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astroboots · 4 months

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Kiss Me Again

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Summary: You discover that Marc has a thing for lipstick

Content: Marc blushing -- Oh mai, domestic shenanigans, lotsa yearning, creampie, explicit sex babeh.

Credit: Inspired form Leslie's gorgeous Love Mark series and in particular this beautiful image. Part of the @moonknight-events Bingo scorecard Challenge: Morning After.

Word count: 3.5k

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS’ MASTERLIST |MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

There is something about waking up in the morning to the sight of Marc standing in the kitchen.

The sight of that wide back turned to you. His firm shoulders fill out that t-shirt oh-so-perfectly, and you can make out the rounded curve of his bum practically bursting out of his jeans. The familiar rigid stiffness that is stitched into every nook and cranny of his frame while he's standing in front of the stove cooking you breakfast.

It's Sunday today, which means the familiar warm and breadlike smell of pancakes permeates the attic flat. It also means that Marc has let you sleep in.

God, what time is it?

Judging from the brightness of the sun, blinding your eyes, he must've let you sleep in late.

You glance at your wristwatch on the bedside table, squinting your eyes to make out the time.

Fuck! Eleven Twenty-Seven?!?!

You grumble, dragging yourself out of bed, grabbing the neatly folded clothes next to you and pulling them on haphazardly. "Why didn't you wake me? It's nearly noon."

Marc is unmoved by your accusatory tone. He flips the pan with a flashy move, flinging the pancake into the air before catching it with ease, right back into the pan.

"You were tired from last night."

He doesn't turn around, but you don’t need to catch the expression on his face when you can hear the playful smirk in his voice.

And he's not wrong. Marc did wear you out last night. The soreness between your thighs as you're making your way to him would prove as much. As does the state of the bed and its rumpled sheets.

You're practically hobbling your way to the kitchen when you finally manage to join him and perch yourself on a stool near the counter.

From the corner of your eye, Marc turns ever so slightly until you finally catch the amused wry quirk of his lips in person.

"What?"

He doesn't answer you. Just slides the pancake onto a plate, pouring in more batter into the pan, before he brings your plate over to you. Then he looks at you with that same amused expression.

"What is it?" you ask again. Have you suddenly grown horns on your head? Why is he looking at you like that.

Your confusion only adds to his amusement. A huff (that is borderline a laugh) escapes him as he looks at you with a fond expression.

"You're a mess."

Wow. Rude.

You shake your head, your boyfriend never was known for his manners... This boyfriend at least. Steven has the manners of an angelic saint.

Scanning the space, you spot your handbag that's conveniently sitting on the counter and reach for the small pocket mirror, flicking it open.

A deranged Alice Cooper impersonator looks back at you. Mascara running halfway down your face.

Shit.

Okay, Marc might have a point. Your hair looks like a runaway freight train blazed through it, mascara has run halfway down your face, and your lipstick is smeared all over, vivid red splotches and smears dotting your chin and cheeks. How did you even manage that?

You grab a wad of face wipes to take care of the worst of it. Then you glance back up at Marc. He is in considerably much better shape than you are. Hair combed back, already dressed in his regular t-shirt, with his grey jacket and fitted jeans like it's his designated uniform.

That's Marc for you. Unfazed. Un-rumpled. Untouchable.

Your Mr. Tidy, who needs everything to be in its proper place, no matter the time and place. It leaves you craving to achieve the unachievable, to make a mess of him.

Always put together. Always in control. Always has the upper hand on you.

Well… Your eyes drift to his honed cheeks and you can't help but grin at the sight. Almost always.

Today, there's a chink in his tidy armour. A red smear on his throat, matching the ones you just removed from your own face. Unsurprising perhaps, given the way you mauled this throat last night.

"You're a mess too," you counter.

He tilts his head questioningly, and you flip the mirror back at him to let him see the damage.

You expect him to frown. Expect him to grumble and reach for a wipe or scrub off the offending mess with the back of his hand.

Marc does none of that. Instead he freezes, eyes growing wide as he just stares into your pocket mirror.

You don't know how long he just stays like that, frozen in place, and you can practically see the little spinning wheel icon indicating that he brain has stalled out over this new input. It’s fascinating. You have half a mind to just leave him be, curious to see how long it takes his mind to reboot, but then you smell something off in the kitchen. Burnt, like smoke.

"Uhm, Marc? I think... the pancakes are burning."

That snaps him right out of it.

"Shit!"

He leaps into action. In a split of a second, Marc is back at the stove, yanking the offending pan off the heat. He seems a bit off kilter, grumbling to himself as he carries the whole thing to the bin and starts scraping the burnt remains of charcoal pancake off.

The whole scene takes you aback. You don't think you've ever seen Marc just freeze like that. What could have happened?

Was it the mirror? Mirrors serve as a neat conduit for communication between the boys. Perhaps Steven or Jake said something that distracted him?

You watch as he moves back to the sink without so much as a glance in your direction. Hoping for some insight you hop off the stool and walk up next to Marc, but he stiffens unexpectedly at your presence, ducking his face towards the sink, and avoiding your gaze.

Something is off with him. Something is definitely wrong... and--

You don’t see it at first. His head is tilted down, casting a shadow over his cheeks, but you think you see…

Wait wait wait. Is Marc... blushing?

You lean in closer, peering over his shoulder to stare at his face.

"This is distracting. I'm trying to clean," he mutters, tilting his face away from you.

Oh wow!

He is!

Marc is blushing!

Your veins buzz at the revelation. You're so excited by this new development, you don't even connect the dots at first.

He's blushing! Why is he blushing? God knows!

But it’s adorable! You need to know how to make this happen again.

Mirror. You need to get the mirror– Or wait, no. That doesn't make any sense does it? It's not the mirror that made him blush, why would it?

You retrace your step. Not the mirror, must've been something he saw in the mirror. It could have been something Steven or Jake said, but…

You think back to the night before. The way Marc’s dark eyes had gone darker, deep and bottomless, as he watched you get ready to go out. The way his eyes never left your face as you talked, always circling back to… your lips.

Excited to test your new theory, you leave Marc at the sink and head for the corner of the counter where you left your bag, fishing around until you can locate the tube of lipstick.

Yanking off the cap, you nearly end up mashing the red tip with how hard you press it on your lips. That done, you recap the tube and drop it back into the depths of your handbag, and rejoin Marc at the stove where he’s already poured another round of batter into the newly cleaned pan.

He's not looking up at you, eyes glued to the bubbling forming on the half-cooked pancake with strained concentration. But you bet you can change that now that you know what you know.

You tip-toe forward, reaching up to press your lips square centre on his cheek. You keep the contact soft and brief. Just enough pressure that you can make sure you've marked him in red with the shape of your lips.

Marc freezes again bound in shock. His eyes are so startlingly wide, for a moment you could almost mistake him for Steven.

Bingo.

You're grinning so widely it almost physically hurts. "Sorry, I think I got some lipstick on you."

He doesn't respond. If you didn't know better you'd think you'd turn him into stone with that small kiss. But you can see the way his fingers are wrapped so tight around the handle of the pan, the cast iron could crumble from the pressure.

Oh my, this is fun.

Leaning up you do it again. Pressing your lips to his cheek again, inches from where you had before, just as soft. Just as brief, and watch the red mark join the other one.

Marc tenses up all over again. Slowly but surely, you see that gorgeous crimson spread across his cheeks. It's a fascinating sight. And god, it makes you want to paint every inch of his skin in lipstick red, like a blank colouring book.

It takes him entirely too long before he gathers himself again. Eyes blinking rapidly like trying to wake himself from a drunken stupor, before shock is replaced by that familiar grumpy scowl.

"I'm–" he pauses to clear his throat, "I’m trying to make breakfast here."

"So do it," you respond cheekily, leaning in to kiss him again, "Don't let me stop you"

You keep pressing little kisses to his skin, leaving red lip prints all over and delighting in the fact that his face gets hotter with each one. More than a little bit smug to see the pink flush deepen and spread over his cheeks and down his throat.

For once, Marc-nothing-can-faze-me-Spector is struggling to keep his cool, and you are taking entirely too much joy in being the cause of that.

You reach up again, hands cupping his cheeks to tilt him to your mouth and press a kiss against his lips until they are stained bright lipstick red.

Marc remains still, but you can feel the frustration vibrating off the surface tension of his skin.

This time he lets go of the pan, and it clatters loudly back onto the stove.

You step back to the sight of that familiar irritated glare in his eyes even as he's blushing an unfamiliar bright barbie pink on his cheeks. His thumb hovering over his lipstick smeared bottom lip.

At first you think he's going to wipe it away. He doesn't. Instead his thumb just lingers over the mark, hand trembling slightly.

"Stop teasing," he grumbles.

It’s meant to be a warning, you’re sure, but all you feel is excitement of what's to come.

There's a saying isn't there? About not poking a bear with a stick. Except in that scenario it’s because you don't want to anger it and have it maul you, and in the present, that's exactly what you want from Marc.

You step in close again, tilting your face up to deliver another kiss.

All you can hear is a low growl, and then Marc is moving. His hand comes to the back of your neck and reels you into him, so close you can feel the embarrassed heat radiating from his cheek as if it were your own.

Then his lips are on yours, and joy and love surge through you, blending in a dizzying concoction that makes your surroundings spin.

You expect his kiss to be harsh and hungry, but Marc continues where you left off, pressing gentle, nearly chaste kisses to your lips over and over again.

It could almost be innocent if it weren't for the way he's panting against your lips. The way his strong arm wraps around your waist. The way his fingers dig into your hip as he drags your hips against his, crushing you against him until you can feel him—all of him, the length of him hot and hard against your stomach—even through his jeans.

His hand slides down over your hip to your thigh, one firm palm gripping and lifting to hook your leg over one side of his wide hips so he can grind against you. It's desperate and frenzied, the bulge of his cock slotting perfectly between your legs. Pressing forward until you’re so close that you can feel it jerking against you with each shuddering roll of his hips.

And through it all, he kisses and kisses and kisses you, gentle presses that grow just a little bit harder with each one. It sparks through your veins like an ember, heady and sweet until you think you could melt from it.

His lips drag against your own until finally, he parts them. The slight edge of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, like he wants to devour you whole.

And you'd let him. You’d let him bite in and swallow every morsel of you without resistance, but for some unfathomable reason, he… doesn't.

Instead he stills. Pulls back. Both of you gasping and shaking as you just look at each other.

He doesn't say anything. His gaze drops to your lips, his own parted and trembling.

You're just about to ask him what's wrong, when you realise that nothing is.

You've been together long enough now that you are finally starting to get the hang of hearing the things Marc leaves unspoken. Can read that hesitant look in his eyes and know what he’s thinking.

You know that in this moment all Marc wants is more. That’s what he doesn't know how to say.

Because Marc is still learning to ask for what he wants. And you know that the more he wants something, the less able he is to ask for it. (And the more you want to give it to him.)

And right now, the thing he wants more of is…

"Hang on a tic," you tell him, holding up a single finger. Your voice sounds throaty, but somehow miraculously calm despite the way your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. You reach behind you, scooping up your discarded handbag and plucking your lipstick from it as easy as you please. The small round tube nearly falls into your hand like it's guided by divine inspiration.

Marc's hands tremble on your hips, fingers gripping tight, tighter, tightest until it's almost painful. Somehow that only makes it better.

How many people on this earth can say that they've managed to make Marc Spector tremble?

Somehow your hands are still rock steady. Uncapping the lipstick, you feel his cock jerk hard against your thigh once, and then again as you twist the tube and begin to slick the bright stoplight red onto your lips.

You don't have a mirror. Don't need one. Don’t even have to look to know this is the cleanest application you'll ever manage, for all that your lips were already smeared to hell when you started. Your lipstick is perfect. You can tell by the way Marc is looking at your mouth. Staring at your mouth. Staring at you, like you're a goddess come to life. Every desperate desire he's ever had made flesh, made divine.

Marc Spector makes you feel divine.

Twisting the lipstick back down, you recap it, barely managing to tuck it away in your bag with hands that are just beginning to shake. Then you reach for him.

Framing his face with trembling hands, you lean forward to press a single, perfect kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"There we go," you manage, before the need for him rises up to swallow you whole and your voice goes ragged, unspooling at the edges.

"Now, Marc. Please, now."

You don't need to say more than that. You watch the muscle in his jaw jump as he grits his teeth.

The ground beneath your feet vanishes in an instant, all you feel is Marc's arms wrapped around your waist as he hoists you up against the nearest kitchen counter. Firm, thick thighs framed against your sides as he presses you down against the hard surface. All you hear is the fumbling and swearing as he struggles to get his tight jeans undone and pushed down because his usually-rock-steady hands are trembling.

You’ve never seen him like this. All of him is shaking, every muscle in his body straining, so worked up he's practically vibrating with need. And you feel it too, his desperation seeping into you like a contagion, until you can barely breathe. Until you feel sick with want for him.

You reach down to help him with his fly, the material of his jeans sticky against your fingers, his cock jerking under the fabric at your touch.

"Fuck. Baby," his voice is a raw and ragged thing, dragging in his throat like the air from his lungs has been wrenched from him.

Everything inside you tingles with excitement at his tone. It doesn't matter that you're still sore from last night. That your legs are still wobbly from the pure physical exertion of it. All you want is more. More of this. More of Marc.

Clumsily, you get his zipper down and reach inside. He's hot and hard, the skin velvety smooth and slick, his cock jerking under your touch as you free him.

He shoves a hand between your legs in return, drags the soaked crotch of your knickers to the side, and unceremoniously slides two fingers into you, filling you so perfectly that you gasp at the sensation.

Heat spears through you, your hips bucking forward so hard you nearly fall off the counter, but he's there to hold you down with his weight.

His hips pressing forward. His hand pulls back, knocking yours out of the way so he can grab himself. Line himself up. The slick, fat head of his cock pressing against you.

It's hurried and frantic. Your head spins from the blood rushing through your head so fast your vision blurs.

Then Marc presses inside.

His cock is hot. Slipping into you like a fiery brand. Like the missing heart of you coming home. Burning you from the inside out. You both moan, gasping into each other's mouths.

When did you start kissing again?

You don't know. Why did you even stop? You never want to stop.

You can't move. Can’t think. Can't fucking breathe, but it's okay. You don't need to. Don't need anything except this. His cock pressing into you. Lodging itself inside you until it's as deep as it's possible to go.

You gasp again, and your head falls back, breaking the kiss as pleasure spears though you, sharp and blindingly sweet. It’s too much. It’s perfect.

Marc says something as his hips retreat, but you don’t register what it is, barely realise that he’s spoken.

You don’t register he's talking to you, asking you for something, until he stops moving. You whine, clawing at his shoulders because whatever he wants, the answer is, 'yes.'

"Again," he repeats, and yes, that’s what you want. You want him to fuck you again, but he’s not doing it. Why did he stop?

"Baby," he says, the word scraping its way out of his throat like it's made of broken glass, "Kiss me again."

Oh.

It doesn’t register with you then—not really—the significance of his ask. How unusual it is that Marc is asking you for something that he desperately wants. You’ll remember later. Notice later. But for right now, it doesn't matter, because you want to give him what he wants regardless. You always want to give this man anything and everything he wants.

You lunge forward, his stubble scraping against your lips as you glance off his chin leaving a red smear.

Hot pleasure blooms as he thrusts forward into you.

"Again," he says.

You whine as he pulls back, but you're quicker on the uptake this time. Kissing his throat and get to watch his Adam's apple bob under the red lip print you leave behind, before your vision goes fuzzy with the next overwhelming thrust.

"Again."

You kiss his jaw, and he barely pauses before fucking back into you.

"Again."

His throat, again. and you're rewarded with the hot perfect press of him inside.

"Again."

Everything starts to blur. His words slurring together; your lips barely leaving his skin. The heavy weight of him pushing its way inside you.

You're panting open mouthed against his shoulder, lips sliding and sticking against his skin.

"Again," he demands, even though there's no longer any lull in your movements,

"Again." No break in contact of your lips on his skin.

"Again." No pause in his rhythm.

"Again." No respite from the way the feeling swells. Coils tight, right where his cock is pounding, relentless, into the very centre of you.

"Again."

You can't–

"Again."

Oh god, you’re about to–

"Again. Again. Aga–ngh"

The litany breaks off, words dying, replaced by a strangled groan, when you come hard, your body clamping down, clenching around him.

Through the waves of overwhelming pleasure, you feel the sting of his blunt fingernails digging in too hard at your hips. Hear the tiny, ragged "Oh. Baby. Fuck." that leaves his lips like it's been punched out of him.

You swear you can feel the heavy weight of him swell inside your still-clenching cunt, and then the reflexive, aborted jerk of his hips, as his cock begins to pulse.

He holds you there, tight against him, or maybe you hold him or both of you hold each other, as you shudder there together for long, endless moments.

When it's finally over, he presses one last, gentle kiss to your lips and pulls back.

You watch, heart so full of love for him that your chest aches, as one side of his red-smeared mouth pulls up in a rare, happy smile. You trace the corner of it with one mostly-steady finger, and can't help smiling back.

“Well now," you say, once you're certain your voice won't betray you too badly, "I've made quite the mess of you, haven't I?"

Marc's eyes roam over your face. One warm hand comes up to cup your jaw, and you lean into his touch, letting him drag his thumb over your lips. You can feel it sticking slightly on whatever's left of your lipstick, but what does it matter? It's not like he can make it any worse now, is it?

"Yeah," he says. His thumb lingers. His gaze too. Eyes gone soft and warm the longer he looks at your mouth. "Your mess."

Something constricts in your chest at the words. A deep-rooted, possessive protectiveness that takes hold, then unfurls, spreading everywhere, warm and sweet.

"Yes," you agree, tightening your arms around his back to pull him closer to you. "All mine."

A/N a sequel to the angsty Love Bites where Marc gets his yearning fulfilled. @thirstworldproblemss and I wrote this ages ago before Christmas but then we felt that there needed to be more ✨ yeaaaaarning✨ Hope you had fun reading.

Follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you

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mylonelylittlestar · 4 months

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XAVIER: RED FLAGS

Summary: Some of Xaviers' tiny and massive red flags Warnings: mentions of murder

Will sometimes not show up to dates because he didn't hear his alarm in his sleep. He feels guilty about it, but it will happen again.

Can't cook at all. Genuine fire hazard in the kitchen, which is pretty bad for a normal human, but he's like... old. He should know how to cook.

Too calm about murder. Like he just isn't bothered when he has to kill people. Doesn't care about corpses and blood, etc. There's no guilt, no shame, nothing. It's a regular Tuesday for him.

He gets a bit confused when you freak out about him killing someone, not realising how odd his behaviour is from your point of view until you spell it out for him.

He probably takes the health of your heart as seriously as Zayne does (if not more seriously) and he will never explain why. He doesn't see the point in coming clean about that stuff.

He will also probably never explain the star tassel on his sword. He will just say that someone he loved very dearly gave it to him a long time ago and never tell you that he's talking about you. He doesn't realise that it makes you feel like you're the second choice unless you explicitly tell him.

Eats your leftovers without asking. Doesn't matter what it is. He's like a racoon.

He will also eat stale chips and flat soda without complaint when he's hungry (and he's always hungry)

Has no playlists on Spotify. He just listens to his liked songs on shuffle

You could get murdered next to him, and he would accidentally sleep through it (and then he would hunt down the people who killed you and wait for your next reincarnation)

Does not own a single pen. Not even one. Or kitchen scissors. Or tape. Or straws. Or more than 3 cups and 4 plates. But he does have a bedframe and nice curtains and bedsheets and beautiful towels, and that makes him better than a lot of other guys.

Has to buy new headphones every 3-5 months because he keeps losing them. He usually forgets them on the subway.

He takes a lot of time in the shower. Sometimes you think he fell asleep while washing out his shampoo.

Top player in the world in some shitty mobile game like garden scapes. He has definitely spent money on it as well after promising himself he would never do that, and thousands of older women worldwide ask themselves who that mysterious number 1 player is who's somehow level 18457

Regularly has to Google most phrases that people around him use because he genuinely doesn't understand them. He also still uses slang that is decades old (he's been alive for a long time and trends die quickly okay. It's hard to keep up with all that stuff)

Takes inaccuracies in historical dramas very personally

Doesn't talk much about his thoughts and feelings unless you explicitly ask him to do so. Would much rather talk about yours instead. He doesn't really think his own thoughts matter that much compared to yours.

He regularly has nightmares about his past. Especially about you dying in his arms (anecdotes 3). He never talks about his nightmares with you. Even begging will not soften him up. To him it would just be an unnecessary burden to place onto your shoulders.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #xavier x reader

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suzukiblu · 13 days

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do you have any kryptonians hcs that you think would be fun to see incorporated in more fics out there? like cultural stuff & biology

Ones I've seen before and really like:

Kryptonians purr

Kryptonians are built physically harder/denser/heavier than humans and don't have much "give" in their bodies

Kryptonians can tell that humans aren't the same thing as them, but humans can't QUITE tell that Kryptonians aren't the same thing as them; there is just the tiiiiiniest bit of uncanny valley there when they aren't deliberately trying to pass for humans, though

Kryptonians immediately just "recognize" other Kryptonians as being Kryptonian ( though maybe this one is at least IMPLIED in canon, though I've never been totally clear on that one--but like, a stronger version of it, if that makes sense?? )

Ones I've been slooowly forming myself for personal use:

Kryptonians have different voices and different hearing, in the sense that a Kryptonian has more tones/nuance in their voice and can HEAR more tones/nuance in a voice, and a lot of other species' voices sound flat or toneless to them because they lack those additional tones

"chiming" as a way for children to get their parent/caretaker's attention; basically a specific musical little sound that they make

Kryptonians typically only being physically expressive or emotive with close family members/friends, and vocal communication frequently being more emotive/descriptive for them than physical is

Kryptonians come in just sliiiightly brighter colors than humans do--eyes, hair, skin, etc

it takes a long time and extended time together to "learn" someone's heartbeat

food is generally served on specific complementing dishware, in terms of color/shape/specific meal

most clothes involve multiple layers, mainly a fitted undersuit that covers as much skin as possible, and then an overrobe or two that hide(s) the shape of their bodies as much as possible; specific cuts of drapery are a big thing in their fashion

wearing house crests is a Big Deal all the time and involves certain rites of passage/ages/etc

diet being fairly simple and minimalistic; they have rice but not really bread, eat more fish than red meat, and cuisine tends to concentrate on very subtle and natural flavors; there's not typically a lot of different things on their plate and they don’t generally use chemical preservatives in daily life

to a Kryptonian it'd be a LOT more normal that Kon and Match got made in test tubes than it'd be that Jon and Chris got made via natural births, and there would absolutely be a "is cloning worse or is just leaving your kid's DNA up to chance worse??" kind of argument going on there, culturally speaking

( also I could go on for a fucking MINUTE how Jon being a successful and healthy hybrid who is also apparently fertile enough to have at least one descendent alive and well in the thirty-first century is an insane and weird thing that makes very little sense that I DESPERATELY wish came up in more of the fics/canon that I see involving or mentioning him; seriously, Kryptonian DNA is so complicated that Bizarro syndrome is a regular thing in clones produced from it even by people who SPECIALIZE in cloning, but the kid who just got whatever random genes won the random race is the one who came out perfectly stable and healthy and has ZERO health issues/concerns? like, EVER?? hOW, canon. HOW. )

I will actually live and die on the hill of "Lex is more genetically compatible with Kryptonian DNA than Lois is" because fuck a) biological determinism and b) loving couples DO frequently have to deal with genetic incompatibility and that's just much more interesting to me narratively, and also I love the weird little not-quite-tragedy of that concept, both in how Lex refuses to be an ally to someone he actually is so naturally “compatible” with and in how Lois would have genetic compatibility issues with someone she loved so much and was loved BY so much

ONE DAY I will write the fic where Jon is actually NOT a healthy hybrid and has a ton of health issues from birth and can't even use any Kryptonian powers without having a freaking asthma attack or HEART attack, resigns himself to it just being an unavoidable Kryptonian-human hybrid thing and that he'll never live up to his dad or grow up to be "Superman"--and then one day an oblivious newborn bb clone Kon shows up out of the blue in perfect health with EXTRA superpowers and very publicly declaring that HE'S gonna be Superman someday, and everyone in the Kent family has to just deal with that and how they all feel about it. ONE DAY.

#anonymous #meta ecetera

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allfryam · 9 months

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freshman 15

jake was finally done. He had just graduated high school and he would be heading off to college in a couple months. It all felt so surreal to him. After this summer, he would never see his classmates again. He wondered what they would look like in a few years time. Jake would also have to leave behind his soccer team. Jake was the captain of his team and soccer was what got him through high school.

all of the exercise was great for Jake as he had rock hard abs on top of a flat stomach. He had defined muscles on just about his entire body. His wavy brown hair was parted in the middle and he had ocean blue eyes you could drown in. Everyone envied his extremely attractive appearance. Jake often went to the gym and ate well to maintain his physique. A bad metabolism ran in his family so he had to work extra hard to eat right and stay fit.

the time had finally come. Jake was in his new dorm when his roommate walked in. His name was Ben. Ben was tall. Really tall Jake wasn’t short by any means but he had to look up to talk to Ben. He looked to be about 6’ 7” with short blonde hair. He had brown eyes and an impeccable jawline. The only flaw that Jake could see was that he had a little bit of a dad bod. Jake could see Ben’s belly pushing against his tight shirt. When he stretched his shirt would ride up to reveal a fuzzy stomach. This disgusted Jake. He couldn’t understand how people could live with being fat. Jake decided not to say anything.

Ben told Jake that this was his second year at the college. He invited Jake to a freshman welcome party that night and Jake was not one to pass up on a party. When he arrived, Ben went straight for the alcohol. “No wonder he was so fat” Jake thought to himself. Jake just hung around and tried to meet new people.

a few weeks into the school year and Jake hadn’t even been to the gym yet. The campus was so big he couldn’t find it anywhere. Besides, he was so busy with his schoolwork that he would t have much time for the gym. He wasn’t worried though. He was confident his body could maintain his amazing fitness until he could get back into the gym.

Jake had been eating less healthy than usual. He would have late nights studying, and the only places that were open only had fast food. It didn’t help that Ben would often order takeout for the both of them and Jake would eat it so Ben wouldn’t feel bad.

One night, around halloween, Jake had been partying all night and decided he would drink some alcohol to take his mind off school. Drinking became a regular occurrence for Jake and it was beginning to take a toll on his perfect body. Jake hadn’t noticed yet but his perfect abs were completely gone. The only thing Jake noticed was Ben, who was also getting fatter.

Jake was able to visit his family for thanksgiving. His brother was the first to comment on his weight gain. “Looks like the freshman 15 got you bro”. He said. Jake looked down and saw a sliver of his belly peeking out from underneath his tight shirt. His face turned red. “Relax. I’m just bulking” he lied. He ran away to the bathroom to examine his new fat. Yup. It was true. His perfect abs had disappeared. They were replaced by a curved stomach and a soft layer of fat. Jake decided to take it easy on the alcohol from now on.

his family prepared an enormous feast for thanksgiving. They had a turkey, stuffing, baked beans, mashed potatoes, casseroles, gravy, Mac and cheese, and delicious rolls. Jake loaded his plate with all of it and drenched it all in gravy. Then he began to feast. He tore through the meal like it was his last, scarfing everything down as quickly as possible. When he was done, he grabbed more eating another mountain of delicious food. The mac and cheese was his favorite he ate like 10 servings! He didn’t tell anyone, but after the first plate, he went to the bathroom to loosen his belt. It was getting uncomfortably tight.

after everyone had finished, Jake was fuller than ever he sat on the couch rubbing his taut stomach. But not long after dinner came dessert. Jakes family prepared pumpkin pie, apple pie, different kinds of cakes, ice cream, cookies, brownies, and pastries. Jake didn’t want to be rude and refuse his family’s cooking, so he prepared his belly for more food. He ate a slice of each pie topped with a scoop of ice cream, a few cookies, at least one piece of each cake,(the banana crème cake was so good he had to get another slice) some brownies, and a big strawberry pastry. After all of that, the buttons on his shirt were starting to get tight. He put on a sweater just in case.

back at college, Ben poked jakes gut and said, “looks like you had a nice thanksgiving”. Jakes face got red and he went to the bathroom. Jake had bought a scale to help maintain his weight while he was in college. This was his first time using it since he got here. When he first arrived he was 154 pounds. Surely he couldn’t be more than 160 now right?…. 170 pounds. Jake couldn’t believe it. He had actually gained 15 pounds. But… maybe it wasn’t so bad. Ben seemed fine and he was way fatter than Jake. Jake decided it wasn’t a big deal and he would lose it eventually. He was hungry though. McDonald’s sounded good…

to be continued….

#fat #fat belly #fatty #gaining fat #chubby #fat gut #fatty piggy #gaining #gaining weight #getting bigger #freshman 15 #college freshman #freshman fifteen #belly expansion #exjock

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moonlight-prose · 9 months

Note

I love all of the prompts for your Sinful Soiree! It's so hard to choose one!

May I please request 💕 Steven Grant 💕 with the prompt: 🌹 "i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know." 🌹

I picked what I think would fluster him because i have the feminine urge to make that man ✨blush ✨

Thank you, love!

SUBTLE THINGS

a/n: when i say i meant to finish this within the first week of me doing the event. i had half of it written but steven's inspo vanished for some reason. honestly this fic is just porn very little plot. i tried to add some, but i don't know if i was entirely successful. given that it's steven being needy and a little bit greedy. i hope you enjoy it darling! (also yes that gif was entirely necessary. it shut off my brain seeing it so i had to use it).

summary: "steven wasn’t greedy by nature. but something about you flipped a switch in his mind, and suddenly he was a starved man, begging for a taste of whatever you had to offer."

word count: 1.8k+

pairing: steven grant x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, teasing, steven being hopelessly in love, fluff, oral (f receiving), cum eating, cumplay, masturbation, slight sub!steven vibes.

He was never subtle about the way he looked at you. Stealing glances as if he couldn’t get enough—addicted to the sight in front of him. Date night was a regular occurrence when it came to your relationship. A small routine to give yourselves something to look forward to.

If anything it gave you a chance to leave the flat for a change; most nights spent curled up on his couch in pajamas. You cherished moments like that, but you relished in times like this. Where you sat across from him done up as if it was the first time you were doing this, the sparks flying between you stronger than that night.

The same night he walked you to your place, only to come back an hour later per your request.

You smiled, sipping on the wine he picked and delighting in the fruity tang of it. Wishing more than anything that you were tasting it off his tongue. He watched your throat as you swallowed, his tongue peeking out to swipe against his lips as his fingers drummed on the table. He seemed antsy, ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

Steven was first nervous when you were together, wanting to please you however you wanted. But then things shifted. He gained confidence in how he could render you speechless with just his touch alone. How you lost your breath with a single look in your direction. Except there were still moments when you were able to bring back that stuttering man you fell in love with—watching his eyes dilate, chest heaving with anticipation.

“Dinner was delicious,” you said, pushing away the now empty plate of food.

He nodded, his lips pulling up into that precious grin. “I found this place in a guidebook. A bit old fashioned if I do say so myself.”

“Old fashioned is good though.”

His smile grew, mouth opening to continue telling you the details of the guidebook in particular, but your foot running up the length of his leg caused him to freeze. You could practically see the words die on his tongue as his eyes widened, his breath stuttering in his chest. There were only a handful of times where you acted this brazen out in public—this needy for his attention. His affection.

Steven could replay them in his mind with ease—each moment burned into his brain.

“Love…”

“I have a little detail of my own,” you stated as if you were about to tell him the most mundane fact known to man.

“Yeah?” he asked, breathless to the way you ran your finger along your bottom lip, cleaning up the smudged lipstick that was there. He found himself wanting to lick it off your mouth.

You nodded with a sly smile. “I’m not wearing any underwear.” He choked on this spit and you watched in glee. His chest heaving as he coughed—cheeks flushing a dark red. “Thought you’d like to know.”

“You’re…” His eyes dropped to the part of the table that covered your lap and you could practically see the gears in his head moving.

Steven thought for a second his heart would burst out of his chest. The knowledge that you were sitting there, bare for him to touch, to taste. He was a reserved man. Believing that you deserved the utmost respect when it came to where you two made love. But there were nights when he felt himself slip—desire overcoming any sort of sense that might have been running through his brain.

Before he could get a coherent string of words together, you stood from the table. The words bathroom and be right back being uttered. Except he wasn’t paying attention, eyes focusing on the slight sway of your hips when you walked. His thoughts immediately fell to what you looked like beneath your dress. Were you wet for him? Were you dripping down the inside of your thighs?

He was standing abruptly and following you before he could get a hold on himself.

Thankfully he was always one to be prepared. Paying for the bill before either of you finished your meals, because he knew you weren’t one to have dessert at the restaurant. Too invested in the thought of finally getting home where Steven spent the better part of the night between your thighs. He could practically taste you on his tongue, see your head tilted back in bliss as your thighs shook around his head.

His fist was rapping against the wooden door of the women’s bathroom in mere minutes. Waiting for you to open it for him.

“Took you long enough,” you practically purred, tugging him in by the lapels on his blazer.

He was pushed against the door, your lips sliding against his in a way that had his body going lax, a whine building up in his throat. In a quick haphazard move, he managed to lock the door before grasping for your hips—walking you back until your waist met the sink. His tongue licked into your mouth, your wet needy moan muffled as he took and took and took.

Steven wasn’t greedy by nature. But something about you flipped a switch in his mind, and suddenly he was a starved man, begging for a taste of whatever you had to offer. He pushed the skirt of your dress up, his chest heaving as he took in air like he’d never get it again. And there it was. The truth of your little detail all shiny with your slick—your inner thighs practically coated as well.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes snapping up to see your lips spread into a smile, your hand grasping onto his wrist to tug him closer.

He groaned when his fingers slid along your cunt, the warmth of you practically seeping into his palm. There was no doubt now that Steven wouldn’t wait until the two of you got home. Not when you were willing and ready for him to take you now. Finding your clit with ease he grinned when your high pitched moan echoed off the walls of the bathroom. You canted your hips against him with a fervor he shared, your lips parting with small gasps of air.

“S-Steven,” you begged, teeth coming out to dig into your bottom lip.

“I’m here.” He wanted to devour you. To drink down the taste of you as if you were the best fucking dessert in this restaurant, because to Steven…you were.

“I need—f-fuck—need you baby.”

He nodded and before you could stop him, he was falling to his knees and spreading your legs wide enough for him to fit. With a dazed look in his eyes, he watched his fingers spread your slick up to your clit—his cock twitching painfully in his pants. What he wouldn’t give to spend hours right here, but you had a limited amount of time and he wanted to get you home.

Licking a broad stripe up to your clit, Steven felt the control snap inside of his body. Your hand slapped against your mouth effectively muffling your cry as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Two fingers dipping into you and curling as if on instinct. For him this was exactly that. He knew where to touch, what to do to bring you right to the end and back again.

He wanted to drive you to the edge and watch you fly off. The sight had become an addiction to him ever since the first time he saw it; now adamant on witnessing such beauty over and over again.

You dug your fingers into his curls, your hips rolling over his mouth and his eyes fluttered shut. A soft moan reverberating against your cunt as he licked at you, fingers pumping in and out at a rapid pace. He was drunk, desperate to have you entirely spread on his tongue. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. Sucking your lips into his mouth, he let them go with a pop, a wide grin spreading across his lips when your whole body jerked—a cry echoing behind your hand.

“Taste so good,” he mumbled, curving his fingers even more—watching in awe as your thighs trembled.

Words evaded you at that point. Your mind, a mess of nothing but Steven and the building pressure in your torso. He dove back in, doubling down on his efforts to have you cum into his mouth—your taste, something he wanted permanently stuck on his taste buds.

It’s when you began to rock your hips along his tongue with reckless abandon, moving him how you wanted, is when he felt it. The painful throbbing in his pants. Unbuckling his belt with one hand he managed to wrap his hand around his cock—alleviating some of the pressure. It wasn’t enough, but Steven didn’t care. His sole focus wasn’t on getting himself off tonight. No, he wanted to watch you crumble.

To scream his name so the whole restaurant heard you.

“Steven—” you gasped sharply, head falling back. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

He dragged his teeth lightly along your clit, pressing down on your g-spot and you shattered. Sobbing his name as your fingers tightened on his curls—pain blooming in his scalp and shoving him right over the edge with you. He grunted, hips thrusting into his hand as he spilled over his palm. A bright heat flooded his body, your slick now gushing into his awaiting mouth, and Steven felt like he’d ascended into pure bliss.

There was no bringing him down from this cloud, no saving him from you consuming him whole.

“Ah fuck love,” he grunted, biting into your thigh as he pumped his hand to reach that delicious point of overstimulation you usually brought him to.

“Did you…” Your face was fucked out, eyes hazy and blissed out, but still you watched as he continued to touch himself in front of you.

Something about the sight of Steven on his knees, so desperate to have you he couldn’t wait, shifting your entire mind. You bit your lip, tilting his head back as he gasped in pleasure—his cheeks red and flushed. It happened before you understood entirely what you were doing.

“Look at you baby,” you cooed, spreading your legs a bit more to show him the mess he made of you. “Open wide,” you breathed.

He followed your words without hesitation, his mouth parting. Sliding your fingers through your cum, you pressed your now shiny digits into his mouth, moaning when he sucked them clean. His whole body responded to you as it always did.

“Take me home Steven.” You wanted him inside you—aching to have him fill your now dripping cunt.

Getting to his feet, he tucked himself back into his pants and gathered you close. Pressing a deep kiss to your lips, licking into your mouth and spreading your own taste along your tongue. That familiar heady feeling returned, flooding your entire body until you practically hummed. He wasn’t subtle in the way he touched you, how he made it clear how much he wanted you.

Yet that’s what made you love him even more.

#steven grant x f!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant smut #steven grant #steven grant fic #moon knight #my writing #sinful soiree🥀#not me fighting the urge to add spitplay to this #the temptation was there #but oof my brain said 'too filthy'

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celestialprincesse · 3 months

Text

𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧 𝐆𝐨 - 𝐓𝐰𝐨

Pt2 to this Nik x Hyperfem!reader because I couldn't leave it alone and it's been gnawing at the back of my brain all day

You don't hear the first knock at the door. It's no surprise with the way you're wrapped up in the blissful comfort of your own little world. Being able to tune out to the soft sound of your playlist, the feeling of gently applying your favourite lotions and creams, the moisturiser you'd spent far too much on that leaves you smelling like coconuts and caramel. The second knock snaps you from the pretty pink haze you've drifted into, sending you bounding down the stairs, not even bothering to check the peephole as you fling open the front door.

It's him. He has your plate in his hand, the sharlotka plate, and not only is it clean, but it bears a slightly odd, misshapen cake. You look up at him with hopeful confusion. "I brought you back the plate." He states, as though you're blind, or just stupid. "I can see that." Your attempt at a dismissive, uninterested tone, falls entirely flat when you look up at him like an eager puppy. "I also made cake." Said cake looks distinctly like an attempt at a Victoria Sponge, although you're not quite sure.

Under his scrutinising look, you can't help but rock on your feet in your impractical little shoes. He barely manages to refrain from scoffing at the sight of them. "Would you like to come in?" Nikto's eyes hone on the way you open the door just slightly wider in a tentative invitation.

Barbie would recoil at how girly your house is. It's pink and frilly, gauzy with satiny ribbons and bows on everything. He feels so incredibly wrong here, like he'll stain your fluffy white carpets with blood, darken the soft lamplight with the shadows that cling relentlessly to his back. "Would you like some tea?" You mumble, indicating a nervous hand to your pink smeg kettle as though to prove the authenticity of your offer. "Do you have Russian Earl Grey?" "Uh -" You mutter as you root through your cupboards, filled with all sorts of fruity infusions. "I only have regular."

The two of you sit quietly around your dining table and whilst you sit forking pieces of crumbly, somehow simultaneously soggy, Victoria sponge into your mouth, Nikto sits there trying to find a way to drink his tea without showing you his face. "I am sorry." He murmurs softly, having stewed for the last week about how foolish he'd been in treating you so dismissively. It hasn't helped that he's fucked his hand every night for the past seven days at the image of you and your silly little doll clothes in his head. "If you would still like to, I would like to take you for a meal."

Temporarily fixing their situation!! like using pink glitter glue on the cracked hull of a ship!! 💕

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #Nikto #cod nikto #Nikto x reader #nikto x y/n #nikto x f!reader #nikto x you #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #say goodnight n go

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pinkhoneydrop · 11 months

Text

The Pickle Theory

[ A/n ] - something quick i thought about after i saw a video of Harry saying he likes pickels lol

[ Pairing ] - Harry Styles x Reader!

[ Genre ] - fluff

[ Masterlist ]

One Saturday a month you and Harry spend the entire night on the couch in your apartment watching A random show. This month you decided on a romcom. You also switch off on who makes dinner. Tonight, Harry made his “famous” sandwiches. How are they “famous” you ask? He never tells you and you always laugh because they just taste like regular sandwiches. But how could you say that to him? He’s so sweet when he announces it from your kitchen. The sound of the fridge opening and closing in the background as you flip through Netflix.

“You’re so cute when you do that.” Harry’s laugh filled the air as you looked down at your sandwich. Two slices of bread, two slices of chicken, some lettuce, a slice of tomato and pickles. You made a face as you adjusted the plate in your lap and set the food down.

“Do what? What did I do?” Your expression morphed quickly at his statement. Harry just continued to laugh as you looked to him to continue. Nothing more was said and after a few more attempts you gave up going back to your sandwich. Harry watched with a cheeky smile ignoring the movie playing in the background.

First you open it, inspecting the contents and then moving about the insides. Methodically lifting lettuce and moving the meat slices to get to the culprit of your dissection. Your nose scrunched up and you took the green bits between your fingers and set them aside.

“That, you made that face when you tasted the pickle. Little nose goes all scrunched and you frown, s’cute.” Harry spoke between bites as you removed the pickles from the other side as well. Peering at him through your peripheral vision you uncrunched your nose and sighed.

“What’s so cute about how I feel about sour bits in my sandwich?” You were dead serious. You’ve had an aversion to them since you were small and never grew out of it. To you there was nothing worse than a giant pile of pickles on a sandwich. Or even when they get wedged beside a burger. The odd part is that Harry knows this about you. So why would he put a pickle on your sandwich anyway?

“Nasty little things.” You shut the sandwich and took a big bite to punctuate the thought. Harry smiled and reached over. His fingers pulled them from your plate and put them onto his own. He basked in your distaste and reveled in your discovery.

“Well, I like the nasty little things just fine.” A flat smile lined his lips as you stared at him. Your eyes followed as he copied you in reverse and added the sour slices to his sandwich. Shaking your head, you took a sip of your shared drink. Another couple tradition the two of you started.

“We know you like them. But why are they on my sandwich?” You grumbled playfully as you looked up at him with your sandwich gripped in one hand.

Harry chuckled to himself again.

“Know you did it on purpose.” You mumbled into a straw you placed at your lips before taking another sip of the drink. With a soft roll of his eyes Harry watched you drink more.

“Stop hogging the lemonade.” Harry made a playful frown and reached for the cup before you finished causing dribbles of juice to land on your chin.

“Y’know you do that a lot.” He started as he set the cup down.

“What? Hog the drinks we’re supposed share.” You laugh while wiping the droplets off your face. Harry shook his head before he replied.

“Take the pickles off of everything. Why don’t you just tell people to leave them off.”

“We’ll, I don’t like them, but I know you do. that’s why I get them.” You looked at him and smiled. You wondered to yourself how many times he’s caught you making that face when you accidentally eat one. The thought makes heat rise to your cheeks. You weren’t kidding when you said you get them because he likes them. You’ve been doing that since your first date. Harry just looked at you as you smiled at him.

“That’s why I did it. Were like Marshall and Lily, it’s what makes us a good match.” He spoke smoothly and sat back further into the couch. You nodded doing the same with a smirk on your lips. So that’s where he got this idea from. The fucking olives from How I Met Your Mother. The two of you binged a few episodes that month.

“Never letting you watch How I Met Your Mother, ever again.” You joked and took the cup of lemonade for yourself. While his idea was a little far-fetched being that it’s supposed to be about olives not pickles, some part of it felt like it could be true. Something so insignificant as sharing a pickle on a sandwich bringing people together.

“Yeah, yeah just finish your sandwich. Slaved in the kitchen to bring you high quality meals.” Harry raised his brow dramatically and his dramatics almost rivaled that of the actors on the screen.

“Oh hush, you’re lucky I like you.”

“And you’re lucky I like pickles.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles x black!reader #hslot 2023 #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x reader smut #harry styles x y/n #harrys house #one shot #fanfic

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retroellie · 1 year

Text

The Weight of the World

Summary: the horrors of the world are once again nipping at you, decisions that could lead to deaths lay upon your shoulders. Daryl wants to cheer you up in the way he knows you love.

A/N: I know it’s late but I wanted to post another Daryl fic because I’m a whore for him :) This is kinda sloppy and I made in like 2 hours on very little sleep so hey :) enjoy <3

Warnings: NSFW, mentions of torture (regular twd things) , dirty talk, unprotected sex

Word count: 3.7K

This week has been exhausting, mentally and physically. Your body felt as though someone had piled pounds of bricks on top of you, all the while scratching at your bruised skin. It was draining you of your emotions and ability to function. The whisperers were gaining on Alexandria, the threat of the hoard being released floating over everyone’s heads. This caused panic and worry, the walls wouldn’t be able to withhold them and the people inside couldn’t fight them off.

This led to everyone in the council, you and daryl included, to make some hard decisions. Everyone that ran the town was on their toes at all times, always looking for answers to every problem that threatened the town you called home. These problems led to you having to take care of alphas daughter, trying to hunt down Negan and now you even had a whisper tied up underneath your home. You were barely getting any sleep, barely eating and you had no time to spend with Daryl which meant your relationship wasn’t doing the best.

Obviously Daryl understood this, he was also dealing with shit and didn’t have time to do anything for himself. With trying to locate the hoard as well as trying to keep Carol from killing everyone, he had his hands full. The way this was affecting you hurt him though, seeing your exhausted eyes, all red and puffy all the while you were trying to come up with a plan to hunt down negan… it pained him. He was used to having so much on his plate that this didn’t affect him too harshly, he could go days without sleep and only live in crackers but you weren’t like him.

He tried to tell you to get some sleep and even tried to force some food down your throat but you didn’t have time. He just let you take your time because that’s all he could do, is wait for you to realize that none of this shit mattered. You would always find a way to get everything back to it, it always worked out for y’all so Daryl wasn’t too worried about you going sleepless and hungry for too long.

For now though you trudged up the stairs to your shared home with Daryl and Carol, or pretty much everyone who came and went a lot. You were exhausted and honestly disgusted at what you just did. Before this moment you had watched carol beat the ever living fuck out of a whisperer and you even got a few punches in there. This didn’t feel like you, you weren’t the type yo torture someone and you were even the one who was strongly against it. Well that’s until the man started talking, he gave strong details about what he’d do to you if he was a free man and found you in the woods.

You were mad, you couldn’t help but lay him flat on his ass and maybe you even took a few fingers with you. But right now though, you told Lydia to make herself at home. You made her comfortable in your guest bed room, giving her blankets and towels for if she wanted to wash up. After that though you walked downstairs to the basement to yours and Daryl’s shared room.

When you stepped foot into the room you saw Daryl, he was unpacking his backpack, setting his crossbow and bows down. You stared at him for a minute, wondering what he was thinking. He did just see you torture a man, well a man that was talking about sexually assaulting his girlfriend. Daryl has done things he’s not proud of, he has seen the dark underbelly of people but what was he thinking about his “innocent '' little girlfriend doing those same things.

You shook your head, walking towards the coach and plopping down. You laid your head back, trying to stretch out your stiff muscles and shake the exhaustion off tired bones. You sighed, putting your feet up on top of the coffee table as you shut your eyes for a split moment.

“You need sleep.” You heard Daryl say, not turning around to look at you.

You looked over at him, seeing him mess with his backpack. You rolled your eyes slightly, you hated when he said that. It was maybe the 30th time you had heard those words come out of his mouth and everytime it annoyed you. I mean how could you rest when everything, the fate of Alexandria, the protecting of your friends, the capturing of the man who killed your friends, was all on your shoulders.

“Yeah…” was all you said, you didn’t feel like protesting.

You sat up, starting to untie your shoes. They were muddy and covered in blood. Come to think of it, you were covered in blood. The whisperer's blood still streaked your clothes, still fresh but it was starting to dry on your skin. You quickly took off your boots, not wanting to think of the horrors you just did and just wanting to lie on this couch with no worries, if that was even possible. When you succeed with pulling your shoes off you stand up once more, pulling off your bloody sweater.

You lifted it up to see all the blood had stained it, still bright red and standing to attention. You rolled your eyes, throwing it over to the dirty clothes basket and then making your way to the dresser that sat right next to the table Daryl stood at. You dug through the drawers, trying to find another shirt you could wear.

Daryl couldn’t help but watch as you dug through the drawers, watching your bra covered breast heave up and down. He knew it was wrong of him, seeing you in such a distressed state and getting all hot but he couldn’t help it. While you both were neglecting your relationship, your sex life hadn't been much better. So the slight glimpse of your unclothed body would send Daryl in a mood of wanting your touch.

You found a shirt, a clean band tee that you’ve had forever now and you stood in the mirror that laid against the wall. You could see yourself in your entirety now. The blood had stained through your clothes and onto your stomach along with your chest but also you had new bruises forming which added onto the pain of your exhaustion. You didn’t even hear or see Daryl sneak up behind you, you were too focused on your blood soaked body right now.

He had crept his hands around your waist, being careful as to not press too hard onto your newly formed bruises. You jumped slightly before remembering he was in the room with you, then you melted back into him.

“Even all bloody and smelly, you’re still the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen..” he whispered, taking one hand and moving your hair from your neck.

You chuckled as his lips attached to your neck softly. He kissed the spots that made you nothing but putty in his hands, your eyes closed slowly as he did wonders with his lips. His hands gripped onto your hips softly, rubbing soft circles on your skin. He tried to be careful with your fragile body, knowing you could take anything that comes your way but wanting to be the one thing that made you feel like you didn’t have to try.

His lips attached to your neck, biting down lightly on the spot that made you gasp. You pressed yourself into him, your ass grazing his hardening cock. He let out a soft groan, biting down harder onto your soft skin. One of his hands made their way up to your breasts, needing one of them in his hands gently. This caused you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, moaning softly at the sudden touch.

He sucked harder on your skin, your reaction fueling his actions. You couldn’t deny how touch starved you were, how weak in the knees you had gotten when seeing Daryl in his button up shirts, all sweaty and dirt streaked his face. This was hell to you, not being able to be with him every day. It ate you up inside and Daryl knew it, there just wasn’t enough time. It was either you were gone or he was gone or Gabriel asked you to do this or Carol asked Daryl to do that… it was never ending. Moments like this you basked in them, you soaked them up and right now you were going to take it.

“What you did to that man…” he spoke in between his kisses.

The hand in your hip lowered down to the top of your jeans, unbuttoning them slowly. His actions were drawn out, going as slow as he could to take in the moment with you.

“Seein’ you like that… so angry and aggressive” he continued.

He unzipped your fly, giving you feather-like kisses on your skin now. His fingers danced above your panties, teasingly slow as you grabbed onto his hand that was continuing his movement on your boob. Your body had turned burning hot and he was the only one that could cool you down now.

“I think that might’ve been the hottest thing I had ever seen you do…” he admitted, slipping his fingers into your panties before teasing your slit.

Daryl watched you from a far as you beat the living hell out of the whisperer, watching him beg for you to stop as you put the blade against his throat. You were angry, you hadn’t been this angry in a long time and the anger just kept building up until you couldn’t handle it anymore. He watched as your arms flexed every time you threw a punch, making the blush on his face more noticeable. He was so in love with you, with everything you did even something so disgusting like what you were doing.

You’re finger dug into his hand, practically begging him to touch you without even saying anything. He chuckled lowly, giving you everything you wanted and more. He shoved two fingers in you without hesitation, making you gasp out into the air. The feeling of the delicious stretch blurred your senses, leaning more on Daryl than you already had been. It had been so long since you two have had such an intimate moment like this, weeks maybe a month at most. The stress of it all really affects your desire for intimacy but your love never dulled.

You bucked your hips against Daryl’s fingers, your wetness already making a mess out of them. It didn’t take you long to become a quivering mess, your moans trying to escape your mouth but being swallowed back down. You were embarrassed at your sensitivity, you were well respected around town for being so high headed but all it took was Daryl’s fingers to show what you really are… a needy little whore.

“Come on honey… don’t hold up on me now.” He whispered in your ear, biting your lobe lightly.

Daryl curled his fingers in a rough way, grazing your g-spot.You bit your lip harder, not wanting the two girls who were just above you to hear what was happening just below them. Daryl grinned at you, knowing exactly what he was doing. He sped up his movements, thrusting his fingers deep inside of you before curling them to graze your spot again before continuing to thrust deeper inside.

Your body felt like it was on fire, your blood streaked skin turning bright red and your face had a small sheet of sweat that coated it. You wanted more of Daryl … no not wanted, you needed it. You could cum with just his fingers now but you wanted all of him inside you, you wanted to feel him so deep inside you that all the horrible things that man said to you were far gone and all you could think about was how good Daryl’s cock felt inside you. You were nobody’s bitch but Daryl’s, no matter if you admired it or not.

“Daryl… please.. just fuck me… SHIT.” You yelled out at a particular delicious angle that Daryl hit.

Daryl didn’t hesitate to your surprise, with his fingers still deep inside you, he walked you over to the desk that he was once sitting on and slammed you on top of it. You felt your bruises as he did so but it felt so good, you didn’t mind it.

“Dirty slut… so needy for my cock” Daryl hissed, taking his fingers out of you and quickly shoving them in your mouth.

It took you a minute to register what was happening, your body still aching from injury but when his fingers hit your tongue and you could taste your own juices… you sucked them clean. Daryl’s free hand grabbed your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail so he could pull you up to watch as you sucked on his fingers.

“You like that hmmm..???” He teased, shoving his fingers deeper into your mouth until they reached the back of your throat. “You like when I treat you like the whore you are hmm… so cock starved for me?”

You licked every crevice of his fingers, loving the taste of yourself mixed with Daryl’s flesh and all Daryl could do was watch you. He subconsciously rubbed against your ass, getting insanely hard just watching you. You moved your head to the side, looking at him with puppy dog eyes. He took his now clean fingers out of your mouth, watching as a single piece of your saliva connected the two.

“I just want you inside me Daryl!!” You started bucking your hips back onto his hard cock. “Please, I’ll do anything!! Just please fuck me until I can’t stand, in anyway you want too just please!! I want you!!” You pleaded

You sounded pathetic you know but you were desperate for him. You have wanted him so badly for weeks now, the sexual frustration building up until just now when all you can think about is him rearranging your insides. Daryl grinned, pulling on your hair tighter. He thought about all the ways he was going to make you suffer tonight, thinking about how he’d fuck you silly until everyone in the whole town could hear and he couldn’t wait to make his thoughts a reality. Daryl moved his hand down to your pants, ripping them off your legs and then started to remove his own.

“You're gonna wish you never begged me hun…” he said, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. “Because I ain’t going to hold back…”

Daryl moved his hand from your hair to your neck, wrapping his hand around your neck before tightening his grip. He lined himself up to you, teasing your entrance slowly, getting his cock nice and wet so he could fuck you nice and smooth.

“Gonna fuck you until your just a cock dumb whore…” he whispered, putting small amounts of pressure on your neck.

You bucked your hips back at him, wanting him inside you already and he was going to give you what you wanted. He shoved himself in you quickly, feeling your velvety walls along the way could make him cum just then. He held himself back from going at an animalistic pace, trying to allow you to adjust to him since it had been a couple weeks. You swore you could feel your eyes go cross eyed, he was in you so deep right off the bat.

He stayed there for a moment until he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed to fill you up, he needed to fuck you until you couldn’t think straight. He pulled himself almost all the way out before ramming into you nice and deep once again. He kept his slow deep pace for only minutes until his hips began to have a mind of their own and started thrusting into you wildly.

His hand on your throat, the table digging into your hips, his cock filling you… it was enough to send you off of earth completely. You couldn’t stop the moans escaping your mouth this time, they fell out of your lips like honey and Daryl basked in them, they only encouraged his movements.

“God…you’re so fuckin’ tight…” he spit out, his free hand exploring your body, making their way to your bra that had somehow still been on.

He grabbed at one of your boobs, feeling the soft flesh beneath his fingers as he played with it. This sent you to overdrive, you were so close to an orgasm and Daryl knew too but he had no intentions of stopping. He only sped up his actions, fucking you at such a fast pace you were cumming in mere seconds after that.

The orgasm ran through your body, leaving you shaking and unable to stand properly. Daryl kept his pace, only slowly down when you clenched around him tightly, making sure you were okay but then keeping up with his same pace before. You didn’t want him to stop, even after orgasming once you still craved the feeling of him filling you to the brim.

His hand on your neck tightened more once again but this time he brought you up, pulling your flush against his front. Brought you into a kiss, a sloppy wet kiss that had no real rhythm to it. Teeth masked, tongues collided and lips were bitten. Daryl’s hand on your boob hooked around the cup of your bra, pulling them down along with the straps.

“Lemme see those tits hmm…” he hummed in between a kiss.

Your tits bounced free which caused Daryl’s attention to be turned to them. The way they bounced every thrust made Daryl feral, he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled out of your for only a split second, taking the time to flip you over onto your back and placing you on top of the table.

Your reaction was delayed due to your post orgasm brain fog but also you being on the verge of yet another orgasm. Daryl spread your legs as far as he could, spread you out so deliciously for him and than he went right back to fucking you. Your head cocked back, resting on the wall as your face was stuck in a look of pure pleasure.

“Daryl! Please.... FUCK... cum inside me....” you screamed out, wrapping your legs around his waist basically pinning him inside you.

Daryl thrusted harder and harder, his hips becoming more wild as he came closer to his orgasm. You pulled him closer to you, kiss him roughly as you pulled his dark locks. You were so close to your second orgasm when Daryl came deep inside of you, his cum filling you up so nicely. Daryl’s hips slowed but still continued to fuck himself through his own orgasm while also brining your closer to your own . You bucked your hips into his as your brain was once again taken by a earth shattering orgasm that almost knocked you clean out.

You felt Daryl twitch inside you as you came, his orgasm wiping him out as well. He stayed close to you as you saw stars, his hand rubbing your back softly and comfortably. You were shaking violently underneath him, his cum along with yours mixed onto the table and created a sticky mess. You two stayed silent for a minute or two, taking in the stillness of the room.

It was moments like this that you would choose over anything. Moments so intimate yet so filthy, it was pure heaven to you. Daryl felt the same, he would give anything just to be able to be in this moment forever. You comfortably stroked Daryl’s back with your fingernails, pulling him close to you.

“I missed you…” Daryl whispered

You had been here this whole time, you guys never left each other’s side… you had made an agreement not too a long time ago when you first met in Atlanta. Daryl couldn’t explain the way he missed you though, you were there but you weren’t THERE to him. Only a stressed out shell of what you used to be. He can’t blame you, you’ve been through a lot these last couple of months and he’s been with you through it all.

“I’ve been here the entire time dar…” you spoke, voice worn and almost gone.

“No I mean.. I missed YOU… I missed the Y/N I have always known.” He explained

He didn’t mean that in a mean way but he just knew that this world changed you into a person you weren’t and he could start to see it happen to you. The shy little book reading girl you once were was disappearing and being replaced by this emotionless woman. He loves you for every version you were but he wanted to see the real you and not the one the world has forced you to turn into.

“Well… you Daryl Dixon, are the only one who can ever bring me back to earth…” you stated. “And that’s why I’m so pathetically in love with you.”

Daryl smiled, pulling you into a long kiss that this time felt more romantic and less sloppy. You knew the decisions you still had yet to make were just right out your door but for now you would like to bask in this moment with your lover. You could worry about the horrors of the world later, it can wait and it can be put in pause so you can make this night yours.

#daryl dixion imagine #twd daryl #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #the walking dead fanfiction

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nolan-chance · 3 months

Text

(I apologize. This dumb snippet came to me while I should be doing something else. Anyway, it contains no sex no ugly things, just you two on a mission(?) I also apologize for the cheesy image but I had to(?))

♦ Montague x Reader (Gender-neutral)

♦ 1.1k words

♦ No warnings apply? Probably bad english

Those idiots from The Underground managed somehow to take over one of the forecast towers. Montague wasn't happy at all, mostly because they've taken the one closest to his hotel.

He decided to take matters in his own hands, and he decided to take you, (y/n), his loyal subordinate, to help him get back the control of the tower.

You two had been in that mission all day long, spying from the freezing woods, checking every movement they made, until, at certain point, when the night arrived, they left the tower.

-Those bastards should've gotten what they were looking for, but I'm not going to let them get away with it

-Should we approach, boss? *you asked him, lowering your sniper rifle*

-Of course we're doing it, they seem to be pretty far away from now

He turned around to see you, you were trembling despite wearing a thick coat provided for that kind of missions. He frowned, staring at your sight with his beautiful mismatched eyes

-Are you cold?

-We've been out all day boss. It's freezing, I wasn't ready for such long mission

-Hold up a moment, I think we're almost done with this... Can you keep up with me?

-... Yes sir, I can *You said with trembling voice*

Despite the thick snow covering everything in sight he seemed to stay calm, like if he were indoors, and he was just wearing his regular fancy clothes. He rolled his eyes.

-Get in the car (y/n) we have to get this done as soon as posible

You were his getaway driver, but he seemed to be frustrated enough to decide to drive by himself. Right now you were only his companion, and you two were alone, thing that didn't happened very often. The man smelled so nicely, fresh, clean, manly, like a dream come true, but as cold as the glaciar his hotel was located in.

Once you got there, Montague left the car down the hill the tower was located on, he wanted to draw as little attention as possible.

-Hurry up (y/n), we need to get there. Bring everything

-Yes sir, I'm behind you

He said, standing up straight and taking his coat off, after that, he surrounded you with his arms, covering you with his warm coat. The cold caused him no trouble, but he also had a soft blush in his cheeks that made him look adorable, and he was so close to you once again...

He approached, crouching quickly showing you the way through the dark. He was so agile despite the situation

-Lamp, I need light

-I'm on it

-*He took out a flat screwdriver from his coat and managed somehow to remove the plate of the fuse box* Tweezers

-Here

-Come on, get closer, I can't see a thing

You did, but he pulled you even closer, you were almost over his big back, pointing the lamp at him. You could feel a bit of the warm his body emanated, and could also feel you.

-Can't believe you're shivering

-I'm.... I apologize boss, it's really cold out here

He managed to cut the power of the tower, that way you wouldn't get caught while recovering the access card, but it would also alert The Underground, who might be closer to the tower than expected.

-You can't even hold the lamp shivering like that

-Alright, back to it...

-We have to go now, sir!

You two jumped through the window space, you held the lamp while he took out the access card. He made that work like it had been an easy task, of course, despite his good looks he was also a prolificent criminal. He was absolutely focused, way too much to notice the surroundings, but that was part of your job, taking care of him.

-Sir, a car is approaching

-Stop joking (y/n), we have not that kind of time right now

-I'm not joking, they're coming!

He turned to check and he was blinded by the headlights of a vehicle, seemingly confused, he stepped back a bit.

You took all the tools with you and pulled him by the neck of his shirt, making him fall back but also helping him to pay attention to what was going on. They were going to catch you both, your guns were at your car and whoever was in that other vehicle could have guns, and they wouldn't be gentle with you.

Montague took you in his arms, hugged you tightly and jumped, just to roll down that little hill. It was painful, you could feel sticks and stones hitting you while rolling in the uneven surface, but his enormous body holding you secure made it a little less painful. You both hit om flat land but he stayed on top of you, so close, very close, feeling his heavy breathing against yours.

-Shhh... They'll find us... Don't move...

Hope yelled, filled with frustration when she found out the card was missing, by the soft laugh of Montague it was pretty clear he would love to see her face in that exact moment.

-Someone must've ratted on us! There's no way! We just put the card here and now is not here!

-Calm down Hope, it will take us a bit more time, but they'll send someone to guard the tower soon. We can do this once again in no time, you'll see

-But what about all the effort we put in this?!

-I know... I'm also feeling kind of frustrated... But there's nothing we can do... C'mon, I'm sure they'll be sending someone to check on the power of the tower. We must leave right now

The sound of the vehicles quickly leaving the scene made Montague laugh, and his laugh was beautiful, even more because he was the kind of guy who never shared even the simplest smile. Soft but manly, sofisticsted and charming, it was the most beautiful melody you've ever Heard.

-Did it... Did it work? *you muttered*

-Oh, It did work!! Those idiots! You better not mess with me ever again! Oh God! I'm so happy I could kiss you—

And he did. The moon was the only witness of how he joined his lips to yours, softly, he was still giggling for having ruined The Underground's plans. You didn't knew how much you needed a kiss from your boss untill that very moment in which he was on top of you, pressing your body against the cold grass underneath you.

You didn't realized when did you cupped his face between your hands, but he smiled softly once he stopped the kiss, you were barely able to make out his facial features, but the image the moonlight created with it soft glow would stick in your memories for a long time.

But you didn't cared about her happiness, all you cared for was in front of you, holding your hand to help you get up after a well made job.

-Let's go (y/n), we have to let Valeria know how frustrated Hope was. She'll be so happy to hear it!

-Y-yes sir! I'll take the wheel!

#Montague #fortnite #fortnite fanfiction #montague x reader #nolan posting #forecast tower

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dragoncarrion · 5 months

Text

oh my god i'm finally done. Say hi to Gravitron, my giant centrifuge lady from some tf oc story i've been cooking up... Design notes and extras under the cut

YES I KNOW SHE LOOKS LIKE CYC. IDGAF!

VERY tall and strong, more than your average cybertronian. smiles.

currently works as a mechanic for her crew in the Concorde (huge spaceship/station)

doesn't have blasters, but does have a blade in each arm

the plating at her back is like extra kibble, can move or lie flat

the orange lines on her plating are her lights, meaning they can be turned of and just be like. non visible lol

was a while on earth for reasons she can't quite remember, thats where she got her idea for an alt mode

a bit mean spirited sometimes. think a meathead highschool jock in an american movie. that but a girl. despite this, she still cares deeply for the people around her and is usually quite friendly. kinda

speaking of which, while not a triple changer, she can modify her alt slightly: one is the regular closed centrifuge (more compact + smaller) and the other is a bigger open ride (she would be stretched out thin here, but could fit smaller bots). The first one can also work as a moving saw blade –see the chainsaw on her calfs and back) just crazy style thang

The reason for her alt mode is she simply enjoys torturing people like that she just finds it funny to spin them fast as fuck for hours 👇some sicko shit

#transformers #maccadam #transformers oc #tf oc #my ocs #tf #oc: gravitron #my art #GRAHAHHHHH IM DONE. IM DONE IM DONE AAARGH #that single image legit inspired her creation LOL #anyways i like herrrrr #if you think this design is complicated oyu hsould've seen the first ref. good lird im so glad i redid it completely #now i gotta draw the other characters. sigh #DONT ask about the story i BARELY have anything 😭

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kittenshift-17 · 6 months

Note

dramione hangover breakfast

Hermione grizzled into the arm she'd been using for a pillow, her head splitting and her mouth dry as the desert.

"Noooo," a gruff male voice complained when she stirred, beginning to wriggle out of the arms she'd laid spooned in all night.

"Shhhh," she sighed. "Oh, my head."

"Granger?"

Hermione sat up slowly, rubbing her hands over her face and trying to remember why she'd drowned herself in whiskey and wine to wake up dead like this.

"Just.... quiet, Malfoy," she muttered without looking at the surprised blond on the bed beside her.

"We went home together?" He rasped. "Again?"

"Seems so," she mumbled. "Urgh, I need a shower."

Shuffling across the bed, she rose from it naked and stumbled to the bathroom of his flat, knowing the way well. After all, this wasn't the first time she'd made this particular mistake.

When she felt vaguely more human, Hermione got out and dried off, pausing to brush her teeth before wrapping her hair in a towel and returning to the bedroom still naked. Malfoy was sprawled on the mattress, looking worse for wear, a few love bites littering his neck and chest that she knew she was responsible for.

"Are you staying for breakfast?" He checked while Hermione helped herself to his wardrobe, not about to put last night's ballgown back on in the harsh light of day.

"Yes, please," Hermione murmured.

Draco nodded, rising from the bed too, also naked, she noted with appreciation even if her head was splitting. He dressed quickly before leading her out through his impressive flat and into the kitchen where an elf was already taking care of feeding them.

The first time she'd slept over, she'd taken umbrage with an elf feeding her, but on this, the eleventh time, she hadn't the energy to make a fuss.

"So," he said quietly when they both had cups of tea in hand and a plate of greasy breakfast food before them.

"Must we discuss it every time, Malfoy?" Hermione sighed. "We drink too much and we fuck. And in the morning after it happens, we swear it can never happen again, but it always does. Just accept it."

He eyeballed her in silence after that as they slowly polished off their breakfast.

"Do you have my cream knitted jumper? He asked when the food was almost all gone.

"Possibly."

She did. She wore it around the house whenever she had a bad day and wanted to be cosy because it was the softest thing she owned.

"Can I have it back?" He smirked, quirking an eyebrow.

"No."

He blinked before a soft snort of laughter escaped him.

"Next time we do this, maybe we'll go to your place, and I'll steal back all the clothing you pinch, then," he teased.

"Next time?" She frowned.

"You've just said to accept it keeps happening even when we swear it won't," Malfoy shrugged. "Perhaps we ought to consider letting it happen without needing to get uproariously drunk at work functions before it does?"

Hermione's brow furrowed.

"You're suggesting we... make this a regular thing?"

"I think it's already a regular thing, Granger. What's this, the tenth time we've done this?"

"Eleventh," she corrected.

"Mmm."

They eyed each other speculatively in silence for a long time after that before Hermione sighed and got to her feet. Rounding the table, she thanked the elves for breakfast and wandered to the living room, collecting her shoes and dress on the way.

"Until next time, then?" Malfoy met her by the fireplace, holding a small pot of Floo powder.

"I'll see you at work tomorrow," Hermione nodded.

She huffed in surprise when, before he let her step into the fireplace, he cupped her cheek and guided her mouth to his, kissing her softly.

"Think about my offer," he murmured against her lips when they broke apart.

Hermione nodded, climbing into the fireplace and dropping her powder, whizzing away, knowing she'd do more than think about it and knowing she was probably going to end up marrying the ridiculous man.

#kittenshift17 #hermione granger #fanfiction #dramione #draco malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #anon request #anon ask #anonymous #story prompt

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oddballwriter · 14 days

Text

Househusband Kink Moon Boys

Warnings: +18 content, if I see or hear of anyone underage interacting you WILL be blocked, no hesitation. Househusband kink. Mentions of praise and degradation.

Author’s Snip: It's househusband moon boys time <3

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Tag List: @xenobyte @sleepyamaya @sarahghetti @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Steven Grant

Listen, I know that I call Steven a bottom and a sub a lot... but fucking look at him. He's so nervous all the time that he's practically going to blow up, so maybe he would like it if someone took some stress off of him and he could just do what's instructed of him

Outside of the whole kink thing, I really think he would like being a homebody because he's in his space and can go about it regularly, there is no change, just maintenance like cleaning and cooking, and then doing one of his hobbies in the free time

Anyways, the actual kink part. I think the appeal to him with it is the praise

Come on, Steven is probably a huge sucker for praise and being told that he's doing good

So just imagine it. Steven works on cleaning around the house, dusting, and cooking dinner. You come home and you're so happy to see him and be able to relax. You come up behind him and hug him from behind while he's plating dinner, giving him some nice physical touch and then you remark that he's done such a good job at cleaning up the flat, and maybe give him a nice kiss on the cheek and an additional one on the neck

He will melt. He can't handle it

Although dinner he's just thinking about it and while he's washing the dishes

If you call him your "good little househusband" he's gone, he's out for the count, he will get on his knees and do a whole lot more for you to call him that again

The name also gets him going in bed

Just rail the daylights out of him while you praise him for being so good and keeping the house so nice just for you and also taking you so well

Sub/bottom Steven rights

For real though, Steven is just so ready to be the male version of a 50's housewife it's not even funny

Marc Spector

Marc's thing with the househusband kink is also praise but it also has to do with the fact that the role is so peaceful, both non-kink and kink-wise

Like yeah sure, he has to clean and do a handful of tasks to really be doing the whole househusband part of the househusband kink but compared to having to run around the world, beat people up, and get bossed around by a giant bird, doing housework is actually very peaceful.

Especially, when he makes a schedule on what chores he does at which time and day because let's face it, Marc's made a schedule

Anyways, the peacefulness is sort of what helps him get submissive and into it along with the praise

Marc doesn't need to worry or think about a mission, he can just do the laundry and cook dinner, and you'll come home and take care of the rest

It's like a de-stressing thing, he doesn't need to think, he can just do what you tell him and praise him for it

Give him the pillow prince treatment as a reward for doing such a good job at keeping the house tidy

He deserves it, he deserves the luxury of just getting to chill out

Marc deserves everything tbh

Jake Lockley

I think Jake would just like the whole submission of it, sexually. I think he'd be fine with being a househusband normally but would like it if he got something as a reward

And by getting something I mean getting treated like a rag doll

The submission that is implied and coincided with being the homebody is already something that turns him on because in his regular life, Jake has to be the dominant one in a situation and that can be tiring but he also likes it a little

But he also likes it when that is taken away from him in the bedroom, he likes being made to submit. Gets him going, you know?

So the whole "A good homebody listens to their breadwinner and does as they say" rubric is something that goes right in Jake's alley when he wants you to get up in his alley if you know what I mean

With the other two it's "You're such a good househusband" meanwhile with Jake it's "Be a good househusband and-"

It's more of a degradation thing, he's nothing more than a househusband and he has to do what you tell him type thing

But in my own hc that's Jake's bread and butter

Though he does like it when you do praise him for doing things, that arguably gets him off so much more but he mostly like it in the degrading way

#moon knight #moonknight #moon knight x reader #moonknight x reader #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight smut #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley smut #steven grant smut #marc spector smut

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betterbooktitles · 10 days

Text

Because I was taller than everyone else on my fifth-grade baseball team, my strike zone was slightly larger than most. That fact alone must have led to a few more pitches going unanswered when I was at bat. It also didn’t help that I was deathly afraid of the ball.

My dad, not the biggest sports enthusiast, took the time in the evenings after work both during and after baseball season to toss small plastic whiffle balls (about a 6th of the size of a regular baseball) at me that I would then swat a sad few feet from where we stood in the front yard. He was always in his dress clothes, and as the sun set behind him, it felt like everyone in our neighborhood was hiding inside during our 10-minute drill.

“Keep your eye on the ball.” he’d say before underhand tossing the practice pitch, having no idea the reason I had watched the last 9 strikes in one game pass the plate in front of me wasn’t an inability to see the ball coming, but the exact opposite: I saw it flying right at me and was frozen by fear.

Recently, I found the baseball cards they’d made for our rec teams. There I am smiling, bat in hand, not an inkling of fear on my face since I was staring down a camera and not a pitcher. The back of the cards featured my weight, height, and various stats, including 0 RBIs. The more impressive numbers reported: I had jumped from 5’1” to 5’11” over three summers.

Being tall at 12, and remaining relatively tall until most kids caught up with me in high school, had its advantages. I played center in basketball and rarely had to jump for a rebound, I was a decent first baseman because I wasn’t afraid of a ball when I had a mitt to catch it in, and adults, simply by virtue of my being the same size as them, mistakenly talked to me as if I were a peer.

“The problem with this fucking place…” the new head of my community theater confided in me as I sat in the box office and handed a parent her change, “is there are too many chefs!” My new boss kept her flat black hair short and wore fat earrings. She was in her mid-50s and had been given the job after the board fired her friend and colleague of 15 years from the same position. Our new leader had spent much of her career teaching children how to sing in harmony, not fundraising and attending advertising meetings, and she was adjusting. I was 11 or 12, hearing an adult woman vent for the first time about what I had assumed was a nice promotion.

“It’s like that pasta fundraiser we did,” she continued, “Everyone brought in a sauce from home, but imagine if we had mixed them all together? You bring your grandma’s famous recipe in and dump it in with a bunch of Ragu, what does it taste like? It all tastes like Ragu, you know?”

I nodded as if I knew. “I get you.” I said, speaking slowly so my voice didn’t crack. I had recently visited New Orleans and had tried to yell something funny at my family while crossing the street, and out came a high-pitched whistle instead. A man in a suit walking past us mirthfully smiled to himself, knowing exactly what had happened. Since then, I remained cognizant of how deep I needed to keep my voice to not slip. Plus I wanted this woman to keep speaking to me like a coworker. “You don’t want to be watered down.”

“Yes. It’s like that. Imagine that for every person who brought in Ragu, someone else brought in a bottle of piss to mix in. That’s what the board meetings are like. Their ideas are like piss mixed into a pasta sauce.”

I giggled and quickly cleared my throat before saying in a deep voice: “Tell me about it.”

The disadvantage of tallness was that from 3rd to 6th grade, it was assumed that I could do everything myself. They started asking for tall guy favors. Tiny teachers asked me to retrieve supplies from high shelves and old ladies I didn’t know stopped me on the street and asked me to help carry their groceries from their cars. No one was worried about a boy who looked 18 at age 11, but that also meant I had to desperately seek out the right friends if I wanted to talk about Pokémon and anime instead of someone asking if I could buy them porn or cigarettes or firecrackers. Still, like many kids, I wanted to be older than I was and I relished my tall kid privilege. I walked to the mall alone, I walked into R-rated movies without anyone on staff stopping me, and I stood outside the back entrance of my community theater where the director and crew members smoked cigarettes and talked to them about their love lives. Never in my life did older people cover their mouths after they swore or steer conversations away from sex at the sight of me.

This early independence may have been what my parents wanted.

“We treated you like little adults even though we knew we weren’t supposed to.” My mom revealed to me on a recent trip to see my family in North Carolina. In the open-concept house down the street from where my brother settled after college, we reminisced about Cleveland from afar, my brother chiming in periodically to say how our old neighborhood had changed for the better, what buildings had been demolished and rebuilt because they were a lost cause. Schools had been turned into suburban developments, dilapidated gyms became giant complexes for rec soccer leagues, and a bunch of fuck-up alcoholics we’d known in school had become successful lawyers (who still drank too much).

“We let you decide where we ate and what sports you played,” my Mom continued, “you weren’t supposed to let kids decide all that, even in the 90s.”

My dad, half-awake in a recliner, said that when he told a friend how he used to leave his 11-year-old alone to make sure his 8-year-old son got the school bus on time every morning, and the friend said that practice was tantamount to child abuse. Whatever trauma I experienced from having time alone with my brother (?) fails to compare to how I feel about adults who spoke to me from age 10-15.

By the time I was a teenager, I’d fully accepted my early adulthood. When I wasn’t playing a sport or acting in a play, my number one hobby was taking a John Updike book (sorry) to a coffee shop. I frequented a place within walking distance of my house in Cleveland called Talkies. I sat at the front bar with my book and ate a second lunch at 3 PM. I talked to random people sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes inside. One was a researcher at Case Western who studied molecular biology. He seemed to know no one in Cleveland except me and the baristas. Another guy was a white dude with dreadlocks, a gifted actor who bussed tables at the fancy restaurant next door. Every barista was a 20-something woman who told me about their various trysts in graphic detail. Multiple times the men offered me cigarettes or to split a joint outside. No wonder it took me years to finish one of the Rabbit novels. I was soaking up more than enough adult content in my real life than any book could offer.

The oddest encounter occurred at a hotel in Annapolis, Maryland when I was 15...

Read the rest here.

#funny #better book titles #lit #lol #reading #dan wilbur #writing #essay #essays #long reads #childhood #adulthood

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paisholotus · 7 months

Text

Ch. 5

Narrative

Sonya, their mother, set the table with the food, plates, and sliverware. Nalae got home from her date—her very first date, by the way. She told her mama and pops that she invited him and his uncle over to dinner. Sonya and her husband, Malik, were disappointed because they were unable to see her leave on her date.

Sonya & Malik

Tisha and Anthony are in charge when they can't be here, and they were told that she laid down the law before she left. Tisha can be very violent and threatening, especially when it comes to Nae and Mar, but she is mainly protective of Nae, who has never been on a date or had a boyfriend.

Sonya and Malik became aware of Mar hanging around the boy Nae went on a date with. Mar told them about Marcus, or Lucious, if you will, and that they were friends. And about him missing school and his grades dropping, he promised them he wouldn't miss any more school and would get his grades back up.

He told them that Marcus was a good person; he simply did bad things to survive. His mother knew all too well about doing bad things in order for her family to survive.

His parents recognized that Marcus hustled to make ends meet, but that didn't mean he wanted the boy around their daughter. When Malik and Sonya moved into this house and into this neighborhood, they stopped hustling, killing, robbing, and so on.

Are they proud of it? Of course not, but a parent will go to any length to make sure their kids are straight. But their pops promised to be on his best behavior tonight and not get disrespectful in any way.

Sonya was the type of person who had the biggest heart. She was caring and understanding. She would invite you to dinner, bring you fresh baked goods, etc.

You'd think she's just a nice, friendly mother, and you'd be right. But she does those things all the time just to read people. Outsiders, to be exact. That was her job; it was how they got money and safety connections. It's how Malik got to be a doctor; it's how Sonya got to be a lawyer. Did they cheat their way up there? Possibly. But don't get it twisted; they worked their ass off to be where they are now. Sonya is an amazing lawyer and has legal connections. Malik is an extraordinary doctor; whenever things get bad, he has to do things you pray about later.

Sonya got to know the people around her. By reading you and knowing every detail about you, even the secrets your own mama doesn't know about, But, once again, that was her job. She was the brains, and her husband was the one who had to go 'handle' things because her husband wouldn't allow her to. Not that her husband wasn't intelligent; in fact, he was extremely perceptive. He was never the yelling or getting in your face type of mad. He was calm and collected; he was very much a watch-and-listen type of person.

Their mother chopped up mint leaves and mixed them into the lemonades. She made a peach raspberry lemonade and a regular lemonade. She put them in the fridge to chill. She walked out of the kitchen to the bottom of the stairs and yelled to see if the kids were ready.

Tisha had also told her mom she had a boy coming over to dinner too. She said the boy she invited was also friends with the boy Nae went on a date with.

Nae sat on the high stool in her bathroom while Tisha was flat-ironing her hair. She cut her ends, which were shorter than usual. She had her hair straight with a swoop and whispy curls on the ends. She got up, thanked her sister, and even asked if she wanted her to do hers.

Nae's and Tisha's hair

Tisha had long, curly hair like Nae's when they were little kids. When Tisha first got into high school, she cut it into a pixie cut. She sometimes let it get longer into a bob but would cut it again.

Nae finished Tisha's hair, and she thanked Nae, leaving the bathroom and going out of her room to finish getting dressed. Nae walked to her full-length mirror and checked herself out. She added two gold necklaces, plus her name plate necklace. She doesn't know what to do with her shoes, so she puts on her white-forced ones.

Nae's and Tisha's outfit

In Tisha's room, she looked at herself and thought she looked good. Tisha wasn't a dressy type of person. She was more tomboy-like. Tisha was comfortable with her sexuality; she was confident with a touch of arrogance and cockiness. She was bold and blunt; she didn't care if what she said hurt your feelings. Because, probably nine times out of ten, you probably had to hear it: She could absolutely be an asshole when she wanted to be.

Tisha put on a gold necklace and rings on her fingers and put on her brown Air Force ones to match her outfit. Her mom and pops would tell her she was showing too much skin, but they would honestly be arguing with a brick wall. Because Tisha was going to do what she wanted. She had the records to prove it. The many times Tisha has been in and out of jail, she would have made any other mother give up. But it wasn't because Tisha liked fighting; she was the type of sister to fight Nalae's battles because she constantly stayed bullied. And Tisha wasn't going for that shit.

So her parents won't be mad at it. They were taught to look after each other, and their mom told them that violence wasn't always the answer. But that concept came in and out of the window when it came to disrespect.

She walked out of her room and went into her cousin's room, saw both of them in there, and told them to come downstairs. They figured Nae was already downstairs. They walked into the dining room and helped with whatever else their mama needed help with.

Their mom cooked smothered fried chicken, collard greens, mashed potatoes, and a peach cobbler. Oh, and honey-butter corn bread. We can't forget that.

There was no cooking better than their mom's. Their pops can throw down too, especially on the grill; ribs were his specialty.

Tisha and Nae told them to behave themselves. They rolled their eyes and nodded. A knock on the door stopped what they were doing, and Nae anxiously checked herself while their mom went to get the door.

She opened the door to see two of the boys holding flowers and the other holding wine. She introduced herself and welcomed them in. The light-skinned boy said his name was Marcus and gave her the flowers from his uncle, saying he couldn't make it. She took no offense to it and told Marcus to say thank you for the flowers. And the dark-skinned boy said his name was Caine and handed her the bottle of wine.

She gave them a big smile and told them to follow her into the dining room. When they walked into the room, the smell of the food hit their noses. Marcus and Caine shook their hands and were told to sit down at the table.

Marcus looked at Nalae and smiled at her. She looked so beautiful; he swears that every time he sees her, he notices something new about her. He thought she looked beautiful with her hair flat-ironed. And he couldn't help himself to stare at her figure in the dress; to him, she had the perfect amount of body. Slim waist, but she had a small amount of chub in the stomach, but he doesn't mind that. She had wide hips and thick thighs. But Marcus didn't just want to fuck her; he had actual feelings for her. And it seems they were getting stronger every day.

Marcus and Caine's outfit

Nalae looked at Marcus and thought he looked so fine and handsome. His smile gave her butterflies. Her feelings for this boy continued to grow day by day. He was smart, funny, and ambitious, and he made his own music. He told her that was something he was really passionate about. Just everything about him drew her in.

She wondered why his uncle didn't come with him; maybe he wasn't feeling well. But it was sweet of him to get her mom some flowers. That made her smile. She looked back at Marcus and smiled at me, causing him to smile softly back at her.

Caine looked at Tisha and thought she looked sexy as hell. Tisha was tall, slim-waisted, and had a big ass. Caine was 6'9, so he could still look down on her. Tisha was all dat; they've been talking for a couple of weeks, and they have almost everything in common.

He noticed Tisha that day when she and Anthony dragged Lamar away, mad that he was hanging around them. So the next time he saw Mar, he asked him to let him holla at his big sister, and Marc gave him her number. She didn't want to give him the time of day at first, but he kept bugging her, and she caved in. She told him if he wasted her time, she was going to cut him.

But since that day, they have been talking every day. Hanging out every other day, he just hasn't met a girl like her before, and to say she was already his and didn't know it was an understatement.

Tisha smirked at Caine and saw how fine he looked. They had been talking for some time, and if she was being honest, she genuinely liked him. And that's saying sum, because no nigga or bitch could give her feelings.

Tisha wasn't the relationship type. But to her, Caine was different. He was smart, funny, and nonchalant; he was overall cool and collected. And her favorite thing about him was that he matched her sex appeal; that man was freaky. They matched each other's personalities well. But what she enjoyed was that they had real ass conversations about their future, and she liked that.

-Time Skip-

They were an hour into dinner when Marcus and Caine introduced themselves to the family. Marcus told their mom that both of his parents were dead and that he now lives with his uncle. He told them he was the only child and that he hustles.

Caine told them that his father was killed by police brutality. He has two younger sisters and one older brother. He also said that he hustles on the side with Marcus to help support his mother. He graduated high school early, and he and Marcus grew up together.

Sonya tells them both that she does not judge or think lowly of them for what they do, but that she understands they do it to survive.

But she also told them that when people hustle, it's to better themselves, so once you've made enough money for yourself and your family, you and your family should leave your environment so you can live a better life.

Because, even if there are people who enjoy street life, the majority of them do it to better themselves for their future. So don't waste your time trying to be someone you're not.

Through the meal, Marcus and Nae exchanged glances and flirted with each other a little. But it was harmless; they were in front of her parents. Sonya asked Marcus about his date with Nalae, and he said he took her to have dinner with him and his uncle.

Sonya teased him, saying, "Oh, you were making sure your uncle approved of her, huh? Had to make sure she was up to par." She said, playfully crossing her arms. with the rest of the table agreeing. Marcus chuckled and shook his head, saying, "Something like that." Eating some peach cobbler and complimenting Sonya on how good it tastes

"So did he approve of her?" She asks him. Marcus looked up from his plate and looked around the table as they stared at him, waiting for an answer. Marcus looked at Nae, gave a sincere smile, and said, "Yeah, he did. He said he liked her. And to bring her over again." Nalae gave a shy smile and told Marcus to tell his uncle, Thank you for having her over.

Marcus picked up his glass, staring at Nae, and said, "You look so beautiful; thank you for inviting me." Nae's face got hot, and she told him he was welcome to come over any time. Sonya looked at the two and smiled, thinking they were cute. She looked at her husband, who stared at Marcus and Caine with a stotic expression; he ain't said but a few words the entire dinner.

But that was his way of figuring them out.

Caine had also said that Tisha looked beautiful and that he liked her outfit. Tisha wasn't too fond of the word beautiful; she didn't mind it, but she knew that wasn't the word Caine wanted to use. So she said, "I know that ain't what you wanted to say. You can say it. I look fine, don't I?" She questioned him, and the table busted into laughter. Except for her daddy, who glared at the girl.

When dinner was over, Marcus and Caine volunteered to help with the dishes, but Sonya said it was ok that Ant and Mar were going to do them. Sonya gave Marcus and Caine leftovers to take home to their families and extra cobbler. Marcus got a call saying that he had to leave, but he enjoyed his time. He walked over to Nae, who looked at him shyly and gave him a hug.

He smelled so damn good, he lifted her lightly off the ground, causing her to giggle. He placed her down and kissed her cheek, telling her he'd call her later. Caine went to hug Tisha and tried to kiss her cheek, but she smushed his face away, scrunching up her face, calling him ugly.

"Yeah, ok, I'll call you later." He said, smiling, walking to the door. Sonya walked behind them and thanked them for coming. She held out her arms, giving them a small smile. Marcus gave her a small hug, taking in her warmth. It's been a long time since he's felt motherly love, and if he was being honest, he liked the feeling. She let go of him, cupped his cheeks, and told him to be safe. She hugged Caine and did the same action, also telling him to be safe.

She opened the door, and Caine was the first one to walk out. Marcus felt a tug on his jacket and looked to see that it was Nalae. She went to hug him again and kiss him on the cheek. They stared into each other's eyes and slowly leaned in and kissed. It only lasted a minute before he mumbled that he had to go and that he'd call her later. He gave her mom another smile and walked down the steps to his car, where Caine was waiting.

Nae stood at the door, waved bye to them one last time, and watched them pull off.

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