#she worries too much and tries to control everything

[uva124]

Random ideas from a wish Au? lol I haven't written a script or anything about this, it's just random ideas that I'm going to say:

ASHA

-This doesn't happen in the medieval era, it's in the modern world, SOO WE GET ANOTHER "ENCHANTED" :D

-For Asha I have the idea that she is a somewhat more serious and sarcastic girl, and that she is an animation nerd lmao, she just tries to hide it or denies that her talent is more than a "hobby", in other words Asha she REALLY loves everything that is drawing and animation but because of certain things in her past he tends to belittle it and downplay it and doesn't see it as more than just a "hobby that can't lead to something useful?" or something like that (don't judge me, this is just a post of me rambling and I've never written a story)

-This for me would be more like another comedy and parody movie if I'm honest, so I like to think that Asha also grew up watching fairy tale movies and all that, only that as she's grown up she tends to be more like Tiana, she It is not so dreamy and hopeful.

STAR

-I'm still debating how the hell the guy gets to earth, but I guess I would have to see something that Magnifico and Amaya did, it is NOT the wishing star, it would be a small random one (because you know, contamination that causes almost no stars can be seen in the sky) -The star is funny although in reality he only hides the fact that he is a star who worries too much and overthinks a lot (and especially for a reason that has to do with the 2 children in the other image) -He doesn't understand how people can live without magic. -At first it would be like "The earth is boring and insecure, my world is much better", but in the middle of the movie he would begin to appreciate the simple things on earth more and Asha would simply make fun of how everything fascinates him now. -I think that in a scene he would show more of his past and how the other stars tend to belittle him, mmmm maybe it's because his magic is not as strong as the power of the others -At first his relationship with Asha would not be so good, but over time they learn about each other and not to despise themselves so much.

THE LITLEE STARS

-When I saw the concept art book I really liked the idea that the star is an adorable little boy, so I created these 2 little ones, they are under Star's control and he takes care of them, this is one of the reasons why My starboy is a little anxious, he is a little overprotective and these 2 children have a LOT of energy, Asha would get attached to them first and I like that the story develops of how the 4 of them come together and seem more like a family -The character who has a ponytail is the most outgoing, the second is more reserved (but that does not mean that they are both very curious like any child and that they want to discover the human world)

(This literally represents what my starboy is lol)

[dumb-doll-lips]

Yay I’m home from the family vacation.

[munch-mumbles]

ive been a little upset about it all night so i need to write out all the things that happened at work today and are bugging me so i can TRY to get it out of my head and actually RELAX bc i just keep pacing in circles around it instead of just accepting it and moving on

[rboooks]

Child Support Part 2

Tim watched the other young heroes as they tried to look around the watch tower without seeming like they were. He's been here plenty of times, but the rest of the Teen Titans and a few of the Young Justice hasn't.

Much was due to the older heroes leaving the younger ones alone. Some not taking them seriously enough to welcome them at the big HQ as much as that made his blood boil.

They were taking the same risks. They were fighting the same good fights. Why was their age the main reason they weren't treated equally?

Some teenage heroes weren't part of a team per see, but they always answered when a call was sent. For example, Cass and Steph were present, speaking softly to Static Shock. Damian was standing next to Jon and his little friend Colin who was just getting into the swing of the hero business.

Bruce almost bit through his tongue when Damian told him Abuse would be joining Robin on parol, and he could do nothing to stop them. (Tim felt like he was watching Damian tell Bruce a paraphrased version of "But Daddy, I love him!" and it kept him smiling for weeks)

It was wild to see almost every young hero in one place. He doesn't think this happened since the last time Justice Leauge got mind controlled and almost destroyed the whole world.

"Any idea why we're here?" Kon asks to his right, lowering his shade to stare at the Outlaws. Jason's team stood to the side chatting iddly while cleaning over thier weapons.

Kon's always like their punk point of view, and he knows his best friend wants to go over there to talk to them. If it wasn't for the issue of the clone still being mad about what Jason did at the Teen Titans tower. Almost murder was hard to forgive for people outside the Bats.

"None. All I know is that John Constantine sent out a message to every teenage superhero group calling for a meet-up," Tim responds.

Bart whistles with a grimace on his right. "Must be bad if that guy is asking."

"I heard Hawkwoman tell Superman that she was worried and wasn't sure she wanted anyone of us mixed up in Constantine's mistakes." Cassie chimes in from where she leans on the couch. The three turn to her as she lowers her voice, attempting to keep the others from hearing. "Batman told her off for it."

"Batman did?" Tim asks, surprised.

Cassie shrugs, throwing a bit of her blond hair over her shoulder. "As much Batman can emote anyway."

Yeah, that sounded about right. Though it must have been something Bruce found disrespectful. His dad usually never reprimanded strangers unless they were saying something or doing something that sounded far too much like bigotry to him.

But to apply that to Constantine? Someone, Bruce generally disliked communicating with because the man tended to backstab his contacts? Yes, Constantine wasn't evil, but he wasn't pleasant either.

If Bruce had magical issues, he tended to contact Zatanna first.

Just then, the watch tower's zeta beams activate. Everyone who gathered turns to the teleporting pads where Constantine appears looking, for lack of a better word, absolutely exhausted. Even Tim knows that his eye bags aren't that bad, and he's usually going hours without sleep.

"Oh good, you all made it," Constantine says, sipping from a mug and wearing nothing but sweatpants and what looks like a nightgown. His signature trench coat was nowhere in sight. "I'm going to be quick about this. I need a team of young heroes willing to accept my son into their fold."

The room is dead silent. Constantine sighs. "Look, I've tried everything, but it's like Danny is allergic to laying low. He fought with a demon the other day over a child's doll- which you all know happens. People get haunted! But Danny refused to do it the right way, and now I had to beat off the demon's marriage proposal at least ten times. Not to mention his lack of social skills! No matter which one I stick him in, he can't seem to make friends in school. He got shoved into a locker on his first day! I thought that was an American exaggeration of the telly!"

Constantine pauses and takes a large gulp of whatever he's drinking before continuing his rant. A hand runs through his already messy hair, leaving it in bigger disarray as he speaks. "He's behind in terms of trends and technology cause his other father raised him outside of the typical timelines, so sometimes it's like talking to someone from the early two thousand, and other times it's like he's a modern Victorian era lad. His powers are also all over the place because the ectoplasm in our world is thicker, so when he breathes it in, he losses his control. Just the other day he accidentally made himself fly through our ceiling and almost reach the atmosphere before I was able to bring him back down."

A few of the fliers in the room wince. Jon nods and whispers under his breath, though his voice carries in the silence. "Yeah, been there before. Flying can be scary if you don't know how to come down."

Johns glances around at all the young people, eyes showing a tad bit of desperation. "He's sad all the time now, and I don't know how to help. If working with you could help him make friends, I would be grateful. He's a great kid. He just needs to adjust."

Tim had no idea what to do with this information; how do you respond to arguably one of the strongest Justice League Darks' heroes asking for a play date for his son?

"How old is the child?" Damian's voice rings out. Colin's hand is attached to his sleeve, a slightly nervous smile on the boy's face as he attempts to hide from the staring heroes behind his brother. Tim bets that if he wasn't wearing the domino mask, they would be able to see slight tears in Colin's eyes.

Damian's other hand goes across his body to cover Colin's hand, and Tim fights a shit-eating grin. His eyes lock with Jason, and the two send each other knowing grins. Looks like Bruce did have to worry about Damian having a secret boyfriend.

He can't wait to tease Damian later.

"He's fourteen....or well, physically?" Constantine answers eagerly.

"What does that mean?" Kon asks this time.

"Okay, so he's half human, half ecto-being. He sired him with his other father, Clockwork, which was only four years ago in this dimension, but since he was raised in the Infinite Relemas, times move differently there? " The British man says, and Raven goes rigid.

"Clockwork, as in the most powerful Ancient?" She asks, looking horror-struck when Constantine nods.

Before anyone asked what that meant, the zeta tubes activated again without permission. Someone had hacked into their systems which were ten levels bad. Everyone naturally fell into a fighting stance, only to blink when a teenage boy stepped out with a loud excited screech.

"We're in space!" The teenager runs to one of the windows, pressing his hands and face up against the glass. "This is amazing!"

Tim only relaxes his muscles once Constantine clears his throat. "Chum...what are you doing here?"

"Oh. One of your curse rocks things started proposing to me again, so I ran out of the House of Mysteries. Thought I see what you were up to." The teenager says, turning around with a smile and utterly freezing at the sight of the gathered heroes.

He had dark hair, wide blue eyes, and the most adorable face Tim had ever seen. Not as sexy as Bernard, of course, but darn close. Judging by the looks of anyone attractive to males, most heroes thought the same.

"Um...hi?" He says, offering the Godsmack teenagers a helpless little shrug. "I'm Danny Constantine."

"It is a pleasure, Constantine." Damian marches over to him with all his little twelve-year-old authority. He barely reaches Danny's chest. "I shall look forward to working with you. Are you formally trained in combat or strictly magic?"

"Um...oh, I can throw a punch or two? I'm mostly self taught. I rely on my powers a lot?" Danny fumbles to answer throwing a desperate look at his presumed father.

"No matter. I shall have you begin training. My Beloved also needs to work on his form. There is no shame in this" Damian nods, and Constantine lets out a large sigh of relief. He jogs over to place a hand on his son's shoulder, giving him a one-sided hug

"Yes, Danny, you will join Robin, Superboy, and Abuse on missions. They agree to help you settle and get used to your ghost powers." Constantine smiles. "I'll give me time to discourage all those idiots from trying to trick you into marriage."

"Oh...okay. It's nice to meet you all. Please call me Phantom on the field. Um, are you the team leader?" He asks Damian as the three youngest boys lead him further into the watch tower.

Constantine watches them go with the brightest smile he's ever seen on the man's face. He looks back to the group, who were barely starting to pick their jaws off the floor and makes a shooing motion with his hand. "You lot are dismissed."

Then the man vanishes in a green portal.

There is a ringing silence until Barts blurts out. "I'm pretty sure this is where the Phantom Fan Club first formed. A historical moment."

Tim wants to take a nap.

( Part 1 )

[plussizeficchick]

Breeder’s Digest! | Nanami x Chubby!Reader

Summary; Nanami’s always wanted kids, but there’s something about you taking care of your nieces and nephews that just get him going.

Warnings; smut(breeding kink(like huge), pregnancy kink?, cunnlingus, P in V, cockwarming(mentioned), ooc!Nanami?, not proofread(y’all know what it is))

Sn: This was originally requested by @shadofireshinobi but friend I could never do it justice like how you requested😫but I hope you like it boo💕

He truly doesn’t know what came over him.

Nanami prides himself on his self control. Sure, there are times when it becomes too much, you’re a bit too tempting, but he’s always been able to keep himself in check.

So where the fuck is that same composure?

Really, he should’ve known better when you said your nieces and nephews would be at the gathering your family was having for Christmas, he just didn’t think it’d result to this.

It just became too much, the sight of you holding your baby niece to your chest, the way you so carefully cradled her, making sure to position her head right.

It just came so naturally to you.

The way you were able to calm her when she was getting fussy, the soft way you cooed at her when she did just about anything, it was getting to him. 

The want, the need, to fuck you full of his cum, to see you nice and round with his child.

He simply couldn’t wait.

— —

You aren’t sure what’s come over Nanami.

You thought everything was fine, you were at your parents house to spend time with them and your sister, along with her new bundle of joy but as you spent time there, Nanami started to act off.

You two had broached the topic of children briefly in the past. It was a mutual agreement that you both wanted them, just when the time was right.

So you’re confused as to what spurred this reaction.

After your niece was put down for a nap, Nanami gave your family a poor excuse as to why you had to leave earlier than anticipated and all but carried you out the door.

You tried to ask what came over him, but he merely shut you down with a searing kiss, stealing your breath away. “I need you.” He groaned against your mouth. He was struggling to hold himself back, desperate to get you squirming in his cock.

You whine against his lips, pulling back just enough to ask him what happened, when he pulls you right back into him, mumbling about getting you home.

— —

After narrowly avoiding crashing, you both managed to stumble into your shared home, Nanami hoisting you up to grind your clothed core against his. “Feel me, pretty? It’s all f’you.” He murmurs against your lips, the taste of you too addicting.

You grind against him, your panties accumulating an embarrassing amount of slick as you feel his hardness. “Need you, Ken. So bad.” You whine. The friction on your clit is delicious, but you need more. 

“Gonna fill you up.” He promises, walking you to your shared bedroom. “Gonna get you nice and full of my kids.” Your heart thrums at the mention of this, pussy clenching involuntarily. Nanami quirks a brow at that, a smirk making its way to his face. “Oh? She likes the sound of that, hm?”

Your heart just about falls to your ass.

He places you on the bed and strips you both of your clothes, kissing and sucking your most sensitive areas before finally placing his mouth where you need him most.

You gasp as he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue laving over the bundle of nerves as one of his hands to reach up and tweak one of your sensitive nipples. He uses his other hand to push one of your knees up, giving him a bit more access to your center. You cry out as he licks a bold stripe up your core, his eyes demanding contact. 

“You taste so good, pretty. I wonder, will you taste different when you’re swollen with my child? Will you taste even sweeter?” He works a finger into you, thrusting shallowly at first, but as you grind your hips into him, he picks up the pace. “I can’t wait to see your tits swell with milk. You won’t ever have to worry about them being too heavy, I’ll help with that, my dear.” Your mind is too clouded to understand the double meaning behind his words, too focused on chasing your orgasm. “Please.” You beg, though, you don’t really know what you're begging for. Nanami does, however, working in a second and third finger as his tongue works wonders on your clit.

It doesn’t take long before you cum, body spasming underneath him. He works you through it, pressing tender kisses along your body before making his way to your lips. “Need to fuck you, princess. Gotta fill you up.” He murmurs against you, cock grinding into your sopping cunt. You whimper as he strokes himself through your folds just right, tip bumping against your clit every so often.

He eventually takes pity on you, slowly stretching you around his thick length as he sets a steady pace. He pulls back a little to get a good look at your face. Drool spilling down your kiss-swollen lips, eyes hazy as he has you creaming around his cock, tits bouncing deliciously as he fucks into you.

So pretty.

“Can’t wait to see my baby in you.” He groans, the image of you round and your tits swollen making him that much harder inside you. He picks up the pace, angling his hips to hit your g-spot as he thumbs your clit. “Cum for me, Princess. Make a mess for me. Please, baby.” He practically begs. His cock is near to bursting the way you're clenching around him. 

You’re tearing up, the feeling of his cock inside you almost overwhelming. Just as you begin to cry out from your orgasm, Nanami captures your lips in a messy kiss, tongues mingling together sloppily. “Gonna cum f’you, princess. Gonna fill you up and I don’t want a fucking drop spilling out. Understand?” He practically snarls in your ear. And for some reason, it has your pussy clenching. 

He spills his seed deep inside you; a deep, guttural groan escaping him as he fucks deep into you, eager to paint your womb. His large hands roam the expanse of your tummy lovingly before he’s flipping you both over so you’re laying on top of him. He presses soft kisses along your neck even though you’re both spent, basking in each other’s warmth. 

Nanami knows that it’ll take a while before you’re showing, but as you lay there cockwarming him, he can’t help but be excited for what the future will hold.

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @luna-indigoduh @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon

[gglitch1dd]

Just thinking about dilf Izuku sucking readers tits dry while she’s lactating or he helps her get rid of a clogged boob🥱

I like you, anon. I really like you.

Husband Midoriya Izuku x Wifey Reader

Warning: SMUT, parenthood, LACTATION kink, underlying breeding kink, squirting, Izuku being damn right shameless. HEAVY Praise and body worship, soft dom Izuku.

You let out a sigh as you finally undid your maternity bra. You rubbed your areola, letting out a hiss at the pain. Today seemed like an off day for you, where everything just felt wrong. Asahi had been crying all day and Toshinori was running a fever and both boys didn't want to eat anything.

This was one day you felt as though whatever could go wrong with your children was happening.

You walked out of the closet noticing your husband walk back into the bedroom. "I managed to put Asahi to bed. Seems like the poor guy had some gas he couldn't release." He explained to you, talking about your youngest out of your two boys.

You nodded with a relieved expression. "Thank you, Izu." You said softly as you moved to sit down on the bed with a frown on your face.

Izuku studied you for a moment. You were quite. He could tell that something was bothering you and after the day you both had, he couldn't blame you. He had to go for three hours to sign an important document this morning but when he came back, it's as if all hell broke loose.

"My love..." Izuku started as he walked over to where you were sitting. His eyebrows were furrowed as he watched you for another moment. He crouched down in front of you, taking your hands in his own. His big scarred hands ran over your knuckles. "Are you okay? Don't worry, Toshinori has already taken medicine and is dead asleep and I'm sure Asahi just had a bad day today. Bad days happen and it will be better tomorrow."

You let out a sigh, but nodded. "I know, honey. I know, but it was so tiresome." You let out as you leaned back closing your eyes. "You know how worried I get when Toshi gets sick. He's only three but he's so stubborn and he doesn't want to eat anything. Last time we had to take him into the emergency because he was dehydrated. And Asahi just won't drink."

Izuku raised an eyebrow at that, confused as to what you meant. "What do you mean?"

You opened your eyes as you looked at him. "I think I'm making too much milk. Toshinori always was hungry but Asahi won't even suckle for more than ten minutes at a time. It's like he gets fed up." You felt tears move to your eyes, your eyes burning as you looked down at your chest. "I feel so pent up. I can only pump so much but it hurts because it feels so heavy and there's so much I have left."

"Hey, hey, hey." Your husband let out softly as he moved to pull you into his arms as tears fell from your eyes. He moved to rub your back as he sat beside you. His large arms wrapped around you securely, putting a kiss to the top of your head. You buried your face in his chest, letting out a stuttered breath at the feeling of his warm embrace. "I'm right here, honey. I'm right here." He spoke so comfortingly that it almost made you want to cry harder. "Why didn't you tell me that you were struggling with feeding him?" He asked you softly.

You sniffed. "I didn't want to disappoint you. I handled Toshinori so well so I thought Asahi would be similar."

Izuku let out a light chuckle as he kissed the top of your head. "Remember that no child is the same, my love." He moved to look down at you, tilting your head up to look at him. He had a gentle smile on his freckled face, his green eyes were warm as he looked at you. "It isn't your fault, Y/N. You've been doing nothing wrong." He assured you.

You tried looking away from him, tears slipping down your face as you tried to control your emotions. However, his affirmation that you were doing alright and you weren't messing up made you only feel more emotional.

"Some kids just eat less than others. He's still a healthy little boy and he isn't sick or underweight. He's just not as hungry. Okay?"

"Okay."

He nodded his head, moving to kiss your lips gently. You let out a stuttered breath at the action but you nodded your head along with him. You were so glad that Izuku took all the time off that he did whenever you gave birth. You weren't sure how you would manage with a three year old and a newborn but you were so glad that he was right there alongside you.

Izuku peered down at you. "Does it hurt?" He asked. You looked up at him with a confused expression. He motioned to his pecs with a broad gesture making you giggle at his roundabout way of asking about the state of your breasts.

You nodded your head. "Yah, it does." You sniffed, nodding your head. "It's just full more than anything."

He nodded his head, understanding what you meant. He took a moment before speaking again. "Can I help?" He asked.

You felt heat go up your neck at the question. It wasn't the first time he had tasted your milk (nor would it be the last) but anytime that you or him asked never ceased to make you flustered. "Are you sure?"

He hummed with a nod of his head, a kind smile despite the lewd intentions he had. "I want to take care of you tonight." He expressed.

Without warning you, Izuku picked you up in his arms making you squeak. He chuckled before carefully moved to put his back against the headboard with you in his lap. You sat there perched on his lap as he carefully moved your shirt over your shoulders. You allowed him to, allowing him full access of your breasts.

Immediately at the sight of them, his eyes dropped away from your face. You couldn't help but chuckle at how for a few seconds, you were sure Izuku had no thoughts going on inside his head.

"Hm?" He asked, his eyes taking a second before they flicked up at you.

You shook your head. "You are such a man, Izuku."

He let out a scoff before a broad smile went to his face. "Honey, I think anyone who catches their eyes on a great set of knockers is going to stop and stare." He explained only making you giggle. "Besides, they look delicious."

"Izuku." You gave him a pointed look but you couldn't help the smile. "Don't get any bright ideas. Remember, this is only happening because of Asahi."

"And Asahi doesn't want it. Less for him, more for me."

"IZUKU!"

He chuckled as his large hands moved to gently grasp your breasts. Immediately you let out a whimper at the feelings of his grip on you. He noticed how sensitive you were, and noted that he should be careful. He gently moved to massage your breasts, gently kneading at them. You let out a breath as you tried your best not to pull back at the slight pain.

"You're right, you are quite full." He let out softly. The only reason Izuku would notice as much as he did, is because at anytime that he caught you breastfeeding he would always try to cope a feel (shameless man).

Carefully, his green emerald eyes flicked up to you. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward, lapping his tongue over your nipple. He was gentle as he carefully put your breast in his mouth making you clench on nothing at the intensity of his eyes.

He gently started to suck, making you hiss as you moved to grip onto his shoulders. He didn't relent, knowing that it was going to hurt before it got better. He was gentle, carefully massaging at your breast while sucking. It didn't take longer than a few seconds before the sweet drops of milk touched his tongue.

He hummed at the taste, sucking a bit harder knowing that now you were flowing. Your breaths were heavy as you sat on his lap, allowing him to drink from you. You couldn't deny that him helping you like this was damn arousing. Your husband had always put in the effort to help you as best as he could, and you were so grateful for him.

Then again, it was the least he could do for you being his wife and the mother to his children.

Izuku moved to massage your other breast, with his right hand while his left hand moved down your body. You couldn't even seem to care where his hands were going, you were just glad that the pressure you felt was finally being lifted and you felt so good at your husband's touch.

Then you jolted with a squeak and wide eyes. Izuku had what you could only identify as a smirk considering that his mouth was full. His hand had found its way down your cotton panties. His fingers moving to fiddle with your clit. Your eyebrows furrowed in faux concentration as you moved to hold onto his shoulders, trying to stabilise yourself.

It felt so good having his hands on you. His fingers always knew just how you liked to be played with and always knew just where to touch and when. The circles he rubbed into your cunt made you relax as you arched your back, pushing your chest further into his grasp.

Izuku gasped, leaving your left breast with a groan. "You taste so good, sweetheart. You have so much to give." He said noticing that the breast he had just left had just started dripping a bit. He noticed that tonight might just get messy.

He grinned at the thought.

He moved to your right breast, finally giving it the attention it was neglected of. You let out a loud moan as you threw your head back and started grinding down on his hand that cupped your cunt. "Yes... Yes, Izu. Just- just suck a bit harder. Just a tiny bi- FUCK~" You moaned as your eyes rolled back, grinding down on his calloused hand.

He chuckled. "You're so wet for me beautiful. You must be really enjoying yourself." He murmured against your breast. He let out a moan at the pleasurable taste, drinking as much milk as he could to put you at ease. You were absolutely dripping on his hand and your breasts were leaking milk past his mouth and on his chest.

Izuku knew that if he died right now, he would have no complaints.

He let go of your right breast with a pup, moving to massage it like he had been doing with your left one. "Come on baby, you're doing so good." He praised you, your small keens and moans filling the air as the only thing you could think of was coming. You were chasing that high, pushing yourself against his hand and basically bouncing on his lap in need. He kept the pace just like you liked it, being careful not to speed up or slow down. Kissed your sternum. "Come for me, my love. Come for me. You're so beautiful, mama. You deserve it. You're almost there."

You let out a whimper, your thighs shaking but not being quite there yet. You let out a frustrated cry as you flicked your teary eyes at him needly. "Help." You whispered.

He chuckled as he wrapped his arm around you, turning the both of you around so that you can lie on your back underneath him. He moved to fingers inside you, easily finding that spot that had you clamping down on his fingers hard. A deep groan left your lips as you arched up against him.

"There we go." He praised, moving his fingers fast and hard, making sure his thumb stimulated your clit. "There you go, such a good girl. You're my good girl. You can do it, my love. You can do it. You're almost there." You couldn't think, you could barely even breathe other than to moan and cry like a whore. You let out a broken sob at the pounding of his fingers in that area. He reached down to careful bite your nip between his teeth just gently and suddenly you saw white.

A broken moan left your mouth as you were in complete ecstasy.

At the amount of slick against his hand Izuku chuckled as he realised you were squirting. "There it is. Good girl. You're so perfect." He praised as his fingers didn't slow down. The dragged out your orgasm long and hard, letting slick gush over his hand and arm as he did so.

You gasped with a sigh fallling back into bed with a whimper, trying to closer your legs. Izuku took that as an indication to stop. Slowly slipping his hand out of your now drenched cotton underwear.

He sat up on his knees, looking at the beautiful masterpiece that was you sprawled out in front of him. You were heaving for air, tired and worn out but covered in slick between your thighs and milk on your chest. Your eyes closed as you floated on cloud nine for a moment.

Izuku looked down at his hand with a chuckle, sticking the two fingers that were inside you in his mouth with a hum. He licked them clean before leaning down to you. "Such a good girl." He praised as he kissed your forehead. You let out a soft whine, and instantly he moved to wrap his arms around you, picking you up in his arms. "My amazing wife. You're so spectacular. That was amazing sweetheart. Do you feel better?" He asked as he carried you to the bathroom.

You nodded your head tiredly in the crook of his neck.

He hummed. "I bet you do. You did so well for me. You did so well. I'm so proud of you." He praised as he walked into the bathroom, keeping the lights off as not to disturb the cloud you were floating on.

He carefully grabbed a cloth, putting it in warm water, all while holding you up with one hand. He knew you wouldn't want to let go of him so he worked around you. He walked back into the bedroom, the lights staying dim as he lay you back down on his side of the bed, wrapping you up in a different blanket. He carefully wiped you clean, praising you softly with whispers.

You weren't even sure what happened by the time your mind was half back. You were in new pyjamas with the bed sheets changed and feeling clean. Your husband had slid into bed with you, petting down your back with a soft hum out of his chest. You fell right to sleep, dead asleep.

Izuku knew that he probably didn't get all the milk out, but that would be dealt with later. As in, midnight.

-Glitch1d

[Izuku Midoriya Masterlist]

[renecdote]

rebirth

Bi Buck cured my writers block, please have this short little episode coda for 7x04. [Read on AO3]

It’s after one a.m. when the light, bubbly excitement in his stomach sours, fear creeping in. Buck’s next breath sticks in his chest, his heart races, his fingers start tingling, and it’s so much like what kissing Tommy did to him, but for all the wrong reasons this time. His phone screen is suddenly too bright in the darkness, his search history a towering mess of questions, and Reddit threads, and quizzes he clicked into then out of before he could finish taking them.

The problem, he thinks, is that it felt so right. Tommy tilted his chin up and pressed their lips together and it felt like—himself, for the first time in… forever, maybe. Buck doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with that. Go out on Saturday night, maybe (hopefully) kiss Tommy again (and again and again and again), but then… But then?

He wants to call Eddie because he always wants to call Eddie. He wants to blurt out all the things he kept under his tongue when he apologised earlier. He wants to hear Eddie say his name, soft and warm and knowing, because if anyone can make him feel seen and heard and at home in his own skin, it’s Eddie. He wants so hard it’s almost painful.

But it’s the middle of the night, he can’t call Eddie.

He can’t call Maddie either. She would answer, he knows, and she’d have just the right words for the spiralling anxiety that’s sucking him in, but he’s not going to scare her with the phone ringing in the middle of the night. There have been too many calls like that that have only been bad news.

He won’t worry Hen or Bobby with a call like that either.

And as much as Buck wants to confide in them, wants to crack his chest open and show his family what has been inside the whole time, there’s another part of him that doesn’t want to share. Not yet. He feels like the newborn calves he saw at the ranch in Montana, young and fragile and unsteady as he tries to find his feet. The world suddenly feels bigger. Brighter. And it’s exciting, it’s freeing, but he can’t help feeling daunted, like he might get lost if he’s not careful.

“Bisexual,” he says aloud, just to hear himself say it, to taste the way it feels on his tongue not just as a word but as an identity. It feels like an exhalation, trembling at the edges but not just with fear, or excitement, but with relief. He thinks of that first breath of air when his head came above water in the tsunami, he thinks of being struck by lightning, he thinks of stepping into Station 118 for the first time, he thinks of catching the Jeep keys Maddie tossed him in the dark of a Hershey street all those years ago. Buck knows what it is like to be reborn, but he has never had a kiss make him feel like this before.

Did the first time you kissed a girl feel like this? he wants to ask Hen. Does it feel like this every time?

Is this the magic you were talking about when you first met Shannon? he wants to ask Eddie.

I figured it out, he wants to tell Bobby. I figured out what being at ease with myself feels like.

He has a shift in six and a half hours, but sleep feels as impossible as it did when he first climbed into bed. Buck lifts a hand to trace his lips in his dark, reliving the memory of Tommy there. He imagines Tommy everywhere else too, trailing his hand down his body, fitting Tommy into all the places a few dozen women have touched before. He feels like a teenager, giddy at just the thought of sex—of everything—and he exhales a laugh in the dark.

Buck opens his phone again and sends a text to the one person he knows is on shift and might already be awake: when you said you’d pick me up on Saturday, you meant in the chopper right?

Tommy replies instantly: those things are a bitch to park

And a second later: maybe on the third date

There it is again: breath stuttering, heart racing, fingers tingling. Buck wonders if this is what it feels like to get behind the controls and fly. He grins at his phone. He can’t wait to find out.

[cherryjuiceblues]

𝐌𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 | 𝟓.𝟏

➯ Y/N SPENDS TOO MUCH TIME IN HER OWN HEAD WITHOUT HER DOMINANT AND HARRY’S WORRIED HE MIGHT SCARE HER OFF IF HE PROFESSES WHAT HE’S SO DYING TO SAY. ✰ dom!harry relationship wobbles. sexual content. dominant and submissive dynamics. daddy kink. tickling kink. squirting. minors dni. 𝑤𝑐 9.7k ッ mutually beneficial masterlist

Harry’s slacks are being fiddled with. Threads starting to fray from the incessant tugging of nervous fingertips.

And normally—normally—Harry wouldn’t have a problem with Y/N needing to keep her hands busy, or attempting to enmesh herself into his side. But today is different. And today, Harry’s patience is wearing thin.

He almost feels guilty. He knows Y/N doesn’t enjoy these situations, this atmosphere. He knows she was being kind when she said she’d like to come with him. He knows she’s been anxious since he asked her. 

But the frustration is winning tonight—the silent wish that she’d just stayed at home bouncing around the inside of his skull. It makes him feel mean; intolerant. And Harry is neither mean nor intolerant. Ever.

He doesn’t like to think it but… something isn’t working. Something is slowly turning into everything—and it sits heavy in his gut—heavy and foreign.

“Darlin’, hands in your lap, please.” His breath dances across Y/N’s temple and she shivers slightly; only enough for Harry to notice. It’s quiet, his voice, and she nods to herself—the tiniest jerk of her head—a silent apology as she smooths her clammy palms down her own thighs.

The dinner is boring—he’ll admit. But Harry isn’t one to let apathy show on his face when it matters and… right now, it matters. The business partners sitting before him, a husband and his wife, are perhaps two of the most important people Harry has had the displeasure of dealing with during his time as CEO. They’re more passionate than him, and loud when it matters—they’re determined and distinguished in the financial scene—and can have their voices be the only ones heard when they want them to be.

But regardless of how much his eyes are rolling on the inside, Harry’s face presents complete and utter professionalism besides his less than enthusiastic partner, who—bless her—had tried. She had. She’d been polite smiles, and firm handshakes, and straightened posture. She’d been silently engaged, and spoke when addressed. She’d been perfect. But that was an hour and a half ago—and if Harry had been feeling any other way, he’d be much more forgiving than he is right now. 

Because Y/N’s face is starting to lose its civility, and her eyes are starting to gloss over, and her posture is starting to slump, and her composure is starting to slip. And that’s okay. It is. It should be. But Harry’s anxious too; he’s worried, he’ll admit. He’s choosing his every word with precision, he’s using words and phrases not in his everyday vocabulary in an attempt to write himself into Mr. and Mrs. Pierson’s good books.

So the nerves are getting the better of him. And it’s an ugly feeling. He hates feeling the control slip from his hands, hates feeling as though he is not the one in charge of his emotions, hates letting the anxiety treat Y/N as his asset as opposed to his other half.

And Harry doesn’t like to disrespect the ones he loves. 

Such a thought may seem sudden. But he’s loved her for a while now—it doesn’t scare him. But if Y/N were anyone else, he wouldn’t even have to question whether she returns his feelings. Because it should be obvious by this point.

But this is Y/N. The woman he loves, sure, but also the woman who has required Harry to adopt a new way of communication—for the better—without a doubt. Yet still, what he doesn’t know is how the fuck he’s going to tell her. How he’s going to say anything without overwhelming her. He likes to think that, by now, he’s got a pretty good understanding of how Y/N’s brain works—which is why (and it feels cruel to even venture down this neural pathway but) he’s nearly one-hundred-percent sure that she has convinced herself that he could never love her.

Which is absurd. It’s so absurd that Harry would be more likely to believe the Earth is flat than to encourage the notion that Y/N is unloveable. He would rather voluntarily get an intrusive operation or lose all of his personal belongings. But how does one convince another that they are worthy of love? If they don’t believe it themself. 

And, undoubtedly, her behaviour is still off. Despite their recent conversation—despite Y/N’s tears and Harry’s reassurance—she’s still fighting the submission. And it’s draining her. Harry can see it. She wants nothing more than to give in but she just won’t let herself and it’s weighing heavier and heavier on Harry’s heart. As though she’s scared, or creating enough distance to build a wall—brick by brick—Y/N hesitates, Y/N ignores, Y/N diverts.

The dominant in him thinks she should be punished. For countlessly testing his patience. But it doesn’t feel right—the possibility that Harry might make her cry for any reason that is not good makes his bones ache—and Y/N is on the brink of tears a lot these days. Harry doesn’t know what to do. How to approach what’s going on—when they’ve already had some kind of conversation surrounding Y/N’s difficulties with accepting his care—and seeing that nothing has changed. He understands that he needs to ask her to make a decision—to stop working or to stop trying to maintain his home, as well as her own; she cannot continue to do both and preserve any sort of mental stability.

But he suspects that she may not choose the thing they both want the most.

And when Harry is letting his impatience overpower him then how can she be blamed at all?

She’s tired when they get in the car—back moulding into the seat as she gives a relieved sigh. And relief—relief is something that releases countless endorphins, something that can have Y/N do a complete one-eighty in personality and demeanour. Relief makes her chatty, and it makes her fidgety. 

“They were a bit uppity.” The words are carried in a manic sort of lilt.

“Mhm,” Harry hums, paying attention to the road as he pulls out of the car park and into the throng of vehicles. The headlights pierce right into his eye sockets as they speed past. Spending an evening with The Pierson’s has inflicted the most terrible of headaches—but he’s relieved too—at the prospect of not having to deal with them again for a long while.

Y/N scratches at her knuckles for a second too long—Harry has to ignore the urge to cover her hands with his own—as she admits, “I don’t think they liked me very much.”

And maybe his first port of call should’ve been reassurance, but he says, “Who cares what they think?” The line of irritation might start to blur in his voice, Harry can’t tell. 

“Me, obviously.”

He spares her a glance out of the corner of his eye to see she’s already looking at him, shy but cheeky smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She does that sometimes. When she says something bratty but wants to stay in his good books. It usually works.

Harry says nothing, turning his attention back to the blinding road before he can see that smile disappearing. Y/N shuffles in her seat next to him, looking out of her window with a little sigh. It’s times like these that she worries. Worries about being too much to handle. And right now her anxieties manifest quickly—insecurities bubbling to the surface and lodging themselves in her throat. One tiny action, or a handful of even smaller ones, changing the course of her pattern of thinking.

It feels rude to ask, each syllable falling off her tongue with a clatter. She almost wants to flinch. “Can you take me home, please? As in… my home.”

This has Harry attentive, granting her more than a single peek from the corner of his eye. He looks over for a second or two, asking, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she nods, and the confession comes easily now, anxiety and relief coalescing into a chaotic swirl, “I’m tired,” harsh knuckles nudge at eye sockets. “It was really loud in there… and those lights were awful… and… I just need a night alone, I think.” She doesn’t say what she’s really believing—I think you need a night alone from me.

But Harry doesn’t argue. Harry never argues. He never usually has to; things just go his way. He’s resigned as he sighs, before nodding quickly, tersely, eyes fixated on the road. “Okay, darling, if you’re sure.”

“Sorry,” Y/N finds herself saying, guilt swarming in her gut despite believing it’s for the best. But it seems nothing she says ever feels right. 

Harry reaches over to squeeze her thigh, warm and encompassing, a silent reassurance that she needn’t apologise. And then he verbally reassures her too, “Don’t be silly, you’re allowed to miss home comforts,” he squeezes again, and flits his eyes over with a small smile, “especially when you’ve got such a cute bedroom.”

Y/N can’t help but mirror his expression, a giddy giggle bubbling out of her throat. “It is pretty cute.” Cuter with her beautifully broad dominant decorating her frilly bedspread, but she doesn’t have the confidence to specify so.

Harry keeps the weight of his hand on her thigh for as long as he possibly can, lifting it only when crucial to the safety of his driving. When he pulls up outside Y/N’s building and turns off the ignition, neither of the pair move. She asked to go home but she doesn’t want to be here. She wants Harry to turn the car back on and take her to his home whether she may pretend to protest or not.

But all she does is angle her body towards Harry’s and peek up at him from under her lashes. He’s already looking at her, of course, a tired smile on his handsome face.

“Come here,” he brings his hand up and threads his fingers through her hair, scratching soothingly. Y/N’s eyes flutter shut, unable to resist the way she gravitates towards him. She doesn’t see the worry in Harry’s eyes.

He kisses her. And she kisses him back. A soft sponging of lips warmed by the gentle exhalations from their noses. It’s nothing indecent, but any passerby would be sure to read the signs; there’s no other way to interpret such a kiss other than with deeply rooted affection. More than just a brief goodbye between casual lovers.

Harry pulls away first, letting his lips tingle against Y/N’s cupid’s bow. “I—” I love you. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” Her eyes stay shut, frozen in Harry’s hold, wishing to stay in his car indefinitely.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, slowly untangling his fingers and swiping down the bridge of her nose with his knuckle to make her smile, “go and get some rest.”

As soon as she’s disappeared behind her front door, turning around to give Harry a little wave to send him off with one final pretty picture, he lets his posture slump. He lets the worry carve lines along his face, and he lets his lungs heave a tired sigh.

Harry doesn’t much like his house anymore—not without Y/N in it—it feels double its already gargantuan size and the hues she’s painted across every surface fade back to white. But, when he gets home, the remnants of her follow him from room to room. An almost painful reminder. And Harry has to shake some sense into himself; she’s not dead. She’s fine, she’s asleep in her bed, safe in her house, but… it’s not that he’s worried about.

He sits in his kitchen alone, stabbing pitifully at his fruit for one. He’s not hungry, but Y/N never turns down a fresh bowlful at any time of the day, so it seems his brain insists that now would be the best occasion. And it’s not like they’ve never spent nights apart but this one feels different, this one feels forced—tense—unravelling. 

Mugs scatter the draining board, vibrant in colour and pattern; one small example of Harry seeing something—anything—and feeling compelled to buy it for Y/N. To watch her face light up over whichever cutesy thing he’s presented her with. They fill his cupboards (the mugs) pushing his old, plain, white ones to the back where they gather dust. He should put the clean ones away but he doesn’t. Instead his viridescent eyes trail across to the fridge, lettered magnets untouched from their formation that Y/N had ordered them in earlier that day. 

PRUNE

Harry can’t help but smile despite how heavy his face feels—unable to ignore the idiosyncrasies of Y/N. There was nothing inherently funny about the word but for her to deem it a bizarre enough move to play as her hand… that’s what makes him smile. That in their silent, little game of who can spell out the most peculiar of words with their limited letters, her brain will always go somewhere he never expects.

He feels an immense weight swirling around in his gut; for not being with her now, for not making sure she’s okay. Regardless of her wish to be alone, Harry should know when to overrule her decisions if he believes he knows best. He’s become responsible for Y/N’s wellbeing—a true joy in his life but it doesn’t come without its challenges. It’s difficult to remind himself that she coped on her own for a long time, but he doesn’t think it's unfair to describe her attempts at self care as poor. And just because she survived on her own, that doesn’t mean she was okay—Harry has a pretty clear picture of that now.

Moping doesn’t tend to be an attractive look but… it doesn’t matter much, Harry considers, when he’s on his own. He mopes—from the kitchen and up the stairs, to his bedroom that he frowns at upon entering. Full of Y/N. He misses her so potently and he doesn’t understand why. 

The guilt gnaws away at him as he gets ready for bed, alone. As he strips from his uncomfortable suit, alone. As he brushes his teeth, alone, staring dismally at his tired face. Y/N’s products scatter the counter, unmoved from where she left them this morning. Her exfoliator narrows its beady eyes at him as he splashes his face with water, patting himself dry, alone—trudging back to his bed, alone. Cold and empty, bigger than it’s ever been before and dull without the mound of his lover curled within, sheets unloving as they lay leaden on his lone body.

He can smell her, he can see her things, her clothes, her personality—everywhere. So potent and yet so hollow, so ghostly. Harry groans, smothering his face into his pillow, but the force in which his head presses in only expels more of what he’s trying not to inhale.

Sleep doesn’t introduce itself; Harry doesn’t even let it. He’s up and out of bed before he can let his thoughts drift further, and out into his garden where he lets the midnight chill kiss his cheeks, nursing a caffeinated tea—sure to paint the sullen unders of his eyes a dusty mauve in the morning.

Y/N sleeps surprisingly well. And it is surprising, because before the unconsciousness had taken over, she’d tossed and turned for at least an hour. She’d even cried for a while when unable to stop her mind from wandering into dark hallways and even darker prison cells.

But then again, a good headache inducing cry always was the best medicine.

She turns down Harry when he phones her at eleven fifty-two the next morning. To go and get breakfast at The Little Snail Café, a usual occasion for them on a Saturday. 

I don’t really feel like going out—I’m sorry. No… no, thank you. I’m still a little out of it from last night. …No, I’m okay. Really, ‘m okay. Yes, I promise. Okay… Okay, bye.

It feels wrong, it itches somewhere she cannot reach—it lines her bones and aches and aches. She spends most of that day sitting and staring, at nothing in particular. A whole chunk of her day just zoned out in the direction of her wall. But it wouldn’t have mattered had her vision been aimed at white plaster or a menagerie of the world’s most exotic animals—her eyes still would have glossed over, blurred by a sheen of vacancy.

By the time the sun sets and the moon casts its chilling glow, Y/N can recount eating one full meal and going to the bathroom twice, maybe three times—the rest of the hours lost in a haze.

It doesn’t feel particularly good to get out of the house—and face Sunday morning head on—but Y/N forces herself to regardless. Whether she has or has not run out of milk is entirely unrelated. There were no plans to stop for anything else, to become waylaid or distracted by bookstores, or the smells of deliciously fatty breakfast foods frying, or even to bump into her dear friend. Her dear friend who she has neglected for so long that, embarrassingly, Y/N will admit, she’s been avoiding out of shame.

And Niall is feeling neglected. Which Y/N knows, not from assumption but because he tells her as such.

“Never see you anymore, do I?” He nurses the steaming mug between his palms, the searing ceramic bringing feeling back into his iced fingertips. “Have to bump into you at the bleedin’ shops, beg you to get a coffee, and you still won’t tell me how you are,” he swallows. “And you hate going shopping alone!” His jewellery clatters against the mug as he gesticulates wildly. “We always did that together,” pausing to take a sip, sighing when Y/N doesn’t take the opportunity to fill his silence. “You’re breaking my heart here, Y/N.”

The two friends work in the same building—and that is the fact that is silently ignored by either party. It’s awkward, and it’s sad, to admit out loud that they don’t even cross paths at work.

She sighs, hoping the swirling, spiralling liquid of her latte might just hypnotise her. “I’m sorry.”

Another resigned exhale, “Yes, well. I know y’are. You’re always bloody sorry. Too bloody sorry, if y’ask me.”

“You’re being mean,” she frowns, unused to the lack of frivolity coming from the usually maddeningly overjoyed half of their duo.

“Mean?” He’s incredulous. “I’m grumpy, aren’t I! Because I miss my best friend and she’s gone radio silent on me.”

Yeah. She can’t deny that—already admitted it, in fact. “I didn’t mean to, I— I forget. I—”

“You forgot about me.” His voice is perfectly steady. Nearly disbelieving but still and stoic.

“I did not! I…” she swallows around a scratch in her throat, trying so hard to ignore the uncomfortable wash of heat over her forehead. “I’ve never had more than one person to focus on before. And I’ve been so busy, I just— I get overwhelmed, and I panic, and I… You never even texted me.”

Niall huffs, grumbling, “Was waiting for you to text me.”

“Well,” Y/N exhales, tempted to laugh, all of a sudden, “it’s just as much your fault then. You know I’m not good at it. Texting and whatever.”

And then a telling vibration rumbles through her bag, loud enough for both bickering friends to stop and catch one another’s eyes. Y/N tries to play it off, tries to ignore it but Niall rolls his eyes.

“Answer him.”

She scoffs, “It could be anyone.”

“Oh, give over. Answer him.”

She rolls her bottom lip into her mouth nervously, a murky guilt swimming around her insides as she pulls out her phone.

Harry Hi darling, missed you yesterday. Hope you’re having a nice day. X

And suddenly the remorse is filling her lungs like water. Her heart dips inside her ribs, pounding alarmingly, lips pulling down into a frown she doesn’t realise is visible. She types out a reply automatically, autopilot taking over—declaring she’s out with Niall and that she misses him too—maybe a tad overeager with the exclamation marks.

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes stay locked onto the little keyboard at the bottom of her screen. “Hm? Nothing.”

“Right,” Niall mutters, unconvinced. When she puts the phone down, he catches her off guard, and Y/N hadn’t adequately prepared for her day to go this way at all. She’d just needed some bloody milk! 

“We’re going out. T’dinner or something—”

The telltale signs of a migraine tease the backs of her eye sockets. “Oh—Niall, no—”

“—Mhm, yes we are. Bring Harry,” he nods, “I’ll bring… m’self, invite some guys from work.”

“Niall—”

“—Y/N.”

They stare at one another, Niall’s gaze firm and Y/N’s pleading. There’s nothing she hates more than social gatherings, let alone awkwardly unfamiliar ones with coworkers she only speaks to when they absolutely demand her attention, for Christ’s sake. But her friend doesn’t give—and Y/N can’t really blame him. She’s been a shoddy friend, after all, the least she can do is spend an evening with him. 

“Boyfriend can hold your hand,” he teases and Y/N frowns exaggeratedly, a warmth seeping out over her face.

“Shut up,” her bottom lip protrudes and she brings her steaming mug up to her face to distract from her incessant embarrassment. She doesn’t want to correct him about the boyfriend thing. Y/N comes across juvenile enough without having the ‘I don’t know what we are’ conversation. Besides, Niall would only dismiss her queries—quite rightly too. Of course, they’re dating; what else would it be? Harry had specified anyway. She was his, and he was hers.

“Please no dinner.”

Niall says nothing. And then he nods, “Okay, fine. No dinner. A long weekend, me and you, somewhere with wifi.”

“That sounds nice,” Y/N smiles. It’s small, a little nervous, but it’s genuine. She hasn’t spent proper time with her friend in so long that she’s worried she might have forgotten how. But it’s Niall, and she knows those anxieties will melt away near instantaneously.

“But just to remind you, if I hadn’t taken you out all those months ago, you never would’ve met Harry so maybe you should reconsider your stance on socialising.”

“That’s not fair—Wait, that’s not even true, you set us up on a bloody date, you arse. Surprise attacked me.”

He smiles. “Semantics.”

Y/N goes home on her own to wallow without Harry—knowing too well she could be in his bed instead of hers. And she spends the rest of her day similarly to the one before it—only now she’s got the dread of Sunday blues setting in. She starts to think, and overthink, and overthink her overthinking. She analyses everything about her relationship with Harry.

Their routine is—was—ordinary. Harry worked, Y/N worked, they met back at Harry’s home in which Y/N spent more time than her own, they ate dinner, they went to sleep. Rinse and repeat. It felt solid despite previous teething problems. But slowly, slowly but surely, things changed. So gradually that you wouldn’t notice straight away.

Now, Harry works, Y/N works, Harry texts Y/N to make sure she’s still coming over, Y/N says yes most of the time, she defies him more than she ever has done before, they play it off as bratty behaviour and the rest remains the same. Neither of them particularly like this fact, but Y/N is convinced of her own self-sabotage and Harry is practically terrified he’ll scare her off. So they stay at this impasse, waiting for what won’t come. 

And Y/N only reaches her breaking point quicker, and quicker. It’s why she lies to him the next day. She regrets it as soon as the decision is made because Y/N has never been a good liar, but it turns out she’s practically incapable of it when Harry is involved. If it weren’t for the fact his voice crackled down the phone line and he wasn’t staring into her anxious eyes, then she’s certain she wouldn’t have even tried to fib in the first place.

She’d glanced around an empty reception and moused over the five unread emails in her inbox as she informed Harry she was just too swamped to go out for lunch. The phones are ringing off the hooks, she’d said, staring at the empty chair behind her shared desk that was hardly ever preoccupied by two receptionists at once. Y/N had always been grateful for her shifts, but in that moment she’d almost wished there were fifty of them behind the bloody desk—phones ringing and keyboards clicking—just to compensate for the deceit.

And her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest as she lied to him, clenching her eyes shut as if it wouldn’t just amplify the disappointment funnelling into her ear. With no vision, her mind could only wander from room to room, happening upon an easel and starting to paint the perfect depiction of personified emotions. Harry with frown lines and sad eyes, clutching at his heart as though someone had tried to forcibly remove it. 

The piece would hang in the Louvre, titled something like The Fatal Lie or She Who Breaks Hearts or He Does Everything for Her and She Fucking Lies to Him What A Fucking Bitc—

She didn’t open her eyes until the line went dead.

In truth, Y/N can’t exactly explain why she thinks this is necessary. If someone were to ask her to be logical about it all; to present her ideas as though they were a brand new theory or hypothesis, she would be entirely stumped.

Because there is no logic to it—but she fears she’s spiralling a little bit and she’s never known how to stop. Like one big DNA strand, Y/N can spiral forever. She feels as though she’s stuck inside her own personalised riddle. Why won’t the submissive let her dominant take care of her? And the answer is staring her right in the face but she can’t figure it out. Everyone is screaming at her inside of their heads but Y/N remains clueless.

It seems karma has a lovely big handful in store for her, however. And from an outsider’s perspective, Y/N might be more relieved that she is immediately punished for lying to Harry. But as it all happens, justice is the last thing on her mind.

Y/N has had more bad days than she’s had hot dinners. (Considering her eating habits are hardly healthy, that makes such an idiom somewhat disturbing.) Most days, she rolls out of bed expecting the following twelve hours to pour litre upon litre into her stress bucket—one so butchered and beaten that there are holes in the tin, leaking droplets steadily, and its contents are sloshed about with no poise.

As a result, she’s become fairly skilled at hiding her bubbling emotions under the surface; putting a lid on them until she’s somewhere safe to implode. To let them tip over the edge and sear the ground beneath her.

So what on Earth was compelling her eyes to start filling with no regard for her current environment? A professional setting, Y/N. Your workplace. Impatient men demanding things she cannot help them with may as well be included in the job description; Y/N knows how to deal with them—recites the sickeningly polite script memorised within the overwhelmed organ inside her skull. Tells them that this week is fully booked, Sir… and would they like to hear next week’s availability? 

She knows what to do. So why is it so hard today? Why do their bitter tones and probing questions drill so pointedly into her temples? She knows the answers to those riddles but a stubborn refusal to accept them makes her all the more frustrated.

It is so sorely reminiscent of the first time Harry had shown up at her door, faced with Y/N’s smeared mascara and crinkled work clothes. He’d bought her flowers, and he cooked her dinner, and he made her forget all about her day. Since then, Y/N thinks she’s forced his hand on too many occasions to be able to forgive herself. How many more times can she come home crying before he decides he’s had enough? The thought only makes her sniffle louder.

By the time her workday comes to a close, Y/N is ready to crawl into the nearest gutter and start her decomposing process sixty decades early. She takes herself to her preferred bathroom stall—the one with the wall on her right hand side—and dials Harry’s number before she has the chance to change her mind. If this is the last time he can handle her then so be it.

He picks up too quickly for Y/N to figure out what she’s going to say, his name in a frail whimper the only thing that comes out. “Harry?” She does try to school her tone but to no avail. Her voice totters about all over the place.

Immediately, Y/N hears shuffling on Harry’s end. A hasty sit-up, or a scattering of papers, the scraping of a chair pushing back from his desk in a panic. “Baby? What’s th’matter?”

And really, it’s Harry’s own fault for the clumsy sniffle that perforates his ears—how could Y/N not cry harder to the sound of his worried timbre? He calls her baby and she turns into one; helpless and desperate for care.

“Nothing, ‘m—I’m okay.”

Harry gives an exasperated huff, “Darlin’, I can hear you crying,” he smiles slightly through the phone but he’s not happy. “What’s wrong—?”

“—Sorry.”

Their voices overlap and there’s a pregnant pause. “Y/N.”

“Can—Can I come over?”

“Of course you can, sweetheart, why are you asking me?” She hears the scratching of stubble and it tickles her ears as if Harry is right next to her. “Never have to ask.”

“Okay,” she lets out a relieved sigh. He doesn’t sound annoyed, or exhausted, or fed up; it starts to thaw at the tensions in her body already. “Sorry.”

“S’okay, come home, alright?” Another pause where, presumably, he checks his watch, “Your shift’s over.”

“Mhm.” She hums so she doesn’t speak in wails. Shame slicks up and down her arms. It’s unbearably hot. It pecks at her skin and boils her from the inside out.

“I’ll see you in a bit, yeah, darlin’? Working from home today, I’ll put the kettle on f’ya.”

“Okay…” there’s a pause where a certain phrase feels appropriate, and then, “bye.”

Y/N dabs pathetically at her sodden cheeks, and blows her nose into a tissue. She tries to take slow, deep breaths but her airways are all congested and it must make for a sorry sight. 

But her shift is over. And Harry is waiting for her at home.

“There she is,” his voice practically carries her over the threshold of the front door. Harry’s holding a hot cup of tea and rubbing a socked foot along his calf to soothe an itch. He leans so effortlessly against the kitchen door frame.

He walks over, practically cooing, “Oh, Y/N. What are we g’na do with you, hm?” It’s almost patronising—if not for Y/N’s fondness for submission. For Harry’s dominance. She nuzzles her nose into his chest, soothed by every warm, heavy stroke of his palm up and down her back (he makes good heed to hold the steaming mug away from their embrace).

Y/N must look a mess—all sticky faced and wet eyes. Harry doesn’t say a thing—simply ushers her into the living room with a guiding palm melting into her lower back.

She exclaims suddenly, “My shoes—!” and it doesn’t matter how comfortable Y/N may be in Harry’s home, she’ll never feel polite wandering around in outdoor footwear. But he shushes her, forces her gently onto the sofa with a nudge and places her drink on the side table. He kneels down, taking care of her bothersome loafers that still rub against her heels no matter how broken in they may be. Nurturing digits squeeze and knead the sensitive flesh, almost eliciting a peal of shrieks and writhing, before they smooth up the backs of her calves—nylon course against soft palms.

The shaggy rug that Y/N over-familiarised herself with, all those months ago, cradles her feet—her socks, however cute they may be with frills around the ankles, prohibiting her from burying her toes despite her best attempts. Harry looks up at her from the floor, worry still ever present in his expression. He’d hidden it well, greeting her with a smile, as he always tends to do, but now she’s sat in front of him, sofa swallowing her up, and he lets the fuss tug at his brows.

“Wanna talk to me?”

It’s soft and unassuming, but Y/N still looks upset to be asked. She sniffs, “Just another bad day,” weak smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. Her voice is all thick and sluggish; Harry wishes he could personally caress her larynx, however disturbed that may be. He doesn’t care.

He won’t nag about quitting her job—he won’t. Not out loud anyway. But it’s hard when there’s an absolute certainty of someone’s happiness increasing tenfold… but they won’t allow it. Harry can’t bear seeing her like this so often—not when he’s sure it could all be fixed. 

Especially after the plate debacle.

I’m not happy—her words echo around his skull like a reverberating clang to the head. The words escaped during a moment of vulnerability, an admission never likely to be reiterated under more controlled circumstances. But Y/N had reached the end of her tether, her ability to cope tested beyond its capabilities, and Harry has become aware that she’s never really, truly comfortable within her own skin; living, working, existing the way she does. 

They’d half discussed it, a few weeks ago, and Y/N had been better immediately afterwards but then… as time passed and her insecurities remained festering, their conversation may as well have never happened.

“I’m sorry,” he presses a kiss to her knee, “wish I could make it all better.” Wish you would let me. 

“You do.” It makes her smile—albeit, sadly—to see Harry so dedicated to the way he sponges his mouth against her body. Over her knee, up her thigh, along the wrist that sits heavily in her lap. 

“Let me take proper care of you tonight.” A verbal switch that turns Y/N’s brain to mush the moment Harry flicks it. “Get you out of that cruel head of yours.” As he dots kisses across the palm of her hand and he whispers against the sensitive skin. “Pretty, but cruel.” 

“Mm,” Y/N quivers against his touch, overwhelmed by the heat that flushes her cheeks. “Need you.” It almost comes out as a sob, eyes filling with desperation as Harry’s kisses send lightning strikes down her spine, standing the hairs of her arms on end.

He pushes up a little, gaining enough height to look into her eyes as he shushes her gently. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” The sofa cushions give way as Harry takes Y/N’s spot, manoeuvring her onto his lap and coaxing her face into his neck. “You’ve got me.” Feeling the slope of her nose press so solidly makes Harry feel incomplete without it—like her weight is always meant to be glued to him this way.

He gives her a moment, a cuddle that he knows she’s needed, whispering promises of a good, good night. “Make you feel light as a feather, yeah?” But when it’s time to pry her away from the security of his hold, she grumbles and whines—unable to see the whole picture when life is so warm and cosy like this.

Harry’s not harsh with her; it’s not the time, but he still knows best. “Come on, baby, you know how this goes,” cupping his hands underneath her armpits as though she’s a big toddler and guiding her down to the floor—to the rug she loves so much. 

“That’s it—kneel down, f’me.” His thumb brushes the apple of her cheek, smoothing over the skin with adoration. “Such a good girl,” he smiles, lips stretching softly. Y/N leans into his palm, gentle breaths funnelling through her nostrils and into his lap. Her body relaxes, slumping unconsciously to lean against Harry’s knees as the weight of her head begs to be supported by his thighs.

“You trust me, don’t you?” The words dance their way into Y/N’s ears, slowly; unhurried. She takes a moment to register, but when she does, she nods—movements lagging and heavy.

“Yes, Sir,” she whispers, unaware of her own volition—seemingly out of control but content to cling onto the feeling. 

Harry’s lips quirk, top teeth rolling his bottom lip into his mouth to curb a grin. He’s missed her—this submission; the ease in which their hearts settle into when they both fulfil their respective roles. He’s unsure, right now, why Y/N is giving in tonight—when she’s been hellbent on pretending Harry’s control doesn’t smooth every worry line from her pretty face—when she’s been denying it to herself despite the truth lingering murkily between them; unacknowledged. He supposes her day really must have been bad.

But he won’t question it yet, not when the opportunity lies so openly in front of him. To make her happy again, if just for an evening. To prove to himself that the issue doesn’t lie within a place he’s found himself worrying about recently—a more vain, shallow insecurity that he’s admittedly never pondered upon before. 

He hums, thumb dipping lower to tease across her plush bottom lip, back up to her cheek, and down again. Y/N wants to open her mouth, tongue lingering just behind her lips evidently. She’s waiting to be told, waiting to be allowed—it stirs up something thick in Harry’s abdomen. He dips his digit past her eager mouth, pressing down on her tongue with intention. Her breath hits him heavily, a sigh of relief and of placidity.

“Just need something to suck on, I think.” 

It’s a connection he’s made—like handing a lollipop to a child to make them smile—that if Y/N could permanently have him in her mouth… she probably would. Not too dissimilar to a candied treat, in her eyes. Something to concentrate on, to feel fill her mouth, to be forced to focus on her breathing and forget about the world around her.

She nods into his hand, smaller fingers trying to burrow into the skin just above his knees. He’s wearing loose athletic shorts—comfortably manspreading—the feel of his little hairs and the warmth of his body keeping Y/N tethered to the ground.

Harry covers one of her hands with his free one, squeezing gently to convey an unspoken semblance of priority. Of his desire to only do what will make her feel better. And of his appreciation of her trust; believing so deeply in him to do what’s best for her.

It’s why he feels happy to pull his thumb from Y/N’s mouth and tug the elastic waistband of his shorts down. To let his hardening cock fatten up for her, eager to guide it past her awaiting lips as he smooths over her brow.

“Precious doll. Stop thinking, yeah? Let Daddy keep you safe.”

Her breaths hit his velvety skin, warm through her nostrils as she sighs an exhale of relief. Harry’s lashes flutter when she rolls her tongue along the underside of him, making all the effort to not twitch his hips up and into her mouth. He smooths a hand over her crown, heavy lids fighting to stay open as he admires the softness of her own as they rest shut. 

Y/N’s movements are sluggish—minimal—as her cheek smushes into the meat of Harry’s thigh, still half-concealed by his shorts. A light hand wraps around his cock, smaller digits and tired state of mind failing to provide much pressure but Harry doesn’t care. Harry thinks Y/N could blow streams of air on him and he’d still be besotted.

She’s falling asleep—usually nothing to be proud of—but the lax of her limbs is precisely her dominant’s greatest achievement. “Are you tired, baby?” Y/N shakes her head but Harry exhales a laugh. “Yes, you are,” he murmurs. “It’s okay, you can sleep,” lips forming around the permissions gently, large palm flattening over the top of her head, sending tiny sparks down her spine. She wants to nuzzle into him like a dog receiving scratches, being loved on and handled with care.

“You wanna stay down there?” Not for his own pleasure but for hers. Her contentment. Y/N nods, lips wet and swollen around him. “S’it comfy for you? Okay on your knees?”

“Mhm,” she hums, shuffling in even closer, free hand looping around the back of his calf. Harry finds himself swallowing a yawn at the sight of her so peaceful below him, finger dancing across her hairline and rubbing along the shell of her earlobe. 

Eventually his eyes close too, his hands comfortable in her hair, as they give their consciousness up for a moment of rest.

It’s no more than an hour later when Harry lets the responsibility wake him back up. He tucks himself away from where he’s slipped from Y/N’s pouty mouth; her back is slumped so dreadfully that Harry immediately curses himself for letting her stay on the wretched floor.

It disturbs Y/N, hauling her into his arms, but Harry rubs magical circles into her back—wondrous enough to elicit purrs out of her if she were capable of making such sounds. But she’s hardly opened her eyes before Harry decides to blow cool air across her face, completely unprovoked in his mischief.

“Hey!” It comes out as a girlish grunt, a discombobulated huff. Harry’s grinning at the sight of her chin trying to crawl into her neck. And it only entertains him further to curl his fingers into her sides and squeeze mercilessly.

“Ah–ah! Ha—Harry!” Cartoonishly, her eyes bulge out of her head, any last traces of sleep dispersing completely as Y/N’s body goes into flight mode—or attempts to, at least. Harry’s got her firmly stuck atop his lap, wriggling digits for his squirming girl. “St—op!”

“Ahh,” the bastard sounds reminiscent, ceasing his movements to bask in the glow of her giggles, “missed my smiley girl.”

But the smile disappears… and a frown replaces it, suddenly aimed towards his lap.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Harry dips down, index finger resting beneath her chin to coax it up and level with his own.

Y/N’s eyes are dull in colour, lacking their usual charm. “I’m sorry for being miserable all the time.”

“Oh—no, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, darling. Don’t apologise for having emotions, that’s silly,” and he squeezes her again, perhaps somewhat cruelly, just to see her teeth behind her lips as she yelps involuntarily.

It is silly, but Y/N forever holds an awareness of how much she may be burdening a person. “Just like making you smile… s’my job.” He bites his lip to hide his own smile, and it has the desired effect—Y/N’s own face copying him perfectly—only far cuter, in Harry’s eyes.

Then he dances his fingers up her side with pretend innocence, “Didn’t get to fuck you proper ‘cause you fell asleep on me.”

Her smile vanishes again but for a much better reason. And, yeah, she would like that—she really would—despite her demeanour suggesting she might rather be mauled to death by wild cats. Still so shy, Harry must think.

“Think I’d like to spread you out on the rug, hm? How’s that sound?”

It sounds like bliss. It sounds like her cunt cries out in pleasure, completely untouched, just from the idea. “Yeah,” she breathes, nodding.

Lips curl like devil’s horns, “Yeah? Wha’s that mean, dummy?”

“Dummy?!” It comes out squeaky, and a little petulant, if the way she thuds her fists against Harry’s chest is anything to go by. He raises his eyebrows at her, somewhat surprised, if not slightly impassive, at the way she talks back to him.

“Yeah, dummy,” taking her wrists and decorating them with his fingers as they curl all the way around. He pulls them off of his body and holds them by her shoulders. “Dumb for my cock and I haven’t even put it in you yet.”

Her hips grind down without her permission—the slightest rut fuelled by habit—one she never wishes to kick. “Harry—”

“—Nope,” he cuts off her whine, pulling her arms behind her back like he’s done it a thousand times before—he has.

“Sir,” it falls too quietly from her lips, and it’s not really the word he wanted but he’ll let it slide. 

“What? What could my darling possibly want? Hm?”

He’s being mean now. He was so sweet earlier but now he’s just mean. It makes her feel deliciously delirious but still Y/N wants to act out just on principle. But she doesn’t, because she’s a good girl, and she’s been bad enough as of late. “Please, make it better. Need you to make it better, Sir.”

“Yeah, you do. Need me,” his voice is gruff, a terse exhale as he stands up with Y/N’s thighs wrapped around his waist and lowers them both down onto the shaggy rug. It brushes against her clothes, all soft and fluffy—he can’t wait to see it swallow her naked skin. All they’re missing is a roaring fireplace.

“Need you,” she nods, agreeing, echoing his words. The heat that started to bubble up before their spontaneous nap roils fervently in her abdomen once more, crashing wave after wave against her cunt—her clit, where she’s sure she can feel her heart beating.

Harry grunts, voice deep with anticipation, “Let’s get these clothes off,” murmuring more to himself than anyone else, deft fingers already undoing the buttons of Y/N’s blouse—faster than she ever can. Her body feels heavy with fatigue, the cushioning of the rug coaxing her up and away into that fuzzy space alarmingly fast, as she watches the beautiful man above her take care over the state of her undress. He doesn’t rip and tear, he smooths and folds, kind enough to rub her arms and legs as he goes.

Y/N almost wishes he’d run ladders through her tights—though she’d be grateful he doesn’t the next day—to speed the process up and get him all pretty leaning over her. Her bare shoulders are stroked by the rug; closing her eyes almost lets her imagine she’s laying in a meadow, grass kissing her skin. And when her legs are made bare too, that’s when she remembers where she really is, and knocks her knees together like something bashful. Harry folds her tights, and her socks, and Y/N wishes she could push herself up and kiss him for it.

But then he rests his palms atop the curving joints, pulling them back open slowly to admire the sit of her knickers, pressing tight against her pussy, lips so clearly soft and swollen even through the cotton. He pushes her knees up and his grip slips down to the underside, simply looking at her for a moment or two. Y/N whines, lying there in her bra and panties and being ogled at.

“Needy, needy,” Harry tuts, dropping his hands on either side of her head and letting her knees sling over his shoulders. “Needy girl with a fussy pussy, is that right?” She stares at him dumbly, only really able to process how pretty he looks. His words pass straight through her. So he dances a hand down her chest, her stomach, palm pressing into her mound as his thumb swipes over her covered clit.

“I said, is that right?” he goads over Y/N’s gasp.

“Ye—yes. Always right, y’always right,” she babbles, cheek turning into the rug. The weight of his thumb and that tiny flick is enough to make her clit throb.

“Mm, Daddy’s always right, you’re so smart, baby.” He taps so lightly, so mockingly, with the pad of his thumb—simply feeling. It makes her jolt anyhow, so pent up—at Harry’s complete disposal like his mere presence turns her into one of Pavlov’s dogs… and it’s not her mouth that drools.

“Let me have a good look at you,” his tone doesn’t leave room for interpretation. He will have a good look at her. “Fuckin’ missed you, gorgeous’,” as he tugs the gusset of her panties to the side—hardly patient enough to remove her legs from his shoulders and spend all that time wriggling the material down. Y/N isn’t sure if he’s talking to her or her cunt. “Been hiding from me.” Harry’s eyes flit up to hers and despite the thick layer of fog that floats around her brain, Y/N still has the mind to avert her gaze—embarrassed.

She’s not been hiding. That would be childish.

“I want you to come for me, okay?” Head dipping lower and lower until Y/N can feel his breaths tickling her bare skin. “I don’t want you to stop coming.” And then he meets her cunt, tongue laving over her drippy hole but not dipping inside, dragging her arousal up and over her clit one long, big swipe. Y/N makes a much louder noise than she’d be happy about in any other circumstance, with any sense of control over her actions. But she has no power over her mouth as it cries out, legs tightening around Harry’s head already and he’s barely started a thing.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks it unwise to come quickly, considering Harry’s insatiable humming against her cunt, and his unlikely proclivity to want to stop. But he’s always unravelled her overwhelmingly fast—always managed to pull an orgasm out of her without even trying.

Sweat beads at the base of her spine, hands struggling to know what to do with themselves. She rests them either side of her head, and then they flinch up and off the floor when Harry sucks her clit into his mouth, the crude sounds making the hairs on her arms stand on end. She wants to bury her digits into his soft hair and tug for stability, but she sobs out at the suction, and the pressure of a finger circling her hole, and her arms fall heavy above her head.

Her back arches, body writhing far too much for Harry to focus as his forearm falls heavily over her stomach, fingertips mindlessly rooting under the wire of her bra. He pushes the cups up and over her tits, squeezing a palmful as he goes. His right hand concentrates where it matters, middle and ring fingers nestling inside of her easily and curling just right.

Y/N sobs, hand clambering to thud over Harry’s own that plays with her breasts. She squeezes him, mouth lagging behind her brain as her orgasm races towards her. “Harry!” Head thrown back against the rug, cushioned by the soft strands. He hums, and Y/N can’t see his face but she knows he looks smug. He hums and it tips her over the edge, vibrations sizzling off of his tongue and through her clit that he sucks and drools over as his fingers pump steadily. 

And he doesn’t stop—not that Y/N had expected him to but it’s suddenly a lot harder to deal with as her cunt clenches and throbs, resigned already under his intense ministrations. “Oh my god!” Too weak to lift her head up but she tries, only to be met with Harry’s devastating, smiling eyes tracking her every movement. She falls back again, frantic hands pushing at his forehead. “Please.”

He lifts up, chin glistening and mouth a pretty pink, “Mm.” Even gulping down oxygen looks sexy when he does it. Perfectly composed, lips curled up in satisfaction. “Not done, baby. W’na make you fucking gush,” and Y/N’s face curls up in a preemptive cry as Harry hauls himself up to her and smears a dismantling kiss. Her noises are muffled, turned into new ones with the feel of his mouth on hers, the taste on his tongue that he so generously shares, rubbing against hers like it might make her orgasm again.

A creeping hand wraps around her throat, the other still dedicated to the slick place between her thighs and the pressure makes Y/N’s lashes flutter, brows tugging towards the centre of her face. Harry smiles above her, serious about his word—he wants to make her gush around him, his index finger teasing the side of his middle that rubs so deliciously against the front of Y/N’s walls—pinky slapping lewdly in the crease of her thigh with every thrust in and out.

“I can’t,” she swallows, tough to talk with the weight of Harry’s palm against her neck.

“Yeahhh, you can,” he’s sure of it. Too cocky but Y/N’s cunt doesn’t seem to mind, clenching as though it wants to keep Harry’s fingers inside of her forever. “My good girl, yeah? Gonna get me all wet, aren’t ya.” Her jaw slackens, trembling fingers curling around his wrist as he digs into the sides of her neck and his fingers work tirelessly. 

“Daddy! Pl—ple—oh!” Nothing very intelligible tumbles from her lips, mouth wide with eyes to match, rendered statuesquely still with the pleasure that overwhelms. And then she starts trembling, every curl of Harry’s fingers making her abdomen coil tighter and tighter. “Ah—I—” Every pulse makes him all the more confident, unfurling his hand from around her neck to trail southwards and rub disrespectfully across her clit.

Y/N doesn’t know what to do—the pressure builds—it’s all consuming and overpowering, she wants to thrash and scream and run from the feeling. But she also wants to dive head first into it and spend the rest of her days there.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, sweetheart—good girl,” their eyes lock and it makes it so much worse. He pushes into her button with tantalising precision, circling and pinching, leaning over to spit a filthy string of saliva onto the mess she’s already made. “Come, baby. Make a mess all over me,” his green eyes are so void of iris, black pupils large enough to reflect Y/N’s own image as he groans, “You can do that, can’t you?”

Everything’s upside down, she shakes her head when she should be nodding because it’s all too much and she’s crying as it happens, a tiny gush pushing out from around Harry’s fingers as he fucks her through it, moaning alongside her sobs. She soaks his shorts and drips down the insides of her thighs—shaking with enough force to displace Harry’s hand as her orgasm lingers for longer than she’s ever known.

Harry dips down and mouths over her empty hole, desperate to make her even wetter, lapping at her arousal like he may never get the chance to do so again. “Atta—fucking—girl,” not moving back for a second, words muffled. “Did so well. I knew you would.”

And he doesn’t fucking stop.

Y/N’s body aches lusciously when she gets up. She feels heavy and thick like honeycomb, and waking up with Harry’s thick biceps caging her in—the rise and fall of his chest against her back serving as the perfect metronome—had been so sorely missed she could’ve cried tears of relief.

In her delirium of the night previous, she’d failed to process the sounds of Harry on the phone, making the executive decision that she was too sick to come in. He only reminded her when she tried to wriggle out of his immovable grip to get ready. But then Harry’s own alarm had gone off and she was trailing behind him to the bathroom anyway, eyes shaped like hearts and her invisible tail curling around his legs.

Despite her best attempts, he hadn’t let her wrap her silky palms around him whilst they showered—endeared smile making her flush irregardless of their bare skin brushing against one another. 

She watches him get dressed, and watches each chew and swallow of his breakfast, resting her head in the palm of her hand like a true renaissance vision. And then she remembers something she’s been meaning to let him know, foggy head stumbling over a few words as she tries to piece them together.

“Um, Harry?”

He smiles to himself at the sound of her ambivalence. She sits next to him at the kitchen island with the most adorable crinkle in her nose. “Yes?”

“Uhh…” apparently her fingers are suddenly extremely fascinating. “I’m going on a long weekend trip with Niall on Friday. Is… is that okay?”

“Yeah, yes, of course that’s okay.” He frowns, “Have I ever made you feel like it wasn’t?”

She jumps, twitching on her stool like a fretful mouse. “No! No, I’m sorry, no you haven’t. I don’t know why—”

“You’re alright,” he knocks his knuckle under her chin affectionately. “You want some help packing?”

God, yes. “Would you mind?” She hates packing.

Harry could already make that assumption for himself—starting to imagine a scene of her sitting pretty on her bed, cross-legged, whilst he does it all for her. “Not at all,” tipping his head back to swig the rest of his coffee before leaning over to press a wet kiss to her cheek. 

Y/N can’t help but giggle. “Thanks,” and then she starts twitching again, with giddiness this time, hands coming out in front of her as she gestures. “I’ll make you that curry you like for dinner. Ready for you when you walk through the door, I promise!” She grins all beautifully and it makes Harry’s heart stutter in his chest—the elation on her face, the excitement. He kisses her again, pasting a few pecks to the corner of her mouth. “I promise,” as she turns to catch his lips with a smile, hands clenching into happy fists against his warm chest.

“Have a good day, sweetheart. No tears, yeah?”

She nods bashfully, following him to the front door. “No tears.”

[buckyalpine]

TW: drugging, sa, Bucky x protective reader

I’m in a whumpy angsty mood where I want everyone, I mean EVERYONE to be protective and caring over Bucky, taking care of him and making sure he’s okay.  

TW: Sexual assault (not reader), drugging

Bucky takes a sip of his drink and immediately knows something isn’t right. He doesn’t get drunk, he can’t. So why did his entire body suddenly feel lax and his vision hazy. He blinks a few times, trying to focus but it only makes everything worse, his skin feeling warm. 

“Doll?” He tries to get up and look for you, only to stumble as he gets out of the chair. The rest of what happens in a blur when a pair of soft hands help steady him. 

-

“Has anyone seen Bucky?” You come around to the lounge area in search of your favorite super soldier, surprised when he wasn’t sitting with the rest of the team either. 

“Thought he was with you” Steve looked confused while Sam smirked; everyone knew the way Bucky trailed behind you like a lost puppy, so it was strange that you of all people, didn’t know where he was...

“Last I saw him was....he’s gone” Nat frowned, seeing the bar stool not only empty but also knocked over. 

“Where could he be” You scanned the room once more, feeling uneasy when you still couldn't find him. “Let me go check his room” You decided to make your way up to the elevator while Nat followed just to be safe, the both of you surprised to see the door slightly ajar. 

“No” 

The muffled sound coming from his room made your heart race faster, his strained voice barely audible. 

“Please, no” 

You saw red, striding over to his room, bursting through the door, gasping when you saw a woman straddled on top of him, her hands working at the buttons of his shirt. Her eyes grew wide, yelping when you ripped her off him, throwing her to the floor. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You spat, punching her across the jaw, your knuckles connecting with her teeth causing your skin to split while she cried out.  

“Well-well he wanted me too!” The woman spat causing another surge of anger to flow through you, lunging for her again. 

You were ready to tear her to shreds but a soft whimper pulled you out of your rage. You turned to see Bucky’s tear streaked face, waiting for you to hold him. Nat nodded for you to go to him, grabbing he woman by the hair, covering her mouth from screaming too much, not wanting to stress Bucky more. 

“Don’t make a sound” Nat hissed in her ear, pinching a nerve to keep her still while calling for he rest of the team to come up. 

“Doll” Bucky clung onto you like a small child, still struggling to understand what was going on, all he knew was that he was safe again when you protecting him. 

“Bucky, I’m here baby, it’s okay, I got you” you cooed, holding him tightly, covering him with the sheets, your heart breaking over his vulnerable state. He shook his head in confusion, while you stroked soft circles on his back to calm him. 

“Is he okay?” Nat tightened her grip around the woman while you blinked back tears, soothing Bucky. 

“What the hells going on” Tony frowned, approaching the room with Steve and Sam in tow after seeing Nat’s text message. 

“She drugged him. Tried to have her way with him” Nat snarled while Steve’s jaw clenched at the sight of he woman who nearly rolled her eyes while his best friend was in distress. He held back from doing something he'd regret, mumbling something to Nat before coming over to Bucky. Bucky stayed hidden in your comfort, whining whenever you shifted, terrified you’d leave him, needing you more than ever.  

“Stay with me?” He pleaded softly, still feeling so out of control, his head spinning, the touch of the other woman still burning his skin. “Don’t want her, want you”

“I know baby, it’s me, don’t worry, not going anywhere” you whispered, kissing his forehead as he relaxed slightly, closing his eyes. “Stay awake for me though Bucky, alright? I need you to stay up”  

“But m’so tired” Bucky slurred, his eyes growing heavy once again, your hand gently patting his cheek to keep him from sleeping. 

“I know baby” You continued to rock him while he struggled to keep his eyes open. 

“You’re gonna kick her ass for all of us, right?” Sam whispered to Nat, the redhead silently nodding, already planning on ripping the woman apart as she dragged her away. 

“Buck, you alright?” Steve spoke softly, his eyes filling with tears at the small nod Bucky mustered. Sam joined his side, gently squeezing Bucky’s shoulder. 

“We’re here for you, okay? Just stay awake for us Buck” 

Bucky let out a muffled hum, his body still running hotter than usual, making it harder for him to stay awake. 

“Sam, get him some water please” You whispered while he nodded, running off to grab some, coming back seconds later. You brought the glass to his lips, helping him drink before setting it aside. “Baby, can I take this off? I’ll help you feel better” Bucky let you take off the rest of his shirt, everyone leaving the room so you could help him with the rest of his clothes, covering him back up in your arms once he was just in his briefs. 

Tony brought over his suit to run a quick rest over the drugs that were now in his system using a needle to get a sample of blood to scan. 

“Its okay, it’ll be quick terminator, I promise” Tony whispered, doing his best to only take a tiny amount not stressing him more, so he could get an immediate reading on what Bucky had been given, breathing a sigh of relief when it wasn’t anything that would cause major harm or damage. “Standard narcotics. Just a fuck ton though. It’ll be out of his system without an issue but stay with him” 

You nodded, carefully monitoring Bucky until he was less groggy and disoriented, the both of you still wrapped up in the sheets. He blinked at the sight of your slightly bloodied hand, kissing your palm before pressing it against his cheek. 

“Are you okay baby” you whispered against his hair while he continued to nuzzle into you, not wanting to leave your warmth. 

“You protected me” He whispered, burying himself further into your hold, finally being able to fall asleep now that enough time had passed. “My angel” 

“I’ll always protect you my love” you whispered, holding him tighter as he closed his eyes, “Always” 

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinktober (2)- Sex Pollen

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary: During a mission, you get infected with sex pollen. The only thing that seems to soothe the pain is Natasha's touch.

Warnings/Tags: SMUT MDNI, Sex Pollen, Fingering, Strap-ons, Multiple Orgasms, Degrading

Kinktober Masterlist

Sweat dripped down the side of your face as your mind felt fuzzy, head leaning back against the wall of the Quinjet as you tried to control your breathing. Everything just felt so hot, your body trembling while your leg bounced gently, the sound of your suit rubbing together catching the attention of Natasha across from the jet.

"Hey," she softly said, kneeling down in front of you, her hand moving to rest on your leg and causing a new wave of heat to rush straight between your legs. Your eyes dilated as you looked at your girlfriend who stared at you with a curiosity in her eyes, trying to read your reaction. "Are you alright?" Her voice sounded heavenly to you, her accent causing a slight rasp to her words making the throb between your legs even more of a problem. You could feel a wetness building there already and let out a small groan when she gripped your thigh to gain your attention. "Do you need to see Bruce?"

"No," you sighed out, "I don't need him, just you ." A tint of gold laced your iris as your eyes darkened with lust, Natasha's eyes widening at the sudden change in yours.

"You're eyes..." she trailed off, you ignoring her as you grabbed her hand and slowly guided it to your core. "Are you sure you don't need Bruce or Helen to check you over?"

" No ," you practically whimpered out when her hand grazed you through the fabric of your suit. "Please, I need you, I... it's too much, please help me," you begged, gazing at her as she kneeled in front of you.

"What?" she asked while you leaned forwards to bury your face in the crook of her neck.

"I think I made contact with the sex pollen Bruce warned us about earlier," you rasped out near her ear as you slowly kissed her jaw. "I need you Nat, please." The spy looked out the window to see the Quinjet was about to land and swiftly helped you to your feet to quickly guide you off as fast as possible. The others watched with puzzled expressions as the spy helped you off first without a word but left it be as no one wanted to try and catch up.

The second you both made it to your shared room, you pounced at the spy, pulling her to you so she pinned you against the door.

"Please make it stop," you moaned when her knee slotted between your thighs.

"I will Detka, don't worry," she murmured between kisses, her hands tackling your suit. Her hands pulled your jacket and shirt off while you went to unzip her suit, the gold tint returning to your eyes when you saw her naked chest peeping from her black widow suit. "Get on the bed and strip the rest of your clothes," her tone dropping an octave as she pulled back, a pathetic noise leaving you at the loss of contact. You obeyed immediately though, rushing to get on the bed and stripping as she followed you. She quickly removed her suit, grabbing the strap on from the bedside drawer and placing it on the end of the bed for later before making her way back over to your shaking form.

"Please don't tease me," you pleaded as she straddled your thigh, "I can't take it anymore." She simply answers by threading one hand through your hair and pulling you in for a bruising kiss, the other going straight to your core. The moan that left your mouth was sinful as her fingers ran through your dripping pussy, her kisses moving to your neck as your hands gripped the bedsheets till your knuckles bled white. "Fuck Nat," you groaned when she slipped two fingers straight into you, your back arching into her as she started a fast pace of thrusting them into you. Her thumb came to rub circles onto your clit as she pumped her digits into you mercilessly, whimpers and whines tumbling out of your mouth as your orgasm built.

"You're doing so good for me Kotenok," she purrs, a groan escaping you as you move one hand to cup her jaw and guide her back to your face for another searing kiss. "So desperate for me, how bad do you need to come?" she rasps out against your lips, your eyes fluttering open to stare into her darkened green ones.

"So bad," you moan out when she curls her fingers against your g-spot.

"Beg me for it then," her eyes sparkling with mischief as she gazes into the gold in your eyes.

"I need you to make me come so fucking bad," you groan out, hips bucking against her hand as she continues to fuck you. "I need you so bad, please make me come Nat. I can't take it anymore, please, please -" She shushes you by claiming your lips, pumping her fingers in and out of you and circling your clit to have you moaning in her mouth, body begging for its release as you squirm under her. "Oh fuck, I'm so close," you pant out. "Please can I come?" she smiles into the kiss after hearing your question, pulling back and moving one hand to tug your hair back, making you look up slightly at her.

"Come for me, come all over my fingers," you practically let out a scream as your orgasm takes over, your body shaking under her as you buck on her hand to ride out your aftershocks. You pant against your mouth before a low moan escapes you at the feeling of her pulling out. "Good girl," she praises before raising her fingers to her mouth, moaning at the sweeter taste of you and hollowing her cheeks around her digits.

"It still hurts," you whimper out, the throb between your thighs only briefly dimming before coming back. "Please fuck me with your cock," your voice dripping with desire and desperation as you move forwards to rest your face against her bare chest, the skin to skin contact setting your body alight.

"You want it that much?" her tone teasing, your head nodding against her chest before your tongue swirls around one of her nipples, you moaning as you hear a breathy sigh escape her lips. She leans over to grab the strap on she placed on the bed earlier, pulling it on so it rests snuggly on her hips before positioning herself above you. Her hand guides the tip of it to run against your folds and on your clit, your body squirming and hips bucking at the action.

"Nat," you whine out, hands gripping her waist and trying to get her to move forwards.

"Patience Kotenok," she warns, "Or I'll leave you here, dripping all over the sheets like the little slut you are." You loosen your hold on her, looking at her with fearful eyes as you need her to pound you into the mattress as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry," you sigh out, "Please don't stop, please don't leave me." She lowers her face till her lips ghost yours, her finally guiding the tip to your entrance and slowly pushing in.

"I've got you," she whispers, thrusting the entire toy into you earning a choked moan. Your hands go to her back, nails scratching red marks into her creamy skin as she pulls out till only the tip remains and slams back into you. Her hips are brutal as they thrust into you, her mouth trying to muffle your moans as she pounds into you. The bed shakes with the force of her thrusts and a loud groan erupts from the back of your throat as she lifts your legs up to wrap around her waist, the toy slipping even deeper into you. You clench around her cock as it hits all the right places inside you, nothing but lewd noise echoing around the room as the sound of your moans and skin slapping together mixes.

"Harder," you moan out and Natasha listens, your moans turning to pathetic noises as you near your second orgasm.

"Look how pretty you look stretch out on my cock," she husks out, kissing your neck as you're unable to return the kiss at the moment. "You're taking me so well," her teeth scrape against the column of your throat sending a shiver down your spine. Her hips continue to snap into you and soon you're right on edge and she can tell. "You wanna come for me again Kotenok?" she murmurs at the hot skin of your neck.

"Yes," you pant out without hesitation, hands moving to grip the bed sheets instead of leaving any more scratch marks on her back.

"Be a good girl and come for me," her tone laced with power as she orders you to do, your orgasm immediately washing over you as you writhe under her once again. This time however, Natasha doesn't slow down, fucking you through your second orgasm and straight into your third. You're a whimpering mess when she starts to slow down, the throb between your legs still there as she rolls you over onto your front and lifts you so you can kneel in front of her.

"Nat," you moan out when she slides back into you. She uses a hand to wrap around your throat as she pulls your head back slightly. A guttural moan is ripped from your throat when she slams the toy back into you hard after pulling back to just the tip, her setting a slower rhythm with deeper thrusts as she takes you in doggy.

Your mind clouds with arousal and pleasure as you lose yourself in the feeling of everything. Your hands giving in under you, face now pressed against the bed as she takes you from behind. You feel one of her hands soon press your face down into the mattress as she continues to fuck you mercilessly. You lose count of how many more times you come, mind blanking as pleasure was the only thing you could feel. You register when Natasha comes, her hips grinding into yours as the base of the toy rubbed against her clit, when she falls onto you, her moaning lowly into your ear.

"Thank you," you whisper, tilting your head to the side to press your lips to whatever skin you can reach before you let your head fall back onto the bed, exhaustion taking over your body.

"You're welcome Kotenok," she murmurs back, pressing a kiss to your head before letting you rest for a moment. Your aftercare passes as a blur, your body too tired to try and understand what's happening as Natasha takes care of you. The feeling of her naked body pressed behind you, her arm wrapped securely around your middle, helps you quickly drift to sleep as the throb between your legs finally simmers down.

[bloodlust-1]

•·.·'I’m Right Here'·.·•

Gale x fem Tav — Fluff

Summary: Healing deep wounds isn’t so easy. Especially when it’s from the one he loves most. Tav already lost so much blood, and Gale has only one option left to comfort her.

Notes: Soft Gale <3 lots of cuddles and confessions. I’ve been craving some fluff. Short and sweet ♡

Gale murmured foreign words, his hands glowing with a deep, purplish hue. The magical energy pulsed through Tav's body, flowing directly to her wounds, soothing and healing them as they went. Tav lay in her tent, eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted against the pain. Tav winced harshly to the magic.

“Hey, hey…shhh, you’re okay.” His voice trembled.

Gale’s eyes narrowed with a heavy somberness that tugged at the deepest parts of his heart as he watched Tav, the woman who had so kindly welcomed him with all of his burdens, in such pain. Despite Shadowheart's best efforts to heal her, she had lost too much blood to just magically feel better. And now, he tried too.

Gale felt terrible. How could he have not protected her better in battle? Her screams echoed in his head as he recalled the memory of her falling down. It haunted him.

"Gale...enough, it's no use." Tav weakly lifted her hand, touching his and sinking it to the floor. "I just need rest, everything will be okay."

Gale shook his head firmly, "No." He wanted to keep at it until the pain in her eyes disappeared. Especially when her hands were so cold to the touch.

Before he could utter another spell, Tav sighed and looked at him tiredly, "Please don't fight me on this."

Gale saw Tav shudder in a chill. Oh- of course. She had lost so much blood and she was cold. She brought the thin blanket of her bedroll closer to her face, shivering as she did.

Gale placed his hand over her forehead, causing Tav to sigh in relief at the warmth his palm brought her. Her face seemed to change into a blissful one just from his small touch.

"You're so warm," Tav hummed softly.

"And you're freezing."

Gale peeked at the entrance of her tent. It was closed and he realized that someone had already put out the fire for the night. He couldn't leave her like this.

The only warmth he could provide was that of his own body. Gale hastily pulled the shirt off his back, tossing it to the side. Before Tav could realize what he was doing; Gale had already snuggled himself beside her cold body.

Tav's eyes widened at the sight of his chest. Her and Gale's relationship was practically new, and even then they'd only kissed. But this- seeing Gale's chiseled chest, and the thin layer of hair that trailed down into his crotch. Her mind was going crazy already.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer to his chest. Tav melted into his embrace, feeling his warmth radiating off him. She snuggled her face into the nape of his neck and tightened her arms around him. She felt safe.

"I hope this isn’t unwelcomed…”

She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the sweet bergamot of his skin. A bliss of goosebumps littered her skin and a sigh of relief left her lips, “What? Of course not. You feel so nice-“

Gale could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He worried that Tav would feel just how nervous he was. Gods, is this what it felt to even be nervous? How ironic it was, He had never been this nervous around a goddess, yet here he was, trembling with nervousness at the thought of being around a mere mortal.

Gale fell silent for a moment, as he tried to calm himself down. He cared what Tav thought of him, and he didn’t want to seemed like he couldn’t control himself. He could feel the goosebumps rise on her skin, “I couldn’t leave you like this. I feel like this is partially my fault.”

“Oh— Gale, it was never your fault.” She spoke softly into his neck.

He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of regret settle on his shoulders. His head shook gently, a croak forming in his throat as he remembered the image of her lying on the ground, her body covered in so much blood that she was barely recognizable. "I should have been there," he murmured, his voice heavy with guilt. "I feel like I let you down, and I almost lost you. That's the hardest thing for me to accept." He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his emotions in check. He knew that no matter how hard he tried, he could never undo what had been done.

She squeezed his warm body gently. Tav couldn’t blame him for feeling so guilty, because she would have felt the same if it was him. She could offer nothing but comfort. “We’re here now, safe.”

Tav raised her pinky finger and hooked it around his. Gales eyes crinkled with amusement and a warm chuckle escaped from his lips as Tav spoke, "For now on, I’ll have your back and you’ll have mine.”

“Deal, my love.” Gale held the small grip and gazed down at her. Even unwell, her eyes still sparkled. He was so impressed with her being.

Gale leaned in, softly pressing his lips against Tav’s forehead. His strong arms held her tight, cradling her body close to his. Gale really did love her. He'd been in love with her for so long now, and it was past time he finally told her how he felt.

He looked into her eyes with sincerity. Feeling a wave of relief as he expressed his deepest feelings.

"I'm so thankful that fate brought us together," his voice filled with emotion. "I've come to realize just how precious you are to me, and how fleeting life can be."

Gale took a deep breath, then let out a gentle sigh. "My love for you surpasses anything I've ever felt before - for myself, and even for my goddess." He held her gaze, his eyes filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

“I love you.”

Tav's mouth parted, but no words came out. Her heart started to beat rapidly. What little blood she had race to her cheeks, as she reached to cup his face, "I love you too."

She timidly looked up at his soft brown eyes, faintly whispering when she finally spoke. Tav slowly brought her lips to his, a small and gentle kiss that was full of passion.

Tav and Gale were stuck in that moment for what felt like an eternity. Tav's eyes were slightly glossy, and Gale was alamared by the tears forming in her eyes, "My love! Why are you crying?" His voice laced with concern.

Tav chuckled and wiped the small tears, "Not sad tears, I'm just happy." She sniffled a couple times before flashing a reassuring smile. “You make me so happy.”

Gale held Tav tightly in his embrace. She was the first person to accept him for who he was, not for the magical powers he possessed. In that moment, Gale finally understood what it meant to be in love, and he never wanted the feeling to end.

He brushed his thumb tenderly over the contour of Tav’s cheek, his touch soft and gentle. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear before pressing his forehead against hers. His eyes stared at her with so much love,

“I never want to lose you.”

Any thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

[girlgenius1111]

prove yourself

cata coll x reader r realizes cata has a protective streak, while r does not. she tries to remedy this, although it doesn't go exactly to plan. cw: creepy entitled man being gross at a bar in this. he gets a little touchy, and is promptly dealt with.

----- 

It began with a seemingly harmless comment from Pina on whether similar or different people made better partners. You spent a lot of time with your girlfriend, and you’d picked up little mannerisms that the other had. As such, you thought that the two of you were more similar than you actually were. 

“You and Cata are complete opposites. Cata is a hot head, she’d get into a fist fight in a second for you. You’ve watched people push her to the pitch and not lost your temper.” 

You’d brushed the comment off, making a joke about how if she was right, Pina needed to find herself the most serious, most calm person on earth. 

It had stuck with you, though. Was this something everyone thought? That you weren’t protective over Cata when she was with you? Did Cata think that? That you didn’t care enough to be that way? It wasn’t true, it definitely wasn’t true. You cared more for Cata than you thought possible, than you’d ever felt for anyone in all your years. Every cell, every molecule in your body loved Cata. 

And sure, you were a calm person. Not outwardly aggressive on the pitch, or anywhere really. That was your reputation; cool under pressure. You shook everything off, took nothing personally. You’d never so much as had a cross word with another player on the pitch, or off of it. You didn’t argue, and you didn’t fight. Ever. 

For Cata, though? For her, you’d light a match and watch the whole world burn. Cata was worth it, worth everything. It scared you that she might not know that, scared you just in general, how deeply you loved her, how all consuming it was. 

As it stood, you weren’t planning on doing anything about it. Maybe you’d talk to Cata about it at some point, but you were very much someone who kept things to themselves. If you had a problem, it took a lot of coaxing from your girlfriend to get you to talk about it. 

It really wasn’t intentional, what happened. A combination of things pushed the situation out of control, the biggest of them being your sudden, inexplicable insistence to protect your girlfriend. 

Cata was a partier. It was well known; put her and Pina together, and combine an important win? Everyone was waking up with a hangover the next morning, whether they wanted to or not. You were very used to how rowdy she’d get in clubs, but for her part, she never really let you out of her sight. It wasn’t odd for her to get wildly possessive of you on a night out, glaring at anyone that glanced at you for too long. It had always made you feel special, but now, you were wondering if Cata wanted the same behavior from you. 

The team was, as expected, out celebrating the latest El Clásico win. Cata had kept a clean sheet, and was very much looking forward to letting loose for the evening. You’d all found yourselves in a familiar club in the heart of Barcelona. The entire team was there, even Alexia, though you suspected she came to keep an eye on everyone. 

For your part, you’d done well to push your current crisis out of your head, instead focusing on the spectacular performance of your girlfriend, and your own performance, which wasn’t half bad. You were in for a fun night with Cata, if not a long morning of babying her hangover, until some disgusting man decided the goalkeeper’s tight leather pants were an invitation. 

Cata was further from you than she liked to be on nights out, but she’d gone up to the bar with Mario to get more drinks, and had left you safely seated next to Alexia. You watched very carefully as the man approached Cata and Mario, neither of them paying him very much attention. Even when he leaned in closer to your girlfriend, you weren’t too worried. Cata leaned away from him instinctually, stepping closer into Mario. 

“Come on, beautiful, let me have your number. I can show you a good time.” He was so drunk he was slurring his words, practically falling over. 

“No thanks.” Cata said back. There was a time she would have embarrassed the man, nudged him away and made a joke at his expense, but she was older, now, and more aware of how poorly that could end for her. She kept it polite and quick, trying not to show how uncomfortable she was with the man in her space. 

He seemed to back off, for a second, and Cata moved away from Mario to grab 2 of the drinks the bartender was holding out for her. As soon as her back was the man opposite her, his hand was moving quickly. You blinked, almost stunned at the audacity of the man who had just gratuitously slapped your girlfriend’s ass. He must have been the stupidest man on earth, truly, seeing as though Mario instantly pushed Cata behind her and squared up to the taller man. Mariona Caldentey was an intimidating person when she wasn’t grinning from ear to ear, and she definitely wasn’t doing so now, giving the man a harsh shove to the chest. 

Alexia was moving too, blinking when you beat her out of the chair, rushing off towards Cata. She, and everyone else watching the situation unfold, expected you to go to your girlfriend. They were all stunned, then, when you walked up to the atrocious man smiling smugly down at Mario, pushed your teammate gently out of the way, before balling your hand and swinging, your fist connecting with its target with a loud, revolting crunch. 

How dare he lay a hand on Cata, on your Cata. Only you were allowed to slap her ass, and only when she said she wanted you to. You were angrier than you’d ever felt, but regardless, throwing that punch hadn’t been your first instinct. You’d been moving to check on Cata, when you remembered Pina’s words from earlier, and realized that this was your chance to prove to everyone, Cata most importantly, that you were just as dedicated, and just as protective of her as she was of you. 

You’d had better ideas. That was clear as the man staggered backwards, and as your knuckles felt like they were splintering open. The bartender had watched the whole thing occur, and didn’t say anything as the man stumbled back towards his friends, embarrassed, clutching tightly to his nose. 

“What the hell was that? He was twice your size, idiota,” Alexia scolded, spinning you around to inspect your hand as well as she could in the dim lighting. She was quickly, and unceremoniously, knocked out of the way as Cata rushed to your side, the shock of seeing you deck a grown man wearing off. Alexia gave Cata an unimpressed look, but told Cata to get you home safe, before dragging Mario, who was practically doubled over laughing, back over to the table.

Cata didn’t speak, a rarity for her, simply taking your hand very gently in hers and looking at you with an almost heartbreakingly concerned look on her face. Your hand really fucking hurt. You were pretty sure it was broken, but your attention was on Cata. 

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, mind not focused on your throbbing hand, but on your sweet girlfriend, who liked to act a lot tougher than she really was. 

“I’m fine, really. Let’s go, you need a doctor.” The goalkeeper didn’t wait for a response, pulling you towards the door, past the table of your teammates. You noticed Mario giving a rather dramatic retelling of the event, just barely catching the look of joy and wonder on Mapi’s face at the news that you’d punched someone. Honestly, your teammates were all children.

“Baby, you’re drunk, you shouldn’t drive.” You reminded her, as she opened the passenger door to her car for you. You’d been planning on driving home, but with your hand the way it was, that didn’t seem all that likely. 

“I’m not drunk, I didn’t even finish my first drink. We have dinner with your parents tomorrow night, I didn’t want to be hungover.” Cata dismissed, getting into the driver's seat and glancing anxiously at you. You were almost speechless at this, as Cata wasn’t really one to to think ahead to the consequences of being hungover. You smiled weakly at her, blinking away a few tears, both at how well your girlfriend loved you, and at how your hand was beginning to have its own heartbeat. 

The goalkeeper leaned across the center console, pecking your cheek, before starting the car and driving in the direction of the hospital. 

-----

It wasn’t that Cata seemed mad, per say, she was just being… odd. Not really in a way that would be clear to anyone else, but you knew her well enough to recognize the far off expression on her face as one she got when she was nervous. You decided the incident in the bar had upset her more than she was willing to admit, and vowed to bring it up again when you arrived home. As for now, you sat in the car, heading home from the hospital, with your arm carefully cradled against your chest, encased in a blue cast.Blue, as you’d insisted upon, and marked with a heart, as Cata had insisted. She’d charmed one of the nurses at the hospital into bringing her a sharpie, and had carefully inked the heart into the plaster, her tongue sticking out of her mouth adorably as she concentrated. Once she was satisfied, and you’d been discharged, she’d led you out of the hospital, keeping you pressed close to her body. She buckled your seatbelt for you, even though you were more than capable. 

It came so easily to her, it seemed, being protective and taking care of you. She just knew what to do; knew to guide you into the house, knew to get you something to eat before leading you upstairs. She knew to help you get your pajamas on, the pain meds the hospital had prescribed made you a bit woozy, but knew to still let you do most of the work, knowing you hated to feel hovered over. That just wasn’t your skillset. You took care of Cata, yes, but in different ways. Ways that didn’t seem as significant, or as meaningful. 

You were getting tired of her acting so weird, though. She came at you with a makeup wipe and even when she was gazing down at your face, meticulously cleaning it off, she avoided eye contact with you. If there was one thing you were good at, it was getting Cata to talk to you. 

“You’re upset.” 

She paused, nodding minutely, before moving away from you to discard the makeup wipe, and grab your skincare routine from the bathroom. You waited until she was back in front of you, smearing on your moisturizer, before speaking again. 

“You’re allowed to be upset, Cata. That was a horrible experience.” 

Her expression was still guarded, even as she nodded again. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.” 

You shook your head. “No, I mean what happened, Cata. What that dick did.” 

Cata gave you a weird look. “I’m not upset about that, bebé.” 

At this, you pushed her hands away from your face, giving her a disbelieving look. 

She doubled down. “I’m not. It was gross and I probably would have hit him if you hadn’t. I’m upset that you got hurt, though. That you got hurt for me.” She explained, sitting carefully next to you, as if the gentle movement of the bed under you would jostle your arm in a painful way. She was always so careful with you.

You thought she’d be happy. Not happy that you were hurt, but happy you stood up for her. You were convinced you’d be filling a gap that she’d felt, that she wouldn’t focus on your broken hand when she could focus on what you’d done for her. 

“If he’d slapped my ass instead, what would you have done?” You asked after a minute, looking up at your girlfriend’s face. 

Her eyebrows creased with anger at the mere thought, and there was no ounce of uncertainty in her tone. “Murder.” 

You stifled a laugh, completely sure that she was serious. 

“Then what’s the difference?” 

“The difference is that it’s you.” Cata said rather harshly, looking at you with an intensity you weren’t used to seeing on her face. “I don’t need you to protect me.” 

That stung, even if you knew she hadn’t meant it in the way it sounded. You rose from the bed, feeling embarrassment wash over you as you tried to leave the room. 

“Okay, got it. Sorry.” You mumbled. 

“Amor, no.” Cata sighed, grabbing your good hand and wrenching you back towards her. You stumbled slightly, only blushing more as you practically fell into your girlfriend’s lap. “I just meant… I protect you, okay? You don’t need to worry about me. I don’t want you to get hurt, even if it’s for me.” 

You were quiet, not convinced. Cata looked at you searchingly for a minute, before her hand raised, pointer finger tracing a light pattern across your cheek until you raised your head to look at her. 

“What is this about? You’ve never done something like this before.”

“I just thought that… maybe it bothered you. That I’m not as protective towards you. ” 

“No, no. It doesn’t bother me. I like it. It feels like my job, to keep you safe. This special thing that I can do to make you feel safe.” Cata emphasized, her fingers tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, her eyes looking at you with an adorable scrunch as she tried to get her point across. 

“You don’t want me to be that for you, too?” You asked. 

“You don’t need to punch people for me to feel safe, you do that in… different ways. You’re soft, and you’re perfect. You give the best hugs, and you make me feel better just by speaking. I don’t need you to beat anyone up for me. I just need you.”  The goalkeeper responded softly, her voice growing quiet in the way it did whenever she expressed a vulnerability. “You don’t need to prove your love for me, bebé. I feel it all the time.” 

At this, you leaned forward, burying your face in the crook of her neck. Her arms wrapped snugly around you, and Cata pressed her face into your hair, inhaling deeply, rather satisfied with herself for making you feel better. 

“You always know what to say.” You mumbled. “And you look hot when you’re mad.” 

Cata pulled away, throwing her head back and laughing. “You do too, bebé. I like you uninjured, though, so no more fights until I teach you how to punch.”

“I know how to punch!!” You cried resentfully, trying hard to keep a frown on your face. 

When Cata’s eyes flickered between your face and your broken hand, a smirk tugging at her lips, you broke, laughing as you leaned back down against her. 

“Fine. I don’t know how to punch.” You admitted begrudgingly. 

“No, you don’t. You don’t need to. I’ll always be there to throw punches for you, sí?” 

You were sure she would be. Cata loved a fight, on or off the pitch, but more than anything, she loved taking care of you. 

-----

:) cata 🙂🫶🏻

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

please do something with peter parker for vday. I miss you writing for him

I started writing this one last year for Valentine's Day...forgive me for the long wait

—

‘’No, you don’t understand, Ned. It needs to be perfect,’’ Peter explained, turning to his best friend for help.

‘’My longest and only relationship lasted about sixty hours, so I’m not really the one to come to for Valentine’s Day gift ideas.’’ 

‘’Uncle Ben always gave May flowers and chocolate.’’ And Peter always tried to steal chocolate from the box. ‘’But Y/N is Mr. Stark’s daughter, I can’t just buy her flowers and chocolate. She’ll think I’m poor.’’ 

‘’Didn’t you tell me this morning that you only have five dollars in your pockets?’’ Ned recalled, taking one of the homemade cookies his lola had put into his lunch bag and taking a bite. There was one for Peter too, but he was too busy worrying and panicking.

Peter groaned and hid his face in his crossed arms, frustrated and desperate. Being broke was a second problem to his Valentine’s Day plan. ‘’What am I gonna do? Valentine’s Day is in two days. I can’t not get her anything.’’ 

‘’If you go back to the roots of Valentine’s Day, it’s about celebrating love. You don’t have to spend money to show someone you love them.’’ Peter opened his mouth, but Ned spoke first. ‘’Even if she’s a Stark and bathes in money,’’ he added. ‘’She didn’t fall in love with you because of your economic status, she fell in love because of who you are.’’

On the big day, Peter set everything up in his living room. May was on a date with Happy, so he had the apartment to himself — until 10pm. He didn’t have a projector, so he made one with a shoebox and a magnifying glass, and hung a sheet to one of the walls to turn into a screen. He made cheese pastas and brought over the single chocolate cupcake he was able to afford. 

He was nervous, constantly checking his phone waiting for your ‘I’m here’ text. When he finally got it, Peter rushed to the door, smoothing his button up and fixing his hair before opening. If he was this nervous for Valentine’s Day, he didn’t want to imagine the nervous wreck he would be at his wedding. 

Not that he was planning on getting married anytime soon. 

‘’Happy Valentine’s Day,’’ you said with a smile on your glossy lips. 

Peter said the words back and let you in, gulping when his eyes fell on the small gift bag you were holding. You set it down on the table to take off your coat and boots, revealing a pink sweater and a sparkly necklace that cost probably more than anything in May's apartment.

You followed Peter to the living room, excitement bubbling in your stomach when seeing the frozen image of your favorite rom-com projected on the wall.  ‘’You made this?’’ 

Peter gave you a small nod. Projectors were easy to make. He learned how in a science book for kids when he was nine. May was so impressed when he showed her his ‘magic box’. 

‘’It’s not much, but—’’ he started to say, but you shut him up with a kiss. 

‘’Stop it,’’ you said, guessing his train of  thoughts. ‘’This is the best Valentine’s Day gift ever.’’ 

You never had another valentine before him — beside the little boys in middle school who sent you cards and heart lollipops  —, but Peter’s gift came from the heart. It was thoughtful and personal, therefore meant a lot to you. 

After eating the pastas, you handed Peter the gift bag. He was nervous just from holding it. 

He slowly pulled out the festive tissue papers and groaned when seeing a red and blue plush toy. ‘’Spiderman? Really?’’ Peter made an annoyed face. He didn't want to come off as ungrateful, but he was getting tired of the jokes with the Spiderman merch he had no control over. 

‘’Press his chest,’’ you instructed, ignoring his complaints.

Peter gave you a confused look, but listened. ‘’I love you, my Spidey,’’ the toy said.

You watched his expressions shift from confusion to surprise, Peter’s eyes widening when he recognized the sound of your voice. A genuine smile spread across his face, the small plush taking a whole other meaning. ‘’That's your voice,’’ he whispered, still holding the talking Spiderman plush. 

You nodded, the sparks in Peter’s eyes telling you that no expensive gift could have matched this one. He was truly touched. ‘’I know you don’t like when I get you expensive things, so I didn’t get you a new watch,’’ you explained, thinking back at the Cartier watch you hesitated on last week. He would have hated it. 

Turning toward you, Peter enveloped you in a hug to properly thank you. 

Your arms wrapped around him in return. ‘’Even when I’m not with you, you’ll always have something to remind you that I love you.’’ 

—

Marvel taglist: @xenasolos @chrizzierbsstuff @ayamenimthiriel @alina02 @turtleshavesoulmates @staygoldsquatchling02 @daemonslittlebitch  @wetwilliam02 @haileyismoo @manofworm @rhydianissuperior @supersanelyromantic @nicangel13 @mxxny-lupin  @sweeterheartxamerica @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @arunaposeidondottie @liidiaaag @katsukis1wife  @amithesimpoffandoms @acornacreacure @chaotic-fangirl-blog  @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @youdontneedtoknowthisinformation  @aabananaa @starrrslove  @angeliod @nmedina8611 @1stevelacyfan  @yourfavdummy @laylasbunbunny  @slytherhoes @pedrosprincess  @luvvtxinityy @Eddiefrickenmunson @wandaswigglywoos @mikaelsonsstuff  @tcddszn  @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous  @popeheywardssecretgf @kattybug @loverofdrewstarkey  @sl4sh3rfuck3r  @luci1fer @dingus0401  @idontknowwhatimdoing777 @nomorespahgetti  @bloodyhw @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @t-candy  @adaydreamaway08  @johannelis2302nely  @lynbubble @straberryshortcake143 @mymultiveres @hopeurokays @not-liah @beth-gallagher22  @lonelywitchv2 @lausley336 @arinexeisnotworking  @rubyliquor @Danniackerman  @angelxxrose @angelxxrose  @upwritingallnight  @cruzgrecia @evelestrange  @sunnysunny133696 @aesthetixhoe  @hoeforsirius  @secretsthathauntus  @sarcasm-and-stiles

All and more taglist:  @kenqki  @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff  @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity

[ponderingmoonlight]

Gojo's wife going berserk in order to protect her students

Pairing: Gojo x wife!reader

Word Count: 1,7k

Synopsis: Like your bad feeling already suggested, especially Toge's and Yuji's lives hang on a threat when their mission doesn't go as planned. Good for them that Gojo's wife and their teacher rushes to their side and shows everyone just how much she cares about them.

Warnings: language, violence (lol), again, (y/n) is a badass in this one

You can find Part l of that fic here

Your foot tabs against the metal of the chair, eyes swaying back and forth between the clock and door. It’s been way too long. Way too long for your students to be gone, way too long for them to arrive in safety.

It’s not like you didn’t have a bad feeling from the start. When your husband told you about the mission in an abandoned mall with only one grade 1 curse to defeat, you simply couldn’t believe it at first.

“Don’t worry about it, Gojo-sensei! Toge and I have everything under control!”

“Salmon”, Toge added with a friendly grin.

 You hated to let them go on their own. But after all, it’s not a secret how skilled your students are, their abilities might even surpass your own in a few years. Why would you have to be worry?

“Hey, still sitting here, handsome?”

A weak smile forms itself on your lips when none other than your husband sits down next to you and begins to draw small circles on your sensitive back.

“You’re worrying way too much babe, I’m sure both of them are fine. After all, Toge is with Yuji and proved often enough that he’s able to fulfil missions on his own.”

Deep down, you know that your husband is right, that you probably worry about nothing. But still, that bad feeling in your guts…

“Are you sure this was a grade 2 curse? Maybe the elders lied about that as well…”, you grumble, memories of your last encounter flooding your mind.

Would they really be so stupid as to pass you over again? You thought you made your point of view very clear when you threatened a whole room of elders back then…

“Nothing else was reported and the extent of destruction wasn’t bad enough for anything stronger than a grade 2 curse. Hey, look at me.”

Gently, your husband cups your face with both hands, staring at you intensely with his bright blue orbs.

“Everything’s gonna be fine, okay? You trained them so well, just relax a bit”, he purrs against your lips.

Your heart pounds against your ribcage in an instant, the way he looks down at you making your mouth water. How is it even possible for a human being to look this delicious?

“Maybe you’ll be able to distract me”, you mutter, arms wrapping themselves around your husband’s neck.

Oh, the way he presses his warm body against your aching one makes your crotch throb and breath hitch. Despite the fact that you are married for over 5 years by now, he sweeps you off your feet like on day one.

“I wonder what you wear underneath that uniform today…”

“(y/n), you need to-“

Megumi stops in his tracks, eyes widen in pure horror while he desperately tries to shove Panda and Maki out of the room.

“What are you doing here?”, you breathe out in utter surprise, cheeks still hot and pink by the way your husband touched you just seconds ago.

Oh god, this is so uncomfortable. Especially Megumi is like your very own child since Satoru decided to raise him. And the disgusted face Maki makes…

“Get yourself together Fushiguro”, she hisses while clearing her throat.

“Ijichi informed us about the fact that something seems to be off regarding Itadori’s and Inumaki’s mission. He couldn’t reach you himself, so he sent us to let you know you should support them.”

“Well, at least now we know why she didn’t answer her phone…”

“SHUT UP PANDA, THIS IS SERIOUS!”

Your heart nearly stops, all the desire you felt just moments ago dies in an instant. Did you hear that correctly? Something seems to be off? You’ve had a bad feeling about this right from the start, didn’t want both of them to go on their own. And now…

Now their lives might be in serious danger.

“I’m leaving right now”, you reply in an instant, already on your way to the door when your husband grabs your hand.

“Wait, we don’t even know what’s going on. Normally I’m the one who jumps into conclusions.”

“They are my students and it is my responsibility to make sure they’re safe, Satoru. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror tomorrow if I let them down now. Yuji is still in his first year and unexperienced when it comes to fighting. And while Toge is very skilled and thoughtful, even his abilities have their limits. I’ll do whatever I can to protect them if I have the chance.”

With a small smile he lets go of you, looking after your confident walk out. Oh, whatever is responsible for that mess will definitely pay for it.

-at the curtain-

“I came as fast as I could. What is the problem?”, you ask Ijichi the minute you get out of the car.

“Even though I’m not entirely sure, there might be the possibility that another curse appeared within the curtain…”, he slowly begins.

That fearful look on his face paired with the sweat on his forehead…No, this isn’t a speculation. Another curse appeared in there for sure.

“Who was responsible for investigating here before? How careless”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

Ijichi swallows hard. You are a true sweetheart, everyone’s favourite back at Jujutsu High. But when it comes to your students, you change drastically. Your eyes harden, usual so kind face turning stone cold. You shove what looks like an asthma spray into your pocket.

“Whatever, this is not the right time to search for whoever screwed up. My students need me.”

With fast and confident steps, you walk through the curtain with ease.

 Only to be greeted by pure chaos.

Only to be greeted by Toge, who lays in front of you unconscious.

Fuck. Your heart hammers against your chest, hands clenching into fists in an instant. No, this wasn’t a grade 2 curse. This has to be something bigger, something that shouldn’t be here.

“Gojo-sensei!”, Yuji screams on top of his lungs while being chased by a grotesque creature.

You can tell by one look that this is a grade 1 – strong, but not unbeatable especially for both boys. So what caused this chaos? What is going on here?

Without thinking twice, you sprint towards the pink-haired boy, crushing the curse behind him with your bare fist.

“Yuji, are you alright? Did you get hurt? What happened to Toge?”

You scan his body for visible injuries, a wave of relief washing over you when all you are able to detect are a few bruises and scratches.

“There…There…Are…So…Much…M-more…”

He can’t catch his breath, completely exhausted by the fight that has to be on for hours by now.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here now. Would you please hurry to Toge and give him this medicine? I will take care of whatever is left here”, you ensure him gently, your hand running up and down his back.

“Gojo-sensei, watch out!”

Just in time, you position yourself in front of Yuji. Just before he gets hit by the merciless attack of another curse, just before a whole wave of monsters rushes towards you.

“Do what I told you. I have your back.”

And again, you dash forward. These fuckers have some nerves, injuring both of your students so badly. Why are they here? How was it even able for them to stay in the shadows with no one noticing their presence?

“You have some nerve”, you hiss towards them.

“Hurting two of my students. I’ll make you regret even existing.”

Slash after slash, fist after fist you tear them to the ground, body almost swallowed by purple blood that soaks through your uniform without mercy. No one is able to hurt your precious students without paying for it. No curse, no elders, no jujutsu sorcerer.

“Are you here to protect those boys? Pathetic, all of you will die right here”, a distorted voice behind you barks.

“I’m here to kill everyone who gets in my way. Especially fuckers like you.”

You sprint forward, sight completely numbed by the thick rage that runs through your veins. The way your fists fly through the air at neck-breaking speed leaves Yuji speechless next to Toge’s unconscious body, eyes not even able to follow your rapid movements. He has never seen you like this, so full of fury with your face distorted by hatred. Of course, it was never a secret to anyone at Jujutsu High that you are strong, rumours saying you even threatened the elders for your student’s sake. But at this very moment, you look almost possessed, slaughtering curse after curse until nothing except for purple rain is left of them.

“Hey, are you okay?”, you request towards Yuji softly, your hand placed on his shoulder.

There you are again, the (y/n) he knows and admires, the kind woman everyone at Jujutsu High talks so highly about. The only thing revealing what you did earlier being the purple blood still sticking to your whole body. Otherwise, your face looks as flawless as ever, eyes gleaming in kindness while you inspect Toge’s body.

“It seems like he’s worn-out, but otherwise fine. Did he take his throat medicine? His cursed speech demands a lot from him and sometimes, Toge seems to be unable to assess his own situation.”

Yuji just stares at you shamelessly, how you caress Toge’s cheek with as much care as usual. Was that really you who just slaughtered at least 50 curses within the span of a few minutes? Was it really you who spoke to one of the curses earlier with your voice frightening cold?

“Is something wrong, Yuji?”

“It’s just…I’ve never seen you like this, Gojo-sensei. You were so badass”, the boy next to you breathes out.

“Let me tell you something: No one on this earth is able to hurt my students without backlash. Whoever hurts any of you will get hurt by me. Or killed.”

“Gojo-sensei is really lucky to have a wife like you”, Yuji suddenly blurts out.

You can’t help but giggle, carefully lifting Toge’s numb body off the ground and through the disappearing curse.

“Oh, please tell him exactly that when we’re back.”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @yoonseokerist @suyaaachin @arehzhera @v3-mewcat @dlwlrmas-world @madebyperfectaddiction

[thepersonnamedsam]

hiii, love your stuff<33 could I maybe request a gen z reader blurb where after getting in a crash due to a mechanical issue everyone worries about her and she’s pissed because she felt seen as weak and vulnerable?? THANK U SO MUCH

life goes on

pairing: genz!driver x '23!grid and some seb cameo

summary: see request :)

word count: 2.1k

warnings: crash, blood, injury, anger issues, tears (idk if that’s a warning), media talks bad about genz!driver, foul language

note: thank you so much for the request!! i am not quite sure if i should write the genz!driver stories in a you pov or a she/her pov, what would you prefer, please let me know, ty :))

masterlist / taglist

It started with a bad day. FP1 was shit, FP2 was also not great. Her day was just not great. Free practice 3 was better, the car had finally responded to her again. In the first two laps, everything went smooth. She was already singing Smooth Operator in her head. But suddenly the car stirred, luckily she saved herself and didn’t crash, but she did retire from the session.

Her engineer and her sat together for Qualifying. She told him everything she noticed whilst driving.

„I feel like the steering wheel is not responding on time. It’s like it’s two seconds delayed, which is not good.“

He nodded and wrote it down on a notepad. „I feel like there’s nothing we can do, I can check with the mechanics, but qualifying is in two hours, which may not be enough time“, her race engineer told her. She sighed. The last two days were bad for y/n, she hasn’t slept good for at least four days. She nodded and told him that she’d be in her drivers room.

As qualifying started, she only got in one good lap before she had to retire. She was right, her steering wheel indeed had a slight delay. Which made turning corners very hard. She ended Q1 in P19, her worst result in qualifying yet. She was disappointed, in herself and in the car.

Her mechanics tried to fix the issue until the race started, but with no hope. She prepared herself for the race, knowing it would not be an easy one. She was scared, like scared shitless. She tried to call Sebastian during Q2, but he did not pick up. Opting for a quick text, she asked him to call her back as soon as possible.

Lewis heard what happened to y/n car during Q1 and wanted to comfort the young driver. With long strides he went to her motorhome. Her engineer just pointed to her drivers room as soon as he saw Lewis approach him. Three short knocks. Her head snapped up as the door opened. Lewis was standing there, looking pitiful and held his arms out.

„Are you okay, darling?“, he asked her as she nuzzled her head in his shoulders. She let her tears fall freely. Shaking her head she told him how she felt. „The steering wheel is delayed, which is so difficult to drive with and also dangerous. But my mechanics can’t fix it, they don’t know why it’s happening and a whole reboot of the system would take too long! I’m scared, Lewis. I don’t know what to do.“

His hand firm on her backside, he just held the young woman. Telling her to retire to not cause a crash would’ve been the best thing. Tell her to refuse to race. But he didn’t, knowing the girl and her ambitions. She would race, no matter what. She didn’t want to be seen as weak or even worse, girly.

She was girly, but not in the sense of racing. She was just as ‚manly‘ as the other drivers.

„I know that you will make the right decision about the whole situation“, Lewis told her. Oh, how wrong he was.

Q3 was finished with Verstappen on pole, as always, Perez on P2 and Leclerc on P3. Happy to see Charles starting this high, she went into the race with somewhat a good feeling. The first three laps were okay, she sank down to P20, DeVries overtook her with ease on the second corner, as she slowed down as much as possible to control the car. But the longer the race was, the more angry she got. It was not fair, the steering wheel was just not responding.

On lap 24 y/n’s car crashed. In corner eight, her steering wheel stopped working. Instead of a turn, the car just went straight into the pit wall. The front wing smashed against the wall, squashing it against her own car. Her head was spinning. What just happened?

„Red flag, the FIA just announced a red flag in corner eight. Seems like y/l/n crashed. Let’s hope she’s fine.“

Several team radios went through.

„Charles, y/n crashed in corner eight, there’s a red flag, be careful.“

„Lewis, there is a red flag.“

„Be careful, Max. You are approaching corner eight where y/n has had a crash.“

And many more. Everyone was concerned. What has happened? What did she do to crash her car like that. Was she responsive? Responsible? What was going on?

„y/n, please respond. The race has been stopped. What happened?“, her race engineer tried to speak to her, she was non-responsive.

„What the fuck, what happened?! Is she responsive? Are the medics on their way?“, Lewis was the first to address the situation. „We don’t know, we don’t see any medics yet, Lewis.“

And as Max pulled up to corner eight he hopped out of his car. He ran towards hers and yelled for her, to show him a sign that she was still alive, without a response. He was worried, he was always worried when someone crashed, but he was extra worried when she did.

„y/n! What happened? Are you okay? Please give me a sign!“, he tried it again, with no luck. He saw her helmet move, the flashy colours moving from side to side. „Ach godzijdank Ah, thank god“, he mumbled.

The medics arrived and ushered Max to the side. Taking her out of the car and laying her on a spinal board. Transporting her into the ambulance.

She was devastated. It was not her fault she crashed. But the media didn’t know that. They would accuse her of crashing yet another car. That she wasn’t good enough to be in Formula 1. They would report about her as if she wasn’t a human being and just something they could play with. They would talk about her like a doll. It was not fair.

Meanwhile on the paddock the talking began. Lewis was the most worried, he should’ve just told her to refuse racing. What if she suffered a serious injury? Like a neck or spine injury and couldn’t race anymore. It was his fault, that’s what he thought.

Lando was worried too, not really knowing what happened, he was just worried. She could be injured. The minutes went by without any news from her. They were hard for Lando.

Even Checo, who wasn’t usually a companion of y/n, was worried. He didn’t see what happened, but he heard from Max how the crash looked - bad, it looked bad.

„We hear from the medics; y/n is okay. At least that. Let’s hope the race will continue without another crash.“

Lewis released a breather, not knowing he heals so much air in his lungs. He was glad y/n was okay. He still felt bad, always feeling responsible for her. And now that she crashed, his head was spinning with gut wrenching thoughts and worry.

The FIA announced the green flag and the race continued without y/n. When she got back to her garage, her motorhome, she expected a angry team principal, angry mechanics and engineers, expect she was greeted with relieved sighs and shoulder droppings. Her engineer was the first one to embrace her. He told her how sorry he was and how everything was definitely not her fault.

She was still angry, no points, no race, no happy ending for that day. Everything was shit. She had a shit day that race. And it was not even her own fault.

Her team principal came towards her, gripping her shoulders hard and said: „I know this seems bad, it is, but we can fix it. I wish I could send you home, but media still awaits.“

So she waited, she waited lap after lap until eventually Max won the race. She waited until her PR got her out of the drivers room and took her to the media pen, where the post race conferences will be held.

Sky Sports interviewed the todays winner. So, y/n waited for Max to finish. She hoped he would never finish, that she would never have to face the camera and talk about the incident.

But that didn’t happen.

„Hello y/n, how do you feel? Everything okay, no pain?“, the nice interviewer asked her. „Uh, yeah, everything is fine“, she struggled with her answer, not believing herself that everything was fine.

„Can you tell me what happened? We just saw you crashing?“ - „Uhm, yeah“, she looked towards her media PR, what was she allowed to say? She shook her head - no bad words about her team. „I-, uh, I lost control of my steering wheel.“

The interviewer nodded. „We saw you retire from the race after Q1, having struggled already in FP1 and 2. Did you have problems with your steering wheel during them as well?“

She sighed. She was tired, her neck ached and she just wanted to be in her bed.

„I mean, kind of, yeah you could say I struggled with it during free practice.“

If she told the interviewer that she struggled with it during the whole yesterday and today, she would’ve bad mouthed the team.

„Last question for today, y/n. We asked Twitter for some comments, would you be so kind to make a statement to some of them?“

She really didn’t want to, knowing exactly what most of them had to say; women don’t belong in motorsports, etc.

„Sure“, she sighed. Her PR nodded, happy that y/n decided not to refuse.

„Alright, @motodports_2 said: That’s the second time this season that y/n crashed her car and we are only on the 7th race. What do you have to say to that?“

She closed her eyes, the headache creeping in like a madman with a desire to kill. „That’s true, that was the second crash of the season. And I am sorry for that, my team doesn’t deserve me crashing that many times during the season. I apologise.“

Sebastian was sitting at home, watching the race from his couch. He couldn’t believe what she was saying. The team doesn’t deserve a driver that crashes so much? Bullshit.

He missed her calls earlier that day, he wished he would’ve picked up his phone or at least called her back. But what she was telling to that interviewer was absolute bull.

Charles, who was next in line, also couldn’t believe the stuff you were telling Sky Sports.

„Okay, @maydrive says: The way y/n is throwing away her career in F1 with those shenanigans. Get a grip, will you?“, the interviewer read from the screen in front.

Charles was shocked, he never had to respond to any comments like that. How was she experiencing something like that?

„Uh yeah, thank you @maydrive for that. I will try to get a grip, and you are right, I am throwing away my F1 career like that, but I don’t want that, that’s why I will keep trying to get better“, her eyes were starting water. Just don’t let those tears fall, y/n. They want to see her cry, don’t give them the satisfaction of it.

„Thank you, y/n. Rest up and good evening!“

Her PR pulled her away and onto the next interview. After all that, she was exhausted. Exhausted and angry. How could they be asking her questions like that? Not fair.

Back in her garage, she let the emotions flow. Tears were streaming down her face, sobs were heard and her body was shaking. Her PR handed y/n her phone, leaving her again with a gentle pat to the shoulder.

Seb was calling her.

„Before you say anything, don’t let them treat you like that ever again. Not your fault, if you had problems with the steering wheel, it is not your place to apologise“, Seb interrupted her, before she could even sob into the phone. He heard sniffles. „Don’t cry, liebes dear. You did nothing wrong today.“

„Seb, I wish you’d be here“, she sobbed into the phone. It broke his heart. Comforting someone over the phone was hard, much more if the person being comforted was a teenager.

„It’s gonna be okay, life goes on, okay?“, he told her. „I just feel so weak and vulnerable. They hate me, they always find something wrong with my driving.“

„You are not weak! Who told you that?“, a voice from behind her sounded from the dark. Fernando Alonso stepped out of the shadow. Seb instantly recognised the older spaniards voice over the phone. Glad y/n was not alone in a time like this.

Fernando embraced her. Hugging her tight and firmly. He felt her heartbeat against his chest, beating like crazy. „Breathe with me, y/n.“

They were standing in her motorhome, embraced in one another. If a camera had noticed, headliners would say: Alonso and y/l/n dating confirmed? But there was no camera around.

She had her family here in F1. She belonged here, just as much as any other driver. She was not at fault. She was not weak or vulnerable. She was strong.

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @missskid , @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23

[vex91]

Yu Jimin - Forced marriage

Pairing: Yu Jimin x Female Reader (CEO AU)

Fandom: Aespa

Requested by: Anonymous

Request: yn's father is in a debt so he gave his daughter to his boss's daughter for money like for marriage bc he is filthy rich so she hates her father. jimin and yn don't want each other, later jimin learns about this, she didn't know that her father did this and start to be kind to her. you can make yn play hard to get or not, whatever you want.

Summary: To pay off his debts, your father decides to make you marry one of the richest CEO's daughter and the fact that none of you wanted that marriage made you both hate each other.

A/N: KARINAAAAAAAA @1luvkarina something's for you😂 Thanks for requesting anon❤

3rd's POV

You hated Yu Jimin.

It wasn't anything personal with the woman, you hated her because of yours and hers parents who decided to control your life without any care about your own feelings.

You always loved your father, he never failed to make you feel loved and he supported you through everything you went through as a teenager but that was until you were 16. Your father borrowed some money from shady people and soon after he borrowed even more not realizing how badly it will end for him. The debt quickly became much too big for your family to pay off. Your parents were devastated, they tried to not talk about anything debt related around you and you thought it was because they didn't wanted to worry you but on your 18th birthday you found out the truth about why they whispered around the house whenever they talked about their debt.

The truth was your father found a solution to their problems. He contacted a very well-known CEO of a famous company in Seoul, Mr. Yu who was also your father's boss and after talking about different options they agreed on having you marry his daughter Jimin who was soon to inherit the company. When your father told you about it you were furious, you couldn't believe your own father could just sell you like this just to solve his own problems and your mother agreeing to that made you even more devastated. Their assurances of their love for you didn't do much for you, you could see that you didn't mean much to them since they were willing to just force you into something like that without any problems.

Your wedding was your nightmare. Jimin was nice and all but ever since you officially met you could feel how much she also hated the fact she had to marry someone she didn't wanted to marry. You both pretended to be happy and in love during your wedding but the moment you guys entered your shared house, you both completely ignored each other. There was no reason for you to argue when you could just pretend that nothing happened and live not getting into each other ways. That's how you spend the next few months as a married couple, you ignored each other most of the time and going on dates with other people, only acting as a couple in front of her parents whenever they visited.

One night Jimin came back from a tiring day at work to see you at your usual spot on the window. You made yourself a very comfortable space there with pillows and blankets so you often used it to rest or sleep if you didn't wanted to sleep with Jimin. Your wife observed you for a while as you read your book before moving to the kitchen to make herself something to eat "I made you dinner. It's in the fridge" Your voice cut through the silence but not for long as silence soon took over again. Jimin silently opened the fridge to see her favorite food prepared. As she warmed it up she continued staring at you "Do you need anything?" You asked looking at her having enough of her stares. Jimin hesitated, thinking if she should touch on the subject.

"Why did you marry me?" You looked up at her confused. You wondered what made her ask that since she never cared about it until now. You were silent trying to think of what to say until Jimin said something that made you furious "Did you pay my father to marry me? That's why he was so adamant in making me marry you?" You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Was she really accusing you of paying her father so you could marry her?

"Excuse me?" You stood up and went over to her "You heard me" You were shocked and angry, you hated how this whole situation made you feel so many things at once, especially the pain you felt when on your 18th birthday "You think I wanted that? Marrying you was the last thing I wanted actually but well I didn't had a choice since my father clearly already signed the agreement with your father before even telling me. Just for your knowledge not everybody is obsessed with you" Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked down, Jimin on the other hand was stunned. She wasn't sure what to say, guilt eat her up as she realized that you just like her were basically sold by your father.

She tried to reach for you but you quickly stormed off to your bedroom leaving Jimin standing alone in the kitchen with all her swirling thoughts.

2 hours passed since then and you were still laying in bed looking at the ceiling. Jimin's words hurt, they reminded you of how betrayed you felt and how much you hated your current life. Jimin still didn't came back to the bedroom and at some point you thought that she decided to sleep on the couch but that thought soon left your mind as you heard the door opening. You turned around to face somewhere else and listened to her quiet footsteps getting closer and soon a hand shook your arm. You stayed still not wanting to even look at her at that moment.

Jimin sighed before talking "Y/N... I know you don't want to talk and I understand that. Just know that I really regret saying everything I said back there, I didn't know about your father. I'm gonna sleep on the couch tonight" She finished and you heard her leaving some bags next to the bed and leaving. You moved around and took the bags to see what was inside and the sight shocked you. It was your favorite meal you ordered a lot during evenings. The fact that Jimin payed attention to that was completely surprising to you but the fact that she went and bought some for you despite the late hour was even more shocking.

Inside was a note.

I wasn't sure which sauce you preferred so I bought every kind they had. I hope you enjoy the food and maybe we can talk tomorrow?

From Jimin <3

Maybe she wasn't so bad after all.