also very specific idea : you have been tasked to make the cocktails for your friends party so your evening is trying to make cocktails in your kitchen, slowly getting drunk over time when trying them, trying to convince bakugou you’re not as he works on his computer on your kitchen island and then sweetly asking him to try every drink you make even though he doesn’t drink.
he’s calling you a drunkard and you’re poking his neck telling him to shut up. he takes one sip of one drink and WINCES, nearly spits it out about to gag and when he asks what the hell is in there you list four alcohols and he’s like “yeah that one’s got to go, tryna fuckin kill me.”
him eating the fruit you’ve chopped up and asking him what syrups he thinks goes with what and since he does end up trying every drink you make, from the tasty ones where you can barely taste the alcohol to the medicinal ones, he’s pretty drunk at the end. catching him blinking multiple times while he’s trying to write an email and you have to laugh at him as he keeps denying that he is.
the drunker he becomes, the more likely he is to try one of your drinks to the point he’s just got multiple half full glasses around his spot on the island.
also includes multiple drunken make out when he plops you on the counter, reaching under your clothes to pinch your nipples and pinch your ass. ends up sucking your breasts at one point. also means you both get horny quicker and intensely. at the beginning before he’s drunk but you are, you’re already looking at him with this love bitten arousal, feeling your heartbeat between your legs. about to start dribbling when he grabs a glass and drinks, some of it missing his lips and running down his chin. he’s quick to wipe it though and gag right after because it’s disgusting.
“that’s what people force you to drink when they want you dead.”
you pout, “i didn’t think that one was that bad.”
“we need to get you drinkin’ better, baby.”
then he’s back working on his spreadsheet of something that doesn’t concern you. it’s the fact his attention is half on you that gets you so hot and when it is on you, it is completely.
he’s either making eye contact with you when he drinks or he’s scrolling through a document. he’s either slinging his arm around your hips as you stand next to him when he sits on his stool, waiting for his reaction or he’s reading something with such intensity he doesn’t notice that you’re silently gagging at the concoction you just made.
soft hiphop in the background. tapping through songs, adding to the queue and saying “shut up” every time you skip one. makes bakugou chuckle every time.
voice gets even raspier when he gets more tipsy. eyes barely open but refuses to admit that he’s drunk. does this thing when he stares at you in deep thought while biting his bottom lip. asks you random questions he forgot to ask you before, “did you end up goin’ to the post office in time?”
and you’re nodding even though he asked that in the same tone he does when he wants you to undress.
both of you drunk as hell, you’re putting another glass to his lips as he’s hugging you to him and he lets you. mouth open, weird orange liquid going down his throat and he stares at you through it. you’ve got this maddening grin on and his cheeks are glowing red.
he didn’t wince. a win. “you liked that one?”
wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, shrugs, “tasted like the last.”
but he tilts his head up to you and you know what that means. eyes half lidded but expectant. squeezes you tighter. you take a second longer than bakugou’s patience reaches and he’s all rough toned, slightly whiny when he says, “c’mon baby.”
leads into a makeout where he tastes like vodka and coconuts and oranges and peppermint syrup and you’re more tequila and almonds and limes and caramel.
This conversation about Jey and his personal life is tired and regurgitated every time a new or possibly old picture comes out with them.
There is nothing new or has changed about that situation and ATP I wish y'all would just stop talking about it. Especially since we don't know if he's still truly married (also, if you don't know the state and county they filed in you're not gonna find divorce records, and they can request it to be sealed. You can be married in one state and file for divorce in another. Quick google search tells you that. (Also tried to find my parents and got nothing.) in this case we'll never know and it's honestly not really our business.
Whether her face was blocked or not, she was standing next to him or somewhere else, didn't go, or was invited by Natty herself, y'all was still gonna have something to say. We get it. You don't like her. Get Over lt.
SUMMARY: inspired by “In The Morning” by J. Cole + this edit + this second edit + see image below + in which cuddling with Jimmy in the early hours of the morning takes a turn when he wakes up with morning wood. 🩷
“and can i hit it in the mornin’? the sun risin’ while you’re moanin’…”
“baby, do you have any idea what time it is?” you murmured sleepily, your eyes closed yet your brain half-awake, as Jimmy slightly tightened his arms around your body and pulled you closer to him, his chest pressing flush against your back while your body fit against his like a puzzle piece.
“it’s 8 somethin’,” Jimmy muttered, pressing soft kisses against your shoulder, as you hummed softly and sluggishly nodded, your body instinctively leaning into his kisses while his hand splayed across your stomach, “time for you to get your pretty ass up.”
“mm-mm.” you huffed, your refusal coming out as a soft whine, as Jimmy grinned a little and let out a soft chuckle, his hand on your stomach sliding to the waistband of your pajama shorts.
“not even for me?” before you could question what he meant, you felt him shift his hips and your eyes fluttered open at feeling his erection press flush against your ass, your breathing catching a little from the sensation.
“…Jimmy.” you didn’t even know why you said his name, but the way you said it — all breathy and soft — told him everything he needed to know, causing a smirk to spread across his face.
“you gon’ take care of me, baby?” Jimmy cooed softly, kissing up from your shoulder to your neck, as he gently nudged your bonnet to the side and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the side of your neck while simultaneously sliding his hand inside your shorts and underwear in unison, his middle finger wasting no time colliding with your clit and rubbing it in circles, “hm? you gon’ take care of your man?”
your lips slightly parted and a soft whimper fell from them as your head tilted a bit to further expose your neck and your hand reached down to hold onto his arm, a small furrow forming between your eyebrows while you spread your thick thighs a little more to give him room to maneuver.
“use your words, mama, c’mon. talk to me.” Jimmy’s middle finger slid down your clit and slipped between your slick folds as he pushed it inside you real slow, eliciting a gasp from you and causing your mouth to part further.
“oh, fuuuck— i-i’ma take care of you, baby,” you whined, rolling your hips against his finger, as you felt Jimmy gently nip at your neck and you moaned at the feeling, his other hand sliding under your top to fondle your breasts, “mmh, i’ma take care of my man…”
“uh-huh, that’s what i like to hear, pretty.”
and just like that, Jimmy had your chunky leg lifted and sat snugly in the pit of his elbow to spread you open for him while his other hand sat wrapped around your neck to slightly tilt your head back, his grip not tight enough to cut off your airflow yet enough for you to feel tingles all over.
his hips rolled into yours into a steady yet deep pace, your ass rippling with each of his thrusts while your body melted further into the mattress. his mouth sat right beside your earlobe, allowing you to hear his groans, ragged breaths, and salacious sentences that had you whining out for more of him.
“you feel so fuckin’ good, mama,” Jimmy groaned in your ear, his teeth lightly tugging at your earlobe, as a whimper fell from your mouth and your hands firmly clutched his wrist, needing to hold onto some part of him to ground yourself before you lost your mind, “love gettin’ into my pussy this early in the mornin’… feel like she been marinating overnight for me, baby.”
you were about to call out his name for what felt like the millionth time this morning, but it came out in a broken squeal instead once you felt Jimmy subtly shift his hips and hit something inside you that had your hips jerking and your vision going starry.
noticing the change in your tone, a knowing smirk crossed his face and he maintained the angle as he continue to thrust right at your erogenous zone, eliciting all kinds of sharp cries and desperate whines from you while one of your hands left his wrist and went to hold onto the mattress instead.
“J-Jimmyyyy—”
“i know, pretty girl. i know,” Jimmy cooed, planting a wet kiss against the side of your neck, as his mouth descended until he reached your shoulder, his dark eyes flickering up to watch your face, “go ahead and cum, mama. i feel you clenching around me.”
and cum, you did — your jaw went slack and your lips sat agape as your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes rolled back, the bridge of your nose slightly scrunching up while your nails sunk into Jimmy’s wrist and the mattress.
“shiiiit, o-oh, my G— Jonathan!” you cried out the government name of your boyfriend as your orgasm crashed heavily down onto you, your legs trembling and your pussy spasming around his dick while your body struggled to handle the aftermath of your intense climax.
“that’s it, baby, there you go. look at my good girl takin’ this dick like a pro.”
the arena’s excitement still thrummed in your veins, a fading chatter of the crowd’s infection excitement. you loved live shows, seeing your man revered by the world was amazing, but you hated when jey lost. you knew the magic woven into every wrestling match, the perfectly placed bumps, the choreographed near-falls, the illusion of chaos crafted to keep the fans on edge, but it didn’t stop your stomach from twisting into tight, aching knots when the referee’s hand slapped the mat for the three-count. the defeat was carved into jey’s face, raw and unfiltered: his lips parted into a grimace, the golds in his mouth on display, his deep brown eyes clouded with a storm of frustration, and the way he trudged back to gorilla, broad shoulders slumped, wincing not from shattered bones but from the sharp, invisible sting of a bruised ego. in the ring, jey was a star. charismatic, explosive, his over-the-top persona radiating a confidence that set an entire stadium ablaze weekly, tens of thousands of people singing his theme while chanting his catchphrase. his voice boomed on the mic, his movements were sharp and deadly, but beneath the bravado, jey was softer. delicate. not like his twin, jimmy, whose easy humor could charm a room in seconds, or his cousin, roman, whose mere presence demanded acknowledgment as if he were a god among mortals.
jey’s confidence was shaky at best, fragile and in need of constant tending. he sought validation in the quiet moments, stolen glances, encouraging words from his peers and sometimes even the gentle press of a kiss to his temple from those who knew the man behind the “main-event” persona. you loved that about him. crash-out jey, the steel chair wielding fighter, who could tear through opponents with crisp white air force one, was, at his core, just a sweet baby, craving warmth, reassurance, and a place to rest his weary heart.
you waited for him outside the locker room, leaning against the cool, gritty concrete wall, its surface rough under your fingertips, the lingering scent of liniment, rubber mats, and the sharp, metallic bite of adrenaline clung to the backstage corridors. distant sounds echoed through the arena’s underbelly, the clatter of equipment being put away, the muffled banter of crew members, the low hum of fluorescent lights flickering overhead, casting jagged shadows across the tiled floor. your lips curved into a polite smile as bron walked by, he and jey were actually good friends outside the ring; but it was much harder for you to compartmentalize. at the moment, his face reminded you that his overused spear made him the victor of the match.
your body lifted instinctively when the door opened, your eyes landed on your man, and the innate feeling to take care of him welled up in your chest. his hair was a wild mess, curls matted with sweat, sticking to his profile, some strands curling rebelliously against his temples, right above the band-aid that covered his fresh stitches from the last ple. his hand hung limp at his side, fingers twitching restlessly, while the other clutched an unopened water bottle, the plastic crinkling faintly under his grip. his silence was a heavy, brooding cloud, wrapping around him as he replayed every moment of the match in his mind, every missed cue, every botched move, every second where he thought he could’ve been better.
“joshua…” you murmured, your voice a soft, velvet thread cutting through the haze of his thoughts. you reached for his hand, your fingers slipping between his, warm and calloused from years of gripping ropes and slamming bodies. his skin was red hot, the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming faintly against your palm.
he didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on some invisible point in the distance, but he let you lead him, your touch a lifeline pulling him from the depths of his own head. you guided him through the labyrinth of backstage corridors, past crew members hauling equipment, their boots scuffing the floor, past flickering exit signs and stacks of folded chairs. the loading bay waited ahead, where a blacked-out suv idled, waiting for the two of you, as you climbed into the backseat. jey slid in beside you, his body heavy, his head leaning against the window, eyes half-lidded as the city lights streaked across his expressionless face.
the driver pulled away, the hum of the engine blending with the distant sounds of the city, a low, almost hypnotic buzz that filled the silence. jey’s silence wasn’t unusual, he was always like this after losses, his mind going in and out of what-ifs and should-haves. you watched him for a moment, taking in the way his chest rose and fell, slow and deliberate, his t-shirt clinging to the contours of his body, the fabric of his sweats stretched tight over his thighs, his biceps, the hard planes of his chest. you noticed the constant faint tremor in his fingers, the restless energy of a man still fighting a battle no one else could see. he was beautiful, even in his defeat, raw, vulnerable, a man carrying the weight of his own expectations.
you couldn’t let him stay there, lost in that spiral of self-doubt. with a gentle shift, you climbed onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips, the heat of his body seeping through your clothes, warming your skin where it pressed against him. the sudden closeness made his breath hitch, a soft, ragged sound that broke the silence. his eyes flickered up to meet yours, raw and searching, a mix of hunger and need shimmering in their depths. you tugged your cotton top over your head in one slow, deliberate motion, letting it fall to the floor of the suv in a soft heap. the cool air kissed your bare skin, raising goosebumps along your arms, your collarbone, the curve of your waist. your full, heavy breasts spilled into his line of sight, catching the fleeting glow of streetlights, their weight swaying slightly as you settled against him. jey’s gaze softened, the self depreciation in his eyes giving way to something you could soothe — need, vulnerability, a plea for the comfort only you could give.
you cupped the back of his head, your fingers sinking into the damp, fluffy curls of his mullet, the strands soft and slightly tacky with sweat. your nails grazed his scalp, slow and deliberate, and you felt the faint shudder that ran through him, his body responding to your touch like a taut string finally plucked. “c’mere, baby,” you whispered, your voice a low, honeyed purr, thick with affection. you guided him closer, pressing his face against the warmth of your chest, the soft curve of your breast brushing his cheek. no words were needed. his lips found your nipple, warm and reverent, closing around it with a gentle suction that sent a shiver racing down your spine.
the sensation was electric, his tongue soft and warm, circling slowly, teasing the hardened nub with a tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat. you exhaled shakily, your head tilting back, eyes fluttering closed as you surrendered to the warmth of his mouth, the faint scrape of his beard against your skin adding a delicious edge to the pleasure. the suv’s motion rocked you gently, the hum of the engine a distant lullaby, amplifying the intimacy of the moment.
“there you go, papa,” you murmured, your voice a soothing balm, threaded with adoration. your fingers massaged slow, deliberate circles into his scalp, nails grazing just enough to make him hum softly against your skin, the vibration sending a ripple of heat through your core. his hands found your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, anchoring himself to you as if you were the only thing keeping him from sinking. he moved to your other breast, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak, slow and teasing, while his calloused fingertips grazed the one he’d left behind, rolling and pinching gently, coaxing a quiet moan from your lips.
the dip in your back deepened, pressing yourself closer, your body a soft, warm offering to ease his troubled mind. the leather seat creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with the soft, wet sounds of his mouth against your skin. “such a good boy.” you purred, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth as the sensation shot straight to your aching core.
“you’re the fuckin’ best at this shit,” you whispered, your words dripping with conviction and a double-entendre, each syllable a lifeline to pull him from the depths. you leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, your breath hot and teasing, tickling the fine hairs there. “they can’t fuck with you, baby. they never could.” your voice was a low purr, laced with adoration, and you felt his body relax beneath you, the tension in his shoulders melting under your touch. “mami is so fucking proud of you,” you added, your tone thick with emotion, a promise sealed with every word. you pressed a kiss to his temple, tasting the salt of his sweat, feeling the faint pulse of his heartbeat beneath your lips, steady and strong despite the weight he carried.
his breath hitched again, a soft, ragged sound that fanned across your collarbone, warm and damp against your skin. his arms wrapped tighter around your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body radiating through you, a furnace of need and vulnerability. you rocked your hips gently, not to ignite but to soothe, the slow rhythm syncing with the hum of the suv, grounding him in the moment. his lips parted against your skin, a soft, open-mouthed kiss pressed to the curve of your breast, then another to the hollow of your throat, each one a silent thank you, a quiet surrender to your care. the faint scratch of his beard against your skin sent a shiver through you, a delicious contrast to the warmth of his mouth, and you felt the low, rumbling groan in his chest, vibrating against your ribcage.
“you don’t need their approval, papa,” you continued, your fingers trailing down his back, tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath his damp skin, the scars and bruises that told the story of his battles. each ridge, each mark, was a testament to his resilience, his heart, and you loved every one of them. “you got me. always.” your nails grazed the nape of his neck, slow and deliberate, and he shivered beneath you, his breath catching again. you pressed another kiss to his forehead, then his cheek, tasting the salt of his sweat, the faint musk of his cologne lingering in the air, wrapping you in a cocoon of him. “you’re my champ,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, cracking slightly under the weight of your love for him. “my everything.”
he let out a low, shaky breath, his face burying into the crook of your neck, his beard tickling your skin as he nuzzled closer, seeking your warmth. “love you, mami,” he mumbled, his voice rough and barely audible, but the weight of it settled deep in your chest, warm and heavy, like a stone smoothed by years of river water. his hands slid up your back, slow and possessive, fingers splaying wide across your skin, holding you like you might slip away if he let go. you felt the faint tremor in his grip, the vulnerability he rarely showed, and it made your heart ache for him.
“love you too, pretty baby,” you whispered, your lips brushing his ear, your breath warm against his skin. your hands cradled him close, one hand stroking his mullet, the other resting against the small of his back, feeling the heat of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breaths. “mami’s got you. always.” you rocked against him gently, the motion soothing, a silent promise that you’d carry his burdens, lift him up when the world felt too heavy. the suv rolled on, the city lights blurring into streaks of color outside the tinted windows, but the world beyond faded into nothing. it was just you and jey, wrapped in the heat of your bodies, the steady rhythm of your breaths, the soft hum of your voice as you poured love and life back into him. “you’re more than enough, joshua.” he exhaled, a shaky breath that fanned across your skin, and his hands tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.
Tbh I’m very confused why everyone is complaining about the ESPN deal. Didn’t they say that it could be included in a bundle with Disney plus and Hulu too?
