationship with you. The age difference didn't make a huge impact, aside from childhood references and social media knowledge.

Bob was patient. He understood you hadn't been in a serious relationship until he came along. He was more than happy to guide you, never making you feel stupid or unworthy.

“Hi Robby,” you giggled, feeling his skin heat up at your special nickname. Only you got to call him that, just like only he got to call you his sweet girl.

Bob continued peppering your jaw with light kisses, his large hands continuing to gently stroke your exposed skin.

“How was your day? Did your presentation go well?” His attention to detail was one of the things you loved most about Bob. He was invested in all aspects of your life.

“It did! They're going with my proposal.” It was impossible to hide your wide grin, especially when Bob spun you around to show the matching one on his face.

You only saw that slightly crooked, honey drenched smile for a brief moment, as Bob pressed his lips against yours.

Despite dating for a year, his kisses still made your heart flutter. His hands would cradle your jaw, practically covering the entirety of your neck. He always bent his knees, not wanting you to strain yourself while trying to reach his lips, your comfort always at the forefront of his mind.

“Knew they would,” He murmured against your lips, “So proud of you, my smart girl.”

Your knees practically buckled at the praise. Some would have felt it was condescending, you disagreed. You loved that Bob was proud of you. In fact, you wanted it, wanted to be his good girl.

“Stay here, wanna show ya something.” Bob pressed a gentle peck to your lips before walking out of the bathroom.

You bit your tongue, holding back a comment about Bob buying you things. It was a battle you'd never win. Bob spent his money on you and Lego sets, and that was how he preferred it.

So when he showed you the tennis bracelet he had purchased, you just smiled. No comment on how his money would have been better spent elsewhere.

“May I?” He motioned to your wrist. You held it out so he could gently place it on your wrist. While it was simple, you knew the diamonds would sparkle once you were in light.

Once the bracelet was secure on your wrist, you threw your arms around Bob’s neck, head buried in his broad chest.

“Thanks Daddy.”

You could hear him sharply inhale through his nose, the nickname always drawing a visible reaction out of him.

“‘Course baby,” his hands moved from your back down to your hips, “Did you eat breakfast today?”

You nodded proudly, “And lunch!”

Bob dipped his head down to press a kiss on your forehead, “Been so good today sweet girl. Think you deserve a reward for it.”

You looked at your bracelet, confused, “I thought this was-”

Bob shook his head, a near Cheshire like grin on his face, “That's just because I wanted to. So tell me sweet girl, do you want a reward?”

You tentatively nod your head, heat flooding your face, “yes please.”

He's pleased that he didn't have to remind you to use your words. Bob places one last kiss to your temple before spinning you around, forcing you to face the bathroom counter.

Without even thinking, you lean forward, your chest brushing against the marbled counter.

Bob hums in approval. You've learned quickly.

He quickly kneels down, his large hands trailing up your bare thighs. He's able to effortlessly spread your legs apart, pushing up the hem of your skirt to reveal your bare cunt.

“Been such a good listener baby. So proud of you,” he cooed, holding back a chuckle at how your legs trembled at the praise.

You were so sweet, always wanting to be good for him. It had taken you some time, the idea of being with someone who truly loved you and wanted the best for you was a new concept.

You shuddered upon feeling his breath against your core. Unable to see him, all you can rely on is touch. His deft fingers gently parted your soaked folds, sending sparks throughout your body.

Your body lurched forward when Bob's mouth made contact with your entrance.

Prior to Bob, you didn't know someone could be so enthusiastic when it came to giving oral. It was always seen as something required before sex, not an act that could be enjoyed on its own.

Then you met Bob.

Bob, who cared about your pleasure more than his own. Bob, who didn't view sex as a thing, but as an experience.

The bathroom quickly filled with your breathless moans. Your chest was pressed against the counter, your soaked cunt completely at the mercy of Bob’s mouth. His large hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass, sure to leave bruises.

Not that you mind. Having a physical reminder that you belonged to him was thrilling. You quickly learned that Bob loved marking you, nearly bordering on an obsession. Hickies, hand shaped bruises, bite marks. He couldn't get enough of your body.

“Taste s’good, s’fuckin sweet,” Bob groaned inbetween lapping up your arousal. A large hand snuck around the front of your body, long fingers quickly finding your clit.

Your hand found the back of his head, clutching his sandy brown locks in hopes it would be enough to ground you. His mouth felt like heaven. Each stroke of his tongue pushes you further and further away from clarity and closer to that pleasurable edge.

“C-close,” you gritted through your teeth. You didn't need to ask him permission, but knew Bob wanted to know when you were near.

He loved to watch you fall apart.

Just as expected, his mouth was replaced by his fingers, your cunt welcoming the stretch. His breath was hot on your ear as he was now leaning over you.

“So pretty like this,” he cooed, “I know, you're so close. Just let go sweet girl, I got ya.”

You gripped the edge of the counter as white hot pleasure coursed through your body.

Bob watched you in the mirror, memorized by how your body reacted to his nimble fingers.

What a long way you had come. At the beginning of this relationship, you were hesitant to allow him to see you in such a vulnerable state, to have him hear you let out such lewd sounds. You would ask for the lights to be off, would have buried your head into the pillow to muffle your sounds.

Now you felt safe to fully let go, to show him all of you.

“There ya go, that's it.” His voice was soothing, a sharp contrast to how his fingers were thrusting in and out of your soaked entrance, “Comin’ so hard for me, sweet girl. Fuckin’ love it.”

His hand continued its ministrations on your poor cunt, his lips ghosting over your temple. Your body leans into his, craving more.

Before Bob, the idea of coming twice in the same session was preposterous. Unrealistic.

Now it was the bare minimum.

This time when you came, your legs shook, your brain practically blacking out from the pleasure. You could hear how hard you were coming, lewd squelching sounds vaguely ringing in your ears.

“It's okay, I gotcha, Daddy’s gotcha,” He whispered against your hair, wrapping his arms around your waist to help you stand up as you recovered from your high.

“Made a mess,” you mumbled, able to feel how much you came on your inner thighs. But now your head was in a pleasure filled haze, only able to vaguely register that Bob was leading you to bed.

“I know, and I'll clean you up. But I want you to lay down first.” The back of your head gently hits soft pillows, your body melting into the mattress. True to his word, Bob returns with a warm washcloth, gently wiping you down.

“You wanna take a nap, sweet girl?” he murmured in between pressing gentle kisses against your forehead.

“But dinner-” you started, only for Bob to gently shush as he helped you out of your skirt.

“I'll move it back. You had a big day, you deserve to rest.”

“Robby?” You hummed, opening your eyes to find him helping you into one of his old T-shirts.

“Whatcha need, baby?” He asked, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Can….can I keep you warm? While we nap?”

This time it was his turn to blush. Bob nodded, quickly moving to take off his pants and boxers, laying down on the bed. He didn't need any help, watching you come twice had made him hard enough.

With his help, you were able to move into his lap, your hand finding the base of his cock, wrapping a hand around it so it could align with your entrance.

A content sigh left your lips upon being filled with his cock. You laid your head against his chest, your breathing slowing down as Bob traced shapes on your back.

You were always amazed by how well he filled you. So full, unlike anything you had experienced before.

Without thinking, your hips began to lazily grind against his, the movement causing his cock to shift inside you.

Two large hands gripped the soft flesh of your hips, stilling your movements.

“Later,” Bob said, eyes still closed, “Want you to rest now sweet girl.”

He was far from done with you. But Bob also knew you would need your energy for later.

Besides, good girls deserve a nap.

And you were his best girl.

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

@lewmagoo @sometimesanalice @charmedkim @thepurplelovewitch @sio-ina-bottle @sugajar @briseisgone @idontcare-11 @cherrycola27 @auroralightsthesky @ryebecca @bobfloydsbabe @hangmanapologist @sebsxphia @mxgyver @callsignspark

[romanoffsbish]

You Can Run, but You Can’t Hide

Alpha!Natasha Romanoff x Omega!Reader

Natasha always knew the truth, but it wasn’t until a mission where she had you alone that she set her plan in motion. Come the end of the trip she planned to make your hers in the most natural way—claimed and bred. | WC: 1,440

Warnings: NC Themes (Discarding of hormone blockers) | Guns / Death (to Hydra)

Smut: Kotenok (R) | Penetration (P in V — Natasha has a penis) | Public (Over [a balcony railing]) | Choking | Breeding

Natasha watched the way you paced around the room, it'd been a weeks time since you'd arrived in this hotel. A mission that you were assigned on with Natasha, an Avenger first, Alpha second, but nonetheless an Alpha.

Which would be fine, since you were a beta, but with your medicine missing the truth was coming to light. The truth that the redhead was aware of from the second the lie left your lips, you were an omega; hers, waiting for what, she didn’t know, but she was over it.

———

That's why she took your stash of hormone blockers and poured them down the toilet on night one, at first she appreciated your concealment since she was busy. Missions were at an all time high last year when you joined Shield, but with the incoming fall of Hydra, as this mission is designed for such a thing, there was no longer a need for you to hide from predatory alpha's.

Natasha was here now, to make sure they all knew you were hers. Hers to claim, to wreck, to fill with her pups.

Her cock twitched when she got a whiff of your scent, it was dull from the prolonged use of drugs, but it was still clear enough for her to feel comforted by the soft swirls of cinnamon and vanilla. Then it soured as your body began to fight against the natural, debilitating heat that followed a sudden change, such as quitting your meds. Natasha was quick to croon from the other room, pumping out thick pheromones as she slowly entered the room. You looked up at her so pitifully.

"Oh kotenok," she coo'd, "You don't look too good, what's wrong beta? Are you going through a period?"

You whimpered, body trembling as your natural instincts made you throw yourself into her chest. "Alpha please." Natasha wrapped her arms around you, and held you close enough that you could feel her twitch through her pants. You cried and she smirked. “Oh, what a naughty girl, you’re no beta after all…”

Judging by her teasing tone, you understood that she knew, and with the way she gripped you, it was even more clear what had happened to your supply. You should be angry, but you were actually relieved. A single alpha like Natasha was rare to find, she was kind, soft when off the clock, and gorgeous in all facets. You’d almost poured the pills down the drain yourself every time you caught her staring at you after an event.

“I’m sorry, but please don’t pull away, I-I need you.”

"Are you gonna tell me why you've been hiding?"

"I-I wasn't ready to give up my life just yet, but fuck, I swear I'm ready now, if it's with you alpha, please."

"We have a mission," she reminded you, her eyes cast outside the window to catch movement of the enemy.

"Please!" You gripped her biceps, body shivering at the chiseled muscles that flexed beneath your fingers, if you didn't need her before, you sure did now. "Shit."

Natasha kept your body from falling with the buckle of your knees, her free hand reached for her long rifle and she took the both of you outside onto the balcony.

"I'll fuck you," she gave in with ease, and you purred softly at the good news. Then you felt her slipping your pants off and softly shrieked, "We're outside Natasha, anyone can see us." She chuckled, "Good observation."

Natasha continued to strip you while her other hand set her gun up on its stand, a bit of a multitasker.

"I can wait," you tried to stop her, but not really as you arched your bare ass into her dicks imprint, your body having a mind of its own, your heat was too strong. "Well, I don't want to detka, I've waited far too long."

Though you’d guessed it, you were shocked at the way she confirmed it without an ounce of shame. “Y-you knew?" Natasha gripped your hip, and brought your dripping entrance to her thick tip. "Of course I did, you can't hide from a super soldier's senses," her nose nuzzled over your neck and you whimpered at the hopeful promise of her claiming you. No longer were you worried about anyone seeing you two, the rest of the world faded away as she slipped herself inside.

Her hips stayed still, allowing your slick walls a moment to catch up with the stretch before she was lifting you off the ground. "Na-Natasha, what are..."

The redhead grunted as she lifted your body onto the railing by her grip around the nape of your neck, and you cried out in both fear and pleasure. It was muffled as she alluringly slid her hand around to squeeze your throat. The tip of her cock had slammed into your cervix just as you stared down at the far away ground, full of tiny silhouettes to remind you it was day time. 

The railing shook as Natasha picked up a brutal pace, her face never lost its smirk as she felt your legs wrap around her backside, your heels painfully dug into her covered back. "Alpha, I-I'm not sure about..."

"You wanted to be filled Y/N," she taunted, "I said we had a mission, that means you'll take your pleasure while I do all of the work. Be thankful, not bratty."

"Sorry Alpha," you whimpered, and held on tighter.

"There's the leader," she pointlessly alerted you, who couldn't see anything other than her demise if she slips over the railing. Your walls were clenching so hard, hoping to instigate her knot so that you'd have a more secure base, but it was fruitless. Natasha's stamina was unworldly, and you were completely at her mercy here.

You heard a muffled shot go off over the sound of the railing squeaking beneath your moving body, then the gun was going off again. "Partner is down, two to go."

Natasha picked up her pace, and was rewarded with your filthy moans that were once muffled by your fear, and she knew she wouldn't last much longer. Which was fortunate for the both of you since she already shot another member, and was left with the other who had caught sight of the both of you. He was stuck in place, unable to comprehend that he was going to die by the hands of the Black Widow, who was railing her omega.

Natasha smirked, and finally gave into your cries to be upright. She grunted as your back pressed to her front and your slick, from your first orgasm, ran down her legs. "Last one detka, keep him distracted for me."

Your eyes locked on the others, the mans mouth was agape as he watched you get railed, it distracted him from the red dot that illuminated his forehead. He was clearly unaware of his fate as his eyes lost their life but you were aware of yours as her knot locked in place and her potent stream of cum filled you with a future.

"You are going to look so beautiful full of my pups," Natasha hoarsely groaned against your neck, her teeth barely scraped over your sensitive gland and you mewled, your walls milked her cock even more and her knot subsequently deflated after a minute of your persistence . “Fuck, I need to fill you again kotenok.”

Her strong hands held you by your hips as she carried you back into the hotel room. She laid you flat on the mattress, and pulled out of you, just long enough to flip you over and thrust right back inside of you. It was loud as your arousals rushed out, only to be sloshed all over the place as her cock entered you mid disposal.

Your body then thrashed at the harsh fill up and her canines dug into your scent gland, leaving behind her unbreakable mark as your core fluttered around her as you came again without much work. "Keep squeezing me just like that detka and we'll never be apart again."

"Good," you sighed softly, happiness clear in your eyes, "I was getting tired of being apart to begin with."

Natasha chuckled, and leaned in to chastely kiss your lips, "It was your choice to hide detka, I was waiting."

"I'm glad you grew impatient," you mused, then you nervously pressed a kiss to her neck, wet lips grazed over her scent gland. "Can I claim you too, Alpha?"

"Wait," she whispered, voice raspy as she began to pump in and out of you, "Wait for my knot detka..."

[novemberheart]

{overview} You put your omega instincts to good use. It’s time to face John

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, slight gore, cursing, mentions of death, slight panic attacks, injuries

Chapter 27 <- Chapter 28 -> Chapter 29

You were thankful Johnny knew what to do. You were nothing but a thorn in the side. Your hands gripped onto the back of his T-shirt as he led you around. Anais happily agreed to watch Vernie, squeezing you tightly in assurance.

Your heart sank when he stopped in front of a helicopter.

“Mac, please tell me what's happening,” you pleaded, keeping your voice strong.

“Just need you to be a good omega for me and follow what I say,” he reasoned back. His hand hadn't left the waistband of your pants, and you were beginning to feel sick from the way he moved you around. “Up you go,” he urged, basically lifting you onto the helicopter with one arm.

You needed to get out of your funk. This is what gave omegas a bad name. The inability to respond quickly when in an unknown situation. You would just have to be strong. Interestingly enough your brain repeated Simon's words like a mantra.

“You’re just as brave and stupid as the rest of us.”

Hopefully, you could avoid the stupid. Yet the sentiment didn't go unnoticed. It was just another way Simon was affirming you were a part of the pack. Their pack. You were chosen for a reason.

You were a part of their pack. It was time you started to act like it.

You grabbed the straps yourself before Johnny could buckle you in, strapping yourself in as tight as you could. It caught him a bit off guard, his hands stalling for a moment, before taking his own seat as close to you as he could.

“It’s Kyle isn't it?” you pressed. You had to yell for him to hear you.

“It is,” Johnny affirmed. “He’ll be fine. Nothin’ a little you can't fix,” Johnny soothed.

“You’re getting cocky, Gaz,” John spoke, making Kyle’s lips quirk up into a smirk.

“You find a reason for me not to be, sir?” He shot back. His dress shoes were quiet against the tile floor. If it wasn’t for his voice you wouldn’t even know he was there.

“Enough with the banter, boys,” Laswell sighed. “You two should be home already,” she adde. It caught them both off guard, their bodies tensing and stomach turning. Your face popped into their head. Kyle’s face scrunched as a pang shot through him. “Sorry,” Laswell added, feeling their mood shift. Ever since you, home has been a touchy subject. Sometimes home wasn’t always four walls.

“S’alright,” John spoke, clearing his throat. It had been especially hard for the alpha leaving after what had transpired. While he had made slight amends with you, it was hard to get back into your good graces halfway across the world. John shut his eyes tightly from his spot on the roof. He took a deep breath nearly able to smell the fresh peaches and warm vanilla. He could feel your hands gripping his shoulders and the way your skin molded perfectly against his. He could feel your cheek against his and the giggle that brushed across his ear when his beard would tickle you. He growled low in his throat, his eyes fluttering open.

They needed to get home.

“Got eyes on them?” He spoke, his voice rumbling through the comms. Kyle didn’t say a word. They were close. “Lead them out the back alley if you can,” he kept his voice low.

As if on cue the backdoor opened, two tall men wearing black suits walked out, with two more behind them dressed in perfectly tailored blue suits. John rolled his eyes. Could they be anymore obvious? A woman turned down the alley making John curse. Would be hard to shoot four people with a witness.

“There’s a woman. See if you can steer her away,” John mumbled, eyeing them through the scope. Kyle entered the alley, dressed as a waiter, pointing for the woman to turn around.

“Sorry miss, but we have a delivery truck comin’ in. You’ll be trapped,” He explained, waving his hand.

“That’s alright,” She smiled. Kyle immediately felt his stomach drop his hands moving on instinct as her hand reached to her side. He dodged her, his hand able to get a good grip on the back of her sweater tossing her towards the men. The knife clattered from her hand against the ground. Kyle didn't bother to go for it, the gun tucked into his coat getting the job done quicker. Kyle took out three of them, John taking out the other two.

“Good work,” John praised. Kyle exhaled, ready to begin his trek down the alley before something caught his eye. It was the woman, lying face down against the street.

Her hair matched yours.

She had a similar build. You even had a sweater that same color. It made his stomach turn, his mind easily replacing her with you.

“Kyle?” It was commanding and concerned. “You need to get out of there,” John pressed. Kyle’s body erupted in goosebumps, his feet finally catching up with his brain. He began to walk forward, the urge to look back one last time irrefutable.

“Can't just leave her here,” Kyle said finally. He opened his mouth to continue, but the sight had made him sick. He turned his head towards the trash can, bile rising up his throat. John opened his mouth ready to rip him a new one, yet his words got caught as well. It was like he had forgotten where he was, his brows furrowing at the idea of you being there.

Why were you in the street? He winced, the reasoning behind Kyle’s actions as clear as day.

“She’s at home safe,” John reasoned. He could see Kyle wipe his face with his sleeve and nod.

“I know,” he sighed. “I know.”

“Get out of there,” John repeated. Kyle agreed silently, heading back into the restaurant.

“Fuckin’ over this shit,” Kyle growled, pacing back and forth in front of the alpha. “Another bloody week?” he continued. The alpha’s hands reached out, gripping the back of Kyle’s shoulders.

“The timeline isn't definite,” John reminded, pulling the fired-up man against him. John felt heated against him- a true sign of how equally upset he was. “The more we keep our heads on the quicker we can get home.”

Sometimes home wasn't always four walls.

“Definite? Could be longer then,” Kyle snarled, rolling his shoulders out of John’s grasp.

“What do they expect anyway? They constantly push for every pack to have an omega and then don't make proper adjustments for it. What will we do when she's marked and she marks us? I won't be able to be away from her longer than a month and you’ll only be able to last around two weeks.” Kyle ranted. They had been gone two weeks- now they were expected to be gone for another whole week. It felt longer than that. Each day dragging on like an anchor in the sand.

“They make pills for things like that now,” John sighed, running a hand over his face. His beta was justified in his anger, but it would just be easier to push feelings aside and get the job done. “She’s not home alone either. Johnny’s keepin’ her safe,” he added.

John’s phone went off. He grumbled, digging in his pocket moving towards the door. He acknowledged something, hanging up in one motion. “Get your vest on. We are leaving,” He commanded.

Every minute felt like an hour, every hour felt like a lifetime. You had finally landed in a hospital just outside of Kavala. The helicopter ride hadn’t lasted long and you and Johnny had to hop onto a passenger airplane. It was early afternoon when you had arrived.

At least it was warm. Kyle would appreciate that.

“Garrick, Kyle,” Johnny spoke. The woman at the desk clacked against her computer.

“Not ready yet,” she replied bluntly. “He needs more time,” she explained.

“He’s my beta,” you growled before you could stop yourself.

“Marked him?” She questioned. Your face curled. You could be bonded without marking him.

“She did,” Johnny lied. The woman eyed you both before pushing her rolling chair against one of her coworkers. They whispered to each other looking between the two of you.

“Follow,” she commanded, getting up from her chair. You breathed out, your hand giving Johnny’s a squeeze. The hospital was nice. Not as sterile and cold as the one on base.

You were hot on her heels as she weaved her way through the halls, an evil sounding whine leaving you when she would stop and chat to a coworker. Some people just couldn’t read the room.

She stopped in front of a door and you gripped the handle without permission, nearly pushing her out of the way. You didn’t even notice John sitting in the hallway. You walked into the room, your hand gripping the curtain around the bed.

“Next one,” the nurse corrected harshly. You couldn’t blame her for her tone. He was in the bed closest to the window. A whimper left you as you pulled the curtain back.

“Kyky,” you mumbled, already clawing at your eyes. The blanket was pulled above his shoulders, the skin that was exposed wet and feverish. His face looked the same, besides a scrape against his jaw.

You got to work.

You could already tell his leg was in a cast. You pulled the blanket to his waist. His whole torso was covered in red spotted bandages, his arm in a sling against his chest. You pulled both the room and window curtain back, so he could feel the sun against his skin. That would make him feel better. You went over to a cabinet pulling out the smallest towel you could find, using the water fountain in the hallway to wet it. You still hadn’t noticed the distraught alpha in the hallway. Your distraught alpha. John watched you carefully, the ache in his chest crippling as you went about your business without so much as a glance. He pushed that away. All that mattered was that Kyle got the care he needed. John let himself sink against Johnny as they sat in the hallway. The Scot’s soft blue eyes understanding and assuring.

“I missed you two,” John said finally.

“We missed you,” Johnny affirmed. “She’s been havin’ a hard time sleepin’. Been hard on her, having both her alphas gone,” Johnny sighed.

“You’ve done a good job takin’ care of her,” John said, his throat tightening. “Is she still….” John trailed off. Johnny knew what he was referring to. The Scot pressed his lips against the alpha stiff shoulder.

“I think she still thinks about it. Especially with everyone being away it’s easy to let her mind wander. Being close to you- being reminded of how much you love her will shake any doubts she might have,” Johnny explained. John relaxed. That is exactly what he needed to hear. A lone tear fled from his eye and he rubbed it away with his thumb. One of the most common misconceptions about Johnny was that emotions flew over his head. Whilst the man was brash and impulsive, he felt everything so deeply and he always knew what to say in the aide of others.

You washed as much of Kyle as you could without disrupting him.

He knew you were there.

You could feel it. His muscles twitched, despite the medicine in his system, like something inside him was trying to claw its way out to get to you. You could hear the clatter of shoes against the floor, not paying much mind until then entered the room. It was a nurse, one that you could already tell knew what she was doing. She was an alpha. You could tell by her square shoulders and frown lines.

“You got here fast. That is good,” her accent was strong, but her pronunciation was perfect. She eyed the curtains that had been pulled back and the wet cloth on your hands. “You have strong instincts. That is good, knowing what your beta needs to get better,” she praised. “He has a fractured leg, an overstretched ligament in his shoulder, and multiple lacerations across his abdomen,” she explained.

“How long will he be asleep?” you questioned. While you had heard the information it was like your brain rejected it. You didn't want to hear what had happened, just how you could fix him. Asking how long he would be asleep felt manageable. Something you could prepare for.

“Whenever the anesthesia wears off,” She responded curtly. “For these types of injuries, we recommend keeping as close as possible to him. He needs to know you are here,” she spoke, brushing past you. She pushed down the rail of the side of the bed and pushed a button on the headboard. The bed expanded on the left side and you took a few steps back to allow it some room. “You can sleep here,” she patted the newly extended portion. “I suggest skin-on-skin contact. That may be a little hard due to injuries but it can be something as small as resting your hand here,” she pointed to his rising chest. “There are blankets in the cabinet. You might be tempted to get some softer blankets from the store around the corner, but it'll be best if you’re a little uncomfortable. Your discomfort will heighten his instincts and spur on the healing process,” she reminded, opening the cabinet you had just dug through. “I’ll be back when he wakes up,” she said, not bothering to look over her shoulder.

“Thank you!” you called after her. You sighed, heading for the papery thin sheet from the cabinet. You crawled onto the bed, using it to cover both you and Kyle. You pressed your cheek against his bare shoulder, inhaling deeply. Fresh linen, mixed with a slight salty breeze from his sweat. “I love you,” you mumbled against him. Your fingers brushed against his side and you resisted the urge to throw yourself against him and bury yourself as far into him as you could. You settled for wrapping around his good arm, resting it between your thighs just like he always slept.

It wasn't long before you drifted off to sleep.

John and Johnny entered shortly after, wanting to make sure you had enough time to get settled. John growled at the state of you. Your tired form shaking from nerves and low temperature. Your eyes rubbed raw, and your hair knotted and unkempt. Your cheeks heated from a slight fever. You always got fevers when you were upset. You've probably had one for weeks. He dug into the bag Johnny had brought with him, pulling out one of the blankets he had packed you.

“Ya heard what the nurse sai”-

“Kyle would murder us if he found out we let her suffer at his expense,” John cut him off. “Besides after what he's been through he’ll want to wake up to her being as comfortable as possible.” John tucked you in, making sure the blanket was rolled up to your neck and chin.

“Her jellyfish is next to her socks,” Johnny added. John dug into the bag again, tucking it under the covers with you.

“What happened?” Johnny worked up the nerve to press.

John sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. His knuckles brushed up and down your side, adjusting the blanket again.

“Car crash,” John sighed. “He was in a car that was headin’ towards a warehouse. It was intercepted,” He explained through gritted teeth. Johnny grumbled under his breath, adjusting in his seat.

“We know by who?” He pressed. John hummed in agreement.

“I was in the car behind ‘em. It's been handled,” He assured. Johnny stood, gripping the back of the alpha’s neck pulling him against him. John rested his head against Johnny’s stomach, his hand gripping his shirt. Johnny's hands ran up and down his back, digging his thumbs into the tense muscles.

“You’re exhausted. Need to sleep,” Johnny reasoned. He pulled away from him, setting up a small area on the floor for them to sleep. They've slept on worse.

You woke up slowly. The room was dark. Too dark. You whimpered quietly, causing shuffling in the corner.

“You alright?” John rasped. A purr echoed through your body before you could stop it, the sound pure instinct. “Sweet girl,” he groaned, more to himself than anything. A hand rested on the top of your head, dragging down your back, dipping under the familiar softness of your blanket. You tried to remind yourself you were still hurt by him, yet the addicting warmth of his hand against your skin had you melting into the bed. “Missed you, sweetheart,” he mumbled, leaning forward, his lips pressed against your hairline. “Both did,” he added, pressing you closer to Kyle. You whimpered out, your hands finding their way to his face, his beard tickling against your skin just like how you remembered. His chest rumbled with a sad sound, his face making a beeline straight to your neck, pressing his way between your shoulder and jaw. “I’m sorry I had to leave when I did,” he said softly. His teeth ached being so close to your neck. All he had to do was bite down and you would be his forever. Connected and bound together. He was tempted to do it while you were letting him be so close to you.

“John?” you whispered, your nails digging into his biceps. A shiver ran down his spine at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. God, he missed you. He hummed in response, his cheek pressed against yours. “You don't wish I was someone else….do you?” you asked softly. His heart fell into his stomach, a familiar uneasiness falling over him. How could you even think that? “I just don't want you to wish you had picked someone different th”-

A sharp growl cuts you off, your body being pressed further into the mattress.

“Pull your head out of your arse, pretty,” he growled against your cheek. Your eyes widened and you tried to move your head to look at him. “Remember the first time we met? You walked in and the door blew your scent right in my face. Wanted to make you mine right there. One scent, one look, one word and I knew you were mine. Nothin’ll waver that,” his tone was passionate and slightly desperate, offering you no room for disagreement. He had never shown you he had wanted someone else or that he was unhappy with you in any way.

You just needed to hear it from him.

Sorry for the late update! Chapter 29 will be posted in three days! 🧡😊

[wileys-russo]

KCC, “if you think I’m cute when I’m mad I’m about to be gorgeous”, at home or training🫶🫶

forgotten coffee II k.cooney-cross

today was not a good day.

normally you were someone who let issues run away from you like water off a ducks back, who brushed hardships off and continued forward with a smile on your face and optimism on your tongue.

you had to in order to have dated kyra for as long as you had, as everyone loved to remind you had the patience of a saint and you had years of experience in calming down and dealing with the sporadic and often juvenile behaviours she displayed.

the two of you growing up in the youth teams and progressing through the a-league together you'd realised on a team night out you were harboring more than just friendly feelings for her.

never one to shy away from what you want you were the one who made the first move though fearful of rejection. but luckily that rejection never came, and years later you were still going strong.

but today, today was not a good day.

you'd had one of the worst night sleeps you thought possible, waking up what felt like every half an hour with a groan and a huff tossing and turning until finally you'd drift off again only to wake up a few moments later and start the routine over again.

normally kyra would be there to try and help you but she'd spent the last few days helping charli move in and you'd encouraged she spend the night there to really help your friend feel settled and at home.

plus you knew better than anyone how much kyra truly missed her best friend now they weren't both playing in sweden and able to see one another whenever they pleased.

you contemplated calling the girl around three thirty wondering if even the sound of her voice might help but you decided against it, not wanting the interrupt the night you insisted they both have despite how much both girls tried to invite you to come along.

so when your alarm finally went at seven thirty indicating you needed to get up and ready for training you were positively exhausted, miserable and grumpy.

which was obvious to your girlfriend the very moment you stepped outside, the brunette having taken her training things to charli's but offering you a lift she sat in her car in your shared driveway not bothered to go inside as she waited you to come out.

"for fuck sakes!" you threw your head back with a groan as the keys slipped from your hand as you tried to lock up, kicking the door with a grunt as kyra watched on cautiously.

you slung your gym bag over your shoulder grumbling obscenities under your breath as of course because you were already in a foul mood you caught your foot on the edge of the steps and went tumbling down to the ground.

kyra went to unbuckle herself and help you but you were already to your feet, snatching your bag and storming off to the car with a scowl plastered into your features.

"good morning sunshine." the midfielder greeted as you slid into the passenger seat after tossing your bag in the boot. "fuck off." you mumbled with a frown, catching yourself and sighing. "sorry, had the worst night sleep." you apologised, leaning over the console to peck her lips.

"babe why didn't you call me? i can sleepover at char's anytime i would have come home." kyra grabbed your hand, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles with a frown as you buckled in.

"because you deserved a nice night with char i know you missed your little sleepovers. but its fine i just need a fucking coffee!" you exhaled deeply as kyra's eyes widened and she bit her bottom lip as suddenly you noticed the coffee you assumed was yours in the cup holder was not.

"you didn't get me a coffee?" you asked in disbelief as kyra winced. "i assumed you'd make one at home! we can get one on the way?" kyra tried, starting up the engine as you sank deeper into the seat. "we don't have time for that because you're late because you stopped to get a coffee and didn't get me one." you mumbled grumpily, scowl returning as kyra grimaced.

"i'm sorry!" your girlfriend apologized again as you hummed, refusing to look at her. "baby, please i'm really really sorry." her eyes burned into the side of your head as you continued to ignore her.

"babe!" the girl whined, reaching out for you as you pushed her hand away and huffed. "i have never ever gotten a coffee and not at least offered you one, we always get one another a coffee." you finally looked at her though the look in your eyes had kyra breaking it and glancing away.

"babe i really am sorry. i love you?" kyra tried as you hummed, pulling out your phone. "i love you so much?" she tried again with a charming smile, met with even more silence. "you look really cute when you're mad?" kyra poked at you, still met with silence as she gave in and started up the car backing out of the driveway.

"hi lessi." kyra's head whipped toward you at a red light as you held your phone to your ear. "have you grabbed coffee yet?" you questioned hopefully, knowing the blonde lived a lot closer to colney than you and kyra did.

"oh my god yes please, kyra doesn't care about me and my needs anymore." you shot her a pointed look as she gasped. "less she's lying!" the midfielder yelled as you rolled your eyes. "i love you! and i owe you, thanks less." you blew her a kiss and hung up the phone.

"so you'll tell less you love her but not me!" kyra scoffed as you shrugged, head buried in your phone still grumpy, ignoring all of her attempts at conversation as she gave up with a groan and turned the music up louder instead.

you sighed in relief seeing alessia, vic and emily waiting around for you, a coffee held securely in alessia's hand which you knew had your name on it, the three girls hovering near where kyra always parked in waiting.

barely putting the car in park kyra had hopped out and darted around to the side opening the door for you with a wide eager smile. laughter rung out as kyra tried to kiss you but you ducked under her arm leaving her behind with a frown as you popped her boot and grabbed your bag out.

"trouble in paradise cooney cross?" vic teased with a smirk as your girlfriend shot her a glare, slamming your door and grabbing her own bag with a huff. "you alright?" alessia murmured with a concerned gaze as she handed you the coffee.

"i am in a terrible mood." you muttered, sighing in relief at the first sip of your coffee, melting into a hug from the taller girl who patted your back. "oh kyra! get off." you heard steph groan as you pulled away from the hug seeing your girlfriend latched onto your national teammate.

"call her off! please." steph caught your eye and begged as you sipped on your coffee and walked off without a word, kyra clambering off steph and chasing after you.

"that was frosty, ouch." steph winced as the four girls followed after the pair of you, watching in amusement as your girlfriend tried routinely to grab your free hand or sling an arm over your shoulder as you pushed her off time after time.

you continued to ignore kyra's attempts to charm, flirt and schmooze with you as you entered the locker room. "oo ouch. now what did you do?" caitlin caught on instantly, steering kyra away from hovering after you as you dropped down into your cubby to change shoes.

"didn't get her a coffee and she's extra grumpy today because she didn't sleep and i slept over at charli's." kyra mumbled with a huff, fighting to wrench off caitlins arm which only tightened around her neck.

"oh girlfriend of the year!" caitlin whistled as kyra broke free and jumped onto her back wrapping her arm around the older girls neck now. "get off ya leech!" caitlin groaned trying to shake her off with no real luck as you laced up your boots and grabbed your coffee ready to head off for the team briefing.

but what kyra failed to see as she was clinging on tightly to caitlin was you try to shuffle past, accidentally kicking your coffee right from your hand as it clattered to the floor and kyra dropped away from caitlin who winced and hurried away.

"baby-" kyra started as you held up a hand, silencing her.

"if you think i'm cute when i'm mad i'm about to be gorgeous." you warned calmly, eyes narrowing as you let out a war cry and charged at your girlfriend who sprinted off away from you.

"come here babe i'm gonna kill you!"

[notsosweetchan]

˚ʚ♡ɞ Show Time ˚ʚ♡ɞ

Notes: Check out part 2

Warning: Camboy AU Smut

Paring: | Chan x Reader |

At precisely eight-thirty every evening, Y/N would retrieve her charging laptop from her desk and make herself comfortable on her bed.

She eagerly opened it up, looking forward to watching her favorite Camboy. His handle was gnbnahc but most of his viewers know him as Chan or Channie.

Y/N had stumbled across him while watching porn one day 2 months ago, and she had been hooked since. The starting soon screen counting down his start time always made her heart pound with excitement.

His room tinted red from his led lights and the deafening music blaring through her speakers, a stark contrast to her silent room.

Chan has shown his face but body was a work of art. A perfect V shaped torso, toned arms and abs that you could practically etch your name into. “Hello everyone,how’s your night going “ Chan waved to his viewers.

Every livestream started off with him just chatting for a bit before he started to undress. He liked to tease them first, always keeping them on the edge of their seats. “ xxcherrylips ask what are going to be doing tonight” he read a donation message aloud.

“Well I do have something special in store for you all he winked at the camera. Y/N's heart leapt in her chest, her cheeks turning tomato red.

Chan always made her feel seen even though he didn't know she existed. He began to run his hands up his chest, playing with his nipple piercing.

“Tonight I’m going to edge and make myself cum so fucking hard for you all. But first let’s start with a little strip tease” he did a sexy little dancefor his audience. Y/N like an obedient dog , tipped 50 tokens “ to take it slow” she chuckled to herself.

Chan smirked “ 50 tokens for me to take it slow huh, that’s it baby girl? Don’t be stingy ” her face burned a deep shade of red, but she tipped another 100.

“Better” he purred into the mic, his voice laced with lust. He unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time, every click of the button making Y/N's heart pound faster.

He turned around, teasingly wagging his ass for her and his other viewers. Tonight felt different, something about the way he moved or maybe how he looked at the camera made her insides pool with arousal and anticipation. Chan reached for his belt buckle and ever so slowly unbuckled it.

Y/N bit her lip as her hand strays to her panties, rubbing circles on her clit through the fabric. He slid his pants down just enough to reveal the tip of his cock,throbbing against his boxers.

He took his time, teasing his way down his chiseled abs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Y/N whimpered quietly as Chan licked his lips and gave the camera a playful wink before pulling down the front of his boxers.

His cock bouncing free, Y/N couldnt believe how much she needed to see him edge himself off.

“I want you to touch yourself for me baby girl, do it now” he ordered into the mic. Y/N listened without a second thought, her fingers slipping between her wet folds. With her free hand she typed out a message to him “Chan I’m so wet for you.”

His chocolate brown eyes connected with hers or at least it felt like it, his smirk growing wider by the second. “That’s my good girl, I want to hear you cum for me” he said huskily. His hand wrapped around his erection,slowly pumping his length.

His other hand disappeared from the screen only to return with a bottle of lube. Y/N moans escaped her lips as he coated himself in it, and to her surprise Chan picked up a toy as well.

“I thought tonight we would make this interesting, whoever tips the most gets to control my pleasure tonight” he smirked.

Y/N's fingers flew across the keypad , fearful of someone else controlling him. But someone else tipped more, Y/N felt her chest tighten with jealousy as Chan moaned out. “Looks like @bigdaddycock123 is in charge tonight, don't disappoint me now babe” he winked at the camera.

Y/N sighed in defeat and continued masturbating to the sight of Chan moaning out his viewers name, but in her mind it was her he was moaning for. Chan worked his cock and the toy in and out of himself, his moans louder now.

The person who was in control sped him up and Chan's moans grew louder, the knowledge that he was getting off on someone else's command made Y/N so wet she could feel her juices soaking through her panties.

“@bigdaddycock123 please can I cum” Chan whined, waiting for the person’s permission “No not yet , I want to hear some more moans from you” Chan whined in frustration, but he did as he was told. His moans vibrating the airwaves and making Y/N's toes curl.

“Fuck I’m so close, please” he begged “Edge for me once more and you can cum” @bigdaddycock123 typed. Y/N couldn't take it anymore , she doubled her efforts to get herself off while Chan edge himself, his moans echoing in her head.

His muscles tense and his breathing ragged. Y/N couldn't take it anymore she was so close herself. “You can cum now @bigdaddycock123 said.

That was all the permission Chan needed , he sped up hisstrokes, groaning so loadly Y/N swore she could feel it deep in her bones. Precum leaked from the tip of his cock, he was so close too.

Y/N rubbed her clit in sync with his strokes .“Fuck I’m cumming, I’m cumming now” he roared into the mic, his cock twitching as he came splattering his cum onto the camera screen.

Y/N couldn't hold it any longer, her walls spasmed around nothing as she came hard. The afterglow enveloping her in its warmth.

Chan caught his breath he panted , his chest heaving. “Thank you all for tuning in tonight, I will see you all next time” he winked before signing off. Y/N lay in her bed, her heart pounding in her ears, wishing it was her hand touching him instead of his own.

Y/N sent him a private message “How much for a private show?” she bit her lip waiting for his response.

[ticktokrobotsnot]

Hurricane Relief

This is part 2.

You can read part 1 here.

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x fem!reader

Summary: The aftermath of a disaster and how we learn to cope, move on, and grow.

Word Count: 4k

Notes: 1) This is based off of s1e8, but we are going to pretend that Syd did the tablet thing correctly and Carmen doesn't lose his shit in ep7.

2) I am a completionist at heart so I felt an obligation to finish this because I know that if I was reading something and I didn't get a confession at the end I would riot and I aim to please.

__

“Where did you get the money for bail?”

“Used our two week parachute.” 

Y/n, barely conscious felt something pushed up against her chest. She peeked her eyes open and saw that she was sitting in the backseat of Carmen’s car already buckled in. She shifted over to her left so she could rest her elbow on the armrest against the door and balance her head. Carmen glanced through the rear view mirror to confirm that she was still asleep, he locked the car door so she wouldn’t fall out. 

Richie looked back before uttering a small, “Thank you, cousin.” It was strangely vulnerable to thank someone and even more vulnerable to do it with an audience, even if they were asleep. 

“All good.” 

After a few more beats of silence, y/n assumed that their bro moment had reached its conclusion and that she could finally pretend that she had just woken up. Then she heard a sniffle, at first she thought that her mind was playing tricks on her but she heard it again, and then a few more times. Maybe now was not the best time to announce her presence. 

“You okay?” Although she couldn’t see Carmen’s face she was hearing concern and a bit of apprehension. She could tell he wasn’t comfortable with consoling Richie. 

A small but broken, “Yeah…I’m okay” escaped Richie’s mouth. 

Unable to resist, she stole a quick glance at the rearview mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of Carmen's eyes. They appeared slightly glassy, yet the softness in the corners revealed a simmering sense of relief. Though he was clearly upset, she reassured herself that he would ultimately be alright. Once they returned to the restaurant, she planned to check in on him, but without pressuring him. Recognizing his need for rest, space, and comfort, she understood that he often neglected these needs for the sake of others but she was determined to ensure he received the care he truly deserved.

Carmen took one last look back before pulling out of the parking spot and driving them back to the restaurant. Y/n was wide awake now but she knew that both Carmen and Richie needed some time and space to process what had happened. None of that would work if she was visibly awake, she had a feeling that they would pretend to be all tough by pushing their problems aside because they didn’t want a girl to see them being “sensitive”. So she planned to keep her head down and wait till they were near the restaurant to “wake up.”

The ride back was slow and smooth, Carmen didn’t drive over a single pothole, he stopped softly, and didn’t honk once, which was rare in Chicago. He wanted to drive her home and put her to bed but he had a feeling that she would be pissed if he dropped her off home while they went back to the restaurant. 

They were 45 minutes away from the restaurant but he was wondering if he should wake her up when they got there, or if he should let her sleep in his car. If he left her in the car she would be able to sleep in but it wasn’t safe, what if someone broke a window? At the same time, if he brought her to the restaurant, there was nowhere for her to rest. He was driving on auto-pilot while he was trying to figure out the best way to approach the dilemma, because if there was one thing that Carmen was good at it was overthinking. 

On top of worrying about y/n, Carmen had to steal a few quick glances at Richie to make sure that he was ok, it was hard to tell because he was looking out the window but the reflection showed Richie’s eyebrows were furrowed, he was thinking about something, or someone. Thinking was better than being depressed. 

A small selfish part of Carmen wondered if anyone would ever dissect every small aspect of him to make sure that he was also ok, like he did for others. 

The car ride was peaceful and quiet until a neighboring vehicle suddenly honked near y/n’s window, causing her to jolt and accidentally slam her forehead against the glass.

“Jesus, fuck.” Y/n hissed while putting her cold hand on her forehead to calm the bruise that would inevitably form. Her cover was blown.

Carmen’s head whipped back, “Are you ok?” 

“I'm good, it's just a small bump.” She tried to rub the forehead to quell the pain but it was too tender. “Pay attention to the road, I don’t want to see another police officer for the rest of my life.” Carmen involuntarily flicked his eyes to y/n’s forehead through the rear view mirror. 

Y/n couldn’t tell what Richie’s status was and he hadn’t made a single peep the entire car ride, even when she was “asleep”, so she couldn’t gauge whether or not she should talk to him. 

“We’re glad to have you back, Richie '' She left it open and didn’t expect any response in return. He didn’t respond but he moved his eyes from the passenger window to the windshield and sat up straight. Y/n felt a bit of uneasiness, this was the longest Richie was quiet and she kind of wanted him to make fun of Carmen or at least laugh, something to show that he wasn’t hurting. 

The rest of the car ride was quiet, they eventually pulled up to the restaurant and they walked in. Y/n and Carmen had left the restaurant as it was and even though they knew it was a mess, it was a different beast in daylight. Both y/n and Carmen walked to their lockers to grab their emergency toothbrush and other hygiene products in an effort to look less dead. 

Once they freshen up they went their separate ways. Y/n walked behind the counter and pushed some styrofoam cups aside to start the coffee machine. She waited for the coffee to finish brewing before pouring a cup for the three of them. Richie took one of the cups off the counter and disappeared. 

She walked over to Carmen who was throwing away half eaten food from the tables. 

“Here.” she handed a cup over to him and once again their fingers brushed each other but this time she forced herself to ignore the electricity. Whatever she was feeling would be an additional burden to Carmen, one more thing for him to worry about. Carmen didn’t need this right now, he needed some calm and space. 

She heard a soft thanks, and even though she was supposed to give him space she couldn’t suppress the urge to check on him one more time. His eyes were no longer glassy but the dark circles told her everything she needed to know. He glanced up at her face, finally getting his first good look at her since they left the station. He walked over to the kitchen door and signaled y/n to join him right before he disappeared. She heard some shuffling and she walked over to the kitchen after taking one more look at Richie who looked like he was doing better. 

Y/n went to the kitchen and was pleasantly surprised that it was not as bad as the front, it wasn’t great but still miles better. The kitchen was empty but Carmen’s office door was wide open, she peered inside to see him holding a ziplock filled with a bit of ice and water. 

He shut the door and pulled out a chair indicating that she was supposed to sit. She sat and looked up at Carmen before feeling the ice on her forehead. She groaned in discomfort, “You didn’t have to.” Carmen moved the bag around so the cold didn’t hurt. Y/n felt like she wasn’t doing enough, she was supposed to take care of him and here he was taking care of her. That wouldn’t do.

“How are you feeling?” Y/n asked while avoiding his eyes. She couldn’t look at them without getting distracted and she needed to focus on Carmen. 

“I'm good.” Soft but left no room for elaboration. Y/n knew she couldn’t crack a few jokes to make him feel better, that was wholly inappropriate. She also couldn’t probe for answers either because that would just stress him out, any form of pressure would probably make him feel like a caged animal being cornered. Saying nothing felt like they were ignoring the very obvious elephant in the room. It was like all roads lead to nothing unless Carmen opened up a bit more, which didn’t seem like was going to happen so y/n settled for a distraction.

“Is it bad?” Y/n said while touching the bag of ice barley missing his fingers. She ignored Carmen’s body heat that was radiating onto her side and she also pretended not to notice the way that his lips parted in concentration.

“I'm going to need you to be honest with me, don’t worry I can take it. If I look like shit you’ve gotta tell me so I can get some impromptu bangs or something.”

“You don’t look like shit.” Carmen mumbled.

“I bet I don’t look good,” Y/n swiveled around towards Carmen’s desk for some scissors, “bangs it is.”she exclaimed. Y/n was only joking but she needed a bit of a breather before she broke her own rule about giving Carmen some space. 

Carmen grabbed the chair’s armrest and swung it swiftly so she was facing him again. Her heart leaped out. “You look like how you always do.” He was too much of a wimp to call her breathtaking, the word felt foreign in his head; he could only imagine how disturbing it would be to hear it from his lips. He gently grabbed her chin before putting the ice on her forehead again. Y/n couldn’t escape this time. 

The silence was killing her and she thought she should at least talk about her own experience to let him know that they could talk to each other about stuff like this. 

“I was really scared...” Carmen looked into her eyes and they softened a bit. 

“I was scared that Richie was going to be in jail for basically forever…and …and,” Y/n hesitated, was what she was about to say to Carmen considered cornering him?

“I was scared for you.” Carmen’s hand stalled midair, still holding the bag of ice. He didn’t move for a few moments, “I was worried that this would..” She couldn’t think of what to say next. She could feel the gears in her head working overtime to churn out something that would summarize what she was feeling. “..break you and you wouldn’t let me help you.” She felt her eyes start to burn and a lump form in her throat that was choking her. She wouldn’t cry, he couldn’t deal with his own problems while consoling her. 

“I would have been okay.”

Y/n waited till the lump in her throat stopped burning. “You always are Carmen, but sometimes it’s nice to be better than okay…” She couldn’t do anything about her voice cracking but she might as well finish before she became a mess, “You deserve it.” 

Y/n said her piece and they both simmered in the quiet. A sigh reverberated through the walls and Carmen looked into y/n’s eyes. His lips parted and closed a few times as he tried to formulate a response but nothing he could think off would sound as well-put together as y/n’s thoughts. He felt like he was seven again, a stuttering pathetic idiot who couldn’t say something as simple as a thanks. 

Y/n knew that they were done for now, she had exhausted him so she was finally ready to give him that space that he desperately needed. She slowly got up and slipped the bag of ice out of his hand and walked towards the door. Carmen didn’t look at her as she left but as soon as the door closed, he sank to the floor and sat there for a very long time. 

He finally leaves the office to help with the clean up and is greeted by the crew. Y/n was at the very end scrubbing her countertop which was covered in glitter. As he walks past the crew to survey the damage to the front, he gets a pair of gemstone covered stringy underwear swung towards his face. 

“This is not respect.” Ebra continues to wave the underwear at Carmen’s face.

“No, chef. That is not respect.”

Carmen walked to the front and felt another weight lifted off his shoulder to see that the majority of the mess had been cleaned up. It felt like he was finally able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. His chest felt a bit lighter and he knew it was thanks to the people around him. 

He walked to the kitchen and started slicing some onions, he would be in charge of family dinner. As he was making the sauce, he couldn’t help but notice that he had yet to hear or see y/n, not that she wasn’t in the restaurant but it was like she was doing her very best not to be noticed. She was quietly peeling garlic and even though Carmen hadn’t responded to her, he could tell that they would be alright. He just knew in his bones that they would come back together, he was going to make sure of it. 

As he opened the tomato can and dumped it in, he noticed a bit of green. Mold? Killing the heat, he swiped the sauce away and picked it up to remove the plastic to reveal a wad of money.

Y/n heard Carmen yell for Richie but she didn’t think much of it before she started hearing, “Shit…Fuck..”

A few minutes later the whole crew were opening cans of tomato sauce to dig out the money that was hidden within. Once all the money was out, Richie cleaned it up and sorted it, the crew cleaned up the sauce and Carmen finished up the pasta. 

They sat down for dinner, but y/n had no appetite. However, she couldn't afford to leave her plate unfinished without drawing attention. She discreetly observed Carmen, piece by piece, just to make sure that he was okay, actually more than okay. His hands were relaxed, she took a bite. His shoulders were at ease, another bite. His jaw was unclenched, yet another bite. And finally, the most crucial part, she stole a fleeting glance into his eyes. As she raised her head slightly to check, to her surprise, their eyes met. Against her instincts, y/n held his gaze. It left her breathless. For the first time, y/n saw a serenity in Carmen's eyes that she had never witnessed before. 

With this newfound contentment, it became evident that Carmen had discovered a new version of stability. If maintaining their current relationship, or lack thereof, could grant him such ease and relaxation, y/n was willing to patiently wait for him to embrace a future together, even if it meant waiting for years or even decades. She didn’t want him to relish in the calm but expect it, expect that life was also fun and full of love. Her wish was for him to experience a life of unwavering stability, so that even if unexpected challenges arose as he always anticipated, he would know he was not alone and that he would always prevail. 

Y/n was proud of him, which is a strange thing to say considering the fact that he was a tax paying adult, but she couldn’t help but give him a small smile that said I see you and I’m so fucking in love with you. 

Carmen wasn’t a poet by any means but he finally understood why people write poems about other people. A picture of y/n would have captured her beauty but a poem would have explained it. It was just a smile and he didn’t know why but it was burned into his memory. Y/n looked away to ask Sydney something but if Carmen closed his eyes she was still smiling at him. Y/n had given him many smiles but he knew at this very moment that he couldn’t last another day without her being his. It wasn’t just a smile, it was the weight behind it, the pressure that it put on his chest when she looked away from him, the gleaming aura that wouldn’t let him look away…

It was everything, it was his everything, you were his everything.

Dinner concluded, everything was cleaned up, and Carmen was no longer in his fantasy land where y/n was being lit by the sunlight or party lights and making him yearn, he had never yearned before. Carmen assumed that seeing her in the shitty kitchen lighting and in her messy apron would bring him back to reality but he was sorely mistaken. The pinnacle of his admiration wasn't confined to the previous night or that particular meal; it persisted, unyielding. It didn’t die down when she spilled a bit of oil on the counter, or when she flipped of Richie for god knows what, or when she sampled Sydney's experimental dish and tactfully suggested it needed something more, or when she stepped over to the side to redo her hair, or when she shook her foot because her legs were aching. He could never get tired of her. He could watch her stirring for days on end, each rotation captivating him anew. He could witness her redoing her hair for centuries, and boredom would remain a foreign concept. He could watch her smiling till the sun exploded billions of years in the future, and still, an insatiable craving for more would persist within him.

Time flew by and before she knew it the clock struck 10:30pm and y/n looked up from her stovetop and realized that she was the only person left in the kitchen. It was a bit strange to be alone in the kitchen without Carmen, it felt like a regular room. It lacked the mystic that Carmen brought into any room. She wandered into Carmen’s office but it was empty. The front was empty as well and y/n was getting a bit worried. She grabbed her cardigan from her locker, turned on her phone flashlight and just went to the back of the restaurant and sure enough she found Carmen lighting a cigarette. The phone light was the only source of light other than a very dim street light at the very end of the block, and the small fire lit on the end of the cigarette. She saw that he was surrounded by quite a few cigarettes, five plus the one he was smoking now. 

Carmen looked like a deer caught in headlights. Y/n leaned on the wall so she could see what was compelling him to stay here for what must have been an hour but it was just a brick wall. Carmen shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her. 

She waved her hand, “I’ve got a sweater and it's not that cold today.” She was getting deja vu. 

“The bricks are rough.” 

Y/n leaned forward to avoid scraping her favorite cardigan but he took this as an opportunity to stand in front of her and slip the jacket through her arms. He straightened the jacket near the neck line. His hand glided down the open panels. Although he didn't physically touch her, she could sense his warmth emanating through the narrow gap. 

Y/n said she could wait but what she wouldn’t give for him to grab the collar and kiss her. His lips were wet from licking them and she didn’t notice that he was staring at her lips too. 

Carmen snubbed his cigarette on the wall near y/n’s waist, and then dropped the cigarette but leaving his hand still there. “Y/n.”

A soft hum escaped her barely parted lips as she finally lifted her gaze to meet his eyes. It was as if she had entered a trance while staring at his lips, and even when he attempted to snap her out of it, she effortlessly slipped back into another spellbound state, captivated by the depths of his eyes.

“I have to kiss you.” 

He searched her eyes for a sign of hesitation but y/n wrapped her arms behind his neck and leaned forward. Carmen closed the gap and at that moment he knew that he was never going to be able to get enough of her. He slipped a hand behind her head and another on her hip. He pushed her deeper against the wall and he was having a hard time thinking, his head was spinning and it was making it difficult to imprint this sensation into his memory. It felt like trying to remember an ocean’s wave or a ripple in the sand. 

His lungs were burning and even though he knew that he couldn’t stay conscious for longer, he couldn’t pull himself away. 

After a few moments, y/n withdrew slightly, locking eyes with him, her beautiful gaze penetrating his soul. Unable to resist the magnetic pull between them, he instinctively leaned in, their foreheads touching. The kiss left him breathless, yet he yearned to prolong the contact, craving more of her touch.

Their breath mixed with each other before y/n tightened her grip around him and leaned forward to kiss him one more time, this time with a deliberate slowness that amplified the intimacy between them. He made a conscious effort to imprint the sensations in his memory, but they tantalizingly lingered before elusively slipping away, beckoning him to kiss her once more for a more vivid recollection. It felt new even after the first, second, third, and fourth kiss, as if each one unveiled a new layer of their connection. Carmen could die here and people would be able to honestly say that he died a happy man. He smirked against her lips, unable to help himself.

 They pulled away for one last time before Carmen slid his hands down her body and eventually they had lost contact. 

Y/n grabbed his hand and led him back to the restaurant and in the bright lights, y/n looked down at their interlocked hands trying to finally remember the sensation that she had missed a few days prior but was pulled out of it when she noticed that his hands were covered in cuts and scrapes. 

“What the hell happened to your hand?” Carmen's head felt like it was swimming.

He mumbled out a soft, “I think it was the bricks,” and then added, “I told you they were rough.”

“You should have moved them as soon as they started to hurt.” Y/n grabbed for the first aid kit so she could tend to his wounds. 

Carmen didn’t care that his hand was scraped up because he didn’t want any part of y/n digging into the rough brick, and a scuffed hand was a small price to pay.

“Better me than you.”

“You’re literally so annoying, I can't even look at you right now. Take me home, Berzatto.” Y/n humorously rolled her eyes and finished wrapping him up. 

And with that, Carmen finally found himself standing on solid ground, a place of stability and certainty. In the embrace of y/n's love, he discovered a resolute foundation upon which he could build a future with her. He no longer felt adrift, but rather firmly anchored in a love that provided solace.

[thebluester2020]

[TWST] "Free" Lodging At SavanaClaw

Summary: After being kicked out from Ramshackle Dorm, you swallowed your pride and decided to go to SavanaClaw to try and convince the local Housewarden to let you stay until you found a way to get Ramshackle back. But, as nothing was ever free in your former world, the same rules apply here! Warning(s): Leona being a dick but that's the normal, Dub-con(kinda-ish?), Manipulation, Leona refers to the reader as "lioness" instead of "herbivore" (This reader has an attitude y'all, buckle up), Gender neutral pronouns (Reader is heavily implied to be a girl though), Edging(?), No active sex in this one just Leona feeling the reader up basically, Consent check-ups. Side Note(s): This may be the most inaccurate fanfic I'll write to date since I'm just now getting back into the TWST fandom 💀. But I vaguely remember (I think?) the MC getting kicked out from their dorm and having to shack up with Leona for a bit so I'm running off "You want something? What're you willing to do for it?" type of energy. Also, I will add to the idea that Leona drinks his "respect women" juice, so be prepared for those consent check-ups.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

"...So, that's why I need to stay here..."

Never once in your life had you felt so small, so...insignificant as you stood in front of Leona's dorm room, after pouring your heart out about your situation and how you had no place to stay after making a shady deal with Azul. To be in a position of begging, pleading with to have a place to stay. You didn't know who to curse out first!

Crowley for not getting you back to your original world fast enough.

Azul for tricking you in the first place into making a shady deal.

Or maybe even yourself, for being so foolish in the first place as to think that there wouldn't be a backhanded price for losing a bet with Azul to begin with! And what's more? You still felt you weren't thinking straight, after all, instead of thinking that it was best to shack up with Ace and Deuce, your feet instead led you to Leona.

The arrogant prince who looked as if he were completely apathetic to your situation as if your very presence outside of his dorm room was an utter annoyance. And to hold yourself accountable? It probably was. No one wants to share their room after all, especially when the person in question had no clue when their new potential guest would be leaving.

But at the same time? It wasn't like you wanted to be begging either!

"Hm," Was the first noise that Leona made as his tail flicked side to side, scratching his chin. "What do I get out of lettin' you stay 'ere?" The beastman couldn't help the smirk that graced his already handsome features as an immediate furious expression took over your face.

"What the hell do you mean 'What do I get out of it'?!" You said in a mocking imitation of the prince's voice.

Leona then frowned before yawning. "Well now...that's no way to speak to someone you're asking to live with—" Before he could close the door, you quickly stopped it with your hand before you huffed. You took a brief moment to gather yourself, to suck in your pride and reaffirm in your head that there were no other options, no other people you could think willing enough to bend (or flat out ignore) the rules and let you stay in their dorm room for a little while.

Once done, you exhale through your nose before sighing. "What...do you want?"

The prince smirked, now you were playing his game.

Leona wasn't blind.

Despite the two of you not being on the very best of terms, constantly bickering whenever you both saw one another and having an unspoken rivalry of sorts. Be it in some of your classes together, who had the most biting words that day, or even you two simply getting in the way of each other! You two didn't like each other except...

Leona somewhat liked you. Enough to where he periodically had lustful thoughts about you from time to time that is. As he continued to think to himself, he thought about how great it would be to first have the only girl at this school. To make you his own personal toy, not that it would be an easy battle that is.

You'd ultimately call the shots, and he would simply have to keep your attention.

Something that he would easily achieve. "For me being so gracious to allow you to even think of staying in my dorm—" Your eyes widened a little when the prince leaned forward a little. And oh...how you hated how he smelled so good, expensive cologne mixed with a distinct wild smell that you couldn't pinpoint. But, you tried to keep your head afloat, the last thing you could afford was to allow your mind to be clouded.

You absolutely refused it.

"—how about you service me?" You visibly flinched at the idea.

"...You're not talking about an innocent back massage, are you?"

His silence was your answer.

And you hated to admit that the idea appealed to you, even if it was just slightly. Never once had you thought that the prince was ugly. Maybe in personality, sure but looks-wise? He was very attractive, as princely as the definition came, but to sleep with him? Just for a place to stay? She didn't know if she could convince herself to do that!

"What if I say no?" You mumbled.

He responded with a shrug. "Then I won't pressure you. I'm not so cruel as to let a woman roam around at night with no place to go." He said with a deep purr that made your very body reverberate. "But, something tells me that you won't say no."

You sighed, looking away for a moment before looking back up at him.

Although you didn't give him a verbal response, the prince saw your answer as clear as day in your eyes and thus, moved to the side to allow you into his room to which you immediately started to look around, only offering Leona a scoff once you finished your visual tour of where you'd be staying for some time until you came up with a plan to get Ramshackle back.

"Your room is messy." You said, eliciting a 'tsk' from the prince as he closed his door and stood back, giving you room to overlook his room.

"I take it this is a more than adequate place for you to sleep?" He questioned.

You nodded your head. "I can just sleep on the floor—"

"You'll sleep on the bed," He sighed, walking past you. "If you're sensitive about sleeping so close to a man then put a pillow between us. I'm not moving from my own bed."

You rolled your eyes with an annoyed grumble. "I'm not trying to kick you from your bed, nor am I sensitive about sleeping next to a man!"

Leona merely rolled his eyes as he strolled up to you before placing a hand on your shoulder, and he smirked at how you flinched as he slowly stalked around you until he stood behind you. The smell of your nervousness was clear, and even if his nose didn't function. His ears definitely picked up on it, from your squeaks each time he moved or the way you shuffled around.

Although he would never say it out loud...with how pretty you were, he assumed you to be more than familiar with the touch of a man.

Clearly, though, his assumptions were incorrect.

"So nervous lioness...never thought I'd see the day." He chuckled.

"S-Shut up," You hissed in response. "Just get this over with..."

Leona's brow rose. "I'm not into taking advantage of women. If you're not comfortable with me touching you then tell me." When you looked over your shoulder, his breath hitched at the sight of how fast the blood rushed to his cock. The arousing sight of you looking up at him through your eyelashes, your eyes darkened ever so slightly from growing lust. It was driving him insane.

"I need verbal responses," Leona's snapped you from your thoughts. "Can I touch you? I won't go any farther than that." He said, his hand still planted firmly on your shoulder to accentuate his point that he wouldn't make any sudden movements unless you said so.

You nodded your head. "S-Sure..."

At your consent, he was meticulous about where he touched.

First, he started with your arms, rubbing his hands up and down as he silently committed the feeling to memory. Smooth, almost...doughy in a way. And some parts of your skin were freckled as well. 'Cute.' He thought before he moved over to touch your backside. He ignored the whisper in his head that told him to teasingly slip a finger underneath a sleeve or perhaps underneath your skirt, instead, his tail flicked at the feeling of your curves.

And when he trailed his way back up to your shoulder, he poked at the back of your neck with his claw.

You squeaked at the contact. "So jumpy."

"Fuck you," He snorted in response. "Are curses all you have to say to me? If I'm observing you correctly—" You sucked in a breath when Leona's hands trailed over to your chest, touching at prodding at your mounds while he steadily got closer and closer to you until he was pressed up against your backside and...you felt his hard-on against your ass.

A shaky sigh left your lips. "So soft..." He whispered in your ear. "Bet they're even softer without these clothes."

"Stop being crude." You panted out.

The prince smirked. "Did you know us beastmans have enhanced senses?" He asked, changing the subject as he licked up the shell of your ear, tearing a shakey moan from you as you started to unconsciously buck up against the prince's hard-on, causing him to groan at the contact but nonetheless continue speaking and feeling you up. "I can smell your arousal, how needy you are for me despite trying to hide it."

"T-That's not—Ahh..."

Now this was something he would love to hear every single day.

Those breathless shy moans of yours, coupled with the sight of you unconsciously bucking into his hard-on and making it near irresistible to ask you if the two of you could go farther than this. If you'd allow him to taste you next, finger your cute pussy, or perhaps fuck you. But...he wasn't about to let you slip through his fingers just because he couldn't control his urges.

"L-Leona...fuck—"

"What is it?" He purred against your ear. "Want me to touch you somewhere else...?"

You sucked your bottom lip in, your panties were absolutely soaked as you continued to squirm against Leona's hold. Your control was slipping fast, you didn't know how long you'd be able to hold on before you'd say something you knew you would regret later on! And there were too many times when you wanted to ask him to stop, slow down, and let you catch your breath, anything! But...as Leona's hands began to untuck your shirt from your skirt and slide his hands up and underneath, the tickle from his claws dragged slowly upward toward your breasts making you buckle and flinch.

You broke.

Hard.

"P-Please..." You didn't know what you were begging for exactly but, the small word made the lion beastman's ears perk all the same before he snickered.

"A simple please doesn't get a prince to do what you want, be more specific."

"Y-You fucker—" You inhaled sharply when Leona gently pinched your nipples, silencing you effectively as a smirk crept onto his handsome features.

"What was that?" He asked.

You took another breath in and exhaled out shakily before you gulped. "D-Down there...please."

"What? Your pussy? Is it aching for my touch?" He asked with a devilish smirk as you nodded your head, even going so far as to try and press your ass into his crotch further. Cruelly, however, Leona forcefully stopped you with a quick yet light swat against the side of your thigh. "Then ask me like you're begging a royal. Do it or you'll have to settle. C'mon...you can do it."

You looked at the beastman over your shoulder once more, your eyes clouded over with lust whilst your lips were shiny and wet from you constantly licking your lips. "...P-Prince Leona," You started. "C-Can you touch me...there my pussy..."

Leona nearly grinned ear-to-ear from his victory before he sighed. "I would but—" Your eyes widened in confusion immediately when Leona slipped his hands from me, your form shaking as if you were left suddenly in the cold as the lion beastman walked to the other side of his room to grab his bag. "—I have class, Ruggie will chew my ear off if I miss this class for the fifth time this month."

You swore that you saw red at that moment. "Y-You fucker...y-you did that on purpose!" You screamed.

"What? To ask you to ask me something nicely?"

"You—"

"Calm down," He clicked his tongue. "You live with me now, remember? I'll touch your needy cunt when I get back." He said, flicking you in the forehead before he turned to walk out the door, leaving you to stand there in both shock and frustration.

You really needed to find a way to get Ramshackle back.

Fast.

[joannasteez]

starship pain

pairing: cody rhodes x reader , cm punk x reader warning: explicit content (smut) minors pls dni. angst. emotional infidelity? loads of description!!! a lot of space related metaphors. authors note: lovely little request from @harmshake i hope i did your idea some justice. this takes place after mania. somethings are changed and switched around to fit my ideas. so it's a bit of an alternative universe from present kayfabe. the one flashback i have in this has a little red text noting when in the timeline of the year its set in!! word count: 14k tagging: @333creolelady @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae @coyotegirl-ramblings @luchorgasm @xbriexx @wanna-see-my-lease

...what gives a star it's character?...

temperature

color

mass

luminosity 

size 

...and with the display of such magnificent character, do stars not go about tirelessly with the work of inspiring awe? living wondrously bright amidst the deafening swallow of that deep void called space, so much so, that even with great distance, they exist bold enough to be witnessed. if so, then can we not be stars too? though not as great, can we not aspire, with terrible diligence, to be as breathtaking?... 

and with the conclusion of wrestlemania forty, the philadelphia crowd erupts thunderous. earsplitting even. the american nightmare, cody rhodes, kneeling with tears at the heart of the ring. clutching the weight of the title belt. gold in hand, the newly crowned undisputed wwe universal champion. the hearts, minds, joys and displeasures of the people performing well to revolve in orbit around such star-like greatness.

"your moonsault needs a bit of work still". your father's voice coarse from age. his eyes unblinking. a perfectionist's stare. his penchant for over examination as lively as the sun. existing still even with the residual thrill of wrestlemania. "you're hesitating too much before you press off'. 

you sigh. small enough that it goes incomprehensible. sipping at early afternoon coffee complimentary of the hotel. "it was just nerves pop", you give. because facing rhea ripley for the title, center stage in front of thousands was no easy feat. preparation took a back seat, amongst the lights and screams and hard bumps to the body. it was natural to have a seconds worth of overthought. "the match was fine'.

because it was fine. it was good. great even. two women telling a story with the violent bursting and clash of their bodies. loss be damned. it felt good to withstand the cold. to toil through limitation so fiercely. an easy break of a glass ceiling that worked well to loom above your head for some time. but your hall of fame of a father couldn't see pass the minor inconsistencies. a scrutinizer to the greatest degree. 

"you should come by the gym soon. we can catch up. work through a few things together'". 

catch up and work through meaning your body bouncing off a turn buckle till his satisfaction reached a good, sore, exhaustion. you pivot quickly at the thought of it. at the thought of drilling through moves and the terse cut of his voice. 

you pick up your phone, hearing the shift of feet from across the hotel room. another sip of coffee that plays well over the soft closing of the bathroom door. because your father didn't need to know the details of your latest tryst. especially so soon after the events of the biggest sports entertainment night of the year. everything to him, that isn't the four sided ring, a distraction. 

you smile. "doesn't sound like anything's wrong with my wrestling. sounds like you miss me". 

he softens. blinks his eyes and lets his pride show through a small smile. "any father in their right mind would". 

"so then say it".

"your moonsault is near flawless...", he gives. like relenting but not really. "...and i miss you". 

the bedsheets ruffle behind you. your cue to end the moment before it has the chance to sour.

"we'll talk later", you give. "i have to go". 

"alright. be good".

the face time call ends. gentle touching steps along the carpet of your hotel bedroom before you're slipping under puffy sheets. the philadelphia sun bursting beyond thin curtains to shape his face. blue eyes more sky than ocean under such bright warmth. his fingers quick to pull against your body. slipping up and over with a tender maneuvering till you lay against him like he seems to like. a drawn tune of a hum singing, your weight pressing in to comfort the sore, exhausted champion. his neck craning, rushing with movement to follow the run of your touch over his scalp and across the apple of his cheek. lips dipping into the heart of your palm. 

"did i wake you?", you ask. 

"no", cody gives. voice tired. "my phones been going crazy all morning". 

your thumb caresses just beneath his bottom lip. soft and sweeping. "as expected. the price goes up when you're the champ. so does the attention". 

"is that right?", tone suggestive. eyes a heavy linger along your lips. 

you oblige him. a small sweet reward for all his tiresome effort. your lips, sweet and rich, tasting of coffee as they meet his. a tender meshing before they slip to slot passionate. his fingers curling into your hips. a venture to endear you, moaning lazy as his body forms deeper into the sheets. mouths parting only so his indulgences can lead him else where. wet, tongue led kisses along your pulse. hot breath and the dull graze of his teeth. surely overwrought still by the thrill of the night before. this morning version of him performing with a delirious high. his every touch sure and firm. the hands of a champion. 

"how does it feel?" 

a deep breath. weighing the question with silence. finding a home for his yet to be spoken thoughts in the dip of your neck. the part of his lips there producing a shiver up your spine. 

"good. it feels good". the shine in his eyes threatening to wane. "scary. now i have to actually carry it. do some good with it". 

you kiss him sweetly. a plant of reassurance. "you will". words kind as you roll on your side to face him. catching the beginnings of an etch in of adoration as he fails to look away from you. a semblance of something near unpleasant troubling your chest. like being under the weight of his gaze is too much to bare. 

"thank you for being here". 

"of course". 

"i couldn't get to you properly last night. it all moved so fast after the match. one thing after the other". 

you find yourself ruffling through his hair again. your own will, making to ingratiate your senses to him. like staining the skin to lay a good base for memory. "it's ok. m'here now", mouth on him. an urge that lives with imperfections, your tongue flicking soft, lapping over sweetly till it works away that ambivalent trouble in your belly. urges growing greater by the second till they form with an edge too defined to ignore. eager now, to feel him against skin. the way the mellow heat of him flares under your palm, melting the worry till it runs off into desire. this performance of a great gravitational pull.

regulating yourself to one drink for the night is a testier task than originally thought, but it works well enough. the celebratory buzz of the room filling in where the warmth of liquor doesn't. the philadelphia skyline sparkling the dark chill of the night as the closed in rooftop swells up to a comfortable fullness. wrestling stars at every corner. drinks in hand and simple, cheery conversation. the scene of it all, once a dream, talked of and imagined, now a reality as you maneuver amidst it all.

a firm take to your arm pulls you toward the secrecy of a corner. your lips failing to keep away from a pull up of excitement. heels clicking to keep the pace as you're rounded about a tall column and tucked away behind it. cody pressing in. a lazy little kiss against your mouth that tastes like his drink of choice. the glass clutched in his hand still, attempting not to spill it. 

not so long after your intimate morning did you both part. post-mania obligations too much of a priority to ignore. 

his free hand slips into the slit of your dress. fingers curling into your thigh. a silky brown number that matches his undone suit. his tie loose, his jacket gone and the vest unbuttoned. cheeks dusted a faint pink. his mouth pressing into your pulse. housing there to feel the warmth corralling under the skin. 

and with only a few weeks of this relationship have you confirmed just how affectionate cody is. his every touch made to linger, his smile luminous and his words warm as they work tirelessly to sink into skin. 

"you look", a kiss to your cheek. "absolutely beautiful angel", and another to your mouth. 

you smile. lip tucking under your teeth. "thank you". fingers running to crease his shirt. pulling him closer. the curt shuffle of his shoes clicking forward as your back flushes up into the corner. your eyes sweeping over his mouth. reaching to lick in for a kiss that makes him groan. "you look good too". tasting the bitterness washing his tongue before going in for more. "very good", a purr of a moan floating in that makes his breath hitch before he's groaning soft. a mindless overworking of nerves you're sure. because the weeks with him thus far—albeit fresh—have been nothing short of a teasing game. heavy traveling and the looming possibility of a good passion not yet explored. that trouble in your belly shortening the full breath of your desires. 

you break for air, remembering where you are. he downs the rest of his drink. clutching the glass still. 

"you had a lot to drink?", you ask. wiping at his mouth with your thumb. licking at the residual bits of liquor.

his eyes trailing over your lips. unhurried to meet back at your eyes. "not too much. this was my last. m'tappin out early". 

"good", you give. tugging at the undone part of his vest. keeping him flushed up against you so that the strength of his cologne steeps in. "cause i need you sober. we have unfinished business". 

his free hand still finds itself making a home beyond the slit of your dress. kneading just where your thigh rounds out into the supple flesh of your bottom. a firm squeeze that's all possession. the action risky, but exhilaratingly so. his words toughing out with a groaning. "fuck the party then". 

"no. enjoy it". slipping from under him slowly. "we'll have plenty of time later". 

a final look of promise before you click away. deep tempering breaths that work to quell your own rise of desire. cheeks hot and your body beneath the delicate dress teeming with the memory of his touch. sensations comfortable enough that they leave you wanting. borderline desperate. but yes, what lives of the the draw, the pull of him, all a symptom of simple necessity. his everything sure enough to fall into. a security exacting to an almost bothersome degree. but maybe this full consumption isn't a bad thing, after past failures and flings too loose and undefined. shapeless, wordless things. maybe cody is what you need. your body tucking to lean into the wall that meets the end of the rooftop bar. "gin and tonic", you order. 

soft clutching hands at your shoulder. you turn. bianca belair beaming with excited knowing eyes and a smirk. "you got blondie real red in the face", she starts. slipping up next to you. "no thoughts, just half of a three piece suit and a vibe". 

you smile with her. feeling heat in your cheeks and a swirl in your belly. the intimacy of your relationship with cody no outright secret, but the confirmation of it never really reaching the great private sphere of your friends and friendly acquaintances. because it was business only yours and cody's to keep or share, but bianca is a good friend. closer than most. a former tag team partner. a nxt sister. and the playfulness of her curiosities were always as fun to indulge in as they were to hear. 

"a real nasty vibe", you chuckle. "that man was trying to give ya'll a PLE from the corner. i had to slip away while i could". 

"and i get it cause this brown and gold!?", her hand taking yours to spin you around. appraising the the beauty of your dress and accessories. her fingers dabbing up under an eye and sniffling with faux tears. "i taught you so well". 

"you really did". 

both of you laughing and sipping at your drinks. 

"is it serious?", her tone shifting firm. 

the question forcing you into a bout of consideration you've attempted to stray from on many occasions. but it's crucial nonetheless. a conclusion you'll have to come to regardless. 

"i mean, i don't know". thumb rubbing against the chill of your glass. taking to a silent mull over. the past few weeks or so a whirlwind of affection. secret rendezvous' and late night calls. the tenderness of him working with an endless drive, even amongst the world of work set before the both of you. "we're slow burning it a bit but i think the end goal for him is to have something serious". 

and your wording doesn't go unnoticed, not that you want it to. some part of you maybe looking to gain some much needed perspective. a nudge in the direction you feel is necessary. and she doesn't fail in delivering it. "you deserve something stable. the casual shit is cool but it's not forever". 

you sigh. memory serving well of your former trysts with a different superstar. "i agreed on that being casual".

"you can agree to a lot when you think the dick is good". sipping at her drink. "he's here by the way". 

and if you pretend not be be affected by the possibility of seeing him, of being seen by him, then doesn't that null the existence of the feeling all together? that twist in of nerves in your belly. residual things, like words and perhaps sentiments left to wander the void of space formally known as a very casual but fevered, undefined union of legs and lips. a deep passion left to succumb to the suffocating elements of space and time. 

"i figured he'd be".

his name is a draw. of money, eyes and thoughts. his return causing this gravitational pull of the people, controversial or otherwise. a veteran in his own right. for him not to be seen at a celebration of the greatest night in their business would be confounded and weird. 

"you good with all that though? i know it ended kinda all of a sudden". 

from passion all the time to none at all. hour long drives and last minute flights. apartments and not so high floor hotel rooms. his name seemingly forever written into the slip and work of your tongue. free and casual but still working so sure in that space of passion that the feeling of being beholden to one another felt more truer by the day. living too sporadically—and maybe too unrestrained—still though, to last well enough on its own. because without the consistency of light, how is anything sure to grow? and then in came cody, prying away your attention with the ease and experience of a star born to evoke awe. his light pleasant and safe. 

you shrug. "you live and learn, you move on. i'm good where i am". 

bianca smiles. her arms a nice embrace. "as you should be. m'happy for you".

"thank you", you give. her warmth contagious. your body squeezing into the hug. 

and when she's called away, montez drunkenly whisking his wife to another corner of the room, she parts with an apologetic smile. mouthing "sorry", as her sloshed to capacity of a husband drags her along with him. leaving you to live alone at the end of the bar, newly made acknowledgements of your relationship resting over you thickly. a tight take of adrenaline to your nerves. small sips of your drink working only to occupy your hands. unwilling to decipher the root of such a rush. fear or excitement. either way, the feeling of it drops your belly and leaves the tiny hairs everywhere to stand on end. because this has happened before, drawing too close to the power of a star too soon, burning amongst the void before the possibility of impact. 

shoes click, approaching beside you. his cologne familiar. a scent made to intrigue. memory slipping in to harshen the roll over happening in your belly. of course he'd be here. the self proclaimed 'best in the world', the second city saint, the straight edged superstar. after some months of nothing, cm punk is alive and looking too well for you to stand. 

you sip again. a cool lean up again the wall. eyes patient as they go about examining him whole. his doing just the same. 

he looks good in a suit, much to your dismay. 

"you clean up well", you give. meeting his eyes. standing firm against the heaviness of his gaze. 

"so i've been told", slipping closer. his body leaning up against the bar to rest just as coolly as you have against the wall. a casual disposition so incredibly indicative of your times together. "you look beautiful. nothing new for you though".

"you're letting your grays grow out again". 

"a new era, a new look". his palm smoothening over the salt and pepper patches of hair. a smile running through his lips. "you always did like them". 

a fight to arrest the heat in your cheeks and old memories. "so what, this is about me?"

"such a smart girl", he chuckles. "i love it when you state the obvious". 

you grin at his teasing. "i just had one of the most important nights of my life', shoving up against him playfully. "you can't be a dick to me". 

"you did well by the way". a sincerity that makes something bloom over the skin. a jittered feeling you choose to ignore as he continues. "a nice bag of new little moves and tricks, it was good shit for your first mania. get rid of that moonsault though, it doesn't fit you". 

you scoff. "oh cause you know what fits". 

body bracing for impact just after such a wild take to flight. the words leaving before you can think them over. his shoulders shaking as he laughs. 

"i've had the pleasure of knowing a time or two". 

"oh fuck you punk". 

"i mean...", dark earthy eyes sweeping over your lips. a lazy, patient journey over your body. a show of his appraisal. "...i don't know if you can. given your new boy toy and all". 

"i'm bound to get a new toy if the old one breaks". not that cody is a toy. no. he's no play thing in the slightest. a sudden need to defend him in that right springing up till its thick in your mouth. stitching into words. his every intention appearing precise and laid bare. sweet gestures and impassioned words. his everything lingering long enough for you to notice. "it's a lot more serious than you think". 

"so it seems", voice neutral, but appearing in his eyes to live, these little slivers of disappointment. 

its something not meant to harp on for the sake of your own peace. but they try their damnedest to penetrate. working diligent. enough for the air to feel too warm and thick to breathe in. your barely touched drink a nuisance and the friendly crowd of the celebration too much to handle. and thank God for cody, your attention catching his motions for you. slipping through the crowd to head for the entry-exit doors. a make to leave as he catches your eyes to join him. 

"i should...i should go-"

"that's a smart decision". 

cody's tongue tastes like his drink of choice. room temperature whiskey. the lap of it lazy and patient, aiming to steep into the palate. his lips soft, twisting wet as they go about the work of ingratiating the senses. his hands following suit. a tight journey over the skin, heat flaring up in the wake of such an ardent touch. curling in to leave cratered impressions. his movements breathtaking, your body hoisted up in his arms before you're bouncing into the fluff of the bed. persistent fingers and his mouth ready, tongue dipping into where your body pliantly unfolds for him. your legs spreading with guidance. an exposure to the air that pulls a shiver through the body. 

"so pretty", musing to himself. tongue slipping deep. warm and wet and earnest. groaning from a pleasure that comes with pleasure. your inner thighs suffering under the gripping weight of his touch. a steady hold that keeps you open for him. "been thinkin about this all day". 

you hiss. touch filled with delirium. your belly overwrought and filling in hot. skin breaking away from the chilly philadelphia air. your hips testing their limits. a gentle swing up that catches against the rhythm of his mouth. a sweet suckle to your clit that shortens the air in your chest.

his thumb joins the fray. teases the messy drool of arousal pooling to drip lazy like. a dull circling at that broaches the possibility but nothing more. leaving you with the desire to be filled to the hilt. your pussy pulsing hard against his tongue. clenching about nothing, waiting impatient as he revels in his own play at giving pleasure.

"cody please", voice near broken. a sweet little plea. 

he leaves you spread. watches your little performance of appeal. nails painted a color that leaves a beautiful contrast against your soft skin. slipping sweet at the bud of your clit. holding his eyes. enchantment and lust. the light of his desire bright enough that it reflects beautifully off your skin. curving its way up the body. paints itself warm over the work of your pleasure. melting in till its swirling heavy at the base of your belly. a sensation that grows easy. another groan erupting, surely from that clinging sensation you've bought to his tongue. pulsing and shivering. singing and moaning wispy for him. a full consumption that breaks the resolve you've built so easily. and when his thumb sinks into the fat of your clit, circling deep and persistent, you sink further into the sheets. a sharp "fuck", breaking into the air. your nerves unruly as they go in their frenzy. 

your body drunk, senses beautifully askew. a quick to arrive release that speaks to his determination. 

his mouth messy and slipping over your inner thighs. working to kiss your belly and through the valley of your breast. tongue peaking before it flattens over the perk of your nipples. an involuntary rut in your hips rushing up into him. the sensation like kindling for a fire. 

you taste yourself. pulling your lips to his. the whiskey and that dangerous steep in of your own arousal. his hands nailed into the sheets. your own freeing him from his underwear. hot and hard in your hand. slipping him through slick arousal, to feel how awfully ready he is for you, before you're guiding him in with a desperate hand. head tipping into the bed as you feel the wet split as he goes. a hiss of enjoyment as he deepens, resting just over the end of you. 

cody hums. diving his nose into the scent of your perfume. the stain of it at your neck arresting him. hips knocking in firm. deft and easy. working you open to take him. 

your palms sweep over muscle. to layer over that already laid foundation of memory.  his back taut and strong. nails clawing in as he fills you whole. your lips parting. breaths taken. belly coiling with the threat of release. and here the work of taking him in feels more than good. that troubling knot of ambivalence that once warred beneath the skin, trampled upon with a temporary defeat, as his hips work steadily. 

"you feel so good", a moaning drawl of words. 

an admission that slips its way to settling into thick air. performing well enough to saturate the room. and its true. cody feels good. amazing. his warmth gentle, and his everything near flawless.

the man wrapped in your arms, the reigning undisputed universal champion, is only near flawless. this, a thought that slips deep into your conscience. taking root aggressively so. but are stars not perfect in shape? bright and the enormity of them sensational. great enough in size that the draw of them from within performs well enough to gather equally at every side. a faultless sphere of a shape indeed. and has he not—in spite of your damning early morning sentiments—taken on that part of a stars character? wearing it warm and well. the wrestling world revolving to orbit his dazzling spectacle of victory amongst the mania. then what of it could be so wrong as to call him only near flawless and not flawless simply? the touch of his skin and the pull of his lips gracious even in hunger and looking to consume. a ready made heat not so dissimilar to a great star. 

it's clear. so very fucking clear, amidst the slow creep in of the morning, as your phone vibrates with a call, just where the doubt reeks from. 

'the best in the world' showing up as caller ID. because you never changed the name. because you never had the heart to leave him nameless even. slipping from the sheets, from the comfortable weight of cody's body. a fluffy robe over your skin as you slide the balcony doors of the hotel room open. answering his call. 

those slivers of disappointment in his eyes from last night. performing well enough to disrupt your feelings. like the grand effects of a solar flare. 

"have breakfast with me", he starts. 

no preamble to give you room to deflect. a sigh heavy as it leaves you. his morning voice coarse and unfortunately satisfying. maybe you should've stayed in bed. wrapped yourself deeper beneath the sheets and the lay over of cody's body. 

"we lose a little contact and you forget your manners. that's unfortunate". 

he chuckles. "please?"

"that took a lot out of you huh?" 

"not really". a dramatic little pause, because punk does have a flare for it. albeit in small doses, in his own way. and you can feel him smiling through the phone. can feel the change in tone just before he can give it. "begging is just usually more your thing than it is mine". 

and the truth only hurts, vexes the nerve so, because it is the truth. because it has life. breathing and smiling with the sole objective of tethering itself ungraciously to every little thing you do. 

"can you not?" 

"you like it".

slivers of guilt. peering to look through the glass of the balcony door. cody still sleeping, peacefully unaware. but what is there to be guilty of? the past solely the past. this little phone call but a blip in time. a soundless action amidst the airless void of space. 

"ok, m'sorry". he relents. receiving your silence in full. "i'll stop". 

"i can't do breakfast. it wouldn't feel right". 

"it's just coffee and a little chit chat". 

lies. "i've never had just coffee with you...", memory serving right as the words grow heavy and thick. leaving the tongue less easy than you'd like them to. months of passioned tryst' and rendezvous, from city to city, before and not so long after his return to the company. "...it's always had some accompaniment to it". 

he hums. "i know how to respect a boundary if that's what you're worried about". 

slivers of guilt still. a pang in your chest. the cool morning philadelphia air doing nothing to lessen the heat in your cheeks. "the boundary isn't just for you", admission quick and terse. angered that it had to leave.

this slow to slip along silence. a lazy passing over before he's chuckling again. like the type of amusement you get after a small win. his voice is all raspy satisfaction. "i see", he gives.

"i'm sure whatever you want to say over coffee, you can just say over the phone right now".

"you gonna make me bare my soul over some fuckin radio waves?"

it'd all be a less ceremonious go of words. not so serious. as shapeless and uncategorized as the months were with him. 

"you are notorious for saying things you probably shouldn't, so keep that in mind".

"old habits unfortunately die very hard sweetheart". 

a chill creeping up the spine. riding in along the morning air. "it's almost eight a.m., it's not even a good time to be sharing all this...sentiment". 

"then give me a time and place". 

"i don't know punk, whenever you can get to a target closest to you", laughing a little. the rejection feeling sweet and easy as it leaves you. "they sell journals and diary's with matching pens. that's a good place to put all of your little feelings". 

"ouch".

you stand. watching cody slowly make his way to the bathroom through the glass balcony window. your hand against the handle to slide it open. "i have to go". a quick throw of words before you end the call. pride slowly inching over the skin. 

a successful deterrent.

the “archangels moonsault", a name coined by a collective of your fathers contemporaries. his performance of the golden triangle moonsault habitually flawless. appearing more angel than man as his body soared for some seconds. awe forever struck across the color of your eyes at such a spectacle, so much so, that you wished to live it. and so it went, a song and dance done many times before. the child of a legend attempting to step beyond that harrowing shadow in hopes of creating their own. the awe inspired, attempting now to inspire awe. like the cinematic feat of interstellar travel, viable only through the art of imagination. a play at the impossible, and nothing more. the perpetual falling short of a dangerous aspiration. nerves fraying at the seams and a deep plummeting of the heart. angst, a side effect of near flawlessness. starship pain.

"just keep workin at it", cody said once. watching your frustration after failing to perfect your fathers beloved moonsault. the precision of it lacking. your body insistent on underperformance. resentful of the air.

the encouragement working against its own intention. a bitterness rising to meet your tongue. but the near success of it grows palpable on your fingertips. nagging the nerve endings there so much that it forces into the skin a deep repetition. a cycle of the same thing for weeks on end—house shows, and training, and live events and training, and meet and greets and training, and merch signings and training, and interviews and training, and photoshoots and training—till the system grew faithful. and whichever cracks of free time expose themselves are quickly remedied with cody. because if all these distractions exists, then the time to decipher the bitterness growing on your tongue has no room to live. the ambivalence attempting to sneak in your belly once again, snuffed out by other things. 

and friday night smackdown becomes an interesting state of affairs amidst your little world of moonsault turmoil. cody and punk both drafted, a feud storyline written up by creatives. the new undisputed champion versus the self proclaimed best in the world. a guarantee for money and ratings. which always means good business. your draft to smackdown a grounds for opportunity just the same. a fresh creative direction post-mania. but such good chances don't stop your body's war with itself. feeling the toil of the work, that faithful routine, and refusing to surrender from it's grudge. resentful of the air still. 

but cody remains. his touch heated and sure. a sweet kiss to your skin in the privacy of a dressing room before your first match on the smackdown brand. the memory of his words sticking as you make to kiss him. 'just keep workin at it'. the rush of affection feeling odd. 

"you okay?", his eyes searching. thumb swiping gentle, palm holding at your cheek. 

"yeah", your body odd in it's skin. tempted to leave but feeling the need to stay. you grab his hand. a gentle squeeze of assurance. "i think it's just nerves". 

"you been workin at it hard. it's gonna pay off", he gives. his smile small but bright still. a hand roaming gentle. soothing up your back. 

but the second city saint was, is, never too far behind. posturing himself as the metaphorical rock, adamant on flushing you uncomfortably against a hard place. slivers of mischief in his stride and in coarse perfected words. the smackdown before backlash interesting to say the least. proving itself as the first domino. the main event of the night a strategic volley of words. the returned superstar and the undisputed champion. the knot tying itself about your belly barbarous as it works, watching them dig into each other with dramatic promises of destruction. the usual song and dance of a good promo. waiting for something terrible that affirms the odd abrupt spring ups of guilt and that bitterness refusing to leave your throat. everything of your romance, center stage and dazzling with bright lights for all the world to see. and when the words stop, the crowd jeering for who they hate and loud in delight for who they love, the air grows thick with the way it deafens. 

rough thudding drops of their microphones before that faithful rushing in. fire in their eyes and a close size up of the competition. good drama for the crowd. 

punk breaks with a laugh. similar in an amusement you've heard, felt before. like he's won a small victory. wholly fucking satisfied and happy about it. reaching to whisper something in cody's ear. words that penetrate more than they're supposed to. something a little less fire filled than anger striking bold along cody's expression. like a smoldering yet to come fully ablaze. 

and it is said that for every star, there is a loss of mass in it's life time. a lessening of that gravitational pull. a change of character that threatens its awe. 

his skin warm, but not as balmy. his kiss sweet but the comfort of it waning. the journey to seeing to its ease seeming more painful than letting it be. but the need to try breathes still. living bored and tired and thin, but alive nonetheless. the late hours between the end of the live show and his first official title defense quiet and terrible. all of his little bright smiles and tender touches gone. the beauty of the french hotel drained by this sudden standstill. blue eyes colder and distant. taken by the trouble of overthinking. 

text message | outgoing: wtf did you say to him?

text message | the best in the world: what's my name saved as in your phone? 

your fingers feel weak. tired and unable. the nerves there doing well in fraying at the seams. held hostage by a guilt that refuses to leave.

text message | the best in the world: i'm not really a write my feelings in journals kinda guy, you should know that. i want to see your pretty little face for a chat still. whenever you decide to stop avoiding me. 

text message | outgoing: boundaries remember? or are the new gray hairs screwing your memory

text message | the best in the world: well i figure a little courtesy closure is in order before your boy gets his ass whipped on live television. 

text message | outgoing: closure? can't really close a door that never existed can you? 

a thick, curling cloud of steam rolls into the hotel bedroom from the open door of the shower. a silent invitation to join him—an olive branch living still in spite of his sudden brooding—that your body refuses to indulge. but the air does well in an attempt to suffocate you anyways. skin sweltering uncomfortably. or maybe it's just the ambivalence in your belly and the dull taste of something wrong on your tongue. frayed nerves and this half shaped desire to leave. all of these symptoms living as the summation of...of something that feels too harsh to speak to. your eyes take a steady read over the chain of messages. a once over that happens too many times to happen just once and yet there is no clarity of thought here. 

closure? a type of reconciliation afforded to people once terribly impassioned. and yes, your times with him were fevered. fierce little meetings that left you craving more. but never did the attraction burn so much as to bring about such a heat, that lived closer to something like love than not, or whatever he seems to be feeling. 

but there was that one time in albany. a confusing, charged little tryst. different from the others. his fingers curling in so deep then that he'd bruised your skin, like he was trying to remember you-

"so...", cody starts. a simple word edged with hesitation. bath towel wrapped about his waist as he pads out of the steam of the bathroom. skin wet and tantalizingly inviting. "...you and punk?" and finally it comes. the source of his brooding, his silence. that dejection of touch and affection. 

your phone grows heavy in your hands. plops along the sheets like a weight. "old news", words ironed and pressed. dressed up in a surety, that if spoken with enough, can be believable. because the second city saint is old news. 

his eyes are cold. a gray-blue snatched from the impending roll in of a storm. "feels pretty current", he sighs. turns to the table below the bedroom mirror. searching through a small bag of things. lotions and colognes and clothes and such. his perfect teeth spreading mirthless. "very current actually". 

your body anchors to the bed, and curiosity an anchor in your body. inspires a refusal to move—to go to him, to ease the tension in his shoulders—as the sharp edges of it rip through till it holds deep enough. 

"what'd he say to you?" 

"nothing worth repeating...", hands rubbing about his face. a serum moisturizer. taking up small work as he finds and treads slow through words. tone like that of an interrogators though not nearly as violent. but the suspicion in him bothers to root well enough that it can't be hidden. can't be done away with easily. "just implying a bunch of... of shit. which is interesting because punks not that type of guy on the mic. if it needs to be said, he makes it plain..."

"its a work probably...". tone cool. indifferent. the sensation resting in your belly just the opposite. words spilling, living two fold. an attempt at persuasion overflowing so well that it performs for him and yourself just the same. "...ratings, clicks, views. it's drama for tv". 

"well it feels pretty damn personal". 

"and what?", you scoff. "winning mania wasn't?" 

cody recedes. softens. because winning at mania was personal. business but very personal. the stakes of such a win clinging to the base of his emotions at every breath and turn till the belt rested in his hands. that much you could feel, drawing closer to him in those months—a sweet, innocent friendship born from this great host of similarities—till nearly every moment was spent with each other. his words and his thoughts and his touches becoming more intimate. affections as clear as the perfect beauty of his smile. and then comes the guilt, a drizzle against the air, like the first damning drops before the inevitable chaos of a down pour. your body lighter now. the will to leave him be, to wrestle with his feelings by his lonesome unanchored by the shame of doing so. 

"am i being crazy about this?", he asks. 

you move to him. crossing the exceptional size of the room to embrace him. arms encircling and your eyes gentle. his skin warm and comfortable. your body fighting itself still though, even amidst the vulnerability of him, battling back these slivers of a temptation to leave. "it's a mind game. don't let him win". 

his hands venture. a smooth, sweeping take along your arms till they cradle your face. thumbs tender as they roll at the apple of your cheeks. "and us? this is it right? we're solid?"

your eyes flick to his lips in a means to inspire within yourself some true meaning of devotion. desire and fidelity. your mouth pressing sweetly to the seam of his as you pull him into a deeper embrace. words kept unsaid. buried alive before the work of a damning departure. your tongue soft and slipping gentle. wet and precious enough to elicit a moan. the tension in him waning as he goes, falling further into your show of affection. shoulders unburdened and the heat returning pleasantly to his skin. a performance that convinces only his hesitations and nothing of your own. 

and that lack of conviction reigns over heavily. devastatingly so. failure thundering about your chest, slipping wild through the arms and legs, till it swims heavily about the head. ambivalence working ungracious in the body, like a storm of solar proportions. because cody had done well at backlash, performed greatly against the second city saint as they went head to head in their first of a best of three match. 

but you—your knees buckling just after the press off for the archangels moonsault—do terribly. a harsh botch that leaves your feet to slip, head hitting against the ring before your body can be properly caught. a concussion that blurs your vision for the remainder of the match. 

a number of horrible executions that follow, equilibrium disrupted, all amounting to a slow paced performance. your body resentful, spiteful now too. 

this attempt at a diligent work of resting comfortably in the security of cody's everything, like a roaming out into the hostile environment of space. unprepared and certainly unfit for such an expedition of passion. a fast deterioration of desire and the weakening of a strength to see to its survival. 

this longing for a good and whole and secure thing, a need pulsing your heart strong and persistent, now inverted, though working with the same vigor, to bring you under with a maddening sort of frailty. a self induced bout of muscle atrophy. 

"a break", is what hunter is calling it. his words and eyes this odd, cold meshing of empathy and business. a command that lives without the room to resist and it stings even the strongest parts of your ego. 

punishment by the ether, for aspiring to reach so far, with so much confidence, for something never meant to be had. because stars exist out of reach, with light years of distance, for a reason. 

and the doctor gives a definitive "no" on flying back to the states. a futile joke to follow about getting much needed rest in the "city of love", which in full effect lurches your stomach into a fit so disgusting that it empties. that bile troubling itself in your belly, waiting for its call to action, finally revealing its putrid nature to be formidable and unrelenting. a symptom of the concussion they say, but you know, above all things medically sound, that this is just violent revenge inflicted upon the self. the body taunting the mind for its ill-purposed ambition. trying to fall into something comfortable and love-like with cody was, is, and would always be ill-purposed ambition. 

the air of the suv heavy with that leather interior smell. rolling smooth and slow against the parisian streets on its way back to the hotel. 

cody's finger playing along yours with a soothing caress. a patient concern brushing up the drained make of your face from his eyes. soft music living under the sound of his voice as he goes. "they'll probably clear you to fly in a few days. i can get someone to book a flight for you, and you can just… just be with me...", a gentle tone but living definitive. committing himself to your care. a security you'd always hoped to fully adore. "...and im not saying this like you're unfit to take care of yourself but i wanna help...", his blue eyes looking for a response and receiving much of nothing. a shallow head nod that keeps him rambling. "...i wanna—just let me do this for you. please?", his hand squeezing yours. a feather weight gesture. "let me take care of it, okay?" 

you blink. eye lids heavy with exhaustion. a drained sensation that leaves you too undone for any proper recognition of feeling other than emptiness. your voice hoarse, the acid moving up violent enough that it stole away the fullness of it.

"i hear you cody". 

the last words said to him before his departure from france in the morning. 

an army of texts and calls heating your phone as the sun rose and rested amongst the clouds with a far comfortable distance. a reminder of terribly fated ambitions. water at your bedside that felt like heaven as it settled in and down the body. 

five calls from bianca and encouragement texts of the "i love you" variety. one call from your father and a message that read more definitive than suggestive. "come home when you can", it said. and a text from him. 

text message | the best in the world: heard hunter put you on a bit of a break. im here for you when you need me. 

not if, but when. the confidence even amongst the sympathy, frustrating. an imagining of his cool, more sage than forest, green eyes screwed with pity. the thought of it beating a harsh heat pass skin into blood. rolling in amongst the red till it rushes to anger. a pounding in your skull and a light nausea rocketing the delicate lining of your belly. laid out along the length of a too beautiful parisian couch, your body forced to endure the harsh gravitational pull back down to earthly reality. for there could no longer be an ambitious voyage to that outer enormity, in search of bright, wonderful, comfortable lights. a star so secure in its character that you make no qualms with the threat of it burning your skin before even the reach of full impact. and truly how stupid and cowardly was it anyways? fearful of a different end so much as to suffer with something that just barely scratches the surface of fulfillment. 

fearful of the ill-controlled, imperfect things so terribly that you looked upward in an escape to the stars. 

and though albany, new york is not the perfect choice, it is the most suitable option for what you need. a quiet, reclusive setting that works well for all this wonderfully, amazing, burdensome introspection you've been forced to endure. truths roaming tirelessly about your skull as they look and wait with impatience to be fully actualized. and maybe—agreeing with his decisions against your better judgement and instinct—hunter was right. this "break", needed. a thing that could not be put off on the account of some bruised ego. countless little mishaps and slip ups in ring that had eventually led to a nasty botch during the biggest PLE since mania. the look of it not great for business or your health. but to hear it, to feel the full rejection of it, tears through you something fierce. a complete tattering of your pride till it remained undone in mangled pieces. raw and red and blood filled. and once the doctors give their clearance for you to fly, you leave france silently. without a word to anyone. bags and suitcases packed and ready. the flight to new york like a shipping over into uncharted territory. 

because some truths had made themselves painfully aware already. did not wait for your slow foot drag of a realization. funneling up hot and disgusting with the bile from your empty stomach. 

trying with cody was only a dream, forced and sculpted by your hands and a stubborn will, till it formed with jagged edges. the struggle to fit two unmatched puzzle pieces.  

"your old man'll kill me if he knows you're up here with me and not training with him". a ghost of a laugh living along with the coarse age of his voice. jimmy "the butcher" cruz, a dear old friend of your fathers, and a hall of famer in his own right, sighing agreeably as he speaks over the phone. "but you're welcome any time kiddo. you like my own, y'know that? the gym is here whenever you need it to be". 

"i appreciate you butch", you give. the slow ride to your hotel quiet and familiar.

"let me know if you need anything else".

"will do".

the call drops. a blow of air past your lips working well enough as it plays an odd tune of some mild mannered frustration. a soreness of spirit where the body breathes and functions well, systems and internal processes going on as they should but still there rests this adrift feeling. a weightless sensation. fatigue and an imbalance of any direct thought. confusion. symptoms of the concussion surely, which only do well in leaving you to exist in this dead space limbo. an auto pilot of movement. muscles remembering the weight of things. your suitcases and bags, and the heavy swing back of the hotel doors. memory bruised but alive. because you don't have an explanation for returning to albany. your foot stepping into the quaint beauty of the hotel room like aggressively lifting the unfinished heal of a scab. being here, in this place, like your body is taking the long, necessary journey back down to earth. hot on impact of the surface but ready to land. 

your lips suffering under your teeth and your fingers tingling. a wistful air working about you, brushing up against your skin as a reminder of times past. here in this place with him, before the abrupt end of it all. 

flashback - january 2024 - albany, new york

and it is said, by scientists and theologians alike, that before the creation of everything, there was nothing. whether the world came to be from a Godly "let there be", or this abrupt but explosive expansion across the cosmos, the truth remains here, that we exist not of our own casual volition. and so if this coming into being—a devastatingly beautiful ripple through that forever stretch of space—is as ornate in nature as it is said to be, then how is it that one can exist so unceremoniously with another? passion this slow, steady expansion like that of the universe. his name on your tongue and his grip nestled into delicate skin. eyes fashioned with colors to rival that of those painting the faraway galaxies and the breaths singing between coarse little moaning songs, a great imitation of the wind. surely these are bouts of madness, giving frivolous, near shapeless names, for such heavy performances of affection. 

or maybe it isn't insanity. because don't we always give awful, insufficient names to things we hate. and even more terrible names to things we fear. 

the apple state inn, a small time hotel in albany, new york, is not known for it's size or luxury. a just off the exit, two and a half, maybe three star rated establishment—google reviews and the website beg to differ with one another—with a scarce housekeeping staff and forever stale, day old coffee. always near empty vending machines and a just out of high school receptionist who doesn't know the difference between credit and debit and counts change like they're counting sheep. but the walls are thick and the privacy is immaculate. immaculate enough that it'd be more useful and cost effective to keep from printing do not disturb cards than not. because once the door closes behind him and that roll of his mini suitcase follows him in, you figure—with the way he's nearly suffocating you with his mouth—that he needs all the undisturbed time he can get. 

the cloud over of steam and a stream of hot, prickly, shower water. your fingers sudsy as they comb through the slick, soaked ways of his hair. thumbs sweeping at his nape before the caress behind his ears. these tender little dotting ministrations that make him groan some. a dark, near weightless, trembling sort of song humming up his throat. tattooed fingers feeling stitched into the soft flesh of your hips as the water works to wash away the soapiness of his hair. his nose nudging into yours and the slight height of him leaving this impression about you that he's surrounding you some. working to consume. to prove with a wordless go of his everything that he's the best in the world. 

that thick curl of heat and the prod of his hard dick against your leg don't help either. his tongue jutting against your lips—a little lick that you chase with enthusiasm—as he smooths it over his own. such a damn tease. your body alive and burning with a war of feelings. not so little sensations that burst at your neck and your mouth and your chest and the warmth pulsing between already wet legs. the proximity of him damning to whatever words you used before to name your current state of affairs. because this seems a little more than casual. a little too charged and full of breath and life to be just a fulfillment of those nagging, sultry, desperate, bodily desires. because it's never felt this impassioned before. this slow and meticulous. a strangulation about the heart that makes the muscle somehow pump harder, faster. like if it fights for life, for it's right to be as its always been, than maybe it can survive the domineer of whatever this is.

the soap dissolves from his hair, washing down into the drain. your fingers remaining still. running dull over his scalp. a deep caressing. an act living so well that it forms it's own memory in your fingers. the seam of his lips pecking at yours. tiny, lax, unhurried kisses that work like they have till the end of the expansion of the universe. 

a laugh cuts up from your chest. like it's unsure it even wants to escape. a fear that it'll have to explain itself. 

cool green eyes and a spark of diligence you've only seen him have when he's wrestling. "what?"

"nothing, it's just...", eyes failing to meet him. dim as they take to the littered ink all over his chest instead. "...this is strangely intimate no?" because it is. the usual air of your rendezvous' living with a more curt edge to it. an urgency of spirit. something great and simple and to the point. made and brought about from a deep mutual attraction, but for the pure sake of fulfillment. 

and maybe your words, amounting to this cautioned little question, have put some distance between your bodies. like the air and nerve to say it leaves the both of you just a little more distant than seconds before. and it must have, because he's fastening himself to you. skin pressing hotly over skin, a slow mold, leaving you to shiver up against cool tiling. mouth still a sweet tease over yours. palm sweeping down and under to cup your thigh till it's hitching up into his palm and cinched to his waist. "i take last minute flights to nameless little, kinda three star hotels, to eagerly stick my dick in you...", his hips canting up. nudging at the sensitive bloom of your slit. lips at the curve of your ear. his breath hot and your skin shuddering. "...and i'm not knockin the hotels..", he chuckles. "...i'm just sayin. it's a bit of a journey to make it to you. this whole thing has been pretty intimate in a way for a while". 

you take slim little nips at your lip. "does that bother you?"

an earnest moan escaping as he slots his lips along yours for a real kiss. the gentleness of it turning sharp as his teeth glide to pull your lip. "why would it?...", tongue led kisses. hands cradling him hostage. his mouth tasting like the sweets he indulges in before he meets you. "...our whole thing is a little informal but that doesn't mean we can't have a moment...", nipping a trail to your neck and kissing over the slights as he goes. breath at your pulse and the thick heat of him slotting and nudging still between your legs. "...or moments". his words these actors of persuasion. as if muddying the lines of a casual thing has ever been good for anyone foolish enough to do it. 

"does it bother you?", he gives into your neck. fixing your hips to the wet wall as he grinds into them. 

the air thick still. his hair fine under your fingers as they find a home there. your lips kissing his shoulder. dazed by the sensation of shared little whispers and the hard ride of him provoking your arousal to slip and your belly to roll with delicious quiver. "no", you hum. meeting his hips with a roll of your own. "i think it makes our thing more enjoyable". words shaky and a shitty contradiction to the inevitable. 

because this thing, this flare of a sensation—soldering hot to melt your bones—is neither unceremonious or fleeting. it is that forever expansion, forming from nothing into something after the abrupt snap that wills it into being. a universe of a feeling housed in the fragility of skin, simple sweeping touches and the persistence of his eyes. 

your body is this picturesque take to the sheets. his arms strong, a gentle carry before he's settling to slot between your legs. wrapped up in your thighs and his lips placing delicate. and no, not like the simplicity of it would work in a means to break you, but like the need for reverencing runs deep enough that it'd feel like sin to ignore it. and cm punk has never been a man of self-denial. his tongue curling against yours, sweet and patient. hums of moans and the warmth of him working in beautiful opposition to the cool sheets. his thumb soothing up your jaw, palm cradling your cheek, like he's keeping the angle of your lips just where he likes it to be. control living easy in him. pressing kisses in without the urgency of forethought. 

and maybe the apple state inn deserves a five star rating. a review that speaks to the allure of low yellow lights and that natural smell of lavender stuck to the walls. 

an embarrassing sort of greediness spills over. hips rocking clumsily to rush into the simple glide through of his fingers at your slit. a firm circling with his thumb but still sedated. a measured touch that nearly aches your teeth in anticipation. breaths short and brattish whimpers. your back curling, attempting to steer him to the tight throb of your entrance. 

he's enjoying this. teeth nipping your lips with a small smile. nails digging at his arms in need. "please". a drawl of a whine. 

a gentle, testy, shallow, slip into your pussy makes him groan. raw and unmoderated. your legs falling over the muscles of his thighs, spread for him as he dips and retracts. the lewd little sound of it hot to the ears. "don't rush my process", teeth gripping into your neck. tongue following to sooth. 

you squeeze his arm. digging what exists of sharp nails into tattooed skin. impatience unruly. "fuck your process, i wanna-"

an emptiness. the dip of his lone finger gone, replaced with the swift swat of his hand at your slit. a gasp cutting up quick, your body jostling from the speed and the cruelty of it. nestling then in pleasure that rolls in after. his tongue still at your neck. remedying skin sure fated to bruise in the morning. your clit overly wet and throbbing and sliding messily along the idle way his finger just sits there. resting right over without a mind to do something useful. the second city saint, a bastard and a half. 

his laugh breaks into your skin. a little wry and a little mean. like maybe he thinks you're too audacious. so vulnerable and desperate and still making demands. "you barely know what you want for breakfast sometimes...", he starts. forehead pressed into yours. his right hand playing through the easy slip of your folds and the other tight as they ball the sheets near your head. like all of his control is stored there. knuckle white tight and fighting to stay strong. "...so whatever shit you think you want, it's just you being impatient and greedy. i guess its that only child syndrome shit". 

"fuck you", you cut. nudging your face against his. cheeks roughing over the gray of his beard. defiance rife. 

"oh sweetheart", he sings. a drawl of a tenor voice that makes you shudder. makes your hands cling to him tighter. like your hold there could maybe cause it to wring out more of his voice and breath, warm and sweet over your body. "you got not the slightest idea how much you're gonna eat every letter of what your just said". kissing your mouth harder. tongue sweeping with a less gentler purpose. lips pulling and suckling and nearly suffocating. looking to savor the dirty taste of your words. touch taking an abrupt curl into your pussy. a steady wet stroke that rattles your body with an almost ugly moan. almost. "you been drivin me crazy since before i got on that flight...", tongue lapping at your yours. a stress of a moan working up as he seats his finger deeper. "...been thinking about touching you for days". 

and you rush to meet the feed in of it. an upswing of your hips, urging him just that much deeper. praying for the feel of it along that sensitive little spot inside that makes your skin jitter and your breathing short. your hands cradling his face close. a tough hold in his hair as you suck his tongue. a lazy timeless go if it, nearly falling so well into it that you almost lose yourself. 

"someone sounds a little obsessed", you give against his lips. 

his eyes green but nearly black and piercing. forehead pressed to you still. "unfortunately yes". an almost whisper if not for the bass of it. 

your heart hammering. fearful and exhilarated all the same. 

and you can feel his mouth on yours still, moving and hot and dangerous even as your eyes close for some feen for reprieve. a break from the diligence of his own. but you can hear him, the pry the noise of him takes to flesh, like he's opening up and splitting your nerves at the seams. "want you to show me what you do when i'm gone...", kissing your lips sweetly. a second finger joining the first. burying deep to the knuckle and balancing with perfection the deftness it takes to numb your brain with bliss. clit nudging against the add of his thumb. sensitive and the sensation of it blooming it's way till it reaches your toes. "...wanna see how good you take care of yourself when i'm not with you'. 

that lavender smell soaked into the walls filling your lungs. the tips of your fingers pressing his thumb in till it's flush up against the swell of your clit. control ill suited to your body as you groan in his mouth. 

back curling in with another arch. nipples aching and needy and up against his chest. 

your longing this breathy, moaning, call to action. his mouth quick with a salacious answer, finding your body there. a flat, wide, lick over the twist of it. deep in it's savoring. curling and flicking and smiling about the perk of it as he feels you cling wet to his fingers. the pad of his thumb touched by the throb in your clit and the tight press you lay over it. keeping him there as he drags long and steady through your pussy. a greedy moan of his bleeding into your skin as it leaves him, the ball of your nipple playing in his mouth before he's suckling with tongue and prying with his hot mouth. wringing up the pleasure till it's voicing pliant and needy for him. teetering a line of overindulgence where he forsakes control. breaths heavy and hungry as he moves on to the other. a similar treatment that forces your hips to buck. a harsh, abrupt spurring that slips him deeper. right there, nestling and stroking lewd still. "harder, baby", you gasp. clutching the sheets. control lost. sporadic ruts that feen for that touch again. 

"there?", humming at your breast. fingers just a little more vicious. the sensation sweetening your blood as it heats.

throbs undulating your skin, like the rippling push of something that goes on to last forever. his thumb releasing to let your have at your own undoing. lips suffering under your teeth. eyes glazed and your head tipped into the sheets. chasing that bliss as it waits to unfurl all over. 

"yes", gasping. a tiny, pleading soprano. small and aching as it leaves you. trembling soft under him, the beginning of it rocking into you slowly. "oh God, i-", labored breaths and groaning. your fingers running up sloppy at your clit and his mouth suckling still. fucking into you with a purpose you're sure that entails seeing you go mad. "i'm coming ". 

he releases your nipple with a simple pop of his lips. returning to sweep his tongue through the awestruck expression of your mouth. a sloppy kiss. wet and meshing and a little mindless. pussy drooling still as it steeps and clings and throbs. 

"not sure he'd love hearing you say that but i sure do", a frail kiss at the edge of your mouth. "say it again". 

"i'm coming", you pant. short cuts of breath he presses his lips over. 

a glint to his eyes. gaze cascading over. appraising the state of your unraveling. "and so pretty doing it too". 

you hiss. body collecting with a short hitch, like it means to ease the landing of this brace-less thing. an effort made in vain as the violence of it takes you. his throat humming satisfied, and the work of his fingers going on still to brush up against that deeper, delicate, slip of skin in you that drives you crazy. a bright, pitchy, "fuck", flying off the tip of your tongue as you curl in and lose yourself. a wordless, world of a feeling. an inconceivable burst of color behind the eyes and your lungs fighting for those better takes of air. unruly and exposed. skin teeming with too much of a good thing. the bed dipping and un-dipping, the shift of him living just at the edges of your awareness. the taste of former words heavy and thick in your mouth, like he said they'd be. his fingers collecting your thighs to adjust the way they reveal the mess of you. 

a trail of dainty kisses as he ventures low. a journey over flesh to mark his appearance. a quiver playing your nerves, his tongue slipping to lick long along the full bloom of your slit. messy and drunk, like the careless indulgence of a reward long awaited. drawling moans and the grip in your thighs meaner than any touch he's given you thus far. a drive of his tongue through where you pulse and drip. weak hands near dead, trying their hardest to ease him off. eyes recovering and lazy, watching him go greedy. another hiss through your teeth, one now that indulges. a little less than brutal hold in his hair that keeps him close. the end of an old pleasure making way for a new one. suckling your clit like he did other parts of skin. little bursts of pleasure breaking to the surface, your hips rutting to following the sensation blindly. 

his quickness, a jarring little feat. feeding tongue into your mouth to share the taste of you. your thumbs over his cheeks and your thighs hiking over his hips. the hard heat of him grinding along till it's snug and laying at your slit. 

and even the thought of him slipping in is enough to leave you shivering. 

"how do you want me?" 

"deep". a thoughtless answer. your tongue wetting your lips, aching for it. "just take it, take me. i-", desperate and thin feeling. "please", you stress. 

his earlier words a little clearer. thoughts and imaginations disrupted, having been troubled by the thought of you. his diligence running vengeful. 

and there is nothing exactly satiating about this, about the pace, the life of it, of this. heavy feeling as he makes to stretch you deep. filling to the hilt and nestled comfortably so. like perhaps he was always meant to be there. your throat singing, breathy and filling his mouth as he makes to kiss you. a softness to you, boneless and subdued. the slightest touches made into something bigger and greater. a hand held at your thigh, a smooth reach till its hooking under your knee and the other calm and patience, the thumb of it stroking your forehead. 

"not much for being a selfish prick but i need you lookin at me", he rasps. cool green eyes just a bit warmer under the low lights. gentle and arresting. "so beautiful", like a whisper to himself. "i wanna see em when i'm coming in you", he gives. testing your devotion with a push of his hips. 

something heavy and dismantled erupting in his chest. bass-y and coarse, breathing over your mouth. his lips making like they mean to kiss you but never fully getting to the completion of it. your thighs housing a sweet aching and your ears burning hot, pleasured by the noise of him. the way his body slowly conforms to being taken in. easy and patient and terrible for his nerves. "yeahhh", he drawls, like an agreement of some staggering pleasure made with the self. or maybe a noise of satisfaction made pure by completion. 

whimpers stuttering and cut with short breaths. your eyes glassy and your throat gaining that bit of heaviness. softly trembling, and feeling crazy under the weight of his eyes. like such vulnerability would soon be your end. a quiet sob breaking free, fingers sinking into his skin for dear life. your pussy quivering desperate, clutching hot as he gives a slow, firm, slipping stroke, pressing in enough that it makes you whole. 

terror delighting it self in your bones. pressure in the body heavy enough to make diamonds. a tear slipping tenderly, falling over your cheek, the trouble of another release gathering in your belly. 

he kisses the wet streak along your face. lewd and hot and wet, pussy pulling at him softly to stay. an endearing path being made upon the skin, a light press of his lips everywhere. silent and filled with purpose.  

it isn't enough to let go, to deny the self of a former ambition. solid ground must be met, a full impact made regardless of how unsavory the process is. this quiet, contemplative, stretch of time in albany, not so dissimilar to a travelers great return to earth. readjustments made to air and the gravity. a re-stabilization of things—your walking and your turning and your weight against the ropes of that faithful squared circle and your ego—because a concussion only made your body's resentment more of a hell to deal with. compromise, a great ordeal with the self, a testier thing to endure even. a month of falling away, deep into the recesses of a particularly dark shadow. a host of memory lanes and the diminishing of self importance. FOMO a real bitch and a half to deal with. the frustration buried beneath skin feeling more childlike than anything else, eyeing the others as they roam and enjoy, from the window of your injury styled detention. week after week, nestled at the back of a little less than dingy sports bar, watching your friends and colleagues perform at the greatest arena's and stadiums. 

but the time away made for an easier reclamation, a confession you wouldn't speak well too aloud, lest it proved hunter's opinions right. your head clear of that horrible knock of an ache against your skull and the nausea more than minimal. 

minimal, but not gone. a small swim of it rippling your belly. flowing against the slosh of ginger beer you've become friendly with since discovering the existence of 'porters dive bar'. an albany staple for the city's exuberant wrestling community. the spice of the ginger steeping your tongue and the fizz of the liquid rolling over to test the limits of your stomach. like the first weary steps of a travelers feet back on earth. a fear of failure but an eagerness of spirit regardless. the building back of strength and resistance. a well made sort of exposure therapy. 

your phone pings. another one of his messages appearing. his televised win against cody at an arena in albany, working like a kindling for this abrasive flare styling his words. ego on fire and looking to consume. 

text message | the best in the world: soon i'm gonna stop asking to see you and just show up unannounced. you know i'm close right? where are you?

text message | outgoing: porter's dive bar 

and this here is the full impact. a hypersonic re-entry. soaring past atmospheric layers as the body is once again enveloped by earths gravity. reality styled with its many worldly limitations. rich colors and coarse ground and a pulling weight in your bones. 

talking to him is that meeting of skin against solid ground. the unsavory process. 

your phone pings again. fingers slipping against the screen to reveal who. dread coursing wild and unfettered. a quick washing in your blood that plunges the heart. 

text message | cody r: can we meet sometime soon? to talk? 

text message | outgoing: of course.

you owe him that much. an explanation—regardless of how terrible it will form on your tongue. bile and a lack of brilliance born from guilt.—of your faults and self misguided decisions. but it's all just another step. a heel toe to reclaim familiarity with the earth. building back the strength lost from that unruly lack of ambition, from that great deal of muscle atrophy. 

the wooden chair opposite your booth seat scoots harshly against the floor. his entrance screeching your nerves to wake with a horrible sort of surprise. the cool green of his eyes hidden beneath the curl over of a ball cap brim. shoulders squared and wide and persistent. "you look good", he gives. sitting across from you. "refreshed". 

you settle your phone down. a soft tremble in your fingers as you make to embrace one hand in the other. the feel of his gaze, like the easy thin slice of a razor over thick skin. a surgical opening that leaves you bare to eyes and air alike. useless to yourself and a short ways from uncomfortable. fighting against a painless pain, against that shameful, irritating weakness that comes with vulnerability. fears and slivers of frustration born from this ill-controlled performance. because cm punk, the best in the world, makes you vulnerable. 

you take one of the two ginger beers off the table. sipping at the cool spice of it for some reprieve. "your first words are always about how i look".

"because i'm unfortunately very invested in your wellbeing". 

"unfortunately?" 

"s'not a whole lot of reciprocation on that front". words not minced. eyes trailing to look over the cold glass left untouched. his curiosities moving him to bring it closer. "what is this?"

"ginger beer". watching him sniff at the rim of the glass before he tests the taste. the spice of the ginger and the fizz delightful and cold sober. "reciprocation". the truth of it cutting across the air, to give something deep and sharp and exacting against whatever assumptions he's made amidst his resentments. because while your investments into his wellbeing weren't as vocal as his for yours, they still hold firm in some form of existence. 

"where you been hiding out?"

"our little go to hotel".

he shifts the curl of the brim to reveal more of his eyes. in a manner that allows you to see them well enough. to get the gist of whatever mixture of emotions they take. a hardened sort of confusion styling them now as your answer sinks in. "why there?" 

hesitation. like the stutter of your foot after a misstep. body afraid to fail, afraid to fall after that great coming back to earth. "not sure". 

his nose flares. a fierce movement. and then his jaw. a chain reaction of many things. as if to curb the brunt of his anger. this overbear of a deep vexing, he pulls into the constraint of words. hard eyes and a harder tongue. "you got a real nasty habit of not saying the things you mean and i can really do without it". 

but it was enough, too much even to admit such wrongdoings amidst the court of your own thoughts and imaginations. resentment housed by the body, less sore as the days venture on, but still aching in the skin. felt in the abruptness of harsh maneuvers. swimming knocks in the head and your balance disturbed. those disgusting dull bursts of nausea and a heaviness in your body. exhaustion from nothing. "...and what is it exactly that you want from me?" 

"a little transparency", he grits. "some honesty".  

"i was fine with cody...was on my way to something substantial even', you give. a corral of words you feel were truthful sometime ago. back when the ambition felt sure and not so unattainable. before muscle deep resentment and injury. "we fell away from each other naturally...", words more like a tool. these builders of persuasion. and God what horrible persuaders they were. everything falling off the tongue half made and shoddily voiced. "...but in true cm punk fashion, whenever you don't like something anymore you get pissy about it. threw a dirty little wrench into my relationship to screw me over". 

his chair stresses against the floor. body pulling in closer. fury stored in the pull in of his brows. "you screwed yourself. threw yourself headfirst into bullshit because you're scared. called what we had a thing, because if you actually put a decent name to it then you'd have to admit how you feel about me, and how much that terrifies you...", his tone hushed and curt and piercing. "because cody is safe and easy and if he fails at making you happy, it's no real loss at all right? because you were never really in all the way anyways". 

you feel thin. subdued and quite overwrought by all this exposure to him. "you had time to say something. why wait till when i'm with someone else?"

he sighs. settles into an answer like it's the hundredth time he's come to the conclusion of it. "spent since january trying to get rid of you and it didn't work for me, and you were on live tv botchin the hell out of everything, trying to get rid of me, so i don't think it really worked for you either...so here we are". 

the air thick and the silence loud. the droning of the bar easing in to fill the space. a hard siphon of the energy by words and the confession of not so dead feelings. your ginger beers icy still and watered. a waitress comes, strutting up to your table. 

"you guys need anything?"

"two more of these ginger beers please", punk gives. a small smile as she leaves. 

his eyes the color of garden sage. softer now. flitting over your face with a renewed sense of diligence.

and it's more clear now than it's ever been. he isn't going anywhere. 

your fingers curl, a slow coming together into your palm to ball. multi-purposed, squeezing to live a little in that familiar burst of an ache. bones and muscles flexing as the skin pulls some. a summation of weariness. knuckles breaking against the door to knock. a similar rhythm playing in your chest, because cody could be many things. sad. angry. vexed. indifferent. he could speak wild or terribly soft, but inspire another layer of guilt to lay at your skin just the same. 

"just a second", he gives. bass in the voice and words slipping thick like over his tongue. in that way that he tries to cover some but can't help. 

a shift in your leg, like the anxious pinch of a nerve. a jerk or maybe a pulling. you're not sure what it is, but it's asking to move. to leave. to maybe do this another time. "i can come back later if you want", shouting some over the regular drone of pre-live show buzz. one hand slipping away from the cool metal of the door handle and the other undoing from that ache of a fist. making to about face into the fray of crew members. but he must recognize your voice, even through the thickness of the door. must've settled himself enough in whatever emotions he's living in.

his voice rushing. like he can feel you falling away from this long overdue talk. "no no, come in. i'm good. come in". 

your hand returns against the door handle. cool metal more like an icy burning. stepping into his dressing room like a re-entry into the world of him. his hair retouched to the roots, a cold blonde that pops his already sky blue eyes. his hands roughing with his wrestling boots. blinking up at you silently. mouth parted and slightly lost for words. like he'd maybe rehearsed everything and has now forgotten all the brilliance of it. a sigh leaving with that realization. like he'll have to forsake all the prearranged self made discussion and go about this a little less practiced. "you look well", he gives. with a nod. "the break did you some good". 

"yeah", stepping in further. arms folded over. body overly aware of his appraisal. "that seems to be the consensus". 

his throat clears, brows pulling together before they fall away quickly. this awkward abrupt movement that reveals the slow work of his thoughts. gears oiled and turning and trying out words before he says them. a farer cry from his in-ring persona, where he's suited and pristine and seemingly always ready. the little action of it making him more human to the eyes and less star-like. something you would have shrunk away from before out of fear that it would cause him some lackluster effect, now finding in its own imperfections, very endearing. 

"was it something about me, or anything i ever did that kinda just-...?", his voice falling off. left to motion oddly between your bodies with his hands. miming a separation. like finishing the words, allowing them to live in the air, would cause them to be true. 

"no! no, it was...", trying to find something not so terrible to soothe him with. stepping a little closer to him. arms unfolded. like the honesty begging to leave you for some time has now taken command of your body and it's functioning. "...i wasn't being honest about a lot of things with myself and it spilled over into what we had going on, and i'm really sorry about that". 

and he nods. not like he's accepting of it all but like he gets it. like he's relating to you. eyes softer, made vulnerable by his own truth. "all the...all the asinine bullshit leading up to mania just...", his eyes rolling as he remembers the trouble of it. "...on top of already wanting the belt for personal reasons, it just drove me crazy. and i think in the midst of that, i leaned in on us a little harder than i should've. maybe more than i planned to". fingers scratching and curling up into his hair, going about aimlessly almost. giving himself something to do to remedy the weight of his words. "we have quite a bit in common so...the intimacy was good enough, it-it was easy to just hold on to. i think we were both faking it to make it". 

your throat grows heavy, face warm with the well up of tears. relief meshing easy with the sadness of it all. the both of you willing to settle, if it meant being comfortable and not alone. a heartbreaking circumstance to force upon the self for sure.

"can i...?", your hands motioning for an embrace. 

"of course, c'mere".

his arms warm and comforting as he takes you in. wrapped tightly, with a friendly sort of affection. an earnest touch, made not to linger in a performance of desire but to give solace. sniffling against his chest as he squeezes tightly. 

"don't you start crying for real...", he jokes. "...cause then you're gonna make me cry".

you smile. slipping away from him gently. "well that don't take much so..." 

his eyes roll. grabbing the outer jacket that completes his in-ring gear. 

your fingers sweep under your eyes to rid of the wet streaks. shoulders less heavy and the dread in your chest no longer fighting to consume. making to leave his dressing room. "don't go easy on him either. i need him a little softened up". 

"will do". 

you make a full exit. slipping your phone from your pocket. his name under your thumb as you press against it. memory serving well, thinking of that sports bar in albany and all the empty glasses of ginger beer spread across the table. the vex about his face growing gentler as the night carried on. that line in the sand washed away, the boundary blurred and then made new into something with a better shaping. his cool, pale, sage eyes working like he wanted to remember that moment. like the satisfaction of having you in front of him again without any attempts to break away from him, was too good to simply be lost to time. 

you click to call and wait for his answer. an impatience running in your fingers as you make to join the producers and tech operators at the staging area. 

he answers. a simple, coarse, "yeah", that sweetens your ears.

"have breakfast with me tomorrow", you give. plain and a little demanding. "please?" 

he hums. amusement in his voice like he's smiling. 

"time and place sweetheart". 

[dreamauri]

Hey lovely, I’d love to please request something along the lines of being on the McLaren team and being wayyy off, exhausted and quiet during quali or media day and Lando doesn’t like it one bit

♪ — 𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗘𝗘𝗘𝗘𝗘𝗘𝗘𝗘𝗘𝗘 lando norris  x  fem! reader (fluff) “. . . Lando hates when his pr manager gets all grouchy, he does everything to make you smile and laugh.”

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests | taglist )

"Lando please." You pushed his face away from you gently. Peace and silence returned again and you were able to go back to racking through emails and arranging interview schedules. Until you felt the boy pocking your cheek again. You pursed your lips, taking in a deep breath. Blinking had as you turned to face the young brit.

Lando paused for a second before smiling widely at you. "Hi." "Lando, I'm trying to work. Please." He only gave you an angry pout, folding his arms. "You're being so grouchy." He commented, slipping on the couch armrest and sitting next to you, practically glued to you since there was no space left between your bodies with his chin resting on your shoulder.

You sighed again, rolling your eyes playfully as you continued t work. "I'm getting tiered, can we take a break." You gave him a look of un-amusement. It was early Thursday and he was doing absolutely but stick to your side and bug you with questions.

"My body is like a car, Y/N. I need fuel to keep running." You hummed raising your eyebrows, playing along. "Oh no, there's no gas station nearby. I'll have to turn the car off till we're close." You joked, booping his nose making a 'beep beep' as if you turned of the car.

Lando chuckles slightly, pulling the laptop out of your hands. "Dear PR Manager," You tried to stop him from reading out loud only for him to stand up out of your reah. "bla bla bla. boring boring boring." you tried to get up and catch him but he was much faster than you.

"Work is boring and food is fun." Lando sums up, slamming the thing shut and tossing it on the couch. You panicked for a second thinking it was going to fall and break, but thank god it landed safely. "You're too tight." You give Lando a glare at the comment. "Lets just go eat." He held his hand out for you.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"we're going to fall." "we're not gonna fall." "we're going to fall." "we're not gonna fall." "we're going to fall." "we're not gonna fall." "LANDO, WE'RE GOING TO FALL!" "WE'RE NOT GOING TO UMPH—" you found yourself falling on top of Lando, oddly enough the fall was comfortable, you couldn't the same for the brit who was groaning under you.

"This actually a very comfortable car." You joked standing up, helping him on his feet." I don't appreciate this engine laughing." He poked your chest huffing. You didn't even notice you were laughing. "Lets just go— Hey! Gorge passed us!" And you resumed the little imaginary scooter race Lando held with the unsuspecting gorge russel.

"Haha, see you sucker!" You were dying right there, balancing on the metal while Lando held his wide grin, overtaking the Mercedes driver. Once you arrived at the exit of the paddock, Lando parked his scooter somewhere keeping his arm wrapped around your waist as you walked out to the parking lot.

"Guess where we're going." He asked you once he got to putting his seatbelt on. You took a moment, sitting in the passenger seat and getting comfortable. ". . . I have no idea." You hummed as Lando started getting out of the parking lot. "Just take a guess." He told you, reaching over and buckling your seatbelt for you, kissing his cheek before exiting the parking lot.

You gave him a look of uncertainty. "Wendy's?" He glared at you looking offended. "How the fuck did you know that." "Pfft." You laughed leaning your face in your hands. "What the fuck Y/N, are you reading my mind?" He pocked you side, giving you an ungly side eye.

"Hey—" You giggled, pushing his hand away. Lando gasped looking at you. "Are you ticklish?!" "I'm not!" "Oh you so are!" "Just consentrate on driving." "Y/N, let me assure you that I'm the best driver on the grid." "Lando you have zero wins." "Hey! I'll get my first pretty soon!" "Just drive."

[zoros-sake-bottles]

What you'd argue with them over! Pt.2 (Zoro, Sanji & Law)

READ PT. 1 FIRST

https://www.tumblr.com/zoros-sake-bottles/719410532748328960/what-youd-argue-with-them-over-pt1-zoro?source=share

Zoro

After that argument the with Zoro about him not caring for his health you weren’t the same

You began allowing him to do what he saw fit

He’d injure himself and you wouldn’t say a word

You refused to nag him-to beg him to think about his body, but that didn’t mean you didn’t care

So you thought of a way to prove your point…and that was putting yourself in harms way constantly

In order for him to understand where you were coming from, he was going to have to see it himself … on you

So the day after that you continuously allowed yourself to get hurt in battles

At first it was little things like scrapes, cuts and bruises, Zoro saw these but didn’t pay them much mind because of how small they were

But over time it became more excessive, you allowed your opponent to freely bang you up before defeating them

You’d come back with bigger bruises covering your rib cage, you even had a busted lip

At one point he just couldn’t take it anymore and while you were getting treated he burst into the room and told Chopper to take five, leaving you two alone

“....What the hell was that out there?” is all he says as he stares down at you on the hospital cot

“A fight-”

“Screw that y/n, you know what I mean!” his jaw is clenched as he looks at your body all bruised and bleeding

You sit up holding your broken rib and Zoro’s arms go out to help you but you push them away

“Look at yourself, seriously, you shouldn’t be-”

You ignore him, going as far to stand up

Your legs wobble excessively as you take small steps

“Y/n sit down, your in no shape to go do anything right now-”

Your leg buckles as you continue to try and walk your breath becoming more like a wheeze

“Y/n! Alright! Enough! I get it!” Zoro grabs your shoulders and looks into your eyes

His body shakes a bit and his eyes are deeply concerned as he guides you back onto the cot

“You proved your point just-.....sit down” his voice stresses as he helps you onto the cot and covers you with a blanket

Despite the pain your in you find it in you to laugh a bit, it makes you look unhinged

You have dried blood under your nose and your bottom lip is swollen but all you can think about is how your plan worked

Zoro’s sits down on a stool in front of you, he shakes his head and sighs as he runs a hand down his face “crazy woman…” he mutters

Sanji

Since the argument Sanji has apologized to you countless times and you know that he means them some what

He's sorry that he upset you, he's sorry that you felt like you had to resort to physical violence

He doesn't understand the issue at hand and so as much as you hated what you were gonna do you had to give him a taste of what you experience with him on a daily

You started subtly allowing yourself to be hit on by males

You were a girl that could handle yourself so usually Sanji just watched (intensely and angrily) in these situations as you told the men off

But can you imagine his face when you didn't tell the guys to kick rocks?!

When you accepted the sleazy compliments and even gave some!

Sanji nearly went comatose as he watched you joyfully conversate with a scumbag at a bar

His jaw dropped as you laughed at the strangers jokes and even poured him more sake in his shot glass

"Mon cheri!? W-what's-I-I…why'd you-"

"Why what?" you reply nonchalantly

"T-that garbage man was…he was sexualizing your body dear!"

"Your being dramatic Sanji he was just expressing to me how much he admired my beauty-"

"My love no, that scum was undressing you with his eyes"

"your being ridiculous"

Sanji looks hurt as he tries to appeal to you somehow but his words just weren’t getting through

The man comes back and right in front of Sanji he’s about to caress your hair

There's no way Sanji would allow that, he ends up kicking the half drunk in the stomach sending him flying through the bar

Your jaw drops as you look up at him

Sanji face is scrunched as he looks at the guy knocked out, half his body in the bar and the other half hanging out

“Sanji-”

Sanji turns to you and takes your hands in his and with an inhale he says

“Mon amour, I cannot imagine how you feel when this happens to me and I am so sorry that I didn’t take the issue serious enough to the point you had to do a demonstration like this, I'm a fool” 

He rubs your hands with his thumbs and he seems still very heated from the entire ordeal

You can’t even stay mad at Sanji because of how jealous he looks

“I forgive you baby, I'm glad you can see what I go through…” 

You smile softly at him and he looks at you with a smudge of a smile

“....you didn’t have to compliment his hair….it wasn’t even nice” Sanji mumbles still jealous

You giggle and caress his face 

“You're right it was an ugly orange color but do you know what my favorite color is?”

Sanji looks at you curiously

“Yellow” 

You give him a kiss and he blushes not even thinking about that stupid drunk from before. He just wants to drown in your praises

Law

After the argument you both had before he has been acting as if it never happened

He gave you time to cool of but when you came back he didn’t apologize but rather gave you a task to fulfill

Its as if that was his way of saying that you overreacted and that it wasn’t that deep

You decided to keep it all inside, that's all Law ever did anyway so he shouldn’t have had a problem with you doing the same

You were tired of being labeled as over emotional every time something got you riled up or hurt your feelings

You wanted to be taken seriously by Law

One day you were listening in on Law's meeting that he had purposely left you out of

It seems he was planning on having the crew go to a dangerous island that had a poneglyph on it next 

This idea is tossed around because Law isn’t risky and nonchalant like his fellow members of the worst generation

He is precise as a surgeon should be

You were all running low resources and the island was close so it was decided that the crew would stop at the island for resources ONLY

So once you all arrived at the island you decided to sneak off and take prints of the poneglyph

It definitely wasn't easy and you had plenty of cuts and scrapes but it was all worth it and you couldn't wait to see the look on Law's face!

When you arrived back it was about afternoon, you searched for the submarine in the water but your eyes landed on your irritated boyfriend instead

He leaned against a rock his arms crossed his head tilted down

"y/n ya, tell me three things"

You can feel the disapproval oozing off of him and before you know it your being 'shambled' 

You reappear in front of him

"What was the plan?" "Where have you been?" "Who's your captain?"

"The plan was to retrieve resources and I chose to act alone on my own little mission, I don't know what the big deal is you do it all the time" You scoff turning your head away

Almost immediately he is turning your head back with his long slender fingers

"Do I look like I'm in the mood for games? Do you know how long I've been standing here?, We were done with the mission hours ago" he stares into your soul with his dark eyes

You almost always came close to folding when he had you like this

"I-...well-" You sputter watching his sharp eyebrow lift

"You can't even defend yourself, look at you blubbering like a moronic fish"

You feel embarrassed slightly but you don't back down "I got a print of the poneglyph" 

You shove the scroll into his face but it's almost as he doesn't see it

"Does go and buy some rice and dried meat sound like go and get the poneglyph to you? If so I'm going to check your hearing right now"

"I-"

He holds your wrist and you wince as he examines you, even though he's clearly upset, he's tending to you like your made out of glass

Its silent as he slowly rotates you, he touches at your shoulder and when you hiss it confirms whatever analysis going on in his brain

"You need stitches" he grumbles

"I'll do it myself, anyway look" you thrust the poneglyph into his face again

He takes the print from you and tsks before making it disappear 

"Law!-"

"What? Am I supposed to be happy you went against my orders and got yourself injured all to prove meager point"

Your shoulders sink "...did-...did it work at least?"

He sighs as takes off his hat before running his hands through his raven hair

"....It's hot as hell…and…i'm hungry"

You tilt your head and raise an eyebrow, was he changing the subject "What?"

"My back is killing me…"

You blink, was this his way of apologizing? Was he trying to communicate now?

You swallow and kick at the grass "I-I…I can massage it for you" you blush lightly "if you want-"

"That sounds heaven sent" he gives a small smirk 

"Oh-okay, lets go then-" 

Your body is pulled in close by him

"L-law?"

"You know, you never answered my third question he says softly

"Huh?-"

"Who's your captain?" he rest his forehead against yours

Your heart beats quickly and you find yourself trying to slow your breathing

"Y/n ya…"

"....you...your my captain"

[koishiro]

Can you make a story where the reader isn’t a dom?

a/n: 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 😔

Brat | Jungkook 방탄소년단

↳ summary: Jungkook needs to teach his little brat a lesson she’ll never forget

↳ pairing: husband!Jungkook x fem!wife!reader

↳ genre: smut

↳ cw/s: spanking, kook ties you up, unprotected sex, cumming inside, oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving)

"Why won't you just admit that I'm right and you’re wrong?"

What could I say to that? When she turns into a brat, there's just no sense in arguing, because no amount of logic can possibly penetrate the pride.

I simply glared at her and stood tall. That's when I caught the hint of a wicked grin at the corner of her lips.

"Because," she continued, "There is no way that you’re right about this. I'm right and you.are.wrong"

She took a step closer to me.

"You’re being a brat," I said.

She giggled and took another step. We were less than a yard apart.

"That's got nothing to do with anything. I'm still right" That wicked grin exploded across her face and I was hooked. My heart started pounding and my mouth went wet.

"Au contraire," I said, raising one eyebrow. "That's got everything to do with it, because there's no way someone who was right would resort to being a brat. Since you’re acting like a spoiled little girl, you are most definitely in the wrong and I am right”

"Noth-ing to do with it!" She repeated followed by her sticking her tongue out at me.

"Oh yeah?" My argument had been so good a second ago, now all I had left was fourth grade?

She didn't even answer. She just shook her hips. That's when I broke.

"Come here," I said, and I grabbed her by both wrists. "Let's go to the bedroom and sort this out like adults”

"Oh no you don't," she said, but she didn't resist while I tugged her toward the stairs and led her down to the bedroom.

I took her in my arms and kissed her behind the ear causing her to squeal and try and squirm away, but I held her firm. I gave her earlobe a nibble and felt her knees buckle and her breath catch.

"Stop it!" she called out, between gasps. I let go of her ear.

"Stop it? Is that because you know I'm right?"

"No!"

She sounded defiant, but her grin was pure lust.

"Are you looking for a spanking? Is that it? Because you are acting like a total brat and you're going to get one”

I didn't wait for a response. I picked her up in my arms, my left arm behind her back, my right under her knees. She squealed again and wrapped her arms around my shoulders.

"Put me down!" she laughed.

I gently set her down on the bed, but flipped her onto her stomach and before she had her balance, then planted myself astride her ass.

Gathering her wrists in my left hand, I went into my nightstand drawer and pulled out one of my black ties. I looped the material through the slats in the headboard and soon had them tied securely around each wrist.

"Hey!" she protested. I got off her ass and stood next to her on the bed.

"Well?" I said, sternly. "Are you going to say you're sorry?"

"I'm right! You need to apologize to me”

"Mm hmm”

She watched me intently while I calmly stripped off my shirt and tossed it into the hamper. I undid my belt and pulled it swiftly through the loops. Cocking an eyebrow at her again as she bit her lip. I nodded and dropped the belt on the bed. It would be there when I needed it.

I slowly and deliberately unfastened each button of my jeans, then dropped them to the floor and stepped out of them, leaving me in my boxer shorts. I could tell she was hoping I'd pull my cock out and let her suck me until I forgot all about punishing her, but not this time. I was going to make this little brat admit that her husband was right.

She wore a sheer white lace blouse and a pair of tight blue jeans, fitting her just right.

"So," I whispered, lifting the back of her shirt slightly, "Which is it going to be? Good girl...?" I gave a kiss to top of her back, drawing a sigh from her. "Or brat?" I finished, kissing my way down to the hem of her jeans.

“You’re wrong” I put my hands on her ass cheeks and gave them a quick squeeze, just to let her know they were on my mind. I reached underneath for the snap to her jeans where she helpfully raised her hips for me.

"You know, sweetheart," I teased, as I yanked the snap open and pulled down the zipper. "You are heading for a monster spanking if you don't own up to the fact that your husband is right”

She just shook her head. I let go of her hips and she settled down on the bed again. I pulled her jeans over her hips, exposing the cute white thong with black polka dots that I had bought her for Valentine's Day. Her beautiful ass was on display, just for me.

"Up on your knees, brat," I ordered after successfully pulling off her jeans, "It's time for your spanking”

"What?" she protested. "This is so unfair!"

I forcefully lifted her hips with a strength that caught her off guard. She pulled her knees up with a gasp, ending up on all fours but with her arms stretched out before her, tethered to the headboard. The thong left her cheeks nicely exposed for the spanking I was about to deliver as I stood to her left and gave her right cheek a tender stroke. I smiled to myself: this was going to be fun.

The first spank was a quick but stinging slap to her left cheek. She jumped and a little squeak burst from her lips. I knelt on the bed and placed my left hand possessively between her shoulder blades, holding her down a little. Then I started giving her a proper spanking.

I struck her left cheek again with a loud smack! I slapped it twice more before having at her right. I slapped her right cheek twice with brisk, upward-angled strokes that produced a satisfying clap.

"Owww!" she protested when I stopped after the fifth spank. "Stop it!"

I ran my hands lightly over the skin, sending a shiver through her body.

"Stop it? Why is that, hunny?" I taunted. "Is it because I'm right?"

"No! Stop being mean. I'm right!"

"Oh, I see," I answered. She looked back at me, pleading with her eyes. I just shook my head with disappointment and spanked her right cheek again — much harder. She gasped. I struck her left cheek, swinging my hand from over my shoulder.

"Eep!" she squeaked.

I turned my body toward her feet a little more for a better angle and began raining blows down on her ass. I spanked her hard, targeting different parts of her butt until both cheeks were bright red. She cried out with every slap — and especially loudly when I smacked the sensitive junction where ass met leg.

I stopped abruptly, panting from the exertion.

"Ow ow ow!" she said. Her eyes were watery. "That’s not fair!"

I scooted over behind her and planted soft kisses on the burning red skin. She gave a little sigh, but continued to protest her mistreatment. "I'm not wrong, really I'm not. Please stop. I'm sorry..."

I liked her attempt at an apology, short of the mark though it was, so I needed to give her a bit of a reward before her punishment resumed. I took hold of the sides of her thong and tugged it down over her hips, pulling it down her legs, up and over her feet and tossed it across the room. I knelt between her legs and nudged her knees apart a bit.

"Please don't punish me any more," she begged. "It's not fair”

"I know it's not fair, but you need to admit that your I’m right" I slid my hand along the backs of her thighs until it reached the underside of her ass. I pushed slowly forward until my fingers found the soft skin of her labia.

She gasped and opened her legs slightly wider. "You know what’ll happen when you admit that I'm right and you're wrong," I teased, letting my fingertips glide along her lips. "I'll touch you so nice, hun. I'll make you feel so good. I'll give you such a reward, baby. All you have to do is say 'I'm wrong. My husband is right”

She made no answer; she just sighed and rotated her hips a little against my hand while I massaged her. The lips were swollen and parted easily when I probed with two fingertips. I felt her inner lips and the entrance to her cunt, wet and ready. She gave the cutest moan — the one that always makes me fall in love with her again. I couldn't resist feeling her, stiff and ready to be touched. But she still hadn't said the magic words.

"What do you say, baby? Is your husband right?"

"I mean," she sighed. "There are all kinds of ways to look at things, right? So maybe you're kind of right”

I stopped moving, scowling at her when she looked back over her shoulder to see my reaction. She didn't soften — she hardened.

"But I'm not wrong. I'm totally not wrong!"

"Admit you were wrong, baby” I commanded.

"Never!" she playfully defied.

I withdrew my hand from her pussy and placed both hands firmly on her ass.

"Then you need more discipline hm?”

I reached behind me and took ahold of my belt. If she was going to continue to be stubborn, I was ready to take it to the next level.

I folded the belt in half and gave a soft swing at the back of her right thigh. It struck with a bit more force than I'd intended and a CRACK reverberated around the bedroom. My wife cried out, "Ow!" I let my arms follow through, then reversed and backhanded her left thigh. CRACK! She twitched and pulled her legs up under her body, seeking cover for them. I scooted back a bit and then swung the belt swiftly onto each cheek of her ass.

"Please!" she called, after the four swats of the belt, but that was all.

I dropped the belt and stood up beside her head. She looked up at me with watery eyes. I slowly slid my boxers to the floor.

"Please what?" I teased, as I stroked my cock to fullness, inches from her lips.

"Please, no more of the belt”

"Do you promise to be good?"

"Yes, I'll be a good girl for you Kook, so good!”

My cock swelled in my hand. I leaned forward and she slipped her lips around it with practiced ease. Oh that felt good. She sucked on my cock with slight difficulty considering her hands were still tied. My left hand went to the back of her head, my right drifted down to caress her red ass.

"Yes, baby," I cooed. "Suck my cock the way you always do”

"Mmmm," she moaned on my dick.

I quickly pulled away from her mouth and got back behind her again. I started rubbing and grinding my cock onto her dripping pussy.

"You want this, baby?" I asked, tapping the head against her displayed clit.

"Yes, baby. Please”

"Oh I want to give it to you. I want to slide this cock right into your pussy” With that, I took to working her opening in a gentle circle with my dick, pressing against the tight ring of muscles that was so ready to yield and be filled, if I applied a little more pressure. "There's just one thing you need to say, sweetheart”

"Oh please, baby. Please. I'm wrong, Kook. You're right!”

I let my hips fall forward and my cock sank into her wetness all the way to the hilt. I groaned with satisfaction: that was all I needed to hear, but she kept going.

"Oh yes, fuck your wife. Please fuck me. I was wrong, baby. Just keep fucking me”

I reached forward and yanked the straps of her binding loose. Her right hand flew down between her legs and she started playing with her clit as I fucked her.

"It's okay, baby," I panted. "Everybody makes mistakes. Now, I'm going to give you a big reward for owning up to it”

"Yes, give me my reward. Cum in my pussy, baby”

My hips were out of control. I fucked her wet pussy as hard as I could, feeling my cockhead swell like it does when I get close. She worked her clit in time with my strokes and the knowledge that she was feeling so good sent me over the edge.

"Yes, sweetie, here comes your reward. All for being so good for me. I'm gonna cum for you, baby"

The warmth of orgasmic bliss spread from my cock throughout my body, then came into sharp focus as I snapped and launched my cum deep into her. My voice gave out, shifting into short grunts in time with my sharp thrusts.

My cock pulsed and throbbed, shooting jets of cum into her pussy while my hips kept working her over in a desperate, orgasmic fuck. Then, my head was too sensitive. I pushed hard, burying the last few shots as deep as I could, grunting with every spasm. My weight on her ass pushed her forward until with one last shudder, my cock slid out of her pussy.

I found myself looking for reality again as I sprawled on top of her, trying to keep my weight on her hips, not her back. The room span a bit. I suddenly realised that I had more work to do before returning to the real world.

"You're such a good girl," I cooed, praising her. "Such an obedient wife, to admit that your husband was right”

She moaned a response into her pillow. Her fingers were still busy on her clit.

"You deserve the best reward I can give you”

I sat up, then gently rolled her onto her back. She didn't take her fingers away from her clit until my lips had taken their place, wrapping solidly around the sensitive nub.

"Oh yes," she moaned.

I held her clit between my lips and teased it softly with the tip of my tongue, randomly darting all around it, looking for every possible nerve ending that needed attention.

As her passion deepened and her orgasm approached, I sensed that she needed more. I slid two fingers of my right hand deep into her pussy and fucked her gently, mixing our juices together and pushing my come deep into her body.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" I asked, going back to teasing mode and blowing cool air across her clitoris.

"Oh yes, I'm a good girl."

"Good. Now be a good girl and cum for me”

I attacked her with my lips again, fucking her hard with my fingers and applying pressure to the root of her clit. She lifted the backs of her legs off the bed as her body tensed up.

"Good girl," I mumbled into her clit, between licks, “cum for me baby”

And with that, she cried out and came. Her legs snapped tight around my head. I held her clit firmly between my lips and rode her, pushing my fingers deep into her cunt and relishing the steady throbbing of her orgasm. One, two, three, four times her strong muscles gripped me, then her hips fell to the mattress and she collapsed in satisfaction.

I gently pulled my fingers from her pussy and climbed up next to her, wrapping her in my arms. I had to squirm a bit to arrange things so that my still-dripping dick was pointed at our sheets, not her thigh, but then I was able to tug a blanket over our bodies as we settled down.

"You are the best wife in the world," I whispered in her ear.

"You're right," she sighed.

— 𝘚𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘰 𝘹𝘰

𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

[lemoncrushh]

I Wish That It Could Be Like That

Summary: An affair with Harry has taken its toll and is no longer enough.

Warnings: angst, infidelity - please don't read if this is a trigger for you

Word Count: 1824

A/N: Written in 2017, inspired by "Secret Love Song, Pt. II" by Little Mix. This is in first person, but the woman's name is not mentioned.

"Have you seen my ring?" asked Harry, standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

"Which ring?" I sat up, stopping in the middle of buckling the straps on my shoes. My breath caught in my throat. Oh, Shit!

"This one," Harry held up his left hand, but pointed at the middle finger with his right.

"Oh," I sighed. "Thank God, I thought you meant..."

"No," he shook his head. "No, I don't-" His words stilled in his mouth and he swallowed hard.

"You don't what?" I raised a brow.

"I don't...wear that one. When I'm with you."

"Oh." I released a breath and grabbed my other shoe, stopping once again. "That's not true. You had it on the other day."

"When?" Harry crossed the room to inspect the dresser.

"At the dinner par-"

Harry nodded at me in the mirror, recognizing my acknowledgment. There had been people at that dinner party who knew her. Who knew them as a couple. I'd had to pretend, playing another one of his friends who just happened to be at the party, and not his date. I was a great actress. No one was the wiser. No one knew our secret.

We had to hide, Harry and me. It wasn't easy, and to be honest after three months, it had started to take its toll on me. In the beginning it was merely a physical attraction we shared. We didn't mean for it to happen. No one ever does. Over time it had started to develop into something more, at least on my part, and I had reason to believe he felt the same. However, he belonged to someone else.

I always only referred to her as her. I couldn't bring myself to use the term wife. Occasionally her name rolled off my tongue, tasting of shame and self-disgust. It wasn't that I had any issues with her. As a person, she was fine, lovely even. It was just that she had something I wanted. She had his last name. She had him.

And for that reason alone, I hated her.

I bit my lip as I tied on my other shoe. Harry passed me as we walked around the bed, still searching for his missing ring.

"There it is," he half giggled when he lifted the pillow. I returned the grin he gave me as he slid the ring onto his finger.

"C'mon, love," he said, holding out his hand to me. "Let's go."

We drove to a night club just outside the city, one that a mutual acquaintance, whom knew nothing of our affair, had casually mentioned in conversation. I felt relief in knowing that we wouldn't be recognized, happy to spend a fun-filled evening as a couple in someplace other than my apartment or a hotel room.

Harry held my hand for the entire drive, absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb across my knuckles and rings, occasionally lifting our joined hands to kiss the back of mine. I sat back in my seat, a contented smile on my face as I listened to him humming along to the radio.

I hadn't told him yet, but I was in love with him. I'd decided that day, that morning while I was getting dressed, or maybe brushing my teeth as I thought of his smile, his laugh, his voice...the way we fit together. It was so obvious, I had to laugh at myself. Every piece of him just fit perfectly.

Harry walked around the car to open my door like a gentleman, and again held the door open when we arrived at the entrance of the club. He gently guided me inside with his hand on the small of my back as we walked up to the bar to give our drink orders. We'd only gotten halfway through our first cocktails when a song we both loved began to play. Without a word, Harry set down his glass and pulled me onto the dance floor.

The bass zig-zagged through my veins as we danced, pumping loud and causing the floor to feel like it was made of rubber as we bounced to the beat. I raised my arms above my head like a fan at a concert as I sang along and twirled in a circle at Harry's feet, making him beam his million-watt smile.

With not nearly enough alcohol in my system yet, Harry agreed to sit the next song out and return to the bar for more drinks. This time we grabbed a couple shots, letting the golden liquor loosen any stiff joints and muscles. I watched Harry sway his hips to the next song as I sipped on a glass of water, eager to join him on the dance floor once again.

I giggled at the pure joy he exuded when he placed his hands on my hips and shifted them back and forth to get me to dance. He was obviously having a great time, and that itself made me happy.

We danced a couple more songs, both of us getting hot and sweaty. Then an oldie from the 70s started to play, a more mid-tempo track with a sexy groove. I gave Harry a wink as I began to dance closer to him, my fingers lightly teasing the opening of his shirt, tickling the unfastened buttons.

I loved the way he was looking at me. His eyes sparkled in the dim light, the green darker than usual. He didn't have to say a word. I knew what he was feeling, because I was feeling it too.

I knew I wasn't supposed to. Every warning he'd ever given me replayed in my head as I stood on my tip toes. I didn't care. I needed his lips on mine. I wound my arms around his neck, my chin tilted, awaiting his kiss.

But it didn't happen. Instead, Harry unwrapped my arms from his neck, squeezing my hands before letting them fall between us. His jaw set, he shook his head.

"No, baby," he whispered.

Though his tone was firm, like a parent scolding a child, I knew I detected a bit of regret and sorrow. Or perhaps that was just my own wishful thinking.

"Please."

"We can't. I've told you."

"No one knows us here, Harry."

His brows furrowed, the crinkle above his nose deeper than ever, he shook his head once more and turned toward the bar. I stood in my spot, my feet unable to move. My chest shook as I began to sob internally, careful not to let any tears roll down my face. Finally, I was able to walk, following Harry where he stood at the end of the bar.

"Take me home," I mumbled.

"What?" he turned to me.

"I'd like to leave," I declared, my bottom lip trembling. "Drive me home, please."

"We only got here..." his eyes shifted around the room. "It's early."

"Fine," I argued. "I'll find my own way."

Pushing past him, I made it outside, my heels clicking on the pavement and down the sidewalk. I pulled out my phone to call a cab just as Harry caught up with me.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a ride," I answered, my fingers tapping anxiously on the screen.

"Don't be like this, love. We've been through this."

"Harry, not one fucking soul in that bar knows you're marr-" I couldn't say the word. It tasted awful on my tongue and made me nauseous. "That I'm not yours."

"Baby..." He stepped closer, but still didn't reach for me. The few inches between us might as well had been a million miles. "You are mine."

"Am I? Because I don't feel like it."

Harry remained silent, the only sound his breath as he exhaled through his nose. I felt the tears form in my eyes again and I blinked, desperate to hold them back.

"You won't even touch me now," I whispered in a shaky voice.

"I...I want to..."

I shook my head, the first lone tear trickling down my cheek. "Just take me home. Please."

Dropping his head, Harry dug his keys out of his pocket. I followed him to the car and climbed inside when he held the door open. The noise rang in my ears when he shut it, like the sound of a pinball dropping down the chute, much like the clanging of a phantom beat in my empty heart.

As he drove, the silence was deafening. I couldn't stop the tears anymore. They came rolling down my face like a waterfall. My chest shook with heavy breaths. I couldn't look at him, so I just stared out the window and watched the headlights and street lamps go by.

"I'm sorry," Harry finally spoke.

I sniffled, still unable to turn my head. "I don't wanna hide anymore," I mumbled through sobs.

I could hear him swallow, hear the sound of his hand running across the steering wheel. He cleared his throat.

"I wanna be able to be seen with you," I continued. "I want to be able to kiss you. Why can't we be like that?"

"We...we just...we can't."

"Why not?" I cried, finally turning to face him. His face was lit by the dashboard light, but his expression was unreadable. "I love y-"

"Shh, baby, don't," he interrupted, reaching over the seat to grab my hand.

"Don't what? I can't help it, Harry! I'm in love with you! I want the world to know. I wanna shout it from the rooftops!"

Harry said nothing else for the rest of the ride home. I just sat in the passenger seat, staring at him, waiting and hoping desperately for him to speak. His hand still held mine as he pulled into the parking lot and stopped the car in front of my apartment. Releasing it slowly, he shifted the car into park and bowed his head.

"It's hopeless, isn't it?" I finally asked.

"It's...it's complicated, baby. You knew that from the beginning."

"You said I'm yours. Why is that complicated?"

"Because, it is," he glared at me.

"Because someone else is yours too. That's never gonna change, is it?"

Harry sighed, answering my question with that one gesture.

"I can't live this way, Harry. I've been hoping..." I shook my head, wiping another stream of tears. "No, I can't. I can't keep waiting. It'll never be enough."

"I'm sorry, baby," he said again. "I just can't give you what you're wanting right now."

"I know."

I leaned forward, placing my hand on his cheek. His eyelids fluttered as my lips met his and he kissed me back. One last kiss. A kiss goodbye. Forever.

Neither of us spoke. Instead, I opened my own car door and walked to my own front door, unlocking it as Harry backed out of the parking space. His taillights shone on my hardwood floor when I turned around and watched him drive away.

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