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[nadiadicaire]

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[imbibeliving]

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[mothmanns]

im lonely 2day

[inkyajax]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ sunday + grinding on his fingers while he works!

character: sunday warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, extreme teasing, dom/sub power dynamics, pet names (darling, angel, sweetheart), tiny bit of degradation (needy slut), toxic relationship (sunday is a lil mean/controlling/overbearing), taps into sunday’s god complex  words: 1.4k

Thinking about Sunday’s fingers; long, slim, warmed by the gloves, his heat radiating off the thin material. Thinking about not even riding them, but humping them, using them while he deals with something far more important. He won’t put them inside of you, refuses to even take off his gloves as he wedges a hand between your thighs, claiming that this is more than enough to make you cum, sweetheart and he knows you can do it, he knows you can get off from just this. 

Because you’re such a needy little slut for him, aren’t you? Pathetic and acquiescent and willing to take whatever the fuck he’ll give you, even if it’s merely the very tips of his fingers, just scarcely brushing your throbbing clit. 

It’s up to you to do all the work—you’re the one who wanted it, after all; you’re the one who couldn’t sit proper and patient and wait for him to finish with his tasks and duties, too eager and desperate for the tiniest piece of him to stand it—and he declines to put in any effort at all, simply keeping his fingers still and stiff, a hairs width from your cunt. 

As such, it’s your responsibility to make yourself feel good.

He barely pays you a shred of attention throughout the entire tedious process, gaze prim and focused on the documents spread neatly across his desktop, his free hand leafing through papers and jotting down notes. 

But despite his cool, calm, seemingly unaffected demeanour, you know better. 

Because you can see it; his cock, hard and huge and straining against white trousers, just begging for relief. You can hear it; those gentle, almost imperceptible hitches in his breath—a subtle response to your own sweet little noises, whiny little mewls and airy little moans, sounds that melt in the heat of your mouth, sugared frustration on your tongue.  

Every brush of your clit against his fingers pushes another one from your pouty lips, features pinched and tight with concentration, muscles coiled and tense as they work and flex, desperate to achieve your goal. 

Yet despite what Sunday had claimed, it truly isn’t enough, each soft swipe of his fingers only working to fuel the fire roiling in your belly, spritzing kerosene on the flames but never fostering an explosion. 

“S’not enough, Sir,” you whimper after nearly an hour of this routine, a heavy ache beginning to settle deep within your flesh, 

“It’s not enough,” he corrects you, not sparing you a glance. “And I assure you it is, darling. Come, now, be a good girl for me, and show me that you can cum from just my fingertips.” 

“I can’t, I can’t,” you hiccup, lids squeezing shut as tears nip at your vision, aggravation budding at the corners of your eyes. “I need more!”

“Don’t get greedy, now,” he chastises, an implicit warning woven into the sentence. “You’ve already taken one of my hands away, and considerably slowed down my productivity, interrupting my workflow with your neediness. Isn’t that enough?” 

A flash of guilt sears through your stomach, bitter and sharp, and you lip juts out even further,  puckering your chin. 

He’s right—You know he’s right. He’s already making a sacrifice for you by just giving you this—time is money, time is power, time is control, and you’re eating up a substantial amount with your disgraceful desire. How much more selfish could you possibly be? 

“M’sorry, Master,” you slur out, eyes shut tightly enough to crinkle your lids as you attempt to scrape together the tatters of your concentration. “I’m sorry.” 

Sunday says nothing, but the corner of his mouth twitches, curls upward with something sick and sadistic, thick authority cracking in the atmosphere around him. 

With renewed resolve, your hips begin to swivel again, grinding your swollen clit against sheathed fingers. His fingertips flutter softly, just teasing, and your movements speed up, rocking into his feathery touch, the motion just shy of satisfying. 

Something similar to vexation chokes in your throat; a half-stifled groan smothered by your determination to be good, to obey. 

You will not complain again. 

The quick, light drumming of his fingers against your clit ceases a mere moment before your pleasure crests—it’s a curse, how proficiently he knows your body, how perfectly he can decode those precious little gasps, slipping unwittingly from your lips and tinged with exasperation, and those pathetic little ruts, pelvis stuttering as it chases his touch, stomach muscles coiled and clenched. 

He can read you so well, too well, almost as if he made you himself, took blood and bone between his palms and molded it into flesh, into his personal little angel—he is your creator, and you worship him flawlessly. 

It’s obscene, just how wet you are, copious amounts of arousal soaking through the cotton of his gloves to prune his fingers, turning the material slippery, puffy clit gliding over it with fluid ease.

It’s embarrassing, just how wet you are, thick dribbles of slick streaming down Sunday’s drenched digits to collect in little pools on the webs between his knuckles. It’s overflowing, leaking onto his palm slow and steady to seep into the fabric, now stained with evidence of your desire clinging to his hand. 

You’re saturated in sweat by the time you finally manage to orgasm, thin linen of your dress plastered to your form, contouring every dip and curve of your body, outlining every heave of your chest. A garland of tiny beads is strung along your hairline and collarbone, glistening dewdrops streaming down your cheeks and neck and leaving pretty shimmering trails of damp salt in their wake. 

Strands of matted hair stick to your temples, your thighs still tensing around Sunday’s now rigid hand, hips continuing to gyrate in sloppy little circles as you chase residual sparks of pleasure, quick jolts of overstimulation rippling your flesh. 

But despite the dull, dense ache in your muscles, heavy with exhaustion and filled with sand, and the prodigal sparks of pain-dyed ecstasy, pushing sharp hisses through the gaps of your clenched teeth with each bout through your blood, you just can’t seem to stop.

“Th-Thank you, Sunday, Sir, thank you, thank you,” you’re babbling out in hiccups, words hitching in time with the motions of your hips. 

So polite, his sweet little seraph, so devoted to making your gratitude known—it is, in essence, only right to thank your god after he grants you a tiny piece of heaven, a single taste of bliss, Sunday knows. And your reverence will not go unrewarded. 

Because your reverence far exceeds great respect and high regard; your reverence bleeds into veneration, obsession, addiction. Your love knows no bounds. 

Your love is voracious in its worship, devouring any morsel of attention or affection he grants you and being grateful for it—even something as small and insignificant as a fingertip. 

It’s fucking exhilarating to experience such power, and it sends a heady shot of rhapsody straight to his brain, dazing him and infusing his blood. He can feel it oozing out of every pore, clinging to his form like a protective shield, reinvigorating his hegemony and reaffirming his authority.

Yearning against his pants, his cock twitches, the stitches threaded across the groin stretched taut with how hard he is. 

His hand is doused in you—your cum and your sweat and your arousal—and he pulls it free from your flexing thighs to examine it, holding it up in front of his face and turning it; first this way, then that, leisurely admiring the way every inch of his glove gleams in the diffused sun spilling past the stained glass. Sheathed in you, it almost looks like a shimmery satin.

“Such a mess,” he grits out, the words wispy and ragged. “Such a pretty mess you made for me.” 

A pair of gloved fingers tap together in a scissor-like motion, slow and controlled, pupils blown wide with awe as he watches the slick material stick to itself, glimmering in the setting sunlight and separating with minimal effort, strings of your cum strung between the appendages, webby, quivering slightly. 

You’ve since slumped against him, face nearly buried in his bicep as he appreciates the gift you’ve given him. Your breath is hot and humid against his neck, panted out through parted lips in uneven little huffs and stammered by soft whines.

“Rest, angel,” he murmurs, cheek laid against your head after he’s peeled the soiled glove from his skin and stashed it away in a desk drawer for safe keeping. “You did well.”

He knew you would. A god is never wrong, after all.

[peachdues]

Veneration (Sanemi x F!Reader)

Good morning

Bundle of Joy one-shot featuring what Sanemi promised Y/N at the end of The Thing About Genya.

⚠️NSFW⚠️

CW: sanemi’s big ol’ breeding kink, creampies, Sanemi is a fuckin SIMP for his wife.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

“Fuck,” Sanemi growled, his hips setting a steady pace against his wife as his balls slapped languidly against the sumptuous curve of her ass. “Fuck, Y/N. You feel so fuckin’ good for me, baby.”

Y/N could only give a muffled groan in response as her husband’s cock dragged luridly in and out of her soaking heat, her face buried in the blankets now piled in a messy heap on the couple’s bed.

Sanemi chuckled, dark and sensual as he snapped his hips a little harder against her, knees nearly buckling as his wife’s cunt seized on him like a vice. “I don’t know how you expect me to not get you pregnant again,” he huffed, bringing a hand up to lightly slap his wife’s ass as it bounced against him. “Not when you’re gripping me this tight, darlin’.”

He’d already taken her twice since they’d been left alone, their daughter happily entertaining all three of Uzui’s wives as they’d walked off with her, knowing smiles on their faces.

Y/N had barely been able to slide the door of their manor shut before Sanemi had gently pushed her against the wall, got down on his knees, and feasted on her until she was practically doubled over his shoulder, begging for a break after he had pulled her third orgasm from her with just his tongue and fingers.

She’d tried to insist on returning the favor, lowering herself down to eye-level with his aching cock, but a hand under her chin had stopped her, forcing her to rise back up.

So Y/N’s “break” consisted of the time it took for Sanemi to scoop her up and carry her into their bedroom, where he’d thrown her up onto a dresser and slid into her welcoming and heavenly core.

Y/N muttered something incomprehensible into the bed. Sanemi gave her the courtesy of grabbing a fistful of her hair to pull her head up from the folds of the futon. “You’ll have to repeat yourself, sweetheart,” he cooed, “I didn’t catch that.”

Y/N moaned his name in response and Sanemi swelled with pride; he loved that he was the man — the only man — who would ever get to make his beautiful wife feel this intoxicated on his body.

“I said I want another baby,” she finally managed, her head falling back down against the sheets as she greedily pressed her hips back to meet Sanemi’s bruising thrusts.

Sanemi’s pace slowed to a near stop. Y/N groaned in complaint, swiveling her hips demandingly against him, urging him to move, but Sanemi’s grip on her hips stilled her.

“Y/N. Are you serious?” His voice was husky and low from his pleasure, but he knew he’d need to confirm that what she was asking for was her true will and not the product of being fucked absolutely senseless.

Y/N nodded into the pillow she’d been gripping. “I was going to talk to you about it the second Uzui’s wives left but you were too impatient,” she rocked her hips back against his in desperation, Sanemi’s fingers digging into the plump curve of her ass. “I didn’t take my medication today just in case.”

Sanemi’s heart thudded against his chest, as he remained silent for a moment.

Y/N’s eyes widened softly as she lifted her head to look back at her husband. “Sanemi, if you’re not ready, we can stop until I get my medication — oh.”

Sanemi renewed the thrust of his cock with vigor, gripping Y/N’s hips in his hands and half-pulling her up off the bed as he got into a squat, plunging into her faster and deeper than before. Y/N could do nothing but hold onto her blankets and for dear life.

“Fuckin’ hell sweetheart,” Sanemi grunted, “you shoulda said something sooner.” The sound of Sanemi lewdly pistoning in her sopping heat was drowned out by the new screams from Y/N, as Sanemi��s angle allowed him to repeatedly hit that spot in her that made her see stars.

“I’ll put as many kids in ya as you want.” He promised, nearly standing on the couple’s futon as he dragged Y/N’s lower hips with him. “You say the word, and I’ll provide.”

Sanemi suddenly pulled out and Y/N nearly screamed in frustration as her climax slipped away from her.

“Sorry baby,” though her husband didn’t sound like he was sorry at all. “But I wanna see your face when I knock you up again.”

With one strong arm wrapped around her middle, the Wind Hashira flipped his wife over so that she was facing him.

He pressed her against the futon, trailing his lips teasingly from her neck to her breasts, nipping and sucking at her soft mounds until he’d thoroughly marked them, before continuing down to her stomach.

His lips met where she’d carried their daughter and he shivered at the thought of seeing her full of another one of his children.

“I fuckin worship you, you know that?” He asked her as he knelt back on his knees and tugged her lower half until it lay flush against his thighs, her legs lying limply on either side of him. He lifted her hips enough to slide into her once more, his position allowing him a new, deeper angle and the perfect view of Y/N’s face as she cried out his name, her tits beginning to bounce as he started to thrust.

“Sanemi,” she moaned, and she sounded on the verge of tears. “Please, I’m so close.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa was not a cruel man, and fatherhood had arguably made him ever softer for the two women in his life. He could not deny the love of his life the chance to come apart all around his cock, especially when she looked so fucking beautiful taking him the way she was, when she was begging him to give her another child.

So Sanemi gripped one of her legs in his hand, tucking it securely around his waist as he then moved his fingers to toy with his wife’s sensitive clit.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fuckin wet for me,” he moaned, savoring the way her slick coated his fingers instantly, as he pressed this index finger against her, swirling softly.

Y/N could not answer, too lost in her pleasure as Sanemi increased his pace, half-pushing them up the bed with his force as he pressed down sharply on her sensitive bundle of nerves.

Y/N bowed off the bed, her walls gripping him so tightly it was nearly painful through the force of her climax, his name falling in a choked scream from her lips.

Sanemi knew he was close the moment he felt his wife’s sticky release coat his groin, his balls painfully tight as they slapped against the underside of Y/N’s ass as she collapsed back against the bed, too fucked out to do anything more than mewl and whimper as he chased his own release.

Gingerly, Sanemi felt his wife’s fingers close around one of the hands he had braced on her hips, and he watched in amazement as she brought it up to rest on her neck.

“Shit,” Sanemi cursed at her silent request. “Shit, baby, yes.” Gently, Sanemi wrapped his hand around her throat, his fingers squeezing softly along the sides of her neck.

“Fill me up, Sanemi,” she whispered, voice hoarse from screaming, and the grip around her neck tightened ever so slightly as Sanemi began to lose control.

“You’re not walkin’ out of this room until you’re good and pregnant again,” he promised darkly, lust taking him over as his pace quickened.

Sanemi felt the coil in his stomach tighten, the familiar fire of his impending release surging along his spine. His wife’s eyes were rolled back from a mixture of pleasure and overstimulation as the sound of her squelching cunt threatened to drown out her moans.

He was at his edge. “Y/N, look at me,” he growled, and when his wife opened her hazy eyes to meet his lustful gaze, Sanemi was a goner.

Sanemi’s hips slammed once more into his wife and stilled. With a shout, he came harder than he ever had before, vision going white as he pumped into her, his seed spilling forcefully into her greedy core. Somewhere, in the haze of his pleasure, he remembered to rock against her slowly to prolong his release.

After what felt like several moments of him emptying himself within her, Sanemi collapsed on top of his wife, but rolled with her to his side so as not to crush her.

He brought her head to his chest, scarred hand jumping to her hair to smooth over it comfortingly as they panted.

“I love you, you know that?” He murmured into her hair, between the press of his lips against her head.

Y/N’s fingers traced lazy patterns across his pectorals and upper abdomen as she caught her breath. “Someone is eager to get me knocked up again, isn’t he?” She laughed breathily as her chest slowed.

Sanemi smiled against her hair. “Can’t help it. Love seeing you pregnant. Love even more that you let me get you pregnant — that you want my kids.”

Y/N tilted her face up, demanding a kiss and Sanemi was only too happy to oblige her, bringing his hand to cup the side of her face as he pressed his lips against hers, slow and sweet.

Somehow, she’d found herself beneath him once more, the weight of Sanemi’s body against hers making her body heat with renewed want.

Y/N groaned again as she felt her lover’s still-hard cock prodding at her slick, abused folds once more, waiting for her signal. She nodded her assent, stretching up for her love to hold her close as he slid into her once more.

“Ha—there we go, baby,” he moaned, and the sound of his needy desperation made her clench around him once more.

“You can take one more load, can’t you, my love?” Sanemi buried his face into Y/N’s luscious breasts as his arms caged around her waist, holding him impossibly tight against him. “Gotta make sure I give my sweet girl what she wants.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Barking, screaming, crying

[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Being Team Japan’s Manager:

The Team Crushes on Their Manager

Team Japan x GN! reader

Warnings: fluff, swearing

AN: this was due approx. 570 of you ago but nevertheless, here we go 🎉

Where do I even start?

Probably from the beginning because that’s when it ALL started

It was your first day as Team Japan’s new manager

No other job prospects huh Yn?

You were filled with hope and a renewed sense of purpose 🤩

You’d always loved Volleyball whether you played it, watched it or read a very specific manga surrounding it 👀

It was safe to say you were a fan!

The job seemed relatively straightforward

You’d come to work, take care of a bunch of world class athletes, clock out and repeat

Easy right?

Sure….

You walked into the building on your first day and it started almost immediately

There is no easing into this job YN 😌

“Well hello there gorgeous,” a very untoned blonde who seriously needed his roots retouched whistled

“Umm hi! I was wondering if you could-” you started to say before being unfortunately interrupted 🙄

“You want my autograph don’t ya sweetheart?” The blonde smirked, conveniently pulling out a sharpie that seemed to manifest from thin air

“Oh no, I’m looking for-” you try to say again before again being interrupted

“ATSUMU!” A voice shouted as you saw a rather angry looking man with black spiky hair marching up to you and the blonde, “what did I tell you about harassing guests?”

“I wasn’t harassing ‘em!” The blonde, known as Atsumu shouted back

Meanwhile you are just standing there like 🧍

“If you weren’t harassing them, then why do they look like they wanna run for their lives?” Another tall man with curly black hair replied, approaching from behind you

“SHUT YER TRAP SAKUSA!” Atsumu yelled again as the spiky haired man spoke

“If you both don’t get your asses back into that gym right now!”

Atsumu rolled his eyes before responding, “yes Iwaizumi” and turning to leave

But not before shooting a very unsolicited wink in your direction 🙄

“Stop making people feel so uncomfortable,” Sakusa berated as he and Atsumu argued back to the gym

“I’m so sorry about that. You must be Yn?” Iwaizumi asked turning to you as you smiled back widely

“That’s me!” You giggled as Iwaizumi’s eyes widened and his face turned pink at your sheer adorableness

Iwaizumi is just happy that you seem excited

He’s tired Yn, help him please

Iwaizumi begins showing you around the gym while various, rather large men walk past you

You excitedly ask questions, smiling and laughing

The guys are all like 👀👀👀👀👀

They’d heard about a new prospective manager starting but dang, you were way cuter than they imagined

After the tour you made your way to the gym with Iwaizumi to finally meet the team

As you stood there, adorable and bubbly, they all just stared at you like a bunch of creeps 😅

You remember in Season 2 when Yachi joined Karasuno and Suga had to tell Noya and Tanaka to stop staring…

Yeah that’s exactly what’s happening right now 😂

Iwaizumi is giving everyone his death glare because there is absolutely no way he’s letting anyone ruin this for him!

Iwa rn 👉🏻 🔥 👄🔥

Of course you notice them all looking at you but you simply think it’s because you are new

Delusion is always the solution Yn

“And finally, this is Yn, our new manager. I expect nothing but respect and kindness from you guys!” Coach yells as you smile and wave a greeting

“I’m so excited to work with you all!” You say, smiling bright as your eyes sparkle with excitement

This was the first of many incidents that sealed your fate

Now some of the team members fell hard for you immediately

*cough* ATSUMU, BOKUTO, HINATA *cough*

While others took a while to warm up to you

They all thought you were cute and sweet sure but it was your actions that spoke the loudest

For example…

“Hey Sakusa, I heard you are particular about laundry and hygiene, if you could please tell me the products you prefer so I can accommodate you? Oh and I’d you’d like, I can wear a mask around you to make you more comfortable!” You excitedly spoke, standing 6 feet apart from Sakusa so as to not be right in his space

Sakusa rn 👉🏻👁️👄👁️

“Umm sure I can text you a list and you don’t have to wear a mask if you aren’t comfortable,” he responds, honestly shocked because who are you

You wave your hands and smile, “oh no it’s really ok! I’m very accommodating!”

It was safe to say you’d captured our precious Sakusa’s attention

But it doesn’t stop there

“Hey Suna, I noticed you left your arm guards in on the bench yesterday! I washed them for you last night oh and I recorded a video of Atsumu flubbing a serve and accidently hitting Kageyama. I can send it to you if you’d like?” You laughed as Suna just stared in awe

Who the heck were you and why were you so amazing!

Not only that but you provided help to Aran and Ushijima when it came to taking diligent notes about the teams progress

Made sure Kageyama had plenty to eat and got enough sleep

You measured down to the very millimeter for jump heights, making sure Hoshiumi knew exactly where he stood against the other players

You stayed late to help Komori and Yaku with their receiving practice

You came early to unlock the gym for Atsumu, Bokuto and Hinata because lord knows they can’t be out of the gym for more than 8 hours 🙄

You even made sure the guys all followed Iwaizumi’s strict training regime to ensure they all stayed healthy and in the best shape!

It was easy to see why they all had fallen for you!

Competent, pretty, kind, amazing and funny? A perfect combination!

It had been about 6 months and you’d more than proven your worth as a manager

You’d even spent time outside of practice with all of them both individually as well as in groups

Surprisingly they’d all managed to keep their little crushes on you to a minimum

They respected you and didn’t want to mess up anything

When I say “they” I actually mean “most of them”…

Because, ya know, some people just can’t stop themselves 👀

It was safe to say they all knew each other had a crush on their precious manager

But for the sake of teamwork, most of them kept it to themselves

However, there is some people who can only hold it in so long

“I’m thinking about asking YN out this weekend,” Atsumu boldly and nonchalantly says

And just like that, the entire locker room halts

“Excuse me?” Yaku says, staring at Atsumu like he’s about to commit a felony

“What? YN is such a cutie and so awesome! Is it really a surprise that I’d ask them out?” Atsumu replies

All eyes narrow on the setter as he looks back confused

“And what makes you think YN even likes you?” Suna jokes as the rest of the team nods

“Awe come on! It’s pretty safe to say Yn has a crush on me, look at all the stuff they do for me,” Atsumu continues

“So? YN does that for all of us. Plus, maybe another one of us wants to ask them out?” Sakusa adds as Atsumu narrows his eyes

“Ok then, who wants to ask YN out?”

Literally all hands shoot up as the guys look around at each other, eyes wide as the realization sinks in

Soon the shock wears off and they narrow their eyes at each other like a duel in the Ok corral is about to go down 😑

“Well there’s no way all of us asking out YN would be a good idea. We’d probably scare them away!” Komori mentioned

“Nah, if Atsumu hasn’t scared them yet, pretty sure we’re safe,” Aran remarked as Atsumu looked at his friend, offended by his remarks

“What if we draw lots?” Hyakuzawa questioned

“That’s not really far to YN tho, what if they have a particular interest in a member?” Yaku answered

“First one to ask Yn out then?” Hakuba remarked

“Oh yeah, just a bunch of grown ass men running up to YN screaming ‘YN GO OUT WITH ME!’ That sounds like nightmare fuel!” Hoshiumi replied

“Ok so then we let Yn decide,” Iwa added, coming through the doors having just listened to the conversation, “we do our best to win YN’s affections and we let them decide.”

The team all nodded in agreement, ready for the challenge of winning their precious YN’s heart

The next morning, the gym felt different

You could tell immediately the moment you stepped in

“Good morning YN, I bought you coffee!” Iwaizumi smiled, handing you a cup of your favorite pick me up

“Thanks Hajime! I really needed this!”

“Hey Yn, I thought maybe you’d wanna have lunch with me today? My treat,” Yaku interrupted

“That would be awesome Mori!”

“Here Yn, I know how much you love these flowers so I got up early to go to the market to get some,” Sakusa flushed, pushing the flowers in your direction

“Wow thanks Kiyoomi! They are beautiful!”

Were these boys being weird? Sure

Were you gonna fight it? Absolutely not

Now these shenanigans continued for a few weeks and at first they were innocent

But then bringing you coffee, flowers or the occasional chocolate morphed into full blown outings

“Hey YN, I’m going to the art museum this weekend? You wanna come?” Komori asked as your eyes lit up

You loved art!!

“Hey YN, I’m gonna grab sushi tonight after practice, you wanna come?” Gao would ask as your mouth salivated

You loved sushi!

“Hey YN, I’m planning on going to the dog park with Hirugami tonight, you wanna come?” Hoshiumi would ask

Dogs? Say less!

“Hey YN, there’s a new cat cafe that just opened up, you wanna go with me?” Suna would declare

Cats? ABSOLUTELY

It took you a while to catch on that there was something strange going on with these guys

While the putting seemed innocent, their motives definitely were not

After a while, you’d finally gotten sick of it all and just asked

It was after practice, the gym was quiet

And there you were

“What is up with you guys taking me on all these dates for?”

… there to ruin it

Their amount of wide-eyed staring and red faces gave them away quicker than a smoking volcano

You sighed, knowing you had to tell them the truth

“Listen guys, I like you all but only as friends and coworkers ok?”

They all collectively sighed, having all been rejected at the same time

You felt bad but at the same time, they needed to know your feelings for them were platonic

“Hey we can still go out and have fun but it’ll only be as friends ok? Plus I have a boyfriend already.”

Their eyes all shot up at you, wondering who exactly it would be

“Wait you had a boyfriend this whole time?” Atsumu questioned

Yep :D

“Like before you even started working with us?” Yaku asked

Yep : D

“Ok then how come we’ve never met him before?” Sakusa demanded as you smiled

“Oh you have, he talks about you guys all the time!” You respond as everyone but Iwaizumi looks confused

“YN you’re not dating him, please YN anyone but him!” Iwa shouts, running up to you and shaking you as your grin devilishly

It seems to finally hit the others as their eyes go from shocked to horrified in a matter of seconds.

Before they can even process his name, they hear a “yoohoo Yn-Chan” radiate throughout the gym

Surprise an Oikawa ending 😅 if you didn’t see it coming, do you even know who I am? I will always work that man into everything possible!

[dreamgrlarchive]

A Prissy Girl’s Guide to Spring

since i won’t be active on tumblr when next spring comes around, and i’ve done 3/4 seasons, i felt it was appropriate to go ahead and finish the series! if you find yourself inspired by my aesthetic/looks, you can absolutely use this as a guide for the next primavera season! 🐇

what’s the look this spring?

my personal forecast for fashion spring ‘24 is “pink pilates bimbo” for sure. the renewal of spring is the time for a wellness reset. so i’ll be engaging in a physical activity but i’ll still be in barbie attire. pink athleisure pieces with super girly additions is my predicted aesthetic. 🎀

first and foremost…

let’s talk about what spring symbolizes: renewal, cleansing, and restarting. that makes itself apparent in the seasons colors; the darkness of winter transitions to the soft pastels of spring.

preparation

start spring cleaning and prepping for seasonal allergies. stock up on in season fruits to keep in the house. take up outside activities like biking, outdoor yoga, and jogging. buy new fragrances. prep your skin and hair for the overtime humidity.

essentials

pretty umbrella

allergy meds/quarterly check up

new water bottle/tumbler

fresh and clean candles + home fragrances

matcha and jade citrus tea

humidifier

neti pot

clothes and accessories

pink athleisure. the lululemon strawberry milkshake jacket is a must! (or a dupe if you’re on budget)

foldover yoga pants

bedazzled pieces

pastel colored pieces

cute mini bags

victoria’s secret totes

tennis skirts

sheer + lacey tops

florals for spring? groundbreaking.

glitter + sequins

satin dresses

lace up sandals

hunter boots

coach baguettes

victoria’s secret co-ords, leggings and sweaters

ballet flats

ugg slippers + fluff sandals

cute gym shoes with pink/sparkly details

lace up pieces

baby blue is a staple color for spring

ruffle trims

warm materials + revealing cuts

“pastry princess” looks inspired by sweets and dessertz

cropped baby tees

stripper heelz

diamond jewelry

body jewelry + belly chainz

sparkly hair clips and headbands

butterfly aesthetics

ribbons and bows

ostrich feathers

sparkly keychains and wristlets

bodysuits + heels combo

statement jewelry like hello kitty, fruit or desserts

beauty

pretty eye pigments (try mac, huda or iconic london)

vibrant pinks

warm bronzer

glitter gloss

translucent glosses in pink and orange

charlotte tilbury flawless filter

nars super orgasm blush

morphe 8r complexion palette

morphe nikita palette

natasha denona diamond & glow (favvv)

a bunch of clear glosses

fenty diamond bomb

fenty fussy gloss bomb

urban decay moondust shadows

cake beauty products

joseon spf 50

bright and/or floral fragrances (gucci flora gorgeous gardenia, jimmy choo illicit flower, carolina herrera good girl blush, juliette has a gun collection, yves saint laurent mon paris intensement, marc jacobs daisy fragrances)

victoria’s secret love spell + warm and cozy + la crème fragrances

sol de janeiro body mists

body shimmer (fenty beauty or bath and body works)

sweet body butters

sol de janeiro beija flor

exfoliating gloves

juicy sheet masks

cetaphil moisturizing cream

native candy shop collection

victoria’s secret tease + eau so sexy

5 blade razors and post shave oil

cute mirrors to keep in my purses

glitter nails

lavenders and pinks

protein treatments for moisture overload

[aclockmaker]

Part 2 now here

Okay to expand on this I just think: Steve who’s been in a couple of tv shows and is having a moment, famous offscreen for his hair and his charm and onscreen for his ability to find chemistry with anyone (and also, again, his hair).

And Eddie who is a complete unknown; he’s been in some stage productions and had the tiniest bit parts on TV but nobody’s ever, like, recognized him on the street.

Eddie auditions for a new HBO show. When his agent tells him that Steve Harrington is already attached Eddie is like cool, I’ll never get this part but the audition will be good practice so why not. They’re never gonna cast him. He’s sure he’s playing it too weird, and he hasn’t cut his hair (but he will when a part needs him to) but then he gets a callback. Twice.

And then he’s getting called in to do a chemistry test with some of the other actors. The show is like a modern Freaks and Geeks but with a slow burn murder mystery, and Eddie’s actually dead in the main timeline but about half the show is told in flashbacks so it’s a big part. When he meets Steve he doesn’t know what he’s expecting from the paparazzi darling but the guy is super genuine, makes Eddie feel way more comfortable than he has so far. They do their read together and Eddie is just thinking to himself like… damn, this guy really is good, because that felt crazy. He’s acted opposite some insanely talented people but it’s never been that easy. That must just be what it’s like working with Steve.

And now it’s dangerous because he really wants the part. He wants to stop bartending to make rent. He wants to be on this show, because the pages he’s seen are good, and he thinks he could really bring something to it. And because he wants to work with Steve. And even the rest of the cast, too, but—

The day Eddie gets the part he gets a text from a number he doesn't know. Hey man, really looking forward to working with you. And then, a few minutes later, It's Steve btw. He's smiling down at his phone so much that his agent, whose office he's in, is like "What, did you just score another life-changing opportunity I don't know about?" And Eddie is like "Nope, just the one, uh—it's just my uncle saying congrats. Anyway—"

They don't make him cut his hair. They don't tell him to stop playing it so weird. Everything goes so well that it feels fucking hard to believe, in fact, like he's just waiting for the other shoe to drop. There's one group of them playing seniors in high school, the main foursome of which is Eddie, Steve, and their two girl costars, Nancy and Robin. And then there's a younger group playing freshmen whose story intersects with theirs.

His and Steve's characters are set up as opposites, almost rivals, and at least at first, you're presumably supposed to wonder if it's Steve's rich, popular guy who's killed Eddie's character. Nobody in the cast knows the truth yet; the scripts get revealed to them as they're shooting them and they've been told the murderer won't even be revealed in the first season (so here's hoping they get renewed, because Eddie would really like to know who killed him—and he'd also like to keep making HBO money).

Their scenes are some of Eddie's favorites to film (although he also has a soft spot for the kids—especially Dustin who plays a hilarious and awesome nerd who does D&D with Eddie's DM). Eddie hopes his and Steve's stuff is working on whatever level they ultimately need it to work on—sometimes they do get notes that tell them to pull back or dig into something, to emphasize something else, so he has to trust that they're doing the right things.

They often film out of order so when they eventually film the scene where Eddie and Steve's characters have their first run-in at school, it's far from the first time they've shot together. They get all up in each other's faces in the scene, and they've run the lines, done a table read, but acting it out at full intensity is. A lot. Steve's character is mad because he thinks Eddie's character is trying to steal his girlfriend (really she was just buying drugs from him). The way Steve plays it is all simmering intensity, the threat of violence just under the surface, and this is where Eddie doesn't know if he's reading something into it that isn't there. Because for him, there's also another kind of tension between them. And he doesn't know if it's his real life bleeding into the character; if it's just how Steve can't help being with everyone; or if it's a legitimate part of the scripts that they're supposed to be picking up on and exploring. He doesn't even know if anybody else sees what he does. But they do their takes; nobody tells him he's doing something wrong. And after the director calls cut the first time, Steve winks at him. Just to cut the tension, Eddie thinks, maybe to make him smile, which it does. It's fun watching Steve work, watching him slip into and out of character. He's really easy to work with.

Sometimes they get together to run lines or talk motivation or whatever. “It's crazy, you know," Eddie tells Steve in his trailer one night. Steve's is bigger so all of them usually hang out here. They've been making each other laugh, shooting the shit about increasingly funny backstories for their characters, and Eddie feels high with it. "I mean, you know this is my first real show. It's like—" he gestures between them, trying to encompass everything that happens on-camera and all the fun of working on that off-camera. "I didn't know it would be like this."

"Oh—yeah, man," Steve says and laughs a little self-deprecatingly, running a hand through his hair. "But, I mean, for me, I've done a couple and, with our stuff—it’s never been like this with anyone else, either.”

It's going to be so hard, Eddie thinks, looking back at him, to not read into that more than he should.

[gyusimp]

°•Dirty call with Gyutaro•°

⚠️WARNINGS: NSFW | Smut content | Insults | Fingering | Masturbation | Bad words | Dirty talk | Modern AU | Fem reader is tired after job and she just want to relax playing with herself cause why not? 💜💦 | PLS MINORS DNI!!

It was a day like any other, a tired afternoon after work, so nothing would be better than entering your apartment, taking off your heels and taking a slow, relaxing shower with warm water to calm your nerves and get rid of the tension of the whole day. You entered the bathroom and after taking off your clothes, you played your favorite playlist on your cell phone to give that last touch of perfection to your self-care moment. You washed your hair calmly, removing the remains of sweat accumulated on your scalp and cleansed your body with your favorite strawberry-scented soap until you were completely fresh and renewed. You turned off the music and headed to the bathroom sink to do your skincare routine, taking your time, letting the product dry on your skin.

You were halfway through your room when you received a call from your boyfriend, Gyutaro. It was like a tradition for him to call you certain days after work to ask you about your day so he could talk for a while during the week. Gyutaro's calls make you feel special so while you were applying creams to your face, you put the call on speaker and talked with him about no specific topic. You took your cell phone and went into your room to get dressed. Your body under your bathrobe was still wet and to be honest it was a rather uncomfortable feeling for you so you decided to take off the robe letting your completely naked body air dry naturally.

When your torso was dry enough, you grabbed your sleep shirt and put it on while still talking to your boyfriend. Your thighs and crotch were still wet so you opted to do something else while you finished drying your body completely. You walked around your room tidying up a few things and then went to grab your comb and start detangling your hair in front of the full length mirror. You don't know if it was because you were talking to Gyutaro but you started to feel a little hot and maybe horny, you saw your hard nipples under your blouse and your small slit between your legs since you weren't wearing panties; actually, when you washed your body in the bathroom and ran your fingers over your labia to clean your intimate area, you brushed your fingers against your clit a couple of times on purpose. You couldn't help but imagine some dirty things while talking to Gyutaro, you were starting to get hornier and hornier and now you just had to do something about it.

"Gyutaro...are you alone now?" You asked, straight to the point.

"What do you mean? I'm at home with Ume."

"Fine, so I want you to go to your room, okay? Also put on your headphones." Gyutaro didn't question your request, he just thought you wanted to talk to him about a more private topic or something. Ume was in the living room watching television while doing her homework and he was already in his room, so he just stood up to lock the door and connect his headphones to his cell phone to continue talking to you.

"Have you put them on yet?" You asked, a little anxious.

"Yes, just now."

The conversation didn't change for the next 5 minutes, it was casual and spontaneous until you finished with your hair and left the comb on your dresser. You didn't bother putting on some clean panties since you wouldn't need them, you simply continued talking to your boyfriend and climbed onto the bed to settle face down on the mattress, putting the biggest pillow you had on the bed and clinging to it with both of your legs, moving your waist slowly and circularly so that your pussy began to rub on top of the fabric. Your voice remained normal at the beginning, not even a suspicion about what you were doing, until you decided to go faster, adjust your legs and open them a little more to let your clit slide out of your folds and the friction of your movements carry an electrical feeling from your core to your entire body. That's when a moan escaped from your lips. Gyutaro didn't say anything, he thought he had heard wrong, but when he tried to ignore that detail he managed to hear more small gasps and moans coming from the other side of the cell phone. He had to admit that it turned him on, he assumed what you were probably doing so he wanted to tease you a little with it.

"Are you doing what I think you're doing?" He scoffed lightly.

“Mmhhmm” You nodded, your voice teasing. "Is there something wrong?" Asked. You didn't bother one bit to hide the lust in your voice and the gasps escaping your mouth.

"No...but I want to know, do you think of me when you do it?"

"A-aah, of course Gyu-taro, aah...I always do..."

That fact hardened him, he walked straight to his bed and lay down carelessly on the mattress, unbuttoning his pants to caress his cock, without letting go of his cell phone.

"Can you tell me what position you're in, cutie?"

"I-aa-aaah! I'm, I-I imagine I'm riding you...I'm so so wet aaahh, if you could hear all the wet sounds I'm making right now, you'd cum right away." Each of your words excited Gyutaro more and his did with you.

"Really? Why don't you take some pictures and show me how wet that pussy is, huh?" He said, speeding up his movements.

You laughed and a light moan left your lips. "Not this time, love, not today...mmhmm! It's my self-care night you know? It was supposed to be just me and me today but I had the urge to tease you a little-aaaaahh." You moaned, gravely as you felt your wet folds slipping. "Something inside me didn't want to masturbate completely alone, mmmhh!" You felt your lips part with each movement, your hips moved on your pillow, wetting the fabric, your clit throbbed against the pillowcase and you felt like you could cum but you didn't want to do it yet, so you chose to stop and get off the pillow to change position. You lay on your back on the bed so you were comfortable, lifted your shirt up above your breasts to expose your hard naked nipples, and spread your legs wide open. You began to move your hips while holding your phone with your shoulder against your face and slowly inserting your fingers into your hole, feeling how easy it was to pump you since you were very wet. The icy sensation of your fingers entering you made you moan unprepared and arch your back as you closed your eyes tightly, you slowly got used to the sensation until you felt your fingers being pleasurably stretching by yourself and tightening around.

"Shit! Aa-aaah, it feels so good-aaah!"

You didn't stop panting, you bit your lower lip for seconds but the moans ended up slipping through your lips almost in the form of desperate screams. Your other hand went straight to your clit to rub it against whatever it was and play with it, you loved giving it all the attention while it was the cause of having you open on your bed, moaning with pleasure in the middle of a mess of gasps. Your hair was beginning to stick to your face and you felt the sweat drips from your knees to your feet with each thrust of your hands, longing to have a long and abundant orgasm like the ones Gyutaro gives you. Your hips began to move faster, you could hear beneath you the jumps and squeaks of the mattress with each of your movements and that only made you more and more excited. Gyutaro was also a mess in his room but he managed to hide his moans very well, his hand went up and down rubbing his naked cock, squeezing it in his fist until after listening to you for a long time moaning and whimpering with pleasure in his ear he cum completely over his hand, painting his hand and clothes white. Your moans had no end, you stuttered unintelligible words into your cell phone and Gyutaro loved that. If only he could see you right now and be the one who crashes into you again and again.

"You sound very needy honey, haven't you cum?" He asked, in a mocking tone.

"Nngghh! N-not yet aah!" You looked down as your pussy sucked on your own fingers and began to dampen the sheets beneath you. Listening to all the splashing between your legs only made you go faster. Your lips felt open and wet, your knees were starting to hurt but you still didn't relieve the throbbing sensation under your fingers. "Gyutaro...could you help me?" You asked, in a sexy and needy tone.

"How?"

"I want you to talk to me, tell me a lot of dirty things, okay? Humiliate me if you want, I don't care at all."

"Mmhh, really? And what do you want me to tell you, huh bitch?"

You smiled between gasps when you heard what Gyutaro had called you, it really turned you on a lot when he treated you that way.

"I-I don't know aaa-aah! Whatever you want-mmmhh...maybe, what do you think of me right now?"

"What do I think of you?" He thought about his answer for 1 second. "I honestly didn't expect any of this coming from you, you were a prude when we met but look at you now, so needy to cum that you had no choice but to spread your legs yourself and play with your pussy for hours if you could!" He mocked you. "You're such a slut."

"Mmmhh ! Gy-Gyutaro a-aahh! Do you really think that?" You weren't offended, you felt somewhat embarrassed but in a good way. Your fingers began to move faster and a burning sensation hit your clit.

"You think I would lie to you just to turn you on? I've always thought that about you...but I love it, I love how slutty you can be..."

"Aaaah!" A loud moan left your lips, as you squeezed your eyes shut and threw your head back feeling a cold breeze hitting your nipples. “Ah-like that…keep it up! Nnggh!"

"You're a bitch, you hear me? A dirty and needy bitch...you pretend to be a tender and kind girl but in reality you love that I spread your legs whenever I want and fuck you, I know how much you love that I cum inside you and use your pussy like it was a fucking toy. Isn't that right?" Gyutaro's smile was malicious.

"Y-yes! Aah! Of course!" You gasped, your fingers going faster as did your hips. Your tits bounced and moved on top of you as sweat soaked your entire body. "Oohh Gyutaro! How I wish it were you who I squeezed so hard inside from me right now!" You screamed desperately, along with several sharp gasps.

"But you can imagine it, right? Just do it, close your eyes and fuck yourself harder, imagine my cock stretching you..." You closed your eyes tightly and decided to take a third finger to your hole to imitate Gyutaro's thickness, making you moan loudly. "Alright girl, touch yourself, touch every corner of your body, fuck and play with your vagina as if it were the last time little bitch, I know you love to masturbate with all your might...don't pretend like you don't."

"Nnggh, aah! Gyu-taroooh...y-yes ooh, yes honey, I love masturbating so much!-more, tell me more!" You squealed, feeling your hole contract harder.

"Really? Talk a little, it's been just moaning so far."

"I-I aah! I really like touching myself, helping me cum every time I feel horny...feeling my wet fingers touching my folds, spreading my legs and rubbing my clit on anything until I moan loudly! Feeling how wet i'm while my cunt asks for more! Aaa-aaah!" Your head tilted back, your back curved, and you arched your fingers inside of you. "Aaaahh aagh aah!!, ooh shit ngh! Gyutaro..." You started pumping yourself faster. "I'm gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum so hard right now babe! Ooohh!"

"Do it! Let me hear you baby!"

A loud, dirty, needy moan came from deep in your throat, making your fingers sink deep, lifting your hips into the air to spread your legs wide and let your entire orgasm shoot out almost in spurts out of you. Your hips stuttered and you continued to stroke your sore, overstimulated clit under your fingers, making it burn. Your ass returned to the bed and after a few minutes of panting tiredly you told Gyutaro that you would call him back later, you needed to pull yourself. You slowly slid your fingers out of your pussy to look down and find them completely wet, almost dripping covered in your hot, thick juices. Your legs hurt so you sat up slowly and you could see the big dark spot you were sitting on and how a sticky white trail that came from just below your cunt was smeared on your bed. Your crotch was slippery and dirty, you slowly stood up to head to the bathroom and clean yourself but before doing that, you took your cell phone next to you and took a photo of your open legs and the stain underneath to send it to your boyfriend.

Good news, i quit my toxic job! So now i can write a little more while i found a new one!....but i'll miss all my friends :")

[rivetingrosie4]

Sweet Love (Morgan & Family: A Fluff Dump, Pt. 3)

credit to @foundynnel i believe for the edit above

𑁦𐂂𑁦

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: General | tumblr masterlist | Ao3 | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: Part of a modern au (and post gang) fluff dump work. Arthur & reader visit the doctor’s office to see their baby for the first time. Some thoughtless rudeness threatens to derail their happy day. a/n: It’s just imaginary. It’s not real.

Tags: fluff without plot, fluff & angst, romantic fluff, hurt/comfort, protective Arthur, parenthood, mentions of sex, romantic teasing

Word count: 4,250

The paper underneath you rustles as you swing and bounce both feet at the edge of the exam bed by your ankles; but you can’t help it. Never in your wildest dreams did you actually think you’d ever get here.

Yet here you are, with Arthur by your side, filled past the brim with the most effervescent sparkles of nerves and anticipation. To actually see your baby. Your baby. Yours and Arthur’s. No one else’s. The product of your deep and steadfast love. After so very many, many years of so deeply pining, watching almost everyone around you know the precious gifts of their own children and parenthood, it’s finally your turn. Finally. It’s almost too much to hope for and be grateful for, all at once. You never thought you’d ever get here.

Where you lie waiting in the sterile obstetrics room, you glance to look at Arthur. He’s clad in a blue and green plaid lumberjack’s soft flannel. And he’s filled with just as high a mound of bubbly nerves as you—some of the same, but some of a different kind. Anxiety and excitement, longing and terror, all stirred to the beautiful hue of Arthur Morgan’s heart, the only one you know so well. You can tell by the way he labors to silently breathe in, holds it a beat, and purses his lips to produce protruding cheeks as he silently releases, so you might not hear it. By the way he shoves his fingers back through his honey-chestnut locks. By the way he taps the sole of his black leather boot—the pair with the classic western flourish above the toe that you love so much—against the floor’s shining white tile.

You bite your lip against a growing grin and reach to slip your fingers into the natural pocket created by the web of his relaxed hand.

At the contact, he glances to you, and his face immediately relaxes into a knowing smile, eased by familiarity, love, and the renewed comfort you gift to him. His large hand clasps around yours, and his thumb brushes your skin. You join him in a growing smile as you hold onto him right back.

Suddenly there's a knock on the exam room door, and as it opens, all at once the resting butterflies in your belly are spurred to fluttery life again.

You look to the door and sit upright, taking a shallow breath and gently holding it as the doctor walks in. He’s a somewhat older gentleman with graying brown hair.

“Here we are. Good m—” He tilts his wrist and glances at his silver watch. “Well I guess it’s not morning anymore. Sorry to keep you folks waiting.” He sits on a round stool with a black cushion, and its wheels sound out across the tile as he rolls it closer. “I’m Doctor Kellerman. Good to meet you.” He takes your hand by only the fingers and shakes it, then shakes Arthur’s. In the next moment, he’s glancing down to the paperwork on his clipboard. “How we feeling today?”

It takes you a split moment to put into practice the knowledge that you’re the reason everyone in the room is here.

“Oh! I’m feeling fine,” you smile at his downcast face, since he hasn’t looked up from your chart. Your hand instinctively slides forward to rest on your belly, though it doesn’t look much bigger than usual, with the flab you store there. “Fit as I’ve ever been,” you airily chuckle. Looking to Arthur at your side, you smirk. “We’ve been staying as active as we ever were, or maybe even more so.”

“Yeah, it’s been more,” Arthur quietly mumbles with a chuckle in confirmation.

“Getting outside, and eating all the leafy greens, and…takin’ naps when I need to,” you chuckle as if you’ve made a fine joke. “I even got him to do stretches with me every morning!”

The doctor glances up with a genuine smile. “That’s great to hear.” Just as soon, his eyes return to your chart. “I see your last period was…”

“January thirty-first,” you finish for him.

“Ahhh… Valentine’s baby, eh?”

You fight not to warm as you steal a glance at Arthur with a pinched smile. “Guess so.”

“You’ve been trying many years?”

“Just about a year and a half.”

“Thirteen weeks…” he says as he flips a page back and forth, then looks up at you. “You’re in a little later than we usually like.”

As he glances back down, you clarify, “Yes, this was the very soonest they could get us in for our first appointment.”

“I see…” he mumbles.

“But we cleared our schedules for whatever they could give us, the very soonest,” you add, looking to Arthur for a nod, then back to the doctor. “We’re takin’ this baby very seriously. Doin’ everything we can to keep ‘em healthy and happy.”

“That’s great,” he responds with a smile as he finally claps the chart closed and returns it to the counter. “Seems like you’ve got the right mentality,” he says as he turns to wash his hands at the sink. “Keeping yourself as healthy as you can be is a great place to start.”

“Oh yes,” you smile. “I’ve been reading up on everything I can, researching, even watching YouTube videos.” You suddenly gasp a little in excitement. “I saw this one lady on there, she’s always been an avid hiker—and, well, we love to hike too,” you glance to Arthur, whose smirk gradually grows to a grin in conjunction with your eager babbling, though it’s unknown to you after you’ve returned your gaze to the doctor. “And she captures these beautiful videos of her hikes. And now she’s seven months pregnant and still hiking! I could hardly believe it. Of course, she doesn’t manage the big, tasking hikes. And she never ever goes alone!” you assure the doctor. “But because she’s been taking it slow and steady, she’s still hiking! At seven months!”

You grin as you finish your story, though the doctor’s back is still turned to you. “I just think it’s so wonderful. I’d love to be able to do that. Do you think I’ll be able to do that, doctor? Take gentle hikes at seven months?”

“Uh… Maybe ten years ago. But with a geriatric first-time pregnancy?” He tips his head as he switches on the ultrasound machine. “Probably not.”

Just like that, you feel as icy as the vast and empty planes of snow you had experienced with the gang in Colter, some years ago now. The high, craggy ridgelines you’d squinted at from above your wool-lined collar, their peaks untouched by anything but the flakes that fell and gathered in the tors and the winds that yowled and whistled.

Your smile from moments ago softly falters, and your brows slowly pinch up tight. But you fight hard to keep your staggered smile as the tears rush to your eyes.

What was there you could have ever done? How had it ever been a circumstance you’d had any power over, whatsoever? How had it ever been a gift you could manufacture from nothing? If it had been, you would have seized it years ago. How many years had you ached, your hope dwindling as your age grew? And did all those years now mean nothing? How often, how continuously, how deeply had you longed for love of your very own with a partner and children of your own; had longed for just one chance to jump at? Just one single chance? But hadn’t life kept it all far away from you, so far, for so very long?

It was life, nothing but life—this thing that has always simultaneously coursed through you and encased you in its cruel, clamp-like vise. Like a vital coffin.

As Arthur watches you, he recognizes the graciousness and understanding of your trying to maintain a smile through your depth of feeling and hurt, not wanting to be as fragile as you think yourself to be. He knows you to be strong.

It’s why he has to reel back his fury for a few moments, containing it to the single, elongated exhale from his nostrils as he leans toward you across the armrest of your exam bed and gently takes your hands.

Reaching for a box of gloves on the wall, the doctor asks, “You don’t have any allergies to latex or any cosmetic ingredients that you know of, do you?”

You quietly splutter and gulp as you shake your head and muster a calm, normally-toned, “No.”

Another knock on the door.

“Come on in,” the doctor says.

The nurse who brought you back to the room enters.

“They’re wanting to know if or when they need to set her up with an appointment for a future ultrasound,” she says directly to the doctor.

“Oh sure,” the doctor says, beginning to flip a big calendar on his desk as he waves the nurse closer. He murmurs to her in very quiet tones: “It’s advanced maternal age with high risk, elderly primigravida, so we’re gonna wanna do another in about three months.”

You have no recourse but to silently, slowly breathe through an open mouth and swallow repeatedly past the lump in your throat, as your smile finally disappears in full. But Arthur couldn’t be more spellbound or enchanted as he watches the tears remain clung to your eyes, not one trickling down your beautiful cheeks.

“Possibly one additional,” the doctor continues his discussion with the nurse, completely oblivious to the inner struggle to prevail that he’s spurred in you, that no one but Arthur knows you’re conquering. “But we’ll wait to see how the next ultrasound goes, and if both are healthy, she won’t need another.” He points to a square on the calendar. “Barring other appointments, why don’t we do this day?”

The nurse nods and retreats through the door, closing it behind her.

“We’ll have to do abdominal, rather than vaginal, since you’re further along than usual for the first ultrasound,” the doctor says. “All right,” he sighs as he turns to you with a grin. “Ready to get started?”

He’s greeted with your puffy, red eyes that look everywhere else and Arthur’s white-hot, enraged glare, trained dead-center on his forehead. And his smile slides off his face.

The legs of Arthur’s chair squeak against the tile as he abruptly stands. He can’t even be bothered to attempt a kindly mask to hide his fury.

“Doc,” he begins, managing an easy and lighthearted tone for the address that somehow seems more menacing when combined with his fatal expression as he turns him and walks him toward the door. “Why don’t you and I have a little chat.” The terse word is tart and clipped on his tongue. “Out in the hall.”

You watch Arthur’s tall, broad form disappear when he pulls the door closed behind him.

You sit alone in the exam room, waiting.

A few unintelligible words, low and quiet—Arthur’s voice, muffled.

Then the wall is hit hard with something and rattles. Before it can finish shaking, there’s a new acerbic sharpness in Arthur’s raised, growly tone.

You must’ve gasped and jumped a little, and your damp eyelashes still blink with the sudden shock. You might’ve even made out the sound of a panicked, huffed grunt in the midst of whatever happened on the other side of the wall.

After a moment, the image comes to you, very vividly: Arthur suddenly taking the doctor by the collar of his white coat and ramming him up against the wall with a few deadly words, a stern snarl to his lip, and a feral look in his eye.

A prickly, chilled mingling of emotions washes over you—amazement, disbelief, even a bit of near-horrified abashment, and worry that Arthur will receive unfavorable legal repercussions. But there are a few emotions that stand above the others, though you’d initially struggled to decipher their shape and quality. The wondrous stirrings of the deepest love. The warm and enveloping sensations of being protected and cared for. Even desire.

The tiniest twitch of a smile flicks onto one corner of your mouth.

There are several minutes more of quiet—during which your thoughts start to return to the horrendous notion that Arthur could be apprehended for assaulting the doctor—before the door finally reopens and Arthur reappears.

His caustic expression from minutes ago is wiped away. His smile is easy. Relaxed, even. Void of a hint of tenseness or concern.

“Hey, babe,” he says. “Sorry we took a while.”

At the sight of him, and knowing at least part of what he’s done, your mouth quirks and tightens into the kind of little smile you know you shouldn’t be wearing.

As he walks towards you, a slight lean to the side gives you the vantage point to see none other than a completely different, female doctor towing behind him.

Her grin is bright, buoyant, and—somehow, given the circumstances—even completely authentic and natural. Uncoerced.

As Arthur settles in close beside you again, you mumble very quietly from the side of your mouth, “I sincerely hope there won’t be any arrests today…?”

“Nothin’ to worry about, just take it easy and look at the screen,” he mumbles between his teeth in a light, wry tone.

You stifle a chortle behind your nose, imagining what possible kinds of threats Arthur could’ve employed, how dreadfully terrified to his core the doctor must’ve been to not only allow a switch of caregivers, but to willingly and practically forget the whole incident.

“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Mahajan,” she says warmly, extending a hand. Her handshake is full and comforting in its grasp. “I’ll be conducting your ultrasound today. And before we get started, I want to let you know that, should you remain healthy and well into your third trimester, and should you feel up to it, there’s no reason you couldn’t enjoy healthy activities such as gentle outdoor hikes.”

Like a kid who’s just opened up a new toy, your grin widens as you look at Arthur. His knowing grin is better than a snuggly blanket as he gazes at you and nods once with a wink.

“Always accompanied, of course,” the doctor smiles with a gesture towards Arthur. When she looks back to you, your gaze is pulled to hers in an effort to give polite attention. “You’ve got a good one here, Mrs. Morgan.”

You immediately turn back to Arthur with a warm, enamored, affectionate smile.

Noting the enraptured, desirous way you both gaze at each other right there in the middle of the exam room, the doctor is reminded of something.

“Oh, and um,” she begins, bringing a finger to her lips as if in thought, “another healthy activity during pregnancy is lovemaking.”

You immediately turn to look at her with an inward breath, your smile momentarily wiped away. As an airy laugh comes to you, the others are given reign to chuckle. Chancing a glance at Arthur, you try to hide the smile appearing on your mouth by curling your lips inward and pinching down on them tightly with your teeth.

Arthur is leaned back casually in his chair, his forearm resting over his thigh. When you catch sight of the look on his face—a subtle mixture of gratification and mischievousness all veiled by an attempt at nonchalance—a thought crosses your mind. But it’s too silly to be real.

Then when he meets your eye and fails to prevent the rising smirk at the corner of his lips, you outright gasp.

“You didn’t tell her to say that.”

When he wheezes, you swat him, and he sits up with a snicker.

The doctor chuckles pleasantly. “He may’ve asked me to remind you, but it doesn’t change the truth of it.” While you’re busy continuing to playfully swat him and listening to his snickering that you adore, the doctor continues, “It increases blood flow, stimulates activity inside the womb, lowers blood pressure…” she rattles off, “and keeps you two close, which’ll be very important during such a big life change.”

“There now. Did you hear the good doctor?” Arthur says, trying to force the mirth on his face to smooth. “I’ve got a bonafide prescription to sex you up.”

Though you can’t help but giggle, you keep it murmured low and quiet, like simmering, scratch-made strawberry jam in the base of your throat. “Shh-shh,” you try to quietly scold him.

“I’ve reviewed your chart, so let’s get started, shall we?”

“Oh yes, please!” you return your attention to the doctor.

After gloving up, Doctor Mahajan flips on the ultrasound computer to your right. She asks you to lift your blouse and unbutton your jeans, and she squirts a chilly gel to your belly. You watch as she gently presses the transducer into the gel on your belly, turning and rolling it over your skin.

Your and Arthur’s gazes are transfixed to the screen as fuzzy, meaningless blotches of black and white suddenly play across it. You both simultaneously scramble to reach for each other’s hands, clasping tightly to each other as Arthur takes a full breath and slowly releases it.

The moment you have been waiting for your whole life. Now somehow finally, suddenly here.

The smudgy noise on the screen clears, and there’s your baby. Curled and caressed inside you. Precious and brilliant and beautiful.

Your breath is whisked away. Speechless and taken completely by incredulousness, you turn to look at Arthur with drawn brows. He tries to chuckle to play off his awe, but his breath is caught too.

“There we are,” the doctor quietly says. “Baby Morgan.”

Your gaze is arrested by your baby on the screen. The swooping slope of the curve of their head, ending in a little button for a nose. Arms and legs and feet.

“This fluttery bit here,” the doctor gestures to a point flapping swiftly in the midst of their chest, visually different from everything else. “Baby’s heart.”

Your bottom lip drapes wistfully open, and your eyes are glued as you take in every moment.

“Oh, see, they’re turning on their side, turning back,” the doctor smiles as baby’s limbs disappear for a moment and reappear. “It’s a little too early to tell the baby’s sex, but we should be able to see at your next appointment.”

She takes multiple measurements from head to rump on the screen, to verify your baby’s age and due date.

When the baby appears to give a few little kicks, the three of you quietly chuckle.

“Baby’s brain and sensory input are developing, so this is just a way for them to become more aware of their own body and their environment,” she explains. “It’s a little early now, but you’ll be feeling that before you know it.”

Reaching for a button on the keypad, she says with a reassuring nod, “I’m going to give you about ten seconds of audible heart rate, just to limit the amount of waves baby’s exposed to this early.”

When you both nod, she presses the button. A loud, quick wub-wub fills the room.

You take a breath and whisper, “Oh my God,” looking to Arthur with a faint smile.

Arthur is mystified. A single breathy laugh escapes him, but his expression is totally awestruck.

“Baby’s heart is very robust and healthy,” the doctor smiles.

And yet, Arthur’s is weak. Trembling with trepidation like stalks of overgrown sweet grass swept by ferociously rolling fetches. They have their anchor of earth to cling to. What does he have?

He gazes at the screen, into his baby’s current world of warm womb and peaceful, pocketed embrace. He watches his baby wiggle and kick, each movement so vibrantly charged. He lets his gaze trace his baby’s perfectly precious outline, the slope of their forehead and nose, the flutter of their strong heart. And he is a goner.

It doesn’t matter that he’s petrified his baby could be torn from him again. It doesn’t matter that he’s nervous he’ll screw everything up. He’ll go to the ends of the earth to make sure neither happens. He’ll do whatever needs to be done. He’s ready to dive headfirst into the risk of pain and heartache. Because in an instant, he’s been filled—overwhelmed and overtaken—with enrapturing love. Too big to grasp, too deep and beautiful and mysterious to have edges. A love that calls to attention and demands eager and ardent self-sacrifice. A love that somehow carries with it equal measures of unbridled, airy giddiness and heavy weight. A love that somehow nails to the beams of a parent’s life both an assured unworthiness and a boundless, indescribable gratefulness.

Because he is already so desperately, limitlessly in love with his child. Your child. Together.

You turn to the screen again and watch your baby move and bow and kick.

Your baby. Yours and Arthur’s. You’re not watching a video of someone else’s baby. You’re not dreaming and imagining. This is your baby. Your. Baby.

In these few instants that seem like hours, the face of your whole world and life and being have eclipsed and shifted. You’re completely overwhelmed. With love and joy—not at all more than what you have for Arthur, but different. It fills and quickens and overtakes you. So much that it almost hurts. So deep and resounding that it propels a new purpose and a new drive within you. So sweet and so precious that if you’d been standing, it undoubtedly would’ve brought you all the way to your knees.

“Baby.” You breathe it as you reach out and touch the flat surface of the screen, swiping your fingertips over the outlines and substance of your child’s precious form.

The culmination of your life’s dearest, deepest hopes and dreams and desperate longings. The manifestation of your and Arthur’s love. There, on the screen. But not on the screen.

“Oh-” You chuckle at yourself and sniffle as you bring your hand to your belly, above where the transducer meets your skin. For the screen only shows you what you can’t see inside.

Inside you.

Of all people, you. Finally you. Finally, your very own baby.

Arthur can almost read your thoughts as he watches your eyes redden and your face crumple like newspaper, sift like sand. And now, there are your tears. Overflowing and pouring down your cheeks in flooded streams. Not one allowed for the asinine doctor; whole oceans given for your child.

God, how he loves you. Didn’t think he could possibly love you any more, and yet, here it is. You are his anchor. He doesn’t need any other. And he is yours.

Wordless, you gasp and sputter and hiccup as the tears flow down both sides of your face in rivulets, dripping one after the other from your jaw.

Arthur thumbs the back of your hand, not offering you a tissue or requiring you to stop or hide your tears. He understands.

It’s another few minutes of enjoying your baby’s tumbling movements on the screen, before your tears finally slow and dry.

When you approach the jeep in the parking lot, you’re still awed and glowing with it, and almost wracked to fatigue by its powerfully engulfing wave—this love.

As you slip your hand into the jeep’s door handle, your thoughts turn to the man you love just as much, if not more. You couldn’t have thought it possible, but somehow your heart has expanded to accommodate all this added and immeasurable love.

Arthur bought the hunter green jeep as soon as he’d found out you were pregnant. ‘More of a family car,’ he’d said. Of course, that was nine weeks ago, and the jeep has already seen plenty of proper use—the splashes of dark mud above its tires from rugged, off-road terrain a clear sign of that.

You both climb up into your seats and fall into a natural rhythm of quiet breath after the jingle of the keys when Arthur leaves them in the ignition.

He looks over at you and watches your stunning face as you gaze forward, contentedly and placidly lost in your thoughts. To him, you’re made even more pricelessly, sweetly beautiful by the person you are.

“‘M proud of you,” he quietly muses.

You look back at him and start to smile. Out of all the things he could say first, that’s what he’s chosen.

“That was our baby,” he says, the low gravel in his voice now silken. “Just…”

“Amazing,” you say together.

You nod with a misty smile and gaze down at your belly before gazing forward through the windshield again.

He reaches for your hand and brings it to his mouth. “I’m gonna take you home and make sweet,” he presses a kiss to the segments of your fingers, “sweet,” another kiss to your fingers, “sweet love to you.” With that, he kisses the back of your hand. “Mama.”

You simply turn to look at him with a growing, winsome smile. His eyes flit up to yours in the midst of a kiss. It’s the very first time in your life anyone has ever called you that.

“All day and all night. And you best just get used to it.” He gently returns your hand to the seat and starts the car.

Your smile brightens to radiant.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he says with the glint of a wink. “Doctor’s orders.”

[romanoffsbish]

Power(less) Moves

CEO!NatashaReader x Assistant!Wanda

A/N: I love mcu Vision, please don’t read into the slanderous noncannon talking points | 4,840 Words

Warnings: Pushy Men | Angst -> Fluff

Smut: Daddy (R) | Mommy (N) | Restraints (W) | Thigh-Riding (N) | Paddle - Spanking | Oral (All) | Strap (W) | Bullet Vibe | Degradation | Overstimulation | 18+ | Minors DNI

A luncheon barbecue was the last place Wanda wanted to spend her Saturday afternoon, but being the assistant to the CEO's meant she hadn't much of a choice. Especially when said CEO's are also her lovers in the night time.

She'd been hoping to get lucky this morning after her dream left her a sticky mess, but when you brushed her off your thigh, and Natasha rushed out the front door with nary a kiss on her lips she knew she was shit out of luck.

Which is why she planned to be a bit of a brat.

——

Sitting impossibly close to Vision Stark, Tony's dorky younger brother that you hired out of pity as he was struggling to find employment after college. Turns out he wasn't all that keen on keeping it either as his hand grazed over Wanda's back as she laughed at his lame joke.

Natasha's hand was wrapped so tight around her flute of champagne that you had to take it from her. Fearful it would snap and cut her.

Your arms connected as they weaved around her front, you kissed the skin beneath her ear then whispered, "It's okay my love, the little whore is foolishly toying with us." Natasha grumbled, "She's letting him touch her Y/N."

There was insecurity in her tone that enacted a resounding pain in your chest. The prospect of losing Wanda always weighed heavy on both of your hearts, she was a bit younger, and more importantly she was free of commitments.

Natasha and you had an entire company to run, people's lives depending on your ability to sign their checks, she only had your cards.

"She wants to make us pay for leaving her a mess," you whispered with renewed conviction as you noticed her gazing back at you two every once in awhile. Natasha caught on as well as she chuckled darkly, "It'll be her to pay."

Wanda clearly felt eyes on her, she enjoyed it at first, the way her body felt with the surge of adrenaline the glares gave her. Riling you guys up was her favorite pastime, because she'd always wind up waking up with one of you both still deep inside of her, where you'd belonged.

Wanda absolutely adored the possessiveness. Being your guys assistant wasn't exactly easy, but loving the two of you was. It was like breathing, an organic, natural occurrence.

There was no way she'd ever leave you two, and especially not for Vision Stark, he was a drab, and on top of that he was unattractively pushy.

At first flirting with Vision was fun, humoring the man who'd made his office crush obvious, it was harmless; until it wasn't. When his hands firmed against her skin, and he leaned in a hair too close. Wanda was no longer enjoying this, he smelt of cheap aftershave, and peach schnapps, smelling just as pretentious as he'd made himself out to be. A rich kid who was so insufferable he couldn't get hired on his name.

Tony once joked he was adopted, and Wanda's starting to believe he wasn't lying after all. That or he was likely the product of an affair. Yeah... Which would explain the stark difference in their appearances, one blonde with blue eyes and lanky limbs, the other a brunette, with brown eyes, and a all around toned physique.

Fortunately for Wanda you guys saw the exact moment her flirty facade fell into distress. There was not even a blink of your eyes before you were rushing off to aide her. Natasha hot on your heels with an HR exec beside her.

"Hey Wanda, is everything okay?" The woman turned her face to look up, her lip wobbled slightly, Vision leaned back in adjunct horror.

"I-." Wanda found herself unable to speak, you all glared daggers at the trembling trust fund baby, and Sadie, the HR manager, sighed in obvious frustration, "Stark, follow me."

You nudged your wife, silently demanding her check reflect a bonus for this moment. Nat rolled her eyes at your thoughtfulness, but nodded a promise, and in this case agreement.

"Wanda, I need you to calm down," you coo'd, a hand softly tracing the curvature of her face. "Can you do that baby?" Her lower lip trembled softly, she harshly sucked it between her teeth to temper herself before nodding her head.

"Thank you," you kissed the tip of her nose, she visibly relaxed, and your heart beamed with pride and swirled with adoration. "Natty's pulling the car around, I'll be home later."

Wanda's hands clutched your shirt, eyes wide with fear, shadowing her disappointment. "I have to close out the luncheon, and then I have to deal with some urgent HR paperwork."

"No," Wanda shook her head, a tear flying as she did. "I'm sorry, I-I, it's okay. Let him go."

"Don't be crazy Wanda," you lowly growled. "He made you uncomfortable, it was clear and he dismissed it, that's unacceptable; for you, to me, and also as a reflection on the company."

"I can stay," she pleaded. "I'll pull it together."

"No." You shook your head, and gave her a hug to soothe her. You quietly whispered, "You've had a rough time baby, you'll go home and take care of yourself. Do as mommy says. Got it?" Wanda nodded, and you gave out soft praises.

Then you heard a car door slam, and a rush of footsteps telling you your time ran out. You slyly kissed her lips, then warned, "When daddy gets home we'll handle punishment."

Natasha kissed your cheek, then smirked at you as she pulled Wanda towards the car. You winked at the terrified brunette, then blew a kiss to your wife before returning to find your employees eyes all on your business. The lot of them straightened out and shifted back to their former conversations, you shook your head with amusement before returning to business.

That mongrel had to be dealt with instantly. 

—

It had been about three torturous hours before you could even consider heading home. Vision tried to fight you, threatening legal recourse as he stated you were merely jealous. Apparently he had known of your situation, and was set on using it against all of you. He'd threatened to use his status, but his attempts were futile as Tony cackled through the receiver of his phone.

What you, Natasha, and Wanda shared was a matter you'd legally squashed ages ago with HR. Sure, you still kept your relationship under wraps at work, but that was simply to ensure staff didn't cry favoritism due to the nature of your positions. Wanda was never given special treatment at work, ever, you and Nat simply couldn't afford to feed into her ego like that.

She was already insufferable at home as it was.

After a long battle that left you exhausted, and poor Sadie on the verge of a breakdown, the younger Stark decidedly heeded his brother's warnings about being cut off if he so much as called the family lawyer against two of his best friends, and his namesake company's allies.

He left quietly, a major deviation from how he'd entered, but you left in an angered rush.

When you eventually walked through the doors of your massive penthouse you were met by your wife, who was sitting on your at home bar wearing nothing more than a red camisole intricately laced in black, her full breasts on display as she hopped off the counter and sauntered over to you, smirking devilishly as she saw exactly where your eyes had landed.

"Welcome home love." She pecked your lips, then allowed you to wordlessly respond, your hands fell to her hips where you squeezed them before pulling her back in for a deeper kiss. It had been a long day, one that was meant to be stress free, but had divulged into chaos.

Natasha could sense the urgency in you, with the way your hands bunched the silk up, fully exposing her bare lower half to you enough of an indication that it had been a tough event.

"Love, slow down," she panted against your lips as you'd slipped your leg between hers and began to rub her cunt against your slacks. You growled, then sunk your teeth into the swell of her breast to clearly reiterate your frustrations.

"I tied the brat up," she whispered between her raspy moans, instantly peeking your interest. "How long has she been made to be alone with her thoughts?" You inquired as you continued to help your wife ride your thigh, enjoying the way her face scrunched up in pleasure as she fought to remain cognizant enough to reply.

"After I made sure she showered his stench off of her, and ate a proper meal, I tied her up."

"Good, because if I had to suffer for her foolish behavior, then so should she." Natasha whined as you abruptly stilled her hips, "Why must I?"

"Oh hush," you chided, "I let you come home while I dealt with the pest, the least you could do is be patient so I can fuck you properly."

Natasha hummed thoughtfully, "Fair enough."

With a soft roll of your eyes you responded to her, then after a moment of silence you lifted the woman up, who squealed at the surprise, and brought her to the master bedroom. You tossed her onto the mattress, then hovered over her, completely ignoring the woman laid beside you with red cheeks and flowing tears.

Wanda immediately pulled at her restraints when she got no response to her pleading. "Mommy please, I thought about what I did," she cried, "I just needed you guys so badly."

"Shut up whore," you growled, but you didn't look at her and that absolutely broke her.

"Had you just been patient, like I'd asked you to be this morning, then we'd have made sure to fuck you dumb later." This time you turned, glare icy as you met her teary eyes. "Color?"

"Green..."

"It's such a shame too," you sighed, your hand cupped her cheek tenderly, subtle reassurance of your guys love before you gripped her chin. "We would've had you thoroughly fucked all weekend long, Monday too since it's a holiday."

"Wait," she went to seek clarity, but you'd already shoved her panties into her mouth.

"Whores don't get to make demands," you tutted before turning back to look at Natasha who was thoroughly amused by your actions. "Now, if you want relief you'll be quiet, and watch me make mommy scream. If you so much as blink we won't touch you for a week."

Natasha snorted, "Aww baby, play fair." The request was absolutely ridiculous, you knew that, but in the moment you didn't care much.

"Fair would've been her remaining loyal," you sneered, "She instead chose to parade around the luncheon like she was on the damn menu."

Natasha frowned deeply at the reminder, her eyes full of insecurities met eyes full of regret.

Wanda instantly broke the rule as she blinked once the reality had hit her, she'd never meant to actually hurt either one of you. Losing you wasn't an option she thought of fondly, or ever. It left a dull ache in her chest thinking that she might be facing losing either one of you. And she couldn't even apologize like she wanted to with the makeshift gag, it was shoved in deep.

"Three blinks," you suddenly conceded through a harsh breath through your nose, knowing damn well that was manageable as Natasha wasn't that far away from her own release.

Wanda nodded obediently, not a single rebuttal left on her lips, and she knew your tight smile was the closest to affection you'd show her.

Natasha moaned as soon as your tongue met her dripping cunt, she was already close while riding your thigh, and she knew as you were relentlessly lapping at her that she wouldn't last long. Which left some hope for Wanda.

The brunette made it an entire minute before she blinked. One down, and two to go, she was pleading with you to work your usual magic. Natasha hardly ever took more than two minutes to orgasm when your skilled mouth was what was at use. Your dexterous tongue was more than enough for the both of them.

Then you incorporate the fingers and it's over, which is how you approached the now. You pulled a strangled moan from the redhead that reverberated off the walls. Wanda gulped and blinked again as her arousal increased tenfold.

"Careful Wands," Natasha panted affectedly, "You've only got one more pass now baby."

Wanda's eyes burned, but she managed to keep them open just long enough for you to suck Nat's clit into your mouth and make her sing your praises. The brunette blinked fast so she could alleviate the sting and watched closely as Nat sloppily rutted into your face to make the orgasm last. Wanda was jealous, but content.

Watching you make your wife fall apart was always something she found attractive. It is how the first night together went. You gave her pointers, then let her take over the act so you could rail her senseless with your strap. A shiver ran down her spine at the memory, and a shock to her heart followed as she continued to regret her every bratty decision on this day.

Natasha smirked dreamily at you as you now hovered over her, all while her slender fingers walked down Wanda's body, she could feel the way the girl tensed, she was perfectly wound up. "She did it lyubov', shall we reward her?"

You hummed in contemplation as you pressed your lips to hers, relishing in the way that your wife moaned, and wrapped her legs around you to draw your body even closer. Wanda watched with rapt attention, her muffled whimpers and squirming body enough to draw you back. You looked at her with that infuriatingly attractive, smug grin that only ever made her wetter.

"I suppose the brat has earned her reprieve," you reasoned with a shrug before clambering off the bed, and just as you disappeared into the closet to retrieve your strap Natasha took your agreement in stride. With fast hands she untied the brunette, and removed the panties. Wanda choked on the taste of her own arousal as she acclimated to the freedom, then after a bit of spluttering she looked up into predatory green orbs and inhaled sharply before pouting.

The redhead wore a smirk, "You look so pretty like this sweetheart," her thumb stroked over the younger woman's cheek, wiping away a stray tear. Then she leaned down to kiss her trembling lips, her tongue slipping into her mouth as she passed time. Once she heard the familiar sound of you fastening the harness she pulled back with a wide smirk. Wanda gulped, and as expected, with the tight grip Nat had on her hips she flipped her onto her stomach.

"Don't you think so detka?" Natasha called out to you as she heard you approach her, you didn't answer right away. Instead you handed over a leather paddle then walked to the side of the bed and crouched down to see Wanda's muddled gaze. "So pretty," you mused as your callous thumb ran down the bridge of her nose until it landed on her plump, pursed lips. Her entire body visibly shuddered, and her eyes that reeked of submission only doubled down.

"Broken into submission, and at our mercy." Natasha beamed at the familiar concept, and you smiled just the same as you leaned in to peck her lips. "It's about time we ruin her."

The redhead took that as her queue and slammed the paddle down onto her left cheek. You took full advantage of her anticipated reaction, Wanda's agape mouth as she went to scream out in a mix of pain and pleasure was full before the sound could fully leave her throat as you jutted your hips forward. It was replaced by a gargle of whimpers and gags.

"Get daddy's cock ready for you baby," Natasha commanded as she roughly groped the stinging skin of her behind. "And take each hit like a good girl, don't try to escape me now love..."

Natasha was relentless in her pursuit to bruise the rear end of your lover. Wanda took it in stride as her repentance was just beginning. Neither of you would truly hurt the woman, marks aside, you knew she took great pleasure from this arrangement as she drenched your sheets every single time you had to punish her.

Her tears still soaked through the pillowcase as you continued to assault her throat just the same, you were clearly close to your release as the harness brutally assaulted your clit. Your grunts turned both of your lovers on, Nat had even brought her paddle to a stop after a harsh swat against the reddened, welting cheeks. It was mesmerizing to see you so close, your face scrunched up as sweat sheened your skin.

The heady stench of arousal nearly brought the redhead to her knees, so she did it herself as she kept her eyes locked on yours. With a much gentler hand she maneuvered the pliant body on the bed until her ass was raised and legs were spread enough to grant her access to her drenched cunt. She winked at you before diving right in, making Wanda moan around your strap and driving you wild with the reverb.

"Natasha," you warned through gritted teeth, she understood you perfectly, but she still teased you by pushing Wanda to the absolute brink. Her eyes swimming with mischief never wavered from your own, and just as you had came, arousal painting your thighs, she pulled away to prevent Wanda from the same fate.

Wanda cried hoarsely as you ripped your strap from her throat, spit trailed from her swollen lips to your strap until you moved far enough back for it to snap. The poor girl was in total disarray over the refusal, but as she was swiftly flipped onto her back she was made to cry even harder. The feel of your usually soft sheets was nearly coarse as it rubbed against her sore ass.

"If only you would've behaved today," you pondered aloud, "We would've let you cum without teasing, and with the promise of it never ending until you'd beg us to stop."

"I'm sorry," she cried, her eyes were clamped shut as she tried to stop her tears, "Please..."

"That's a good girl," you chuckled darkly as you stared down at her from the end of the bed. "Beg for it, remind mommy and daddy that only we can make you this desperate."

Wanda went to plead her case, but you cut her off by pushing your strap beyond her fluttering entrance. The overdue stretching of her slicked up walls had her eyes rolling to the back of her head, her back arching alongside them until Natasha firmed her back against the mattress.

While you picked up an instantly brutal pace Natasha moved about her upper body, making her head spin as she lavished her breasts with soft kisses that turned incessant, then from there it became rough. Her teeth making surprise contact with the skin over her pulse was enough to help reduce her into a mess.

"Please," she whimpered, the first coherent word to fall from her lips in minutes as you purposefully neglected her clit to keep her on that blissful edge. Natasha's mouth wrapped around her pert nipples aided her in her journey, but Wanda couldn't reach her peak without the more direct stimulation. "Hmm?"

"Beg harder baby, don't be so damn pitiful," Natasha taunted in a garbled manner as she continued to suck and nip at her chest. Her mark more than made on the once clear skin that she'd taken to using as a canvas. "Do it!"

Wanda shrieked as the redhead twisted her nipple for emphasis at the same time your tip pressed against her innermost sensitive spot. The brunette blacked out for all of two seconds as the building pleasure reached unbearable. The closeness was obvious to all of you, as with every thrust in you met increased resistance, and Natasha was up close to her heaving chest.

"Please, I-I, mommy I need to let go so bad!" Wanda finally cried, "Daddy, please let me."

Your wife peered up at you, her plump lip caught between her teeth as she admired the way you looked glistening under the soft light of your bedroom, layered in sweat. It was hot. Rather enticing, the way that you focused your eyes on her every previously sinful move while still keeping up the brutal pace of your thrusts. Clearly you were on the brink again, but you kept it under control as you finally gave into the temptation to see Wanda coming undone.

"Cum for us baby," you purred, voice raspy from the insatiable need. Wanda's heart soared and with a firm press of your thumb to her clit as your wife sucked a deep mark onto the skin of the valley of her breasts she was writhing.

"There's our good girl," you teased, and Nat snorted, "We just had to fuck her dumb."

"Oh, and we're far from done," you muttered, smirking at your wife as you felt the way her thighs tensed as you lifted her legs up, causing the strap to reach further. Wanda screamed as the tip of your strap pressed firmly against her g-spot. Natasha watched in momentary awe as the strap you rutted into her, against her walls that squeezed it still, bulged her stomach out.

"I-I can't," Wanda whined, but Natasha shushed her with a peck to her lips, "You can baby, this is what you wanted, so take it." Then she rerouted her attention back to the bulge, her hand splayed flat against her abdomen as she felt the mesmerizing rise and fall of it. "Daddy's fucking you so well baby, thank her."

"Thank you daddy," she instantly complied, "Need to cum again, please." You hummed, "Use your manners and thank mommy too."

Wanda smiled up at Natasha, her expression thanks enough, and so the redhead nodded while reaching down to stimulate her clit as her other hand pressed firmly against her stomach. The brunette's entire body shook violently as she was thrown into another blinding orgasm.

Then all at once it stopped as you slipped out, her slick oozing out of her hole that continued to contract around nothing. Her body slumped and your wife met your lips for a tender kiss.

Wanda was too fucked out to notice Natasha had inserted a bullet into her, her walls too numbed from the previous filling to register it either. It wasn't until she shifted slightly, her eyes widening, that she felt the foreign piece. The way you two smiled at her was enough, she didn't need words to know the punishment was prolonged, and that terrified and excited her.

"Why don't you help daddy out, hm?" Natasha now hovered over the brunette, smile alluring as always as she stroked her face. Wanda knew exactly what that meant, so she shimmied off the bed and dropped to her knees, hands working fast to remove the harness from you, trying her best to be fast to keep you content.

Just as soon as the harness left your body were you gripping her by her hair and pressing her into you. Your cunt ached, as did your body with tension from your long day. Nobody, not even Natasha who was skilled beyond belief could bring you over the edge like Wanda did.

Every single session between you three ended like this, with her in varying positions that always centered with her between your thighs. Using her dexterous tongue and nimble, long fingers to bring you to nirvana in seconds. It filled the woman with pride every time. This time, even with her being in the dog house, was no different. If anything it was more special.

The fact that you are even letting her do this was a privilege she didn't take for granted. Your essence smeared her face, and she wore it with the utmost pride, if you'd let her she would wear it in public. Part of her wished that to be part of the punishment, maybe you'd let her eat you out on Tuesday in the office, and make her wear it in a possessive retaliation.

Natasha watched Wanda's thighs rub together and she smirked from her place behind you, her hands lazily played with your breasts as her lips tenderly kissed over your salty skin. "I think the brat is enjoying her treat, should we give her the other one?" You chuckled breathily, "I don't know, I think us spoiling her like that is what got us into this mess Natalia."

Wanda flinched, the reminder of today still weighed heavy on her every time you brought it up. She wished for it to be a thing of the past, but she knew better than to dream like that. It was her fault, she hurt you both, and somehow you still let her have your sweetest nectar so she wouldn't complain about your denials.

Honestly, she didn't even need the vibe, your moans that just picked up, along with the tightening of your hand in her hair was enough to tell her just how well she was doing, and to send her crashing over the edge alongside you.

"Fuck, she's dripping onto the carpet," Natasha rasped against your shoulder as she peered down to see Wanda with her hands now on the ground as she keeled over and desperately gasped for air. You'd not only smothered her, but your reaction to her alone sent her into an orgasm that was blinding and breathtaking.

Literally, she was basically hyperventilating.

Though you were also coming down from an intense release, you dropped to your knees and pulled the overstimulated girl into your lap. Kissing over the bruises your lover had already left behind, but you refrained from leaving your own. Your slick on her contorted face was more than enough for you to have left a mark.

"Shh, it's okay sweetness," you tried to calm her as you carried her into the bathroom, Nat leading you there so she could run a bath, but it was clear as day that she was deep in turmoil.

"I'm sorry," Wanda cried, hands clutching your shoulders as her head lay against your chest. "Please don't leave me, I need you, please!!"

Natasha rose from the lip of the tub in an instant, taking the girls heated face between her hands so she could soothingly stroke her thumbs over her cheeks, and kiss her forehead.

"Hey, hey, nobody's leaving anybody baby," the redhead shut down her fears, and looked to you so you could continue to reassure the woman.

While Natasha returned to situate the tub, you shifted Wanda so that her arms were around your neck, with her legs around your waist. It brought you face to face, with the proximity you could see just how petrified she really was.

"Wanda, we adore you," you whispered softly, keeping the moment intimate enough. "We'd never leave you, but sometimes." You paused, taking a second to build up the courage to voice your shared fears. "We wonder if you would be happier elsewhere, and it's terrifying to think you'll wake up one day and no longer want us."

"I'm never leaving!" Her grip on you tightened. "You two are my forever, I've never been so happy before. I'm sorry for being an ungrateful brat." She buried her face into your neck, fresh hot tears were now streaming down your skin.

Natasha wrapped her arms around the both of you, pulling your bodies into hers so she could offer comfort as well. "We love you Wanda."

"So much baby," you added. "Never doubt that, just because we can't always fulfill your sinful needs it doesn't make the words any less true."

"Also," Natasha began with a smirk sent over Wanda's shoulder for you to see her devilish intent. "Never stop being our brat." Her lips then latched onto the brunette's neck from behind, drawing out a whimper from her lips.

"Yeah, punishing you is half the fun." You playfully slapped her ass, and she cried harder against you due to the renewed stinging flesh.

"Come now, let's get you cleaned up." Natasha gently maneuvered her from your hold and into the tub. She looked up longingly, and the both of you gave into her pitiful, silent request as you slipped into the tub. Natasha had turned on the jets, so it was the perfect zen moment.

Then once Wanda was calmed she asked you a simple, albeit dangerous question. "What's the other half?" You smirked, hand hovering the remote of her bullet vibe. "That it never ends."

——

[imbibeliving]

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[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐁𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Shopping in your favourite art store with Bucky brings back the memory of your first encounter, and after so much time has passed, it was with fondness that you looked back on just how starstruck you were in his presence.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✿ Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✿ 1.9k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✿ Tooth rotting fluff, Bucky is a flirt ჻჻჻ TROPES: Meet Cute

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✿ I have a thing for meet cutes — sue me.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✿ Kickstart My Heart by Mötley Crüe

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✿ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 5 - "When I first met you..." — Masterlist

𝐈𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The art store you had been visiting for years was the same as ever – warm tones and homey vibes, organised by product and perfectly aesthetically pleasing to wander up and down the aisles. 

It was a wonderland you would ever willingly get lost in. 

A hand suddenly brushed your lower back, and you smiled. “You get all you need, Sunshine, baby?”

“I mean,” you hummed, turning to face Bucky. “I could get a lot more…”

“No,” Bucky deadpanned, face impassive par the raised brow. “You know the rules.”

You pouted at him, pleading silently, but Bucky only rolled his eyes and wandered off to the aisle of sketch pads and books. “You can get one more thing, that’s it,” he called over his shoulder. “No more than that.”

“Yes,” you cheered under your breath, ecstatic with the small win. With renewed excitement, you browsed the aisles of pencils and paints, a simple goal in mind. For a long while now, even before you had met Bucky, you had wanted to draw – capture the wonders in your mind and the beauty of the world around you. 

In fact, it was in this very shop where you met Bucky for the first time. Butterflies filled your stomach at the memory – you had been so shy, so taken aback that he was even talking to you, that you were sure that the shock would be permanently etched onto your expression. 

Birthday present shopping was always tricky – even more so when you were looking for something at the last damn second. The tinkle of the bell alerted your arrival, and you glanced over to see the smiling, friendly face of your friend and shop owner, Wanda. “Hey, you,” she greeted. “Back in again?”

“You know me, Wands,” you replied, shrugging. “I always leave it to the last minute.”

Wanda laughed and nodded before a fond smile made her eyes twinkle in the warm light. “Just let me know if you need help, alright?”

With a wave, you wandered through her shop, one goal in mind: a canvas of the best quality and maybe a few paints – who knew? You could walk out with a lot more; it was entirely dependent on the muse. Painting together with your friend was a tradition that you’d held for years now.

Humming a quiet song, you browsed the aisles for something to catch your eye when you side stepped and hit something solid. “Oh, shit–” You gasped, turning to see it was a person and not a shelf. The man was tall with cropped hair, a denim jacket over his shoulders, and bright blue eyes. “I am so sorry, oh my gosh–”

“You’re fine,” he replied, face blank. He quickly bent to pick up the paper you had knocked from his hands. Before you could offer more apologies, he straightened up and looked at you, gaze soft but considering. “No harm done.”

His stare pinned you in place, and your mouth opened slightly before you could stop it. “O-Okay, yeah,” you stuttered, cursing the overwhelming shyness that engulfed you whole and the damn butterflies that had taken refuge in your stomach. “I’m gonna- Uh, yeah. Bye.”

Before he could reply, you sidestepped him and rushed down the aisle to take refuge in the next one over, where more sketchbooks and pads were neatly lined up in rows on the shelves. Wanda looked up from behind the till with a sly smirk and a raised brow, as though she had heard your exchange with the handsome stranger, and you shot her a look that you hoped she’d take to heart – keep quiet. 

Taking a deep breath, you began to look properly at the options available when you felt a presence next to you. “This one’s the best,” they said, voice perfectly deep and gravelly, and the sound made the cluster of butterflies in your stomach switch into frenzied flight. “You need to make sure the paper has the thickness for your medium, y’know?”

A tattooed hand moved into your field of vision, and you took a second to stare at the intricate designs woven into tanned, rough skin – peeking out from the rings and scarred calluses. Unbidden, your eyes travelled up their arm until you were face to face with the same man as before – the same one you had bumped into. His smile was small, gentle in nature. 

“I love your tattoos,” you blurted, and your eyes widened slightly at the words that fell from your lips. But the man’s laughter was worth it – honeyed and sounding like molten chocolate, exactly like the ones you imagined from your romance books. 

“Thanks, sweetheart, I did ‘em myself,” he replied. His other arm came into view, and you glanced at it to see even more designs – this time, a wolf and some sort of machinery. 

“Wait,” you hesitated, looking into his face. A sudden realisation dawned on you – this was Bucky Barnes, the owner of one of the best tattoo shops in the area, and he was right in front of you. “Oh my god, you’re Bucky Barnes!”

“In the flesh,” Bucky laughed. He was grinning now, his eyes bright with mirth. “What’s a beautiful ray of sunshine doin’ here, huh?”

You laughed nervously, moving your hand to rub at the back of your neck on instinct. “I, um. I came to pick out a present.”

“Oh?” 

“It’s my friend’s birthday, and we paint together sometimes,” you continued. Bucky was still smiling, but his gaze was flicking between your lips and your eyes as you spoke. The butterflies continued to flutter at a frenzied pace, each bouncing off the walls with fevered excitement. You took a subtle deep breath, hoping it would calm the nerves that were beginning to boil over. 

“Sounds like fun, doll,” Bucky said, still with that damned smile on his lips. “I’m in here picking up supplies for the idiots back in the shop.”

You chuckled quietly and turned back to the paper that lined the shelves. Bucky’s hand reached out before you could look closer at the options and grabbed at least several pads, the paper bending slightly in his grip. “I best keep goin’,” Bucky sighed. “I’ll catch you at the till.”

“Okay,” you squeaked. 

Bucky winked and made his way back over to the aisle of pencils, leaving you dumbfounded, standing rooted to the spot in shock. “What the fuck,” you murmured, wringing your hands. “Just… What the fuck.”

With haste, you chose some sketch and canvas pads to share with your friend. Then you wandered over towards the paints – resolutely ignoring the way Wanda’s eyes followed you or how Bucky dawdled in front of the selection of coloured pencils, phone in hand and a startlingly serious glare on his face. 

The sound of your footsteps on the wooden floor drew his attention, and the glare softened only slightly, as he looked over at you. You smiled back at him and then looked at the vast paint selection – deciding to stick with contrasting colours. 

Before long, your arms were overflowing with paints and paper and canvases. “Hey,” you said, coming round the corner of the aisle to see Wanda waiting patiently, that sly smirk still on her lips. “I’m finally done.”

“You should have a rule that you can’t buy the whole damn store, Sunshine,” Bucky piped up from behind you, a low chuckle in his tone. You jumped slightly, turning to look over your shoulder and roll your eyes at him. 

“Oh, shush, Bucky,” Wanda teased, “you leave my girl alone.” Her hands moved to grab a bag, and she began to scan your acquired goods, her eyes glancing up and flicking between the two of you. 

“She’s the one that bumped into me!” Bucky cried, widening his eyes. “Ain’t my fault.”

“And I apologised,” you clipped back. 

“I dunno ‘bout that, doll,” Bucky replied, placing his books and massive array of pencils on the counter. “I would feel better if you let me pay for your supplies. Can’t deprive a ray of sunshine like yourself of that beautiful smile, can I?”

“Oh my god,” you breathed, hiding your face in your hands. 

Wanda chuckled next to you. “You two are so cute–Buck here is only nice around me. He’s a grumpy bastard most of the time. It’s nice to see.”

“Wands,” Bucky groaned, glaring at her. You peeked through your hands to watch the exchange. “Seriously?”

“What? I’m telling the truth,” Wanda said flippantly, continuing to scan your items until she was finished – then she started scanning Bucky’s. You went to open your mouth, but she shot you a look. “I won’t hear a word against it, darling.”

A beat of silence passed as you fidgeted with your hands. You glanced up at Wanda quickly, and she pointedly glanced between you and Bucky as Bucky stared off at something in the distance. 

Fuck it, you thought. “I-I just, I thought you were awesome,” you whispered, looking at Bucky through your lashes. He turned and looked at you, smiling while crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve been a fan for so long, and I just can’t believe you’re here–talking to me.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Bucky said softly. “It’s good to meet you too, why don’t you come back to the shop with me–you can meet the idiots. My treat.”

“Really?” You rushed, excitement flooding your body at the prospect of meeting the entirety of 107th Ink. “I would love to, oh my god.”

Bucky winked. “Good–I have a feeling they’d love you, Sunshine. I have definitely enjoyed your company.”

“Alright, love birds,” Wanda laughed. “Here you go.”

“We’re friends!” You spluttered, and Bucky roared with laughter, shaking his head as he paid. “Wands–”

“It doesn’t matter, doll,” Bucky cut in, his eyes flashing with something. “Nothin’ wrong with a bit of flirtin’ between friends, is there?”

Ice cold realisation flooded your mind. It wasn’t everyday chatter, you were too damn starstruck by meeting an idol to realise he was openly flirting with you – Bucky Barnes, the stoic and grumpy tattoo legend, flirting with you. 

“No,” you whispered, abashed and overwhelmed. “No, there isn’t.”

Bucky didn’t appear to hear you. “Alright, Wands, see you next time.” The floors creaked under his boots as he turned to walk towards the door, and you followed quickly, waving over your shoulder at a giggling Wanda. “Let’s go meet the idiots,” Bucky remarked, grinning at you while he adjusted the bags in his hands. 

“Okay,” you replied, falling into step next to him on the footpath. “Let’s go.”

A noise from behind you startled you from the memory, and you glanced over your shoulder to see Bucky talking to another customer – expression stoic and blank as he discussed what looked to be the difference between different pencils. It was endearing, so close to how you had met him. 

You observed for a moment longer until Bucky noticed you staring, and he departed the customer’s company to walk over to you. “You alright, baby?”

“Yeah,” you sighed happily, grinning at him. “Just remembering how we met.”

Bucky chuckled. “You were so damn shy–I thought if I flirted with you anymore, you would have keeled over and died on the spot.”

“I probably would have,” you said, shaking your head. “I was so starstruck and nervous to realise it was you flirting until you paid for my things.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, throwing an arm over your shoulder to direct you to the counter where Wanda awaited, a smug smile on her lips. “You’re mine now. That’s all that matters.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

[steviewashere]

Hi possible prompt for your ask box celebration (congrats on 330 btw!!)

Eddie is one of those street poets w/ a typewriter that will write people on the street a poem abt anything they ask for, in exchange for tips or like $5

& Steve walks by & asks for a poem & Eddie is immediately like 😍😍😍

& then maybe Eddie flirts outrageously through the poem, or he tries so hard to keep it #professional but he’s so goo-goo over this (Adonis of a man) guy that he fails miserably, or whatever direction you would want to take it

anyway Steddie meetcute street poetry 🥰🥰🥰

This was such a fun prompt. And before we get anywhere with this, I did have to write a little poem here and it does sort of suck. Apologies in advance for it. Steve Harrington is usually not my main muse, lol. But I still enjoyed this <3

Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Alternate Universe - No Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Meet-Cute, Set in New York, Strangers to Lovers, Mild Angst, Fluff, Steve Harrington Has Self Esteem Issues, Brief Mentions of Car Accidents, Poet Eddie Munson, Muse Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington's Friendship, Eddie Munson Calls Steve Harrington Sunshine

Also on AO3 (because this one got long)

📝————————📝 Eddie Munson doesn’t sell drugs anymore. Nope. He’s a refined, renewed, reorganized man. That being said, he still needed to make money somehow. It wasn’t enough to do just mechanic work on the weekdays; something had to happen over the weekends, else he wouldn’t make it for his bills.

So he picks up a few new hobbies. Cycling, because that was the cheapest way for him to get around—he’s not particularly good at that one, but he still tries anyway. Photography, because his neighbor was selling his older cameras and the opportunity just couldn’t pass by. Then, there was his new found little business/career/dilly-dally.

Poetry.

On weekends, Eddie Munson, the guy who can’t afford to go to jail because of some rat-faced little tell-all not liking his product, writes poetry for a bit of extra cash. He sets up in Central Park with a little collapsable table and a few stools, a heavy as shit typewriter that his uncle off-loaded onto him, and enough paper to whoever is buying. There’s a tip jar dutifully set up by his feet. And the pay rate is whatever people can afford or want to afford.

One time, he wrote poems for a group of six giggly, drunk girls coming back from brunch mimosas—they gave him $30 each. Another, a little old man who had just beat a group of preteens at basketball—he could only afford the $3.50 that was rattling around in his shorts. Sometimes kids would come up and ask about getting a poem about their mom or their puppy or the little daisy they had just picked—they got theirs for free (they need to save their money for ice cream. And, also, he’s not going to get in trouble for a kid choosing to spend their lunch money. No sir-ee).

The weekends could be dry, though. They could get boring. But the sun hits him nice. And he usually sees a few beautiful pooches. And, well, he gets to work on his craft. A passion of his that he held onto since being a little kid. And people appreciate him for it, which is…nice to put it in simple terms.

This Saturday, though, is a rather dry day for customers. It’s overcast. There are less people out, though Central Park is never completely empty. And his tip jar is basically just flies and dust.

Until, fortunately, a man approaches him. He seems timid, a bit shy, even if his smile is all charm. His hair is swooped over and curling at his shoulders, brunette with blonde highlights. The man’s skin is tanned from the most recent summer, not quite fading into this early fall. Dotted with moles, poking out from the collar of his polo and the sleeves, down to his wrists, a few on his face. He has a gorgeous nose: greatly geometric and centered between all his features, sun kissed on the tip, a little crooked on the bridge—aquiline. His lips are a soft pink, a bit pouty, stretching wonderfully around his straight, white teeth. And his eyes are a tad downturned, hooded, shiny with excitement; hazel, but leaning more towards a light shade of brown, fanned by long, dark eyelashes, and squinting with his smile. He’s tall—probably around Eddie’s height, 5’11”. Pretty fit—his arms are toned and his hands are large and he’s broad on the shoulders, but he’s not bean pole thin like Eddie is, just a little chunkier. And, Eddie’ll never admit this out loud, but the dude’s got a great ass, perfectly squeezed in by a pair of Levi’s—light wash, edging on skinny, but not entirely form-fitting. His polo is a darling yellow ochre; rich and warm and perfect to his skin tone.

He doesn’t know what kind of poem he’ll write for this guy, but fuck him, he just wants to wax on and on about this literal slice of heaven that’s standing over him. Smiling. Hands clasped together in front of him. His bright, sunshine eyes. And…yeah, that’s a word to describe this guy.

Sunshine.

“Um—hey, you’re the guy that does the little typewriter poems, right?” The guy asks, his knuckles turning white as he squeezes his hands tighter together. He shifts from one foot to the other, a quick nervous tic that you’d miss if you weren’t looking at him. And now that he’s stepped closer to the makeshift “booth”, Eddie can smell him. There’s a rich earthy undertone to him—the bark of freshly wet pine trees, a drop or two of eucalyptus, and there’s a touch of citrus to him, too; orange or vanilla-lemon, it’s hard to tell.

Eddie wants to stick his nose in the crook of this guy’s neck. Wants to suckle on his skin. Lick a stripe from the underside of his jaw, down to his ankles, and back up all over his face.

But he just smiles, soft and pulling, and blinks up at him. “Yeah, that’s me,” he states softly. “Want me to write you one? It costs however much you’d like to pay.”

“However much?” His face goes a little complicated. The biggest, Muppet-esque frown Eddie’s ever seen, the pinch of his eyebrows, and a tilt to his head. He’s gauging the near empty tip jar, from where his eyes seem to trail. “Isn’t that a bad rule for business?”

Eddie shrugs. “I dunno. I know nothing about business. But…It’s kept me afloat most of the time, so it’s not terrible.”

The guy makes a short grunt of assessment. “Hm, okay,” he murmurs, “do I pay you now or after?”

“After.”

“Okay,” he murmurs again. Even his voice is doing things to Eddie. It’s all deep at the base of his throat. A little raspy as if he smokes cigarettes; probably does based on the curl of stale smoke Eddie smells from him as he settles into a stool. “I know that you usually do whatever prompt the customer gives, but I’m sort of…I’m pea for brains, so I can’t really think of anything. Is it okay if…Can you just pick something?”

Eddie tilts his head and looks off of the guy’s shoulder. Miffed at how downtrodden this stranger is on himself. He gazes back and asks, “Can I write about you?”

His eyes widen and he jolts in his seat just a fracture. “I mean, sure. If that’s really the muse you want to go with.” And then he gives a self-deprecating chuckle. Eddie kind of wants to shake him by the shoulders and scream to the whole fucking galaxy about how beautiful he is. But he restrains. “Nothing about the scars on the backs of my arms, though, please,” guy adds a moment later, so quiet that Eddie almost misses it. “It’s from a bad car accident and I—I’m just now getting back into the swing of wearing short sleeves.”

Nodding, Eddie says, “You got it. And hey—“ He takes the sleeve of his t-shirt and rolls it up. The shirt’s from an old club in high school, the Hellfire Club. Quarter sleeves to his elbows. But right above the crease of his left elbow is a long, scraggly, winding scar that creeps from the base of his neck. He even points to the side of his face, at the large swatch of scarring on his jaw. How Mr. Beautiful Stranger didn’t notice it, Eddie’s unsure. “—I understand,” he states gently. “Also from a bad wreck. It happens to the best of us,” he tries to joke.

And even his laughter melts Eddie. High pitched and unrestrained, giggles coming straight from his heart. “Yeah, okay,” he sighs. “Sure, I’ll be your muse.”

Eddie sets up his typewriter, at the start of the paper, two fingers down, not indented. “Do you care if I use your name as the title?”

“Steve,” he softly says, “and yours?”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth curl upwards lightly, just a little thing. “I’m Eddie. Some people around here will call me Ed, but you call me whatever you want.”

Steve hums. “How about Eds? Actually…Unless that’s—That might be stupid, never mind.”

Barreling, Eddie just asks, “How ‘bout I call you Stevie?” He grins with it. “We can be Eds and Stevie, the unlikely duo.”

Another little fit of giggles, Eddie’s never felt so full. “Okay, Eds and Stevie, The Unlikely Duo. Thanks for not making me feel dumb.”

“You’re only dumb if you’re a bigot. And, I could be wrong, but every aspect of you does not spell bigot. You seem like a nice guy, all things considered.”

Instead of a verbal response, all Eddie receives is a slow lull of silence. But when he looks up, Steve is staring right back. A soft, pleased smile on his face. Cheeks flushed. It’s like he’s bursting at the seams with the approval. Maybe he is, Eddie considers, maybe nobody’s ever told him that. And that thought gets shut down almost as fast as it formed, makes Eddie’s chest hurt just a little too much to work through.

“So, Steve, what’s got you out here this morning?” He works better with conversation, so hopefully Steve will give him this.

“Oh,” Steve softly exclaims as if he wasn’t expecting Eddie to talk to him. Or to acknowledge him. Or to even exist with him past this poem. “I come out here and feed birds on Saturday mornings. Technically, I don’t think I’m supposed to, but nobody’s stopped me. Just ran out of seed and was sort of wandering around and remembered that you were here. I’ve never had interest in coming over here, but I’ve seen you, so it was just what my best friend told me that drew me over.”

“Mm, word from mouth. All good things, I can only hope.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, amazing things, actually. She said you were really nice to her. She had come home from brunch with a few of her friends and they were tipsy.” He sighs, chuckling through it. “It was noon on a Saturday when she came back to our apartment. And I could smell the alcohol on her. Think I was…I had been sleeping—I’m a heavy sleeper and I’m chronically fatigued all the time, so I tend to sleep in late. But she came into my room, shook my shoulder, and was a crying mess when I finally saw her. Asked her what was wrong. She just blubbered on and on about how a really nice guy wrote something really nice for her about her little friendship. And I just…I don’t know. I wanna read something that makes me feel better about the world and maybe also reduces me to tears.”

Eddie stops where he’d been softly clacking away on his typewriter. He tends to type loud, but something about Steve makes him stop and appreciate even the air around him. Something about him just soothes Eddie. Also, the fact that he rambles is cute. He’s good at silences. And he’s good at just talking.

“Well, I can’t promise that it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever read,” Eddie slowly states. “I can try, though. I can try to write something beautiful.”

“You’re writing about me, so I’m not expecting it to be beautiful,” Steve quickly says. He backtracks though, stopped in his seat and wide-eyed. His mouth is agape and his cheeks are completely red now. “Forget I said that. That’s—I struggle a lot with that and I promised my best friend that I’d stop being so hard on myself, but it just is…automatic.”

As nonchalant as possible, Eddie begins to type again. He confesses more towards his paper, trying to avoid the eye contact, “You are beautiful, so this’ll come easy.” And then he’s met with that same slow lull of silence. The romantic kind of silence that Steve seems entirely attracted to. And, yeah actually, Eddie kind of appreciates it. The curve of the silence and the warmth of its face, the plushness of its lips in the ways it kisses the both of them. If Steve is so inclined to sit in this silence after admittances like that, maybe Eddie can learn to love them. If Steve wants more than just this poem.

He’s at the final stanza when Steve begins to speak again.

“Have you ever written about yourself?”

“Mmm, no,” Eddie murmurs, typing away, “no I don’t think I have.”

Steve takes a grand breath. “Y’know, if you like writing about the beauty in things, you should write about yourself, too.” He’s fiddling with his hands, focus elsewhere, when Eddie is openly staring at him again.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. Steve nods carefully, eyes shiny with nerves now. He’s chewing on the inside of his right cheek. Eyes darting back and forth and back and forth. “You think I’m beautiful?” He meekly questions.

“Yeah, I think so. You’ve got these…huge brown eyes that pull me in and they’re sort of soft on your face, kind of like a deer, maybe a baby cow? I love those two, so don’t be insulted. And…You’re always sitting in the sun, but you’re still sort of pale and it makes it easier to see all the little freckles you’ve got. And—I, for one—love freckles. I think that your hair is just wonderful. And I—I don’t know, I’ve seen you around. Maybe I’ve thought about you a little too much.” His smile is sheepish and cute. Absolutely adorable.

Eddie grins. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re hitting on me.” He works the paper out of the typewriter, smooths the fine wrinkles at the bottom of the sheet, and then looks his writing over.

Steve gains a manly kind of confidence to him now. He leans forward, just a hair away from seeing what Eddie wrote, and talks low and smooth. “And if I was?”

He glances up, warming on the face. “I’d say that I like it and…y’know, if my poem doesn’t suck, I know a good cafe around here. Only if this is good and only if you’re interested.”

“Show me what you got, Eds. I’ll probably take you up on that lunch offer after.”

In the short few years Eddie’s been doing this, he’s never been nervous to present his work. But he hands the paper over, hands shaking and palms sweating. And waits, with bated breath, as Steve reads it over:

————— There is a glow to him. A cast of light that brightens the world as I know it. From just one glance of his smile—all pearl and pink and new I could tell there was something special to him.

He’s sunshine, I believe.  The very ball of light, the all encompassing warmth of a celestial body, the very thing that continues to sustain. There is love through him, within everything he does.

Just one look at him and I’m refreshed. Even with very little, even with just appearances alone. May he know the way I was drawn in—maybe that makes me Icarus. To want to know something so much, you’re ready for everything that comes with it; Even the chance to burn up, even the chance to merge with it, even the chance to only see it once.

May he know that before I knew his name, I knew his smile. Before I knew his name, I knew his trepidation. Before I knew his name, I knew his warmth.

It’s not enough, to say he’s gorgeous. That’s not a strong enough word. But he is. Oh, how he is.

He’s painted my world golden— I see sunlight with him.

May he know that I’ll carry his light in my chest, May he know that I selfishly want more. ————— Finally, Steve’s attention goes back to Eddie’s face directly.

“I tried,” Eddie says, “it got away from me, though. And I…I didn’t write exactly how you’re beautiful. But there’s something about you—Something so out of this world, beyond what anybody could ever possibly comprehend. You seem like somebody worth knowing, worth being around.” He swallows hefty when Steve continues to just stare. His face is completely unreadable. “You approached my table and I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. Just sucked me right in, every part of you. Sorry if this…If this wasn’t what you were looking for.”

Though, when Eddie is only met with that silence from earlier, he takes the opportunity to stare a little longer. At the high flush of Steve’s cheeks. The fine sheen of his eyes. There’s a little pinch between his eyebrows and a twist to his mouth.

“My best friend,” Steve wetly murmurs, “she always tells me that I’m the light of her world. And I—“ He sighs, the sound a lot choked and stuttering. “—I don’t know. I’ve never been able to believe her. I always just thought she was biased or something.” He looks down at the paper again, his thumbs running along the margins reverently. Steve sniffles. “I used to not be a very good person. Used to say things just because I heard them, because I knew they were bad. And it took…God, it took so long to relearn everything. To find myself, to figure out who I was outside of my bigoted family. Even then, I always thought I was just…” He shrugs. “I thought that I was destined for a lifetime of loneliness or something because nobody wanted to be around me. Because they thought I was one way, when I was really the other. Or they could only see me as I was, not who I am.”

Steve looks up to Eddie again. There are tear streaks down his cheeks. Wet and glistening in the little bit of light breaking through the clouds. With the sunlight on him, he’s even brighter than Eddie anticipated. It’s sort of unfair, too, how beautiful he is even when he cries.

“Thank you for this, Eds,” Steve quietly says, “you have no idea how much this means to me.”

“You wanted to feel better about your world. I wanted to show you something that’s changed mine, I suppose.” Eddie sits slumped in his stool, hands between his knees, pulling and twisting at his rings. He chews on his bottom lip. “And I meant what I said earlier, Stevie. You seem like a really nice guy. A good guy.”

Slowly, and oh so gently, Steve places a tentative hand to Eddie’s left forearm. His gaze has softened, sweetened. He’s smiling this small, appreciative, pleased thing. And Eddie can already feel the sun burn developing. “You are, too. Really, Eds. You have no idea what your art does for the world, who you’re helping.” His thumb absentmindedly is stroking over Eddie’s skin. Hand heavy and warm and firm, comforting. Grounding. Sustaining Eddie. “If you meant the other thing you said earlier, I’d like to get something with you at that cafe. I’d like to get to know you.”

“Stevie, you’d be doing me an honor. Just let me pack up here, yeah?” He pulls away, hesitantly, unfortunately. And he begins to collapse all his equipment. Putting the typewriter in its case. The stools folded neatly under his arm.

“Oh, let me pay you first before you put—“

“Don’t worry about that. I’m getting a nice lunch date and a beautiful guy out of this, I don’t need the money.”

Steve grunts. He pops a hip out, crosses his arms over his chest with the poem still carefully held in his grip, and pouts. Eddie kind of likes that he’s a bit bitchy, too. Good guys can have fun, too. “Fine,” Steve huffs. “Let me pay for the lunch, though. My treat.”

Eddie gently rolls his eyes and smirks. “You’ve got a little spice to you, sunshine. I like that. Burn me up and maybe I’ll write more about you.”

“Keep it in your pants, Eds. We haven’t even left the park.”

“No promises.”

📝————————📝 Thank you again for this prompt, it was a lot of fun <33

[satellitesunset]

hey i saw ur reblog about itfs fic recs 👀 any cute/fluffy itafushi fics?? or just your favs! specifically one shots/shorter fics bc i never have time for long fics. either canon or au!! itafushi world domination 🐕‍🦺🐅🌍

hi !! yes absolutely here r some of my favorite fluffy itafushi fics divided into two categories au & canonverse

warning: most of these lean into the humor/comedy aspect, hope that's also under the cute label.

Alternate Universe

Pavlov's Dogboy by lococation

i would recommend everything by this author actually, this one in particular tho is a fav bc its incredibly funny and just very sweet yk like its a giggling while reading kinda fic.

Sweet Tooth by Anonymous

if you like romcoms you'll love this. its has a coffee shop, its a meetcute, lots of pining etc.

A Cat in Hell's Chance by KittMitt

this will make u giggle and kick your feet ok. like the cutest thing ever. reading it will have u feeling giddy and excited. vet megumi u r so beloved.

my blessing; my love. by toomanyonions

a treat fr. if u love fake dating this fic is for u. incredible execution. 10/10. dont need to say more

Canonverse

only human by cabins

"“Married to, uh, someone like you, ideally,” " can u believe this 2021 fic predicted the most recent itfs canon love confession. hashtagitafushiworlddomination fr

that's the spirit! by akaashism (acciomerlin) @akaashism

i'm very fond of this one, it's different but my god is it a masterpiece. another author that has many delightful itfs works !! this one is just the first i read from them so ill always have a special spot for it.

heptadecagon by seclusion

the prose of this one. holy shit r they so gorgeous. the words are wording omg i love this style of introspective character study and it so perfectly done here.

you have hands (hold mine) by mustardleaf

disaster pining yuji is so dear to me, and baby is he the disaster in this.

I want to renew you again and again by Shapeshifter99

a world where yuji's pink hair is the product of dye. ok this is a minor plotline but anyways. this is so fucking tender i have a sweet tooth. i go crazy over soft domestic displays of affection and this is 14k of that.

5 Times Fushiguro Tried to Tell Itadori He Was Trans and It Went Over Itadori's Head, Plus 1 Time It Didn't by doctorcakeray

i am so incredibly soft for any trans characters fics and this one is so cute abt it. yuji's very endearing abt it.

Ryoumen Sukuna is Not a Gay Mentor by cursedwritings

i adore any sort of outsider pov fics and this one is genuinely hysterical ok. once again i love down bad!yuji

hope u like them !!

[mimisempai]

The greatest gift of all

Summary

Crowley has had to resign himself to spending his birthday in the airport coffee shop because of bad weather, but he meets a companion of misfortune. 

Are a few hours spent together in a waiting room enough to change an entire life?

Notes

I am fan of aiport meet-cute, so here you go. Hope you'll enjoy it!

On Ao3

Rating G - 2945 words

Crowley could have raged at the airline for not wanting to take any risks, at the bad weather and even at this damned conference,

but he knew he wouldn't change a thing; he was stuck in the airport coffee shop and he'd better make this night of waiting productive, his arrival in time for his own birthday party now definitely in jeopardy. He'd already phoned his sibling and his ears were still ringing from their protests and complaints. He took another sip of his coffee and told himself that at least he'd been lucky enough to get a good seat, meaning a comfortable seat and, most importantly, a seat with phone and computer connections that would allow him to work on his next conference.

Besides, there was something comforting about the fact that he wasn't the only one in this situation. Not long after he'd settled in, he'd seen a man rush in who seemed at least as relieved as Crowley to find a place similar to his own.

Crowley hadn't noticed him at all, not his sparkling eyes, his devastating smile, or the slightly tousled light hair that gave him a charming air.  Nor had he noticed the way he moved, as if he were dancing all the time, drawing the eye to a body that was not without its charms.

Of course, Crowley hadn't noticed any of this, because Crowley wasn't that shallow.

That didn't stop him from occasionally looking up from his laptop to sneak a peek at the other man. After an hour, he even found it amusing that although they didn't speak, they shared a kind of bond, displaying the same facial expressions when a child was too noisy or when a customer expressed his displeasure too loudly. Crowley began to think, absurdly, that he had a connection with this man. And even more absurdly, he found himself wanting to make that connection, but he thought about the circumstances, the "ifs" and "hows," and decided to forget about it. After all, since when did Crowley approach strangers out of nowhere?

So he focused on his laptop screen and continued working. 

A few minutes later, however, he was pulled out of his concentration not by the other man, but by an old lady who entered the cafe, desperate for a place to charge her cell phone - since when do old people have cell phones - and who said she was trying to contact her family. She trudged from table to table, exhaustion written all over her face. Sighing, Crowley was about to get up and offer her his seat when he saw that the light-haired man had beaten him to it and was offering the old lady his seat with a kind smile. He even went so far as to help her settle in, not leaving with his belongings until he was sure the old lady was comfortable.

Crowley wasn't particularly sociable and generally minded his own business, but the way the other man had behaved with the old lady had touched him, and he surprised himself by raising his hand to wave as the other man made his way to the counter.

When the light-haired man's eyes fell on Crowley, he motioned for him to come closer. The other man looked surprised - pleasantly surprised, Crowley hoped - and a broad smile appeared on his face, revealing dimples that renewed Crowley's interest.

When the man reached him, he said in a low voice that sounded slightly amused, "Hello, there."

He was exactly what Crowley had imagined.

Pointing to the seat in front of him, Crowley said, "I thought maybe you could sit here and we could share this prized possession. Then, holding out his hand, he added, "Anthony Crowley."

The man took Crowley's hand and squeezed it firmly as he replied, "Aziraphale Fell." Somehow his fingers seemed to brush Crowley's wrist for a moment, their hands lingering as their gaze remained fixed, then he added with a gentle smile, "Thank you for your generosity."

"Well, you were the one who was generous to the old lady in the first place."

"Oh, that hardly counts."

"It counted for her."

Crowley leaned over to push his luggage away, making room for Aziraphale to sit across from him. The man pulled out a spiral notebook, pencil, and eraser, which he placed on the table, then settled more comfortably into his seat and asked with a smile far too charming for Crowley's peace of mind, "So, Anthony, may I offer you a cup of coffee by way of thanks? "

"With pleasure, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale's eyes lit up and Crowley denied any feeling of butterflies in his stomach. A feeling he found hard to deny as it grew in the hours that followed.

Crowley had never realized how much truth there was in the saying that time flies when you're in good company. For time had flown with Aziraphale.

His companion was funny and witty, and Crowley wasn't sure if what amazed him most was the way Aziraphale showed his emotions so openly, the way they talked as if they'd known each other all their lives, or the way Aziraphale touched him so easily when he wanted to back up his words with a gentle squeeze of his hand or arm. Or now, the way Aziraphale slipped in next to him so they didn't have to speak loudly, the way he touched his thigh or leaned his head against him when he laughed out loud.

They spent the whole time discussing movies, literature, music, the conference Crowley had attended, the art exhibition Aziraphale had to go to, all the while commenting on the customers passing through the coffee shop. It was honestly one of the best evenings Crowley had spent since... well, that said a lot about him that he couldn't even remember ever having such a good time.

Aziraphale had at one point joked that their meeting was worthy of one of those rom-coms Crowley had said he loved so much, and Crowley found himself thinking the same thing as time went on.

After the coffee shop closed, they stayed together and tacitly made their way to an empty waiting room with deckchairs and blankets. In the half-light, they moved the chairs closer together and, lying down and covering themselves, continued to talk, broaching more personal subjects, feeling, without really understanding why, more and more at ease with each other.

Aziraphale spoke of always feeling different, apart, not always in tune with the people of his generation, of his not always happy childhood between an unloving father and a mother who died too soon, but he had also spoken with such joy of his bookshop, the street it was on, all his shopkeeper friends who had replaced his absent family and accepted him as he was. In response, Crowley had spoken of his adoptive sibling, Muriel, of their close relationship because they were both orphans, of his passion for the stars and the joy of making it his profession, of his odd passion for ducks, and had been surprised once again that Aziraphale had listened to him seriously and not once made fun of what he had said.

They both spoke of their loneliness and lack of a stable relationship, finding another common ground, another connection.

Then, without realizing it, lulled by the soft whisper of Aziraphale's voice, the warmth of his body that he could feel radiating from him, and his soothing presence, Crowley had fallen asleep.

He was awakened by the sensation of a brush on his forehead and a small pressure on his shoulder as his companion said softly, "Anthony...wake up."

The smell of coffee reaching his nostrils completed his awakening. He looked at his watch, shocked that he had slept for almost an hour. He'd never let his guard down like that, let alone with someone he'd just met. It spoke volumes about how quickly his feelings for his new friend were growing.

He straightened in his chair and took the steaming mug Aziraphale handed him with a gentle smile.

"I couldn't sleep, so I got us this."

Crowley asked in surprise, "You were awake the whole time?"

Aziraphale nodded. 

Crowley smiled and said approvingly, "You really are an angel, first the old lady you gave up your seat to, then offering me coffee and watching over my sleep.

"The sight was pleasant," Aziraphale replied in deflection, clearly embarrassed by the compliment, before adding teasingly, "but the snoring was quite unbearable."

Crowley exclaimed, "What?! But I don't sno-" he paused as Aziraphale burst out laughing.

"I changed my mind, you're a little devil."

He joined in his new friend's laughter when suddenly they were both interrupted by the voice from the loudspeakers. 

The air traffic will resume shortly.

Flight XXX to Glasgow Airport will be boarding in 30 minutes, please proceed to the gate.

Flight XXX to Cardiff Airport will be boarding in 45 minutes, please proceed to the gate.

They didn't listen as all traces of joy disappeared from their faces along with their laughter, for it was their respective flights that had just been announced. With a single movement, they began to pack their belongings, put their coats back on, and found themselves face to face, unable to say a word, unable to make a gesture. Unable to take their eyes off each other. 

Aziraphale was the first to break contact, glancing at their belongings. "I can watch your stuff if you still want to go to the restroom."

Crowley nodded and agreed. Anything to prolong the connection.

In the restroom, he took the opportunity to freshen up while he debated what to do. Aziraphale was charming, attractive, witty and intelligent. Not perfect, no, but perfect for Crowley, if he was honest with himself. They both lived in London, so distance wouldn't be a problem. 

Aziraphale had awakened a hope in him that he hadn't felt in a long time, and he felt that this budding relationship, if you can call it that, had great potential. He looked in the mirror and laughed to himself, there was nothing between them and it was almost as if he was already planning their life together. He didn't even know if Aziraphale was interested in him. 

Wasn't it crazy to consider a relationship with someone you'd only known for a few hours? 

But he found it hard to ignore the feeling of what if... what if he too had a right to happiness and he was letting it pass him by, what if this was his chance and he was letting it pass him by?

Was it worth the risk? 

Was Aziraphale worth taking a risk, this time completely recklessly?

Crowley didn't have to think long to know the answer. 

The answer was yes. 

Determined, he pulled out one of the business cards he always carried and a pen. He scribbled his personal number and hesitated a bit before adding, "Call me." 

When Crowley arrived at the entrance to the waiting room, he saw Aziraphale sitting there, staring at his phone, looking slightly dejected, which made Crowley's heart race with the hope that maybe Aziraphale was in the same frame of mind as he was.

When he saw him, Aziraphale smiled, not as brightly as before, but genuinely. He stood and waited for Crowley to join him when the loudspeaker called for the passengers to reboard the plane.

They approached each other, both visibly hesitant, neither willing to say the words that would end their encounter.

Aziraphale muttered, "Oh, damn... " then stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Crowley, pulling him close.

Startled, Crowley froze, then exhaled in relief as he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale.

Aziraphale murmured against his chest, "Happy birthday, Anthony."

"Thank you, Aziraphale." 

Crowley discreetly slipped the card into Aziraphale's coat pocket, then they stepped back and it was all over.

Crowley turned to pick up his luggage, grabbing his laptop bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Aziraphale had done the same and now he was dancing from one foot to the other, hesitating. 

He looked so adorable that it filled Crowley with a foolish surge of confidence and before he could think, he was leaning over the other man and brushing his mouth over his lips in a chaste kiss.

"Goodbye, Aziraphale." 

As he walked away, Crowley couldn't help but look back one last time to see that Aziraphale was still watching him and had brought his fingers to the lips Crowley had just kissed.

Crowley refrained from running toward him and continued walking. But as the distance between them grew, he felt his confidence evaporate like snow in the sun. He tried not to think about the other man as he crossed the airport. He tried not to wonder if Aziraphale would call him, and if so, when. Finally, he found his seat and, after putting his things away, made himself comfortable. That's when his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

Heart beating a little faster, he looked at the screen. 

The number was unknown.

Look in the front pocket of

your laptop bag. 

A.

The "A" immediately told him who it was. He did as the message instructed and was surprised to find a small package where it said. Inside was a small porcelain angel attached to a ring. Crowley had compared Aziraphale to an angel earlier, so Aziraphale had probably bought it in the souvenir shop next to the waiting room while Crowley was in the restroom. 

There was a small tag around the angel's neck with some words scribbled on it, Crowley looked closer. " So that you'll remember me." 

Crowley felt the butterflies come back. 

He grabbed his phone and quickly dialed the number, knowing his time was running out and not wanting to wait until he reached his destination to talk to Aziraphale.

He didn't even have time to get a word in before Aziraphale spoke up, "So can we talk before our planes take off? And maybe plan an evening for me to take you out to dinner when we're both back in London? In four or five days? As soon as you get back. Unless you'd rather wait-"

"Aziraphale!

"Huh? What?"

"Breathe..."

Crowley smiled at the sound of embarrassed laughter on the other end of the line, then assured Aziraphale that yes, they could meet. Absolutely. Without a doubt. The conversation was easy and full of eagerness to see each other again, to have another date - a real first date, something they both wanted. They talked for nearly half an hour before Crowley's flight took off. Aziraphale promised to text Crowley when he landed, and Crowley promised to do the same. 

As they hung up, they both thought that their meeting was truly worthy of a romantic comedy.

**********

A year later, to the day, Crowley and Aziraphale sat comfortably together on a sofa, watching television without actually seeing it.

On the coffee table in front of them were the remains of a birthday cake and two glasses of champagne.

Crowley lay with his head in Aziraphale's lap while one of Aziraphale's hands rested on his hip and the other was buried in his red hair.

Crowley sighed contentedly and murmured, "We couldn't have settled down like this a year ago." 

Aziraphale chuckled softly, "Well, we hardly knew each other," he brushed back a strand of Crowley's hair and continued, "Strange birthday, wasn't it?"

Crowley straightened up a little until he was almost sitting on his lover's lap. Then he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale's neck as Aziraphale's hands slid to his hips. He leaned forward and murmured against his lover's lips, "Best birthday ever, until this one, obviously."

He closed the distance and pressed his lips to Aziraphale's in a tender kiss.

Nothing could be truer. For a long time, Crowley had resigned himself to ending up alone. But a year ago, fate had put this man in his path, and what he'd thought was impossible had become his daily routine.

He no longer stayed at work because all that awaited him was a cold apartment; now he couldn't wait to get home, to Aziraphale's bookshop.

Living with his lover had been so easy. It was as if they both clicked. Each brought the missing piece to the other.

Only one thing remained.

Three words Crowley hadn't said.

Three words he had felt for a long time.

Three words he wanted to say now.

Aziraphale pulled him out of his thoughts by saying with a small smile on his lips, "You did get a little birthday present that day though, didn't you?"

"You mean this little trinket?"

Aziraphale replied with a knowing look, "That little trinket with the keys to your precious Bentley hanging on it? I think you must like it a little to have hung it there."

Crowley replied casually: "It's the one who put it in my pocket that I love."

Aziraphale tensed a little before pulling back to meet Crowley's gaze, "...you... ?"

"Yes." 

Crowley swallowed once and repeated clearly, "I love you, Aziraphale, my airport angel."

Aziraphale's smile widened, and then he cupped Crowley's face in his hands, brought it close to his own, and whispered, "I love you, too," before capturing his lips in a long kiss that went on and on, breaking only to reaffirm their love before kissing again. 

They both smiled blissfully when they finally parted long enough to catch their breath and then Crowley cuddled up to Aziraphale, who wrapped his arms around him as he gently kissed his lover's hair before whispering, "Happy birthday, my love."

Crowley could only nod against his lover's warm embrace.

Yes, it was the happiest of birthdays.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here