#( The palm is all right but how about you kiss the back of his hand? that should also be an option )

[artytaeh]

as promised, here's a treat for my mattheo riddle girlies ‹3 i hope you like it and feels ?? canon ?? because i honestly think that this is sooo matt coded. anyways! tysm for all the love and support. 🌷

warnings : obvious explicit mentions of sexual content, meant for +18 readers; read at your own risk.

’⭑ 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 : 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌.﹙★﹚

﹙★﹚ in one word, mattheo riddle is messy. that's the way that mattheo loves the most: messy, passionate, nasty, almost impulsive. a mess of feelings and urges alone.

despite seeking for his own pleasure, mattheo prides himself as someone who can satisfy both himself and his partner.

WHEN EATING YOU OUT, mattheo doesn't hold back. incapable of sticking to something for a long moment, he's a mess— running his flat tongue between your lips, then kissing your nub with a loud wet sound; mattheo doesn't care at all if the lewd sound of his lips and mouth on you rival your own moans. he's here to ravish you, so take it without complains, yeah?

more often than not, mattheo is one to use both his fingers and mouth. languidly kissing your core, almost messily making out with your clit, mattheo stretches you out with his fingers, scissoring the tight walls before curling upwards— you swear that each time he does this, you can feel him smirking against your sensitive skin.

empty bedroom, broom closet, locker rooms aftee quidditch practice; mattheo riddle doesn't give a flying fuck.

he's loud and vocal, deal with it. what's there to be embarrassed about? let the whole school know how much mattheo loves to drop to his knees for his girl.

honorable mention that no one has the balls to make a clownery comment about it. mattheo sent assholes with broken noses to the infirmary wing for much less.

mattheo isn't one to spread your legs while eating you out. he wouldn't make your legs tired right in the beginning— the slytherin needs them strong, not sore, to keep up with the way he'll manhandle you afterwards.

besides, mattheo is insanely addicted to the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head, making him feel the warm and smooth skin of those inner thighs almost suffocate him, from his place between your legs.

non ironically jokes about that being the most heavenly way to die. mentioned it once during a conversation with his friends— about dying like this. with honor—, his smug expression deeply contrasting with your embarrassed one.

whenever possible, nevermind if he's having you sat on a desk, chair, or standing up against a wall with him on his knees for you— mattheo finds a way to have one hand pleasuring you, in sync with his eager tongue, and the other sneakily on your chest.

his fingers barely give attention to your nipples; he's so not sorry, but there's no way that mattheo can help himself— his hand cups your bare breast, yanking the bothersome bra downwards or pushing it upwards, anything to have his palm on that soft skin that drives him insane.

groaning, with his face buried in your middle, mattheo squeezes your chest with a greedy touch. damn right that all of you belongs to him.

﹙★﹚ : SOME KINKS OF HIS, might include:

⋆ spitting : mattheo has heard and ignored comments that refer to this as something disgusting; he can't help it— to him, this is so hot. definitely has a thing for spitting inside your mouth, whenever you're facing him, underneath his heavy body. would also spit on your core before being inside you, or eating you out. prefers to be the one giving, instead of receiving; even so, mattheo would find it hot if you did so on his cock, before giving him a handjob or using your mouth.

⋆ biting : all i say is, good luck. mattheo riddle can't properly put it into words, however, his love for bodies who look a bit more chubby, where his hands can grab and squeeze, are also enthralling to him because there's a lot of room to bite. thighs? he'll spend a long time there, even if mattheo doesn't have the intention to take it further— he just likes the feeling of your skin inside his mouth, biting into it! neck too, which can be a nuisance sometimes; you never know if mattheo is burying his face on the crook of your neck because he's sleepy or in the mood of creating more bruises there. hard bites. like, the ones that hurt like a bruise after a few days.

⋆ choking : this man loves to have a hand around your neck, as if it is a collar that dictates his ownership over you. his hand there, fingers curling around the skin of your neck that he positively filled with bruises, so easily cups your jaw, keeping your face on his direction, facing him. this same hand is the one that is quick to slap your face a couple of times, hitting your cheek with his fingertips— enough to make it sting for brief seconds, not really bruising your face.

well, the same can't be said about your hips, thighs and ass. mattheo doesn't hold back there.

⋆ anal : would do his best to convince, or at least tempt you into trying it once with you. even so, should you not feel comfortable with it, mattheo would happily hold on to what he can do instead— if your limit are plugs, and you accept to wear it sometimes, mattheo is already over the moon.

hungrily licks over it while using his fingers on you, his wet muscle feeling the skin of your rim and the cold metal of your plug, pressuring his fingers on it. would want to do it in positions that gives him a good vision of the plug inside you, thumbs brushing over the skin of your asscheeks and the toy deep inside your other hole. it drives him crazy.

however! if even plugs aren't something that you'd feel comfortable with or want to try, mattheo accepts that he wasn't able to make the idea tempting for you. and, like a good loser— which doesn't apply to quidditch— mattheo will be more than happy with what he can get. which means, leaving a mess of handprints, finger marks, vicious bites and hickeys on your asscheeks.

⋆ not a rope bunny : even though being tied up or doing so to his partner is something that some people view as, well, something to spice up a relationship— mattheo doesn't perceive it that way at all. even the thought of having you tied up isn't charming to him; if anything, mattheo might pin down your wrists with his hand for a moment, but that's as far as it goes, with restricting touches; because mattheo, too, loves the feeling of your hands on him.

and let me tell you: this man would hate being tied up. what do you mean he can't touch you? mattheo can promise to hold back from thrusting up or switching positions, to be in control— but please don't prevent him from touching you. mattheo would look at you so genuinely sad, that he can't cup your chest or feel the skin of your thighs, much less get your ass squeezed by his greedy, warm hands. :(

⋆ biggest victim of cockwarming : no, not even for a bet. mattheo wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. for starters, why would he entertain the idea of not moving at all? mattheo is all too starved and hungry for you to be still; he might hold on for a few moments just to satisfy your requests, but ultimately, his patience will run out and he'll show you how it's a hundred times better to do something about it.

⋆ ¹overstimulation : believe it or not, mattheo wouldn't purposefully overstimulate his partner. however, when intentional, only happens if mattheo wants to prove a point, usually fueld by jealousy— because whatever guy you were laughing with, couldn't possibly making you tremble and fall apart on his arms like this, right? and yet, mattheo might also be tempted to use this as a punishment for bratty behavior.

⋆ ²edging : rarely ever does this to his partner; mattheo enjoys bringing pleasure to you, not finding satisfaction on depriving you from an orgasm if he's got you so close, so high for his touch alone. rather than torturing you, mattheo finds more enjoyment on the sight of having you coming undone on his fingers, tongue, or cock. coaxes and encourages you to do so as well, having little to no care over clothes, sheets or surfaces getting wet.

HOWEVER, mattheo is one to dealy his own release. mattheo riddle is addicted to the feeling of pleasure given by you; your hands, mouth, the feeling of slipping inside you— mattheo never wants it to end.

strategically finds ways to last longer with you, by switching positions, giving him a few seconds to calm down, if he feels like he's almost there. won't ever leave you unsatisfied; even if he finishes before you, and can't go on, then mattheo is more than happy to make you come in another way.

⋆ experimentalist : mattheo let's you do anything and everything to him— leaving little room to things that he would never be tempted to try out. is there something you want to try? perhaps a new kink in the list? he's all for it, like a puppy trailing right behind you.

so you want to use him like a toy? suit yourself; mattheo is already on the process of stripping out his clothes, moving to lay down on the bed. something more risky? his fingers intertwine with yours, that devilish mind of his already thinking about time, place, and what he'd love to do with you. unironically, mattheo riddle would even let you put a bow on it, if you so much as asked him to do it. there's practically nothing that he shies away from doing with you.

⋆ blood / knife play : listen. if mattheo's kinks were to be explain with an iceberg, this one would be on the bottom of it. mattheo knows how bad this sounds— that the sight of blood can spark some worse assumptions about him, that are already as bad as they can get. even worse if he explains how charming it sounds for him, how it gets him hot and bothered, the idea of carving his initials on that pretty smooth skin of yours.

m.r. two letters, ones that he traces in random trees around school, when he's feeling bored of his friends' conversation. m.r., easy to write, due to previous practice.

it's a terribly territorial, even possessive craving of his; mattheo riddle can't excuse that urge that resonates deeply within him. and if you indulge this fantasy of his, or ask to do the same to him? mattheo wouldn't live for the embarrassment of how hard that would instantly get him.

﹙★﹚: FAVORITE POSITIONS. .ᐟ

⋆ REVERSE COWGIRL is a favorite of his, specifically for the heavenly sight of you, watching you struggle as he relaxes against the mattress. enjoying the show, his eyes darken as he watches you struggle to bounce on his shaft— feeling, admiring each time that your ass harshly meets the skin of his groin, prominent with each movement of your hips. no doubts that mattheo will smack your ass if your rhythm falters even for a second.

⋆ PRONE BONE, as soon as mattheo gets you as comfortable as you can get. fixing a pillow under your hips to make it easier for the two of you— not only getting you to arch your back, presenting your rear to him, but also to improve your comfort before he takes it all on you.

⋆ AGAINST A WALL works all too well for mattheo, as someone who prides himself on his strength and muscles, having a build that allows those obvious lines marking his four pack abs.

( mattheo would die right there and then, if you ever used them. as in, giving up on using any pillows to rub and grind against him instead, letting mattheo feel how wet he gets you over his firm skin. would have the best smoke of his life as he watches you, murmuring praises and encouraging you to use him as a toy. )

(...) ⋆ not just in bed, but in general— mattheo riddle loves displaying how strong he is; how much weight he can take and strength he has. the first he showcases with you on his arms; the latter he wordlessly brags with each dislocated jaw that comes from his doing. so carrying you and lifting you off the floor is a favorite, almost instinctive, action for mattheo.

sometimes he's so into this, that he won't seek for a surface— not even a bloody desk, much less the comfort of a sofa or bed— pinning you against the wall. his hands lower down your body, feeling the curve of your waist, giving a greedy squeeze to your bottom, until his hands settle for the back of your thighs, easily hoisting you up from the floor. it's nothing for mattheo to have you in this position for a while— he's bloody thankful for it. his hands greedily squeeze the skin at hand, pressing himself between your legs, grinding your middle with his bulge.

⋆ not really a position itself, but mattheo goes INSANE for DRY HUMPING. this man loves nasty, messy sex; creaming his pants as you grind on his clothed bulge, feeling you getting wetter and wetter until your underwear becomes a mess on top of him— it gets mattheo every. single. time.

﹙★﹚: PREFERRED PLACES. .ᐟ

the privacy of a bedroom is one that mattheo can't ignore, or deny, given his previous experiences. doesn't really mind if the two of you do it in yours, or his dorm— however, mattheo has a slight preference for his dorm room, because he knows where to find what he needs, which drawer, which nightstand, reaching for it blindly.

HOWEVER, mattheo isn't one to pass an opportunity, and being one to indulge his desire and need over you, passing by as an exhibitionist isn't something that mattheo is scared to do.

⋆ locker rooms, specifically right after practice or a quidditch match. if mattheo had to choose a place, then he wouldn't need to think a lot about this one. as someone who has a lot of pent up energy, there's something about him being all sweaty from giving his all as slytherin's beater, then riding the adrenaline off on — in — you.

⋆ ... bonus points if it happens inside a shower stall, the two of you hidden by a single curtain, moans and groans muffled by the sound of water falling down your bodies.

⋆ empty classrooms, strategically used during key moments of day or nightime, when there's the reassurance that it won't be used anytime soon in the next couple of hours. mostly during meal time, given that even professors would be too busy on the other side of the castle. there's something about bending you over an abandoned desk or getting you sat up on the currently unused professor's desk, for mattheo— he can't exactly say if it's about the thrill of breaking unwritten rules, or the way it somehow challenges their authority.

⋆ broom closets, which mattheo would preferably only use for the sake of a make out, during those days that your routines don't seem to match, for some cruel reason. if he misses you too much, separated due to different classes, different schedules, mattheo will steal you for a few minutes to get much deserved kisses. aching for the feeling of his skin against his again. however, it rarely develops into sex— the most it might get to, is giving him a blowjob or mattheo using his fingers on you; otherwise, broom closets are too tiny, too uncomfortable for more.

which mattheo had to accept, after almost getting caught because in the middle of his enthusiasm, mattheo knocked off a few brooms on the floor.

﹙★﹚ MORE RANDOM HEADCANONS :

if you asked him whether mattheo prefers ass or boobs, he'd say that HE CHOOSES BOTH. now, if you pressured him into choosing just one— mattheo seriously takes long minutes to decide. full on blank stare into nothingness, barely blinking as his mind uses all of his concentration to do the mathematics of which part of your body he prefers. after long minutes of indecision, chooses your ass, almost mourning it, as if mattheo would wake up to never stare at your chest again.

THE TYPE OF SLAP YOUR ASS AT ANY GIVEN CHANCE. mattheo riddle loses his life, but never a joke. mattheo riddle might be yelled at by you, but won't miss the opportunity to indulge that guilty pleasure of landing a smack on your ass.

TALKS YOU THROUGH IT. doesn't shut up for the life of him; vocal, because he wants you to know how good you make him feel, and would love it if you do the same.

would learn HOW TO BE GENTLE now that he's dating, given that mattheo loses himself to the intense feelings of craving and desiring you. you blink, and suddenly mattheo is carrying you to the bed, about to remove your shirt and already on his third hickey.

SO INTO THE IDEA OF BEING SLAPPED. initially, mattheo thinks that he'd be fucking pissed if a girl dared to lay a hand on him — he can sent bigger assholes flying through the astronomy tower, who the hell are you to hit him, chipmunk? — but then. then he gets a slap from you.

dark eyes become wide, staring at a spot on the floor as his face barely moves to the side, feeling the tingle of a slight pain on his cheek. mattheo looks back to you; instead of yelling at you or being pissed at what you did—

he's horny. seriously, mattheo might find reasons to make you angry at him, so that he can marvel at how hot you look while you're furious at him, craving another slap like a bloody giggling teenager.

RARELY ACTS SUBMISSIVE, yet would let you take control if you wanted to be the one leading this time. however, mattheo has the hardest time to keep his hands to himself, or be the one to set the pace.

⋆ wouldn't tell a soul, but he jerks off the most at the memory of that time you rode him, and while bouncing on his cock, your hand hit his cheek, giving him a slap for trying to hurry the pace. you could swear you saw his pupils dilate.

doesn't mind for QUICKIES, AND HONESTLY LIKES THEM ALL THE SAME. there's something about being hidden by your skirt, and pulling your panties to the side, only to know that he's probably dripping right to that soft fabric, preventing it from lewdly trailing down your thighs. call him a pervert— mattheo is just a man with some territorial issues.

and that's probably why MATTHEO THINKS THAT IT'S SO ATTRACTIVE to still have some clothes on. he's obsessed for the sight of your body, at any given chance, and yet— ripping most of the buttons from your shirt, clothes are pushed and pulled up, down or to the side. your bra is tugged upwards so that his mouth can tease the now bare chest, fingers already on their way to lift your skirt and pull your underwear to the side. mattheo craves the sight of you so desperate for him, the same way that he's desperate for you too, both not wanting to wait any moment longer.

A WHORE FOR TOUCHES ON HIS HAIR AND SCALP. mattheo didn't care much for his hair before, until the curly shape of his dark hair became pretty to his eyes, and wanted to take the chance of such genetics to make himself look handsome. with that said, mattheo riddle wants to leave your bed with a mess of a hair— from tugging, pulling, pushing, having your fingers running through it, or massages, rubs on his scalp. having your nails scratching (not painfully. have mercy?!) on his scalp makes this man whimper.

speaking of things that make mattheo riddle whimper: KISS OR LICK OVER THE SCARS ON HIS CHEST, and you'll see how much of a mess he'll be under your lips. the skin there is so sensible, not to mention how intimate it feels, to have his previous injuries being the center of your attention, pampered and kissed so gently.

GOES INSANE IF YOU TRACE his v-lines with your tongue. literally has to grip something to hold back.

﹙★﹚ ANGRY SEX, is something that once in a while, mattheo would like to have with his partner.

mattheo is amused at the sight of his partner angry at something, whenever it doesn't root from a confrontation with mattheo that got him annoyed as well.

the argument would escalate until he's almost yelling at your face— the moment your noses almost brush together, so close, with anger radiating from both of you— mattheo loses it and shuts you up with a kiss, putting an end to the argument. after this first heated kiss, mattheo pulls away, staring into your eyes for any hint that you are too angry to kiss him, or if you don't want him to touch you / continue what you were doing.

it's hard to insist on keeping up the argument given that between yelling at each other for another ten minutes, or having him roughly thrusting into that spot that makes you see stars— well, usually, you choose the latter.

becomes missionary if the argument continues, nevermind how the pleasure makes his mind dazed with foggy thoughts. it's doggy with his hand on the back of your head, pushing your face to bury on the mattress or the comfort of a pillow, whenever mattheo can't deal with your attitude, or has had enough of the argument. doggy it is, when it's to shut you up.

even if the argument still gnaws an ugly feeling inside yours or his mind, mattheo will pull you closer to him anyways, head over his heart, fingers running through your hair. a silent way to reassure you, and mostly himself, that it'll be okay, and a fight isn't what's going to separate the two of you.

it's a terrible terrible idea to tease mattheo by keeping your underwear on. oh, so you think it's funny to grind on him with those panties of yours? that's so funny, that mattheo will rip them too. during those days that he's too dizzy with need for you, you can anticipate grief over the underwear you're wearing. and mattheo is not apologetic at all— he keeps all of these conquered prizes on the last drawer of his desk. throwing those panties away? no, no. mattheo has a better use for them.

should anyone ever touch them or find out his dirty secret, mattheo might just be tempted to break someone's fingers. what? those are his and your panties! comunism! only between the two of you!

this man has no money left for cigarettes; mattheo will be begging theodore to share them with him, because guess what! he does have to pay for property damages.

which means, giving you money for each damaged underwear from his impatient, greedy hands. sometimes, going out to hogsmeade involves shopping for more underwear— this, while mattheo is just outside the store, smoking a cigarette as he waits for you.

he'd tell his friends that it's because he wouldn't be caught inside a lingerie store. the truth is that you have forbidden mattheo from entering one with you— this man is a tall child. a tall, menacing child.

panties would be flying, his hands would cup bras and say in a way too loud tone that: 'babe! these are your size! trust my hands, i know how your pretty tits feel like.'

worse than that, mattheo would try to speed up the process. such a thing means that he'd have a pair of panties hanging on his index finger —imagine the tiniest piece of cloth, in the most vibrant, awful tone possible— as he yells: 'princess, what about these?' with the stupidest smile because mattheo thinks that he's really funny.

so, yeah. no shopping together for underwear and lingeries. mattheo is on timeout from those.

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

[joelsflower]

love language | origins!logan x f!reader

logan told you one million times he didn’t want anything for his birthday… anything besides you, lingerie and the moonlight.

a/n: hiiii <33 lis disappeared but is back again and apparently still obsessed with the concept of hot old men unwrapping you like a present. the hugh jackman fever hit me VERY hard and im down bad cough cough enjoy! also to enhance the experience when i say “he looked up at you” pls picture him exactly like in this picture ☝🏼and expect to feel something growing in ur belly in the next 9 months

wc: 4k

warnings: 18+ mdni. pure smut and fluff!! lingerie, logan is obsessed w reader, older!logan (i picture him in origins cause wtf is this man and reader in her early/middle 20s but up to you! legal ofc!!) fingering and eating out but brief cause reader is hot to go!, blowjob, facefucking & deepthroat (not rough), unprotected piv (wrap it up!), creampie, AFTERCARE!!! like SO MUCH logan is soooo soft!dom in this the whole time is like toothache sweet cause it’s a lis fic and yes. they are IN LOVE yall. oh and also reader is a kindergarten teacher (oops

🎀🎀🎀

“Stay”

You grabbed his wrist the moment he recollected his will to leave the end of the bed. Logan’s eyes turned soft, finding you from over his shoulder and turning around to follow the sunlight that kissed your cheeks.

“I wish, angel,” he cooed, both hands brushing your cheeks while his body towered over you “but someone already made me late, huh?”

You gave him a shy smile to meet the smirk that adorned his features, both of you sharing the memories of your bodies tangled just minutes prior. “Wanted to give you a present,” you almost whispered, remembering the one hundred times he told you he didn’t want anything for his birthday.

Not a cake, not a present, not a party. Nothing. Just you.

Logan’s smile faded, but you knew he wasn’t mad. With large hands embracing your neck softly, he kissed you on the forehead, “told you,” on the nose, “you are,” on the jaw, “the only thing i want”, and on your mouth, leaving the taste of him to linger on your lips throughout the whole day.

Your eyes slowly drifted up to find his gaze, the back of your head now resting on his palms.

“Promise” he gave you a sterner look before walking towards the door, “I promise,” you whispered, following as the smile you had earned earlier returned to his face, his back only turning to you when he heard the words fall from your lips.

But it was only a half promise. After all, he still wanted nothing but you, right?

🎀🎀🎀

The day passed by very slowly. You didn’t work on fridays, so you spent the most of it correcting some grades and planning the activities for your next week’s classes. You missed the kids, you can’t lie, and having glue and glitter all over your house definitely distracted you from the little something that was waiting patiently inside a very fancy box on the back of your closet.

The sun was setting around the time Logan would be home and you also had finished all the things you had planned earlier, so you used the time you had to take a shower and get ready.

The scent of some very sweet flower graced your nostrils when you pulled the lid of the heart-shaped box. Your eyes glowed in awe when your fingertips brushed the delicate baby pink lace, the little hairs on your lower belly goosebumping with anticipation, thinking how beautiful you’d feel in it and how the man that loved you would feel about you in it.

And that’s when you heard his steps on the stairs.

Logan arrived silently, and in part to make sure you hadn’t burnt yourself out making some sort of surprise for him. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, but all the glitter and glue on the table and the all the silence scared him a bit.

“Baby?” He called you while undressing himself down to his black t-shirt and boxers. “Oh, hey you,” his expression softened when his eyes found your head peaking from the bathroom door, gaze savoring the sight of him slowly unbuckling his belt.

“How was your day?” you asked watching him from the same spot, the muscles of his arms flexing when he reached to close the door and turn off the lights. Exactly how he said, the only things he wanted for his birthday were you, the lingerie he still didn’t know about, and the moon watching the two of you through the window.

“Great. Apparently someone told the guys it was my birthday and they let me work on paper today. So… Not so tired as I usually am.”

“I’m not sorry for that,” you smiled, knowing exactly who told the guys it was his birthday.

“I know,” he reciprocated your smirk, offering a hand in your direction. “Come here.”

Your breath got momentarily caught in your throat, excitement bursting in your body like fireworks in your veins.

“Close your eyes,” you said.

“Sweetheart-“

“Please?”

And how could he not? When your soft voice asked so nicely for him to? And the sweet and at the same time sexy scent of your perfume bewitched his thoughts? With your eyelashes blinking up at him and making the cold of his claws run to the lower of his spine? If closing his eyes would end the distance between you, then he would.

You then stepped carefully towards him, trying not to bump onto his knees and ruin the surprise.

You took both of his hands within yours, playing his fingers with your smaller ones. The simple contact made him shiver, the warmth of your presence washing all his tiredness and worries away.

“Could sit here with my eyes closed and just smell you forever”

You grinned. You knew his senses were heightened and definitely wanted to play with it tonight.

“Well, you told me you didn’t want to receive anything,” you then brought his hands to the sides of your thighs, the firmness of his palms on your soft skin sending shivers up and down your belly.

“Not totally true,” he thumbed your leg, fingertip brushing dangerously close to the fabric.

“Mhmm,” your hands glued on top of his and guided them a little lower, his palms now resting on top of the delicate, lacy garters adorning your thighs, “but I want you to feel it.”

Logan’s thoughts were in completely caos. Which of course, could only be translated by the grin on his face. You were close enough that he could not only smell your perfume and your scent, but knowing that he was the one causing that and with so little effort drove him insane. He could hear your accelerated heartbeat and used the grip on your legs to soothe you, moving his thumbs up and down, up and down, very slowly, feeling the contrast between the lacy fabric and your thighs.

“Yeah?”

You agreed silently, using your grip to move one of his hands all the way up to your belly in a very slow motion, to then release them both and let Logan’s fingers dance freely around your body.

The one hand he kept down gripped your thigh harder, snaking down to the back of your knee to bend it over his own leg, giving him better access to the rest of you. The thumb on your belly caressed around of your belly button in small circles and traced all the little flowers and bows on the thing garter that hugged your waist and decorated your breasts. The image being painted on Logan’s mind was already enough to make his underwear start to stiffen.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, and it felt like the first fresh breath he had taken in the day.

The contrast of his rough digits with your delicate skin made your body a too tight space to contain yourself, inching closer to him at every touch. He then surrounded your middle with both of his arms and gave your stomach a kiss, your fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck when he moved his face upwards, his chin rested on your tummy, eyes inching to meet yours.

“Can I see you, princess? Please?”

You hummed a quiet “mhmm”, and when he looked up at you with the most lovelorn eyes you had ever seen, you weren’t strong enough to hold back and kissed him.

It felt like the first kiss you two have had in a lifetime; deep, warm and wet. Your tongues danced together while his arms kept you impossibly closer, hands tightly holding from the back of your thighs to the top of your spine. When you parted to breathe, his eyes found yours again;

“There’s my girl. Let me see you, baby,” he held your hand in his and you took his signal to do a little spin, showing him your lacy one-piece.

“Happy birthday, love” you whispered, hands resting on his shoulders to balance yourself, one leg returning to rest on his.

“So you’re my present, hm?” Logan waited for you silent confirmation, palms devouring your thighs and ass while the kisses that he so gently placed on your knee slowly inched forward, “and do I get to unwrap you, angel?”

At that moment your walls were already pulsing with desire and your mind was already empty of words. You felt his lips wrap at a very special place on your inner thigh while his opposite hand moved up to message one of your boobs. You knew it wouldn’t take much for any of you to release control and quit the teasing, and being both on the verge of bursting the whole day waiting for the other, that was the time and the place.

You whimpered when his hand moved down and cupped your clothed center, his lips now distributing pecks on your hip while your nails dig in his shoulders.

“Gonna let me taste you, sweet girl? Hm?” He kissed your beating clit trough the lace and you nodded your head fastly, not being able to hold back anymore. You knew very well the animalistic look he had on his eyes now and the way his hands couldn’t rest in just one spot; he wanted nothing but to devour, explore and adore you.

With your consent, Logan wasted no time in sliding the delicate fabric to the side to meet your leaking pussy. The groan that left his chest when he saw your juices dripping to down your legs put your whole body on fire, followed by the cold that ran through your veins when two of his digits gently spread your lips apart.

“Fuck, look at you,” his thumb toyed with your clit, drawing little circles with a small pressure of the pad, “that’s how wet this little pussy gets for me, hm? Left you waiting the whole day to take care of you… Bad ol’ man, ain’t I?”

“N-no, you’re g-ood,” you managed to take the words out, eyes rolling to the back of your head and nails digging impossibly deeper into his shoulders when his digits lowered down and teased your opening, “and I wanna. Fuck. Wanna be good for you, Logan.”

“Oh, you are, princess. You’re my best girl.”

Pressing your clit between his lips and tongue, he sucked and savoured on it as if you were the source of all life on the planet, the most succulent fruit to the most starving man, like he himself once said; the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. His fingers pumped in and out of your hole rhythmically, hitting deeper and deeper each time. His other hand gripped your ass tightly and pressed your lower body impossibly closer to his face, making you moan loudly with all the stimulation.

You felt your walls start to clench his digits and pulled his head back by his hair to join your mouths in a wet, hot kiss, your other hand slowly removing his own from your sopping pussy, your shaking legs leading you to straddle him.

In his lap, the kiss only deepened; your and his movements were desperate, constantly searching for each other. You gripped his shirt by the collar and helped him take it off of his body, his muscular torso greeting you. Your hands eagerly pressed against his chest while Logan dig his fingers deep into your waist and moved you back and forth, your cunt pooling his underwear with the grinding of your exposed center on his throbbing and neglected cock.

“Wait- Logan, wait,” you pulled his roots again, making him moan.

“I’m here,” he rest his forehead on yours, fingers playing with the ends of your head while your breaths and heartbeats found the other’s rhythm.

“Wanna suck on you”

“Get on your knees for me then,” he demanded after a moment staring at you, trying to hide in his smile the excitement that flooded through his body.

You removed your body from his finding balance on his shoulder, lowering down to your knees on the carpet with the help of his arms around you.

He looked so, so beautiful like this. His prince hair and strong shoulders outerlined by the glowing moonlight that touched his back. His arm muscles tensin when one palm rested on his thigh and the other lowered down to finger-kiss your face. The “thank you, I love you” look he had on his eyes the whole time you were together. Who wouldn’t get get on their knees for this?

“That’s it princess, comfortable there?” You nodded and spread his legs a little, giving you space to kneel closer. He gave you another peck on the lips and moved his hands to rest flat on the bed, giving you all the freedom to do your thing.

You started by running your hands up and down his thighs while kissing down his abdomen, the thick path of hairs on his belly tickling your lips. Slowly, your hand snaked to his boxers while your mouth kept him distracted, licking the angry veins on his happy trail.

You palmed him eagerly, the volume of his member filling your whole palm and a little more. This first contact was enough to earn a raspy groan from his chest and some beads of precum that pooled on the little wet patch between his tip and boxers, where you butterfly-kissed before finally putting his underwear down.

You used your hands to spread his precum down and pump him a bit, desperate to have him in your mouth, you kept moving up and down while your mouth lowered to wrap around his tip, nursing on it like it was your favorite lollipop.

Your messiness has Logan seeing stars. Spit and precum was all over your face already, tongue darting up and down his shaft with desire. He almost screamed when your fingers played with the very top of his head and you lowered your mouth to his balls, suckling each into your mouth carefully.

“Jesus baby, that’s my girl, fuck-“

But it wasn’t enough. You were starved for him, for his pleasure. You waited the whole day to see his mouth hanging in bliss and you also wanted him to have what he wanted. You took his mouth of off his balls and kept lazily stroking him, lashes batting up to meet his eyes, “Fuck my mouth?”

Logan couldn’t believe how such a cute thing like you could look so sexy saying such filthy words. He loved it.

“Are you sure?” You nodded.

He then motioned for you to scoot back a little so he could get up, positioning himself in front of you, now both of you in front of the bed, sides facing the window.

He could die like this. The last thing he would ever see in his life could easily be you, on your knees, fucked out face with his precum and spit all over your face, with the moonlight reflecting on your rounded eyes just waiting for him to love on you. And he would die peacefully.

“Gonna start real gentle, ‘kay?” he assured you while brushing your hair back to hold it in his hands, one wrapping around the strands at the back of your head and the other holding his member.

“Lemme see this pretty tongue, baby’” he waited for your mouth to hang open and positioned his tip on top of your waiting tongue, tapping and circling it there. Logan kept teasing you (and himself) for a moment like this, smearing the leaking tip of his cock all over your mouth, tracing your tongue and lips at a torturing pace until he understood the desperate look in your widened eyes and scrunched brows, a silent “please”.

“Shh, gonna give you what y’want, princess. Suck on the tip, hm? Just the tip. Like you were doing before,” you loved when he ordered you around like this, especially when he looked so big towering over you and his voice was so low and deep like it was right now. You wasted no time in closing your already plump lips around him and deliciously suffocating his bulbous head in your mouth.

“That’s it bub, fuck. That’s my girl,” he loved when you were so obedient like you were right now during sex, his own little princess. His free hand stroked the part of his cock that wasn’t enveloped by your lips, using the mix of your spit and his own precum that was everywhere by now.

Your hands left your lap to dig into his thighs and your movements started to get more shallow, eyelids heaving and lashes blinking slowly up at him. You knew what you wanted, and Logan knew too, and he was gonna give it you.

The hand that was on his cock moved up to hold your jaw and the back of your head, inclining it up a bit so your face was now completely turned to him. This simple move of his already made his cock slip a little further into your mouth, taking a moan from both of you.

“Shhh, angel, yeah, that’s it,” his firm hold in the back of your head allowed you to stop moving and he slowly started to move his hips, pumping his cock in and out of your mouth carefully to not gag you. Not right now, at least. “Gonna give it to you slow, baby. You can take it, can’t you?” He knew an answer for you wouldn’t be exactly available at the moment, but you gave your best to manage out a nod, “know you can, bub.”

Logan kept his pace for a while before roughening and fastening it a bit to prepare you, tightening his grip on your head and steading the movements of his hips, his cock now halfway into your mouth, in and out, in and out. He felt your lips and throat loosening and the gagging sounds leaving your lips were driving him insane, his bones were on fire from keeping back and not just fuck your throat like he (and you) wanted.

When his tip kissed the edge of your throat you let your eyes close and your hands fall to his calf, letting him know you were ready, “just a bit more, sweet girl, just-“ his tip entered your throat with ease, curving a bit to follow its anatomy. When your lips finally touched the hairs on his base and his whole cock was seated into your hot mouth, he stilled completely.

You could hear his heavy breathing as if he ran a marathon in five minutes. The silence between the two of you letting you know that if he said or did anything he was surely cuming at that right moment. Logan’s eyes were closed and his head turned to the ceiling, brows furrowed trying to contain himself.

Your fingers caressed his leg slightly, reminding him you were ready, and when his gaze turned down to give you attention, dark and serious, like a big wolf preying down a little bunny, you knew what he was feeling. It faded quickly though when his eyes found yours, his rough expression turning into a smile, “you’re my best girl, aren’t you? That’s what y’wanted babe? To choke on my dick?”

You blinked your eyes assuringly, the heaviness of your eyelids taking a sexy, deep laugh from his chest. His hand left your head momentarily to caress your cheek with the back of his point finger, “think you can swallow for me?” he whispered.

You’ve done that before, and the feeling was nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced, the both of you. And you felt that it was coming by the calm and patient way he was dealing with you tonight. Logan was always careful to ask for things that edged your limits, always trying his best to keep you safe and comfortable. And who were you to deny the birthday boy what he was asking for?

You prepared yourself and slowly clenched your throat, suffocating his tip in the curve of it. Tears involuntarily pooled and fell from your eyes with the overstimulation and the feeling of oh, being so full of him, of his cock angrily pulsing in the whole extent of your mouth and now your throat. Logan’s eyes turned to the back of his head and his mouth hanged open, his fingers flexing in your hair to not lose control.

“O-one more time ba-“ and before he could even finish his sentence you were swallowing him down again, this time earning a loud and raspy groan from him, “fuck! baby, c’mon,” he carefully pulled himself from your mouth, cock hanging angry and desperate from your activities. “Need to feel you,” and kissed you hungrily.

He pulled you by your arms and intertwined them around his neck, tapping your bum slightly in a sign for you to jump in his lap. Logan was careful to drop you on the bed, never parting your lips and laying with his whole body weight on top of you. The hairs on his chest feathering over your nipples and the kiss of his tip over your folds were growing in you a type of desire you couldn’t quite decipher.

Sweat, spit and love were everywhere, your bodies swayed under the moonlight as if you were one. While your tongues fought for space into the other’s mouth, he reached a hand down and starting to thumb your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure that had your mouth unplugging from his with a whine. When you felt his head finally circling your hole, you released him and turned around.

“Like that?” Logan watched as you switched positions, large palm finding your lower back while you placed yourself tummy down on the bed. “Can we?” you whispered, looking at him over your shoulder.

Logan smiled; if you kept being this cute he was going to fuck the sense out of you without effort. His other hand reached behind your knee and lifted it, giving him more easy access to you. Positioning himself into your entrance, he slipped his cock up and down your folds, your juices mixing in a squelching sound.

When he felt your hole flutter and your eyes close, your smaller fingers gripping the sheets, he reached up and kissed a drying tear in your cheek, “shhh baby, g’na go slow, ‘kay?” you nodded. There’s no exaggeration, Logan was big. Big and wide and veiny and filled you in all the right places.

The moment his head eased into you, you were seeing stars. The way your walls spread to welcome his girth made your mind fuzzy and all your senses heightened, the moan he left ecoed in your brain and the touch of his hand embracing yours burned like fire. He slowly pressed forward until his cock was perfectly engulfed inside you, both his member and your walls pulsing in unison.

“Move,” you mewled, fingers gripping his thumb in need. Logan used the hand on the small of your back to balance himself, starting to pump in an out at a perfect pace; not so fast but not so slow, deep, deep as he could to kiss every inch of your cunt and rearrange your insides.

“Pussy so warm, angel. Gripping me so tight,” he sad in your ear, “my little sweet gift.”

Stars exploded all the way down your spine, the fullness of his cock pumping your pussy and the weight of his body pressing on top of yours drove you over the edge, your walls gripping him tightly while you came, bringing his thumb into your mouth.

“That’s it, sweet girl, come for me,” he kissed your temple, “gush this cock, it’s all yours,” Logan slowed his pace inside you to let you calm down, caressing your hair and distributing kisses around your teary eyes.

“Think you can take a bit more, princess?” he whispered gently in your ear, his cock still throbbing inside you, “just a bit and I’ll be done. So I can fill your pussy up and good? Keep you full and plugged with me, hm?” You nodded with his thumb still between your lips and felt his hips meet your ass again.

It was so good. The overstimulation had you throbbing nonstop and your head in the clouds. Logan’s groans and moans were music to your ears along with his “that’s it, princess, fuck”, “whose’s pussy is this, hm? All mine to fuck and love on, ain’t it?”, “yeah, baby, that’s my sweet girl. Taking it so good f’me”, until he himself could take anymore, his cock pulsating and balls stiffening, until his voice got muffled by a low groan and you felt his seed fill you completely, gushing your insides and spilling down and off your walls.

“Fuck, fuck,” he whispered, tired. His forehead rested on your temple as you both calmed down, breathing harmonised. Logan awaited until you opened your eyes and delicately pulled his thumb from your mouth, brushing your hair off of your face.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Hey,” you reciprocated, receiving a little peck on the lips, that turned into many many kisses all over your face while his palm messaged your back. “Thank you, sweetheart. Gonna pull out now, ‘kay?”

While Logan left to the bathroom to clean himself and find a cloth to clean you, you rested your chin on your forearms and stared up at the full moon through the window, sweetly reminiscing the last hour and thanking her for him. On moments like these all your mind could process was Logan Logan Logan.

“Here, bub,” he carefully whipped the fluids from your pussy, the pair of you giggling when you clenched in sensitivity, “c’mon, I draw the bath.”

You hand Logan spent another hour in the warm bath, cleaning and caressing and stealing kisses while the bubbles danced on your skin. You rested your head on his chest and lifted one finger, using the others to simulate a lighter to lit up the “candle”. “Here, make a wish,” you motioned it in front of his face, taking a laugh from him, who closed his eyes and made some funny faces to amuse you. He then blew your finger and playfully bit it, “what did you wish?”

“Well, I can’t tell you, can I?”

You kissed him and closed your eyes, laying back to your position on his shoulder.

“You. You’re my only wish.”

🎀🎀🎀

[corroded-hellfire]

I’m sorry for getting distracted like ten times before sending this but tbh it’s kinda your fault <3

Imagine you’re sitting in the backyard with Eddie while watching the kids run around and Eddie starts talking about how happy and thankful he is for the life he has now. He gets emotional with you and even starts to cry and I just wanna see him cry happy tears. LET MY BOY BE HAPPY.

Your wish is my and @munson-blurbs’s command our darling wife 💚

Words: 2.3k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Autumn in Hawkins is…well, like any other time in Hawkins, but with a crisp bite in the air. The leaves that budded in the spring and held a lively green in the summer are now beginning to turn brown, curling in on themselves as they fall off of the trees. The sun dips behind the clouds earlier and earlier, bringing many of the town’s residents inside their homes for the night. 

But not your family. 

You and Eddie sit side by side on the porch swing, watching your kids run around the backyard. All three of them—four, if you count Luke’s dog—are playing a rousing game of tag. Ryan and Luke have teamed up against Eliza and Patch. It isn’t much of a fair fight, considering your daughter is only three years old and the dog doesn’t have a clue about what’s happening, but no one is complaining. 

Eddie’s hand finds your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. “This is pure chaos,” he whispers in your ear. 

“Insanity,” you agree. Eliza shrieks giddily as Ryan picks her up and slings her over his shoulder. There was a time where you could carry Ryan; now, he’s sixteen-years-old and turning into a young man. It was as though the years had slipped through your fingers without you realizing. “What were we thinking, adding another one into this mix?”

Instinctively, Eddie splays his palm over your stomach. You’re only a month along and aren’t close to showing yet, but he still feels that protectiveness over you. 

“Four kids and a dog,” he muses, shaking his head. “This is your fault, y’know?”

“My fault?”

Eddie nods, a serious look on his face. “Oh, yes. It was two against two when we just had the boys. But then you had to be so damn perfect, and so I had to give you a baby.” He presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“And what about this one?” You glance at where his hand rests. “Is that my fault, too?”

“Absolutely.” Eddie grins. “I mean, you looked so beautiful pregnant with Eliza. How could I possibly let that be a one-time thing?”

You’re about to protest that it was actually a nine-month thing, but you’re interrupted by Patch barking excitedly. 

The brown and white puppy runs as fast as his little legs will take him, doing laps around the three kids. He seems content when Eliza is put back down on the ground, and he can go over and check on her.

“I’m okay!” Eliza comforts with a breathless laugh. 

She pets Patch on the head as he sniffs all over her small legs and feet. Luke snatches his little sister, and though he doesn’t pick her up off the ground, he holds her prisoner against his chest.

“Whatcha gonna do now, Patch?” he teases. “Remember, I’m the one who feeds you!”

Eliza squeals and wriggles against the fourteen-year-old’s chest. Ryan decides to take the attention off both of his siblings and plop down on the grass right next to Patch.

The plan works perfectly as the Australian Shepherd and Labrador mix abandons both younger Munsons and climbs onto Ryan’s chest.

Eddie chuckles from next to you. When you turn to look at him, an infectious grin has you joining in his laughter.

“We’re raising some great kids, huh?” he muses, still watching them.

“Let’s hope this next one turns out just as amazing,” you say, squeezing your hand over Eddie’s where it’s perched on your stomach. 

He turns his hand around to lace his fingers with yours before bringing your hand up to his mouth. His soft, yet slightly chapped lips press kisses from your knuckles all the way to the inside of your wrist. The two of you may have been together for over six years now, but the display of affection still makes you dizzy with giddiness. 

“I keep wondering about how they’re going to react,” Eddie says, nodding towards your children out on the lawn. “I think I’ve imagined them responding in every possible way.”

“Can I be the one to say it to them?” you ask. It feels a little silly, but the idea of getting to say the words “you’re going to have a baby brother or sister” to them fills you with glee.

“Of course, princess.” 

It’s quiet for a few minutes as the two of you watch Eliza demonstrate to Patch how to roll over. Luke pretends to give his little sister a treat from his pocket and the girl playfully growls at him.

“Do you think Luke will wanna name this new baby?” you ask Eddie as his thumb lazily strokes the back of your hand.

“God, I hope not,” he admits with a breathy chuckle. “He’s been obsessed with WWE lately. We’ll have to name it John Cena.”

You giggle and rest your head on your husband’s shoulder. Man, this pregnancy was already hitting you with the exhaustion. 

“Well, Eliza would probably pick Hercules or Megara,” you point out. “Not much better.”

Eddie leans in and kisses your forehead. “Maybe we have to institute a ‘no wrestlers and no cartoon characters’ rule this time.”

“But then Eliza wouldn’t be Eliza,” you point out. It was Ryan who had chosen the name while watching The Wild Thornberries. “So, we might have to make an exception if needed.”

“Fair enough.” 

Before you can set any more ground rules, Luke calls out from the grass:

“Attention, lady and gentledad! The Amazing Eliza and her fearless pup, Patch, would like to perform their death-defying spectacular!”

You sit up a bit, watching as Eliza crouches on her hands and knees. Luke fishes a slice of bologna out of his pants pocket—you’re not sure how long it’s been in there, and you’re not sure you want to—and stands on one side of his sister. 

On her other side, Ryan holds Patch in his arms, the Aussiedor wriggling in anticipation of his snack. 

“And now,” Luke bellows, “we will release the beast!”

With that, your oldest son places Patch on the grass. Before all paws even touch down, the dog bolts towards Luke, leaping over Eliza with surprising grace. 

Eliza jumps up, excitement written all over her cherubic face. “Mommy! Daddy! Did you see that? Did you see me and Patch?”

“We sure did, sweet pea.” You look over at Eddie to gauge his reaction, only to see that his eyes are glassy. The kids are already plotting Patch’s next trick when you ask your husband what’s wrong. 

Eddie shakes his head, swiping at a tear that managed to escape. “I was just thinking about how much they smile,” he says softly. “Especially the boys. It wasn’t always this way.”

You lace your fingers with his. “I know.” You remember the early days of babysitting Ryan and Luke. They walked on eggshells around Brittany, always prepared to be dismissed or outright rejected. Each “I’m too busy to play with you,” extinguished a little more light in their eyes. 

“I love you,” Eddie murmurs. “I love you for so many reasons, but I love you most of all for bringing joy back into our lives again. For reminding us how a family should be.”

Another tear rolls down his cheek as he takes in the unconditional love that surrounds him. You reach over with your free hand and wipe the tear away with your thumb. 

“Every smile and little giggle from those boys has brought me so much joy ever since I met them. Seeing their general happiness grow over these last ten years has been a highlight of my life.”

You bring Eddie’s hand up and press a few soft kisses against the back of it. 

“And now there’s another infectious laughter added to the mix,” Eddie says with a teary chuckle as Eliza’s wild giggle floats over to you on a crisp breeze. 

“And another one soon, I’m sure,” you say, placing a hand on your lower abdomen. “I can’t picture this kid having less than an enchanting laugh.”

Eddie sniffles and nods his head. “We’re all so lucky to have you here. The best mom and the best wife.”

“Not to mention that loving and attentive father our lucky babies have. You don’t give yourself enough credit for how happy you make all of us,” you tell him. 

He tries to shrug it off, but you’re persistent. 

“It’s true! Every laugh and smile I saw from the boys in the early days was because of you. You’re the reason they had light in their lives those grade school years. And you’re the reason Eliza is as stubborn as a mule, but still the greatest kid who is full of love and laughter. And then there’s me.” You rest your chin on his shoulder and look up at him through your lashes. “I’ve never felt so safe before. So safe and loved. And I get to goof off and laugh everyday with my best friend. Cause I’m lucky enough that I got to marry my best friend.”

Eddie’s tears are coming in harder now. It brings a smile to your face, though, to know he realizes just how loved every single person in this family is. That the love only grows stronger every day and soon there will be a new little person to give and receive even more love in the Munson house. 

Your husband clears his throat and rubs over his eyes with the sleeve of his black zip-up hoodie. 

“Dad?” you hear Luke say, approaching closer. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie assures him as he tries to make sure any trace of tears is gone. “I’m okay.”

“Then why were you crying?” Eliza gasps out as she runs over to the two of you. 

“Just happy,” Eddie responds, picking the three-year-old up and setting her in his lap. “I’ve got the greatest wife and kids in the world.”

“And dog,” Luke adds as Patch trots his way over. “Patch is the best.”

“And Patch,” Eddie agrees with a chuckle. 

The puppy puts his front two paws on the porch swing next to you and you take the hint. You bend over and pick up the precocious canine, who happily makes himself comfortable in your lap. 

Ryan comes over and sprawls out on the grass at the edge of the stone patio. He stares up at the rest of you and lets out a content sigh. 

“Dad’s a big old softy,” the sixteen-year-old quips. 

Eliza climbs up on the porch swing and Eddie has to wrap an arm around her waist to keep her from falling as the seat bucks from her movements. 

“Daddy is not soft,” Eliza states as she pokes her father’s bony shoulder. She then rubs her hand over his stubble as if to further prove her point. “Hard and scratchy.”

“What about big and old?” Luke asks, doing his best to keep a smile at bay. 

“Everyone is big compared to Liza Bean!” you butt in, reaching over with one hand to poke her belly. “She’s so teeny tiny!”

Eliza nods once in agreement. 

“Right, Mama! And, yeah, Daddy is old.”

You, Luke, and Ryan can’t help but laugh at her casual words. Eddie’s jaw drops open, and he looks at all of his family members with an affronted face. 

“I am only 41!” Your husband defends. 

“Old,” Eliza reiterates. 

Eddie grabs Eliza and clutches him close to her chest.

“Listen here, little missy!” His fingers dig into Eliza’s sides, making her squeal out in laughter. “I’m young enough to beat you up!”

“I don’t know if anyone can win against Eliza…” Ryan mutters.

“No!” Eliza shouts through her laughter. “I younger! I stronger!”

Eddie ceases his tickling and holds the three-year-old tight against his chest. 

“You can never escape.”

“Bite him!” Luke suggests.

“I’ll bite back,” Eddie says. “And my teeth are bigger.”

“Don’t want to damage your dentures,” Ryan says, a smirk dancing on his face.

You and Luke can’t help but laugh, but Eddie only narrows his eyes as his oldest son and leans into whisper something in Eliza’s ear. Your daughter’s face breaks out into a grin, and she nods her head enthusiastically. 

Eddie lets her down and takes a wide berth walking around her brothers. Neither of them takes their eyes off her small figure as Patch jumps down from your lap and follows the girl. While Eliza distracts them with the direction she’s walking, Eddie silently slips off the swing and is able to pounce on Ryan.

“Hey!” Ryan calls through laughter.

Despite how hard your eldest son tries to get free, Eddie is able to hold Ryan’s arms behind his back. With him subdued, Eliza launches herself at him, quickly glomming onto her biggest brother’s torso. 

“We got you!” Eliza calls. 

Ryan manages to get all three of them laying down on the grass, all squirming around like exposed worms looking for shelter. 

Luke simply shakes his head as he sits next to you on the porch swing. 

“Such children,” Luke admonishes. 

He uses his heels against the patio to gently push the swing back and forth as the two of you watch the other three squabble. 

“Us mature ones would never act this way,” Luke says to you.

“Never,” you agree with a chuckle.

You have no doubt something diabolical is spurning in the fourteen-year-old’s head, but you know that nothing you do or say will be able to stop it. Instead, you just lay your head down on top of Luke’s as you watch Eddie and Eliza try to keep Ryan down on the grass. 

“Mature,” you repeat to yourself. “That’s definitely us.”

[wheeboo]

love surge | kwon soonyoung

SYNOPSIS. in which soonyoung experiences a love surge whenever he's with you. PAIRING. kwon soonyoung x gn!reader (ft. a mention of wonwoo, latte, and small cameo of nct's doyoung) GENRE. fluff, friends to lovers, established relationship WARNINGS. reader wears a dress to prom, someone give soonyoung a medal for having a crush on reader for a whole ass three years, bro is WHIPPED™️, mild language, one suggestive scene, terms of endearment, kissing WORD COUNT. 4.8k

notes: u guys know how he vibrates whenever he's excited?? heh,,

The first time Kwon Soonyoung experienced a love surge was when he was fourteen years old.

He didn't know what to make of it at the time. Usually it would be a reaction to something cute or exciting𑁋like one of the many occurrences the neighbourhood kittens would stroll along the sidewalk on his way home from school, or the time he won a tiger plushie from the claw machine at the arcade.

It's as if his body would experience this sudden burst of energy, an uncontrollable fluttering that made him feel like he could run a marathon or jump to the moon, and he'd be left grinning ear to ear.

But this time, it wasn't a kitten or a plushie.

No, it was a person.

A new school year meant new people. New classmates, new faces, and new things to get used to. Soonyoung had never really thought much about it𑁋he was the kind of kid who could make friends easily, who moved through life with an easy smile and a boundless energy that drew people to him. Though he did have his own worries and anxieties about being a fresh new fish in high school, he was quite excited for what the future held for him now.

However, it had been exactly six minutes after class started that the door opened one last, final time.

The face he sees emerges into the room is one full of panic and a hint of embarrassment. Soonyoung catches your apprehensive eyes as you gaze around the room, searching for an empty seat, briefly landing on his eyes and the barren seat that was just conveniently the only one left in the room.

A small mutter of indecipherable apologies leaves your mouth towards the teacher as you slip your way throughout the classroom, feeling nearly everyone's eyes on you while nearly stumbling over other student's backpacks on the floor. The second you land at the empty spot right next to him, Soonyoung's breath catches in his throat.

It's almost as if his brain is struggling to register your presence right next to him, watching the way you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before fumbling for something inside your backpack.

Then your eyes furrow together defeatedly, and nothing could prepare Soonyoung when you turn towards him.

"Um..." You mumble quietly, letting out an embarrassed chuckle. "Hi, uh... do you happen to have an extra pencil with you?"

Soonyoung blinks, realising you were talking to him. "Pencil? Oh, yeah..." He reaches for his pencil bag, fishing out the first one he grabs ahold of and offers it over to you. "Here you go."

"Thanks so much," You say with relief, accepting the pencil with a cute, shy smile. Your fingers briefly touch, and the glance you both exchange afterwards seems to fill with a soft, awkward charm. "I'll make sure to bring it to you back after class, uh..."

Soonyoung brightens up. "Soonyoung!" Then he lowers his voice from how loud he seemed. "It's... Kwon Soonyoung."

"Kwon Soonyoung." The curl to your lips tug slightly more upward, and Soonyoung's heart does a little jump at the sight. "I'm Y/N."

Y/N, he repeats in his head.

His palms suddenly feel warm, and he has to ball his hands into fists at his side to stop his hands and legs from shaking and the jolt of excitement that ripples through his body. He can feel his heart thumping forcefully against his ribcage, like a thousand tiny fireworks going off all at once in his chest, and he can't tell whether it's from nervousness or pure exhilaration. Maybe both, at this point.

As class passes by, he notices the way you mindlessly doodle with the pencil he gave you, and for some reason, it makes him absurdly happy. He wonders if you'll return the pencil after class, and part of him hopes you don't. That way, he'll have an excuse to talk to you again.

Honestly, he might literally burst from the grin spreading across his face. It's a surge unlike any other one he's had before. And it's not from a game or a cute animal𑁋it's from you.

By the time class ends, you do seem to forget to give Soonyoung his pencil back, and you drift through the class too quickly that he isn't able to catch up with you before you're out the door. His shoulders slump as he fails to catch any sight of you in the crowded hallways.

Though as he shakes off the disappointment on the way to his next class, he feels that surge again. It brings a skip to his step that nearly makes him trip on his shoelace; a hopeful flutter to his heart; a smile to his face that refuses to fade for the rest of the day.

Fourteen-year-old Kwon Soonyoung doesn't really understand what having a crush is like or what love really is yet, but he knows this: whatever that feeling was, he hopes it happens again.

Seventeen-year-old Kwon Soonyoung tied his own tie for the very first time.

It took him approximately nine tries to finally perfect it. His hair is slicked back, and he's wearing the crispest shirt he owns, freshly ironed by his mother just an hour prior. Adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, Soonyoung smooths over his suit one last time before turning around and taking the longest, deepest breath known to mankind.

Prom is supposed to be a night of fun, celebrating the end of high school and the journey he's about to embark on in life. He's quite excited on where life and time is about to take him, to be honest. But he tries not to think too much about that right now𑁋today is about today only.

Soonyoung finds himself squished in the backseat of Wonwoo's car with his friends, all chatting enthusiastically about the night ahead as they head to the venue. Music pumps loudly through the car's speakers, vibrating through the cramped space, and he's sure as hell that other cars could hear just the amount of excitement that was pouring out from the vehicle and into the cool, night air. But he doesn't care, nor do his friends.

The venue for prom is romantically lit and decorated, with fairy lights lining the entrance inside. Other students mingle, all dressed in their finest attire, posing for photos together with friends or with dates. Soonyoung and his friends spill out of the car, laughter and chatter flowing freely. After taking a few group photos outside, they finally head into the venue.

The night is filled with camaraderie as it progresses. Soonyoung lets himself lose on the dance floor as he spins and laughs with his friends and other students alike. His heart pounds to the beat of the music, the pulsating lights making everything feel surreal. At one point though, he drifts away from the group decides to take a break and grab a drink from the refreshment table.

Cold water cools down his throat as he glances around the venue, taking in the sight of everyone enjoying themselves. For a moment, Soonyoung leans against the refreshment table, savouring the moment, eyes searching around for something he wasn't entirely sure of𑁋until his gaze locks onto you.

You're standing near the edge of the dance floor. The dress that you wear shimmers softly under the lights. You look so effortlessly beautiful, like a scene out of a dream, and all the words he could ever think of scatter in his mind.

He hadn't forgotten about you, not in the slightest. Over the years, you'd become pretty good friends he would say, sharing a few mutual classes, bumping into each other in the hallway, exchanging quiet, lighthearted conversations and laughter whenever the teacher was lecturing and occasional banter. But Soonyoung realises he had never done exactly anything about the small, tiny crush he developed for you over time as he was dumbly scared to admit it.

And the feelings resurface all from a singular glance in your direction.

However, something else he catches is the way you appear seemingly torn between glancing down at your phone and back towards the sea of people passing by you in all sort of directions. You don't look... happy; if anything, you seem a bit lost, maybe even a little overwhelmed.

Soonyoung hesitates for a moment, contemplating whether to approach you or not. But then he decides to suck it up, and without anymore thought, he pushes himself away from the refreshment table and trails over to you, sliding his way past clusters of people, dodging swinging arms and spinning bodies until he finally reaches you.

You don't notice him at first, your attention still flitting nervously between your phone and the crowd, but Soonyoung clears his throat softly.

"Y/N?" he calls out to you, voice coming out a bit cracked.

You jump slightly, startled by the sudden voice cutting through your thoughts as you turn around. When your eyes meet his, Soonyoung watches your shoulders visibly relax.

"Soonyoung?" Then your gaze roams over him, taking him in with a small smile. "Wow, I almost didn't recognise you. You look great."

Soonyoung forces out a quiet chuckle, feeling warmth creep up his body, bashful hands coming to scratch the back of his neck.

"Thanks," he mutters, eyes trailing down towards the ground. "And you look... really beautiful tonight too."

You peer down at yourself, feeling the smile on your face widen ever so slightly at his words. "Thank you, Soonyoung."

A brief pause comes between you two as you both search for something to say. Once again, he watches you glance between your phone, to the crowd, and back to him again. There's some sort of apprehension in your eyes, and his brows furrow in concern.

"Are you okay?" Soonyoung asks, almost too quiet he isn't sure if you heard him at first.

You seem to hesitate for a moment before offering a small, forced smile. "Yeah, I just..." Then you purse your lips together. "You don't happen to have seen Minhyun around here, right?"

Minhyun? "Minhyun?" Soonyoung racks his brain for a moment, searching for that particular name through his crowded mind. "As in Minhyun from... the basketball team?"

"Yeah, him," You respond with a nod. "He's... my date for tonight, but uh... I think he ditched me. He was with me earlier and said he'd be right back. I've been looking for him for twenty minutes and he's not responding to any of my texts."

It's almost as if a hand reached its way into Soonyoung's chest, giving his heart a tight, worried squeeze, as well as a bit of frustration coursing through him. How could someone ever ditch their own date for prom? Let alone, out of all people, ditch you?

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he says, before his face brightens with determination. "Do you want me to help you look for him? I could ask around."

Immediately, you shake your head. "No, that's okay, Soonyoung. I appreciate it, though."

"Are you sure?" he urges gently. "I could... keep you company while you wait for him, maybe? Or we𑁋"

"Soonyoung," You cut his words off with a soft, tired chuckle, yet with a hint of firmness. "You don't have to do that. I don't want to ruin your night."

Soonyoung opens his mouth to protest, but the look in your eyes stops him. Still, his heart clenches at the thought of you standing here all alone, waiting for someone who might not even come back.

"I'll just head outside and wait for him," You tell him. "You go ahead and enjoy the night, okay?"

Before he could say anything more, you're brushing past him and heading towards the exit. Soonyoung watches you as you disappear through the crowd, the sparkle of your dress fading into the shadows of the venue's door. His chest tightens as a wave of disappointment washes over him, and for a moment, he just stands there, conflicted. Part of him wants to let you be, respect your decision, and go back to his friends. But the other part of him𑁋the one that's been harbouring this quiet, persistent crush for years𑁋won't let him just walk away.

However, as he attempts to take a step in your direction, a hand lands at his shoulder.

"Soonyoung! Come on, they're about to play the Cupid Shuffle," Doyoung exclaims, pulling him towards the dance floor with excitement.

For one last time, Soonyoung glances over his shoulder and towards the doors you just left. However, Doyoung continues dragging him by the ear towards the dance floor and where the rest of his friends are, already getting in position to start dancing. The familiar rhythm of the Cupid Shuffle takes over the room, and for a few minutes, Soonyoung lets the music take over. He joins in with the laughter and energy, moving in sync with his friends and the rest of the crowd.

Yet it's hard to shake off the lingering worry even while dancing, this ache to his limbs that causes his lively moments to be more subdued. Each second that passes, this pang of guilt hits him even harder.

He doesn't want to see you like that𑁋alone, waiting for someone who doesn't deserve you.

Soonyoung clenches his fists and makes a decision.

Suddenly, as if on autopilot, he finds himself drifting away from the dance floor and his friends and towards the exit of the venue. The night had gotten a little more cooler, hitting him square in the face the second he steps out. But he fixes his attention on finding you.

It doesn't him take long. He catches the familiar sparkle and colour of your dress, seeing you perched on a lone stone bench away from everybody else.

Your phone sits idly right next to you, gaze lost ahead on the packed parking lot.

"Y/N?"

You whisk your head around, catching Soonyoung slowly making his way towards you.

"Soonyoung? What are you..." You swiftly smooth out your dress with your hands. "I told you that I'll be fine."

"Well, I was never really good at following directions anyway..." He pauses when he comes in front of you. "Um... can I sit next to you?"

You give him a small nod.

Soonyoung casually places himself next to you on the bench, feeling the chill of the evening air but more focused on the warmth of being beside you. He glances at you, noticing the faint traces of concern still etched on your face.

"He didn't come, did he?"

You smile faintly at that, before it falters immediately. "No."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," You assure him. "Honestly, in a way, I was kind of hoping he wouldn't."

Soonyoung's eyes widen in surprise at that. "Really?"

"Mhm." You fiddle nervously with the bracelet around your wrist. "My friends set me up with him, even though I didn't exactly want to go to prom in the first place. But I just felt... obligated to, you know? Then I spent about two hundred dollars on a dress I'll only wear for one day in my life. But when Minhyun didn't show up, it was almost relieving, I guess. It just felt like one less thing I had to pretend to enjoy."

There's a brief pause as Soonyoung takes in your words and the way the moonlight reflects off your dress, the way your hair is perfectly styled and the incoming breeze that tousles it just a bit.

"If it makes you feel any better," Soonyoung starts, scooting a bit closer to you. "I... still think you look really pretty."

For a moment, you blink at his words, before the giggle you let out afterwards appears more natural, light-hearted, and genuine than all of the fake smiles you've plastered on throughout the night. Soonyoung can't help but let out a few soft, somewhat awkward laughs himself, a wave of accomplishment flowing through him.

You glance at Soonyoung, taking in his slouched posture, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes, and the easy, almost boyish grin that seems to settle into place whenever he's around you. You don't ever recall spending alone time with him in the few years you've known him around school.

You've always been used to his energetic attitude, this infectious brightness that follows him anywhere and everywhere. It's a bit strange to witness this side of him, but the comfort of his presence right now feels oddly right.

"It's a bit too early for prom to end right now." He faces towards you eagerly. "We should do something."

You lift a brow. "Like what?"

Soonyoung nips the bottom of his lip in contemplation, before he abruptly stands up and offers a hand toward you in this goofy, gentlemanly fashion.

Your eyes widen as you look up at him. "Soonyoung..."

"May I have this dance?" His lips quirk up into a playful grin.

You look around the area, noticing that there was no one else in sight. It was just the two of you outside right now.

"You know that I can't dance," You say to him.

"That's okay," Soonyoung reassures you. "I know that you didn't want to come to prom, but... let me at least make it worth it for you. I can be your date for a few minutes, if you want."

I can be your date for a few minutes. The words bounce off the walls in your head, and the flutter you feel in your heart warms your face.

With some slight hesitation, you allow him to take your hand, and he practically makes you leap off the cold-stoned bench and towards a more secluded part of the parking lot, right under the glow of a streetlamp. The noise from prom fades away into the background.

Soonyoung faces toward you, and the gleeful grin on his face melts away into a softened, almost sheepish look.

"You can, um... put your hands right here. On my shoulders. And I’ll place my hands... here," Soonyoung instructs with a nervous chuckle, hands hovering near your waist. "If that's alright with you."

Soonyoung doesn't exactly know why he's suddenly feeling so bold. Maybe it's because he's spent quite literally almost all of his high school years admiring you silently from afar, or because tonight has been a rollercoaster of its own and he's realised that he doesn't want to waste this chance with you.

Placing your hands tentatively on his shoulders, his hands gently settle on your waist. Admittedly, it's a bit clumsy, awkward as you both just stand there, feeling the cool breeze against your skin and the faint hum of music from inside the venue. However, it seems to melt away when you both start slowly swaying back and forth.

"Try not to step on my feet," he mutters cheesily.

"Okay, mister professional," You tease amusedly, nerves settling as you adjust your feet so that you don't accidentally step on him with your heels.

As you both sway along a comfortable rhythm, Soonyoung continues to gaze at you. Not in a weird way𑁋at least, he hopes he's not𑁋but with a kind of adoration he's sure everyone could read on his face. It feels natural, this simple dance beneath the streetlamp, like a small piece of the prom night that was meant for just the two of you.

You gaze up at him wonderingly, squeezing his shoulder to get his attention. "What?"

"I..." Gosh, Soonyoung, snap out of it! "You're just... really pretty. That's all."

His words come out quiet and almost all mumbles as he hangs his head down low to the ground.

"You've told me that three times tonight," You remind him playfully. "in the span of an hour."

"I-I'll stop. I'm sorry𑁋"

"You don't have to stop," You cut him off softly, voice tinged with a smile. "But if you wanted to ask me out, you know... I wouldn't say no. No need to be shy about it."

Your words make Soonyoung freeze in place, his hands still on your waist. Along with the night, he holds his breath. For a moment, Soonyoung's brain short circuits, and all he can do is blink at you in disbelief.

"Y-You wouldn't?" he stammers.

You shake your head softly, that small smile still lingering. "No. I wouldn't."

Soonyoung's hands instinctively tighten just a little around your waist, as if he's afraid you might slip away. He clears his throat, trying to muster up some confidence.

"So... I could be your date a little longer than a few minutes?"

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you meet his nervous gaze, your fingers unconsciously tightening their hold on his shoulders.

"You could be my date for the rest of this night. Or this week. Or however long you want, Soonyoung."

There's that surge again𑁋a rush of warmth that sweeps through Soonyoung's entire body from top to bottom and making him feel like he's floating on cloud nine. He feels his pulse quickening, his heart racing, and the mask that was suppressing his giddiness all finally shed light. He's certain that you could feel it, too.

Seventeen-year-old Kwon Soonyoung feels as though he's stepped into a dream. Perhaps the universe had listened to his wishes all along.

Twenty-two-year-old Kwon Soonyoung had been told that high school relationships rarely ever last.

Well, to be fair, the two of you got together at the end of the year, so did it really count? He doesn't exactly know. But he's seen friends of his own break up with their supposed 'high school sweethearts'𑁋the ones where they've promised marriage and eternity and everlasting love𑁋and he'd been warned time and time again that those relationships often fizzle out when faced with the realities of adulthood.

But here he is, twenty-two, and still with you.

Soonyoung finds himself sitting at the dining table, laptop propped up in front of him, finally submitting his last assignment of the entire school year. And when he does, he shuts his laptop close, leaps out of the chair, and pumps his fist up into the air in victory.

"Yes!" he exclaims proudly into the empty apartment. "I'm done!"

He lets out a whoop of excitement, a grin stretching across his face from ear to ear. Finally the past few weeks of late nights and strenuous studying have paid off, and now, he gets to relax.

More importantly, he gets to relax with you.

As he's tidying up the apartment, the click of the door lock grabs his attention. His face lights up, and he quickly finishes putting away the last of the dishes, making a beeline straight to the front door.

You're walking in with a couple grocery bags, yet nearly drop them when a pair of arms wrap around you.

"Soonie! What the𑁋"

"I just submitted my last assignment, baby!" Soonyoung announces to you eagerly, arms squeezing around you in a tight hug. "We're done with school!"

When he pulls away, you give him a quick kiss to his cheek. "For now."

Soonyoung pouts slightly as you slip past him and towards the kitchen, beginning to put away the grocery bags. "Aw, come on, you're not excited for me?"

You chuckle at that. "Of course I am."

"But you're not showing it!"

You turn around, and Soonyoung is already standing in front of you with his arms folded across his chest, feigning a dejected look to his features𑁋a look that you know so well.

You could only let out a sigh, extending a hand to tug at his sleeve, pulling him closer to you.

"I'm proud of you, Soonie," You tell him warmly, watching the way his expression softens when he's this close to you. You let your fingers trace shapes up and down his arm. "I really am."

As another grin makes its way across his face, Soonyoung feels that familiar surge of energy𑁋of love𑁋course through him, and he wraps his arms around you once more to lift you up onto the counter. You yelp out a surprised giggle at his gesture, instinctively circling your arms around his neck for support. His eyes never leave yours as he gently sets you down, his hands resting lightly on your hips, face just inches from yours.

Soonyoung always feels like he might burst from happiness when he's this close to you, even in the few years you've been together now. He knows it's a feeling that won't go away, not now, not ever, not anytime soon.

"Gosh, you're so pretty, you know that?" He kisses you so softly, careful not to let all of his affection spill out right now. "So fuckin' gorgeous..."

"Okay, handsome, what happened to 'we're done with school'?" You tease gently, sighing quietly when his lips meet the skin of your shoulder. "Don't you want to make plans?"

"I have plans, alright," Soonyoung mutters against your skin, his lips brushing softly against your collarbone. "And you don't have to do anything else, m'kay?"

You tilt your head back slightly, gazing at him with amusement. "Are you sure that's all you need from me?"

"Hmm, a few more kisses wouldn't hurt, and I'll do the rest, yeah?" Soonyoung suggests playfully, already puckering his lips out for you. "Can I take care of you, please?"

You just giggle, taking his face in your hands and instead of kissing his lips, you press one right to the tip of his nose. "Whatever you want, Soonie."

The love surge that has been building up in his system finally releases its way out of his body, bursting out of him and consuming his entire being the second your mouth meets his. He's swift to pull you close and lift you effortlessly off the counter, his feet bringing him in the direction of the bedroom, your laughter mingling together and bouncing off the walls.

Twenty-two-year-old Kwon Soonyoung is convinced that no matter how much love he feels or how many times he shows it, there will always be more to give.

Twenty-eight-year-old Kwon Soonyoung finds that the word home has taken on a new meaning over the years.

Sure, he can find his proper comfort in the physical aspect, but it's different when you are in it with him.

Just like now, with you simply laying right next to him in bed, with Latte settled on your other side and body encased by the warmth of the duvet. Soonyoung doesn't think this is a sight he can wake up to every day; he knows it'll be a sight he'll have the privilege of cherishing for the rest of his life.

"Baby?"

"Hm...?"

He giggles lowly at the way your voice sounds so sleepy and content. Carefully, he presses his body up more against you, slipping one of his arms over you and the other under your pillow to draw you even closer to him. Your legs tangle even more together underneath the duvet, and he can't help but smile at how perfectly you fit against him.

"Hi," he whispers playfully into your ear, causing your nose to crinkle endearingly.

Yet instead of pushing him away, you flip over in his hold, nestling your head on his chest and muttering out a drowsy hi against him. Your arm wraps around his waist, and you let out a content sigh as you press a soft kiss to his neck. Soonyoung lets out an airy sigh, feeling the cold metal of the ring on your finger meet the skin of his back where his shirt had ridden up a little.

Even with years of being together, this routine of morning snuggles hasn't changed one bit; if anything, you seem to initiate more of the cuddles these days, and he doesn't mind it at all. Not one bit.

Latte curls her way into a more comfortable ball against your back as Soonyoung runs his hand under your shirt just slightly to trace his fingertips over the skin of your spine.

As he holds you for a few more, long minutes, Soonyoung separates himself a little, not to fully let go of you but just to capture his first glimpse of your face for the day.

"So pretty," he says, poking softly at your cheek. It's probably his quadrillionth time telling you that and every possible synonym of it, but it never seems to lose its meaning.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open to peer at him with a groggy but affectionate gaze.

"I love you."

Soonyoung blinks dazedly. Somehow, still always, he's always caught by surprise whenever you say those three little words to him. He's been hearing them for years now, every day and every night, but every time, it feels like the first.

It's almost ridiculous to admit how much of an effect you have on him still, how much you've managed to wrap him around your finger since the first time you met, but the heavens only know how grateful he is for it.

"I love you too."

Then his lips curl up into cheesy grin, and the surge of love that courses through him once more makes him tightly wrap his arms around you, causing you to stuff your face into his chest. You feel his body vibrate around you, muffling your giggles in his embrace, and accidentally jerking Latte awake with a soft whine.

Twenty-eight-year-old Kwon Soonyoung had finally discovered the meaning of home and love.

And it's you.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @eternalgyu

@lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @ryuwonieebae @wonwooz1

@mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23

@phenomenalgirl9 @mirxzii @bookyeom @parkjennykim @melodicrabbit

@bewoyewo @honglynights @bananabubble @treehouse-mouse @starshuas

@totomoshi @armycarat2612 @etherealyoungk @maesvtr0 @gigification

@ahuiahoe

[writeriguess]

Katsuki x fem reader… a katsuki who loves boobs … and fondles it a lot

It was one of those rare nights where the world seemed to slow down just for the two of you. The apartment was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight streaming through the curtains, the hum of city life outside faint and distant. You sat together on the couch, your body nestled into Katsuki’s side as you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone.

Katsuki’s arm was draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer against his chest. He was unusually quiet tonight, his gaze heavy on you. You could feel the heat of his eyes as he watched you, his fingers slowly tracing patterns along your arm. There was something about the way his thumb brushed against your skin that made you shiver, a spark of anticipation building in the pit of your stomach.

"You're quiet," you commented, glancing up at him. His crimson eyes met yours, and you saw the intensity in them, something primal and unspoken. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Shut up," he muttered, his voice low and gruff, but there was no real bite behind his words. Instead, his hand slipped from your shoulder, trailing down to rest on your waist. His touch was possessive, firm, and you could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of your shirt.

He didn’t need to say more. You knew Katsuki had never been one for flowery words or grand declarations. He showed you how he felt in the way he kissed you, in the way he touched you. And right now, his touch was speaking louder than any words ever could.

Without warning, his hand moved higher, slipping under your shirt, and you gasped as his fingers grazed your bare skin. The rough pads of his fingertips sent electric jolts through your body, and your breath hitched when his hand cupped your breast, squeezing gently.

“K-Katsuki…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Yeah?” he rasped, his voice rough and dripping with need. His thumb circled your nipple, teasing it through the fabric of your bra, and you couldn’t help but arch into his touch.

Your body responded to him instinctively, your mind clouded with desire. Katsuki had always been like this—direct, unapologetic, and completely in control. He knew exactly what he wanted, and right now, it was you. All of you.

His hand slipped further under your shirt, pushing it up until it bunched around your chest, exposing you to the cool air of the room. You shivered as his lips followed the path of his hand, kissing a trail from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts. His tongue flicked against your skin, sending waves of heat through your body, and your hands tangled in his ash-blonde hair, pulling him closer.

“Katsuki, please…” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. He chuckled against your skin, his breath hot and teasing as his hand cupped both of your breasts, kneading them with a possessive hunger that made your pulse quicken.

“Please what, huh?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You gasped, your back arching as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin. He was relentless, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of you, and the way he touched you—it was like he couldn’t get enough.

“You like that?” he asked, his voice rough and husky. His hand moved from your breast to your waist, pulling you closer to him until you were practically sitting on his lap. You could feel his hardness pressed against you, his need for you evident, but he took his time, savoring every second of having you beneath him.

You nodded breathlessly, unable to form words as his hands and mouth continued their relentless assault on your senses. Every touch, every kiss, sent shockwaves through your body, and you could feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you thought you might break.

Katsuki’s hands returned to your breasts, squeezing them gently before rubbing his thumbs over your hardened nipples. His eyes were dark with desire as he watched your reaction, and the sight of you writhing under his touch seemed to ignite something inside him.

“Fuck, I love these,” he growled, leaning down to kiss you hard, his tongue invading your mouth with the same intensity as his hands. You moaned into the kiss, your fingers tightening in his hair as you ground your hips against him, desperate for more.

He pulled away just enough to speak, his breath ragged and hot against your lips. “You’re mine. You know that, right?” His hands squeezed your breasts again, and you nodded frantically, too caught up in the pleasure to do anything else.

“Yes… Katsuki, I’m yours…” you managed to gasp, your body trembling as he continued to tease you. His touch was possessive, his hands roaming every inch of your skin as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his fingertips.

He smirked, clearly satisfied with your response, and kissed you again, slower this time, but just as intense. His hands never left your breasts, and you knew he wasn’t going to stop until he had completely undone you.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.

[lionizingheathen]

More DBF! James, please I beg!!!

Preferably part 2 of the other DBF! James writing, where it's like the morning now :3

DBF!James Potter x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Penetration, Oral sex reader recieving, Handjob, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cockwarming

Smut under cut

James Potter was fucking hot in the morning, that was something you'd already guessed, but getting to see him in nothing but his boxers, his cock hard through them and his hair a mess... God, you wanted to wrap your lips around him so bad... But you didn't know if he'd like that, you didn't wanna push it, so you kissed him softly instead, rousing him with a smile as you passed over his glasses.

He put them on and looked at you, letting out a low groan as he shook his head, his eyes crinkling when he smiled.

"Good morning... You're a sight for sore eyes, Y/N." He looked down your body, hands reaching out to palm your breasts, one sliding down to feel the wetness between your thighs as you gasped, letting them fall open. "All of you." Fuck.

"Mmm... You've got a one-track mind in the morning." You murmured, palming his hard cock before you pulled his boxers down so you could wrap your fingers around it.

Fucking hell.

"Dreamt about fucking you." He kissed you deeply before batting your hand away. "Gotta make it a reality." He grunted, kissing down your body lazily before he spread your legs with ease, the feeling of his tongue on your cunt making your head spin as it fell back on the pillow.

He moaned at your taste, puling you closer and pawing at your skin as he drank you in, acting like he was famished, like you were bringing him back to life. You moaned out his name, bringing your further apart to give him more room to work with.

"Jamie... Fuck..." You gasped, throwing your head back as you stared at the ceiling, trying to regulate yourself but you found it impossible when he was eating you out like he was starving.

"Taste so fucking good..." He moaned, grinding his hips against the bed like he could hardly stand that he wasn't inside you right now... And honestly...

Why wasn't he?

"James..." You sighed, pushing his head back as he lifted it, giving you a wide grin, a cocky one that made your cunt throb, clenching around nothing.

He'd fix that, you were sure of it.

"What?" Please. "What is it, love."

"I need you inside me." His mouth dropped open as you nodded, pulling him up into a messy kiss, moaning as you tasted yourself on his tongue. "Now, James. Please." You breathed, and he nodded, pulling back.

"I'll get a condom-." You grabbed his wrist, pulling him back as you shook your head.

"No." You said firmly, and he stopped.

"No?" He asked, sounding doubtful as you nodded.

You didn't want him wearing one... If he wanted to, that was one thing. But if he was doing it out of obligation, he didn't have to.

"It's okay, I'm on birth control." You breathed, reaching down to stroke him as you spread his precum over his tip as he gasped, his head hanging down for a moment, glasses threatening to slip off his nose before you pushed them up again.

"I can still wear one-." You cut him off, pulling him closer. You didn't want him to wear one unless he absolutely wanted to, you wanted to feel his cum inside you.

"It's okay. If you want to you can, but I'm okay if you don't." You said, and he lifted his head, vision clouded as you cupped his balls for a moment while stroking a little more quickly, loving how he throbbed in your hand, thrusting into it.

It'd feel even better inside you.

"Promise?" He asked, and you felt your heart squeeze as you nodded, resting your forehead against his... yes, it should've been obvious that he would check, but most guys you'd been with hadn't bothered... It was nice.

"Promise." You leaned in, kissing the side of his neck. "I want to feel you inside me... I want you to cum inside me."

"Shit..." Oh, he loved that.

Good.

"I want you to breed me." You murmured, tugging on his hair as he let out a grunt, his large hands squeezing your hips as he pulled back, his eyes seeming hazy with lust, making you squeeze your thighs together.

Fuck.

"Don't talk like that, I think I'll fuck you so hard I break you." He warned, and you let out a shaky sigh, nodding as you cupped his face... That sounded fucking perfect, why were you not having that happen right now?

"That's exactly what I want." You reached down, jerking up and down his cock as you spoke. "Stretch me out, sir. I wanna be ruined by your cock." He moaned at that, thrusting into your touch.

"Fucking hell, Y/N." A hand found your shoulder and pushed you down, making you let out a quiet shriek as he shucked his boxers entirely, standing in front of you before he crawled back down, making you whimper. Perfection. "Spread your legs again." He instructed, and you did, watching him grip the base of his cock as he carefully slid it inside you, even just the head of it making you gasp.

Fuck, he was even bigger than he looked... Even bigger than he'd felt in your mouth and throat... This was gonna fucking ruin you.

"Oh... Fuck, you're massive." You grunted, your brain melting at the stretch that his cock provided. He looked down at you, clearly worried.

"I can slow down-." Nope.

"No! No, make me take you... Please..." You begged, and he still moved slowly, letting out a low moan as he did... God, you both needed this.

"Are you-." You wrapped a leg around his hips, forcing him deeper inside you as he gasped, his strong arms on either side of your head as you kissed at his chin. "Sure... Fucking shit..." He grunted, and your mouth hung open, relishing in how full you felt as you both soaked in the feel of each other.

But you needed more.

"Fuck me... Please." His eyes darkened as he pulled out, flipping you quickly onto your stomach before he roughly lifted your hips, thrusting back in to start his brutal pace. "Ah, fuck... Shitshitshit... Oh my god..." You whined, feeling him bend over you as he wrapped an arm around your stomach.

"Fuck, you feel so good." His teeth stung your shoulder as he bit down hard. "Mine." You nodded, grunts leaving you with each thrust... Fuck, this was gonna be the death of you. God help your second semester.

"Yours... Only yours." And you meant that... Fucking James Potter had ruined you for anyone else.

"Good girl." There was just one more thing you needed from him... Your orgasm was coming fast, but he could make it come even faster if he just fucking choked you.

Gotta ask.

"James... James... James..." You gasped, biting down on the blanket as you felt his hand smooth over your back, clasping your hair to pull you up.

"What, love?" Choke me.

"Choke me... Choke me..." You whimpered, and he paused for a moment, breathing heavily in your ear, his cock so deep inside you that if he wanted coherent thought out of you, he couldn't get it.

"You sure?" He asked, and you nodded.

You just knew his hand around your throat would be heaven.

"Yes." He wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing hard enough to make your vision blur, and that was what you'd needed the most. "Oh fuckfuckfuck... I'm gonna cum... Jamie, I'm gonna cum." He let go.

Fuck.

"Cum on my cock... Cum all over my cock." He grunted, pulling your hair hard as you gasped, your head snapping up as everything released.

"Shit... Cumming! Cumming for you, oh my god." You whined, feeling yourself clench around him as you rode out his orgasm, James not slowing down for a second.

"Feels so good..." Good. "'m right behind you, love." Your eyes rolled back as you moaned, nodding.

You wanted to feel him cum inside you... You'd imagined it thousands of times, but you needed to feel it.

"Cum inside, please cum inside... Wanna be full, fill me up, Jamie! Make me take your cum! Please!" You cried, hearing him let out an animalistic grunt behind you as he grabbed your hips, holding them up as his pace increased, bringing tears to your eyes as you let out a relieved sigh at the feeling of him using you.

You'd dreamed about this for months, for years, wanting to know just how good being fucked senseless by Mr. Potter would feel... and it felt amazing.

He bent down, huffing in your ear as his pace became uneven.

"Mine. Mine. Fucking mine." He grunted, and you nodded, feeling like your brain could fall right out of your head. Your thighs trembled as you shook silently through another orgasm, waiting for him to join you.

"Please, Jamie. Please make me yours." You begged, reaching down to rub roughly on your own clit as he let out a gasp, his hands digging into your skin as he thrusted hard and fast for a moment before grunting, his cum filling you as you shuddered through your own orgasm, letting him work through his.

"Cumming... Fuck, I'm cumming." He gasped, pressing deep inside you for a long moment before he pulled out and laid down, pulling you into his arms. "You are... Amazing." He breathed, and you nodded, tucking your head against his chest as you traced over his muscles, blushing at the realization that it was his cum dripping down your leg.

God, you wanted him to fill you up all over again, as many times as he could manage before going back to Uni.

"Fuck, James." He kissed the side of your head. "God, that was so good." You breathed, feeling weak as you laid against him.

"You are so sexy, Y/N... You're gonna have to come home more." Huh?

"Why?" You asked, and he gave you a lazy, boyish grin before he sighed, tucking his free hand under his head.

"Because I wanna fuck you on ever surface of this fucking house as often as possible, and I can't do that when you're at University." Oh... God, well now you needed him again... But he needed to recover, so you resisted the urge to climb on top of him and grind on his abs... That could wait.

"You could visit." He let out a hearty laugh as you picked up your head to look at him.

"I'm old, what would your friends think?" He asked, and you chuckled, shaking your head as you placed a hand on his cheek, admiring the wisps of gray in his hair before you pulled him in for a long kiss, loving the way he groped your ass, your chest, roughly touching you before he let you go.

Right. Words.

"That I'm getting fucked stupid by a hot man..." He chuckled, shaking his head as you brought a hand down to lazily stroke his cock for a second, already half hard again as your mouth all but watered... You wanted him to fuck your throat again... And your cunt... and anything else he could possibly want, you wanted to give it all to him. "Trust me, you wouldn't see much of them." "You'd see a lot of me, bent over and ready to take you anywhere you want." You murmured, feeling his cock throb a bit against your hand before you pulled back, turning away from him as he let out an appreciative moan, groping at your ass before he slapped it hard just once, making you gasp as you bit back a moan, making a mental note to tell him to do that again.

"Shit." You smirked, clearing your throat as you spoke, not even bothering to look back at him.

"Plus, I think sitting on your cock while I did coursework would be a wonderful motivator." You murmured, and he let out a groan, wrapping is strong arms around you as you felt his cock, now fully hard again, pressing against your ass.

Fucking hell... You wanted it inside you again, but you knew he needed a minute, even if you just wanted to ride him.

"Fine, twist my arm... I'll visit." You smiled to yourself, wiggling your ass back against him.

"Perfect."

"Right now though... I don't wanna get up." You went to move, wanting to give him space before he pulled you back down, wrapping an arm around you. "And you shouldn't either." Demanding.

"Oh?" He gripped your hips and you felt his tip against your entrance before he slid easily in, making you gasp. Shit. "Oh... Fuck..." You breathed, your eyes rolling back at the feeling of being full all over again.

"Mhm." He pulled you closer, making you whimper as you felt him thrust even deeper, wiping your mind clean, the only thing on it was the feeling of him stretching you. "Stay... And once I'm ready again, I'll ruin you." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. "Clear?" You nodded, mind dumb as you tried to move discreetly against him, but found no relief.

He was just tormenting you.

"Yes sir."

[amorchai]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒.

old post was 408 notes.

pairing(s): young!remus lupin x reader

words: 506

warnings/tags: established relationship, one (small) sexual innuendo but completely a sfw work!

“how about a high five every time you finish a topic?” remus had used his umpteenth suggestion, causing you to pull yet another disapproving expression while replying, “i think i’ll pass, that’s not even remotely motivating for a full topic’s worth.” 

remus sighs, moving from resting on his knees to sit down as you rest your head against the tree trunk, notes sprawled over the grass and hiding from the bright sky as you regret your decision in going outside of hogwarts in hope that a summers day might help cure your procrastination. 

it only made it worse. and now your boyfriend, remus, tried his best to motivate you into studying, knowing you would be annoyed with yourself later on if you didn’t. 

“fine, how about… i remove an article of clothing every topic you study?” you snort at his suggestion, “and you class that as a motivation?” you tease with a grin as he gazes at you with faux annoyance, “i don’t want to look over the entirety of the cruiciatus curse for one of your socks, that’s just offending my ability to learn.”

“fair enough,” replies remus as he looks down from the hill they were atop of, gazing at the water from afar and the hills of scotland covering the castle for miles before shrugging. “have you got any brilliant ideas?” he asks and you shake your head.

he lets out a humph as he moves forward to rest on top of you, head against your stomach as he lies in-between your legs. his palms slithering under you to rest flat against your back as the warm heat of the sun and each other could dangerously send you both to sleep. 

“what about a kiss every-time?” he murmurs against your shirt, head facing the side as he watches the landscape, his fingers slightly scratching the material by your back in an attempt to soothe you. “per topic?” you ask. 

he hums, “well, maybe once every ten minutes of studying?” he offers, “this reasoning you’re willing to negotiate? i wonder why.” you giggle against him as you reach over to grab a textbook, trying to not move too much with the boy resting against you. 

“yes, you’re right. ten minutes isn’t enough, maybe a kiss per sentence you write,” remus continues with a small yawn afterwards, head moving to look up to you. “remus—” you cut yourself off with a laugh.

“what?”, “we’d be here all night if it was every sentence,” you reply, one hand instinctively moving to his heavy locks of hair to thread your fingers through. he leans up to peck your lips before closing his eyes and resting against your middle. 

“fine, one kiss per word will suffice,” he murmurs, causing you to continue laughing as you nudge his shoulder. he chuckles, moving his face to press lazy kisses against your shirt as you begin to read your textbook, “as much as it would motivate me, no work would be getting done.” 

“i’m willing to take the chance, lovey.”

amorchai masterlist . taglist form

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[fictionismyreality3]

I Can Fight (18+)

Simon Riley x Reader

Tags: Smut, boyfriend!simon riley, possessive!simon riley, 141!reader, kinda dark!simon riley, established relationship

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, slightly controlling behaviour, it’s kinda toxic but like also not, military stuff??, clubbing, drinking, violence, choking, slight impact play, SHAMELESS SMUT

Notes: the side eye he’s giving in this photo is diabolical 😮‍💨

There was something about watching you dancing around in the tight red dress Simon bought you that satisfied the primal, caveman part of his mind. Going to the club after a long mission had begun to become a routine for the squad, and Simon never had a reason to attend before.

Not until you.

He salivated as he sat at the bar, his eyes constantly trained on your figure as you moved and grinded against any random person near you. Every hand that someone laid on your hip made his jaw tick and his cock bulge in his jeans. It was a little game you liked to play with each other. Simon still remembered the first time you were in his bedroom standing in front of his mirror, two dresses in your hand.

“I don’t know, the blue one kinda shows my ass.” You hesitated. “Wear wha’ever the fuck you want, luv. I can fight. I’ll rip the cock off anyone who touches you.”

The initial protectiveness he felt quickly evolved into a feral need to keep you all to himself, and you were just as bad as him. It was hard to tell when the lines blurred, but soon you were going out of your way to make Simon jealous, and every night out ended with him beating the shit out of some random guy.

It was wrong. It was fucking sick, really. But, the look in Simon’s eye when he came back to loom over you and grab you by the throat made you want to let him fuck you right there in the club. And the sex you had when you got home was the hottest of your life.

And that’s how Simon found himself sitting on a barstool, his legs spread to accommodate the way his cock was straining against the fabric of his jeans. He could see your eyes darting to him as you rolled your ass back against a scrawny looking guy. He could see the way you ran a hand down the front of your body just to tease him. He’d let you have your fun for a while. Then he’d come over and punch the lights out of the fucker who was touching you.

God, you were such a pretty thing.The little red dress you were wearing was tight enough to be a second skin. The collar dipped down to reveal a frankly whorish about of cleavage, but he didn’t mind.

You were his good little slut.

But he’d had enough now. A low grumble went through his chest as his pushed himself off the bar, following you as you led the guy out of the club and to the alley behind it. Just like you’d discussed. He stood in the shadows, palming himself through his jeans as the man started to try and press himself into you. Simon cupped his cock, liking the burn of the fabric he got when he rutted into his hand.

But then the fucker tried to kiss you and he saw red.

Your little game was suddenly over, and Simon was ripping the guy off you with a snarl. Heat flooded into your pussy, and you were clenching your legs together as you leaned against the wall and waited for him to finish. The man’s desperate pleas slowly turned into panicked gurgling noises, he went limp on the pavement. Simon gave him one last shake and then he was coming over to you.

“Look at you. So fuckin’ pretty f’me.” He shuddered, running his nose from the dip of your chest to your jaw. “You like dressin’ up f’me, luv?”

Simon drew a breathy moan from your lips as he slid his fingers under the hem of your dress. “Like watchin’ me break who ever touches you?”

Your back hit the sheets, the scent of Simon engulfing you with a dizzying intensity. His hands tugged at the fabric of your dress, pulling the fabric apart so it ripped by the seams. Suddenly, your red dress was on the floor, the only sounds in the room were your whispered pleas and Simon’s grunts as he fumbled to pull his cock free of his jeans.

Running a thick finger through your folds, he collected the wetness and forced it into your mouth. “Just couldn’t keep y’self together in the car, huh?” Shaking your head dumbly, you sucked idly on his digit while he began to stroke himself. “Si, please give me your cock.” You moaned, the words muffled when he suddenly shoved another finger down your throat, the intrusion making you gag.

“Gonna be a good girl f’me. Gonna take my cock so well.”

You were such a pretty thing, already needy and messy from how he’d teased you in the car. It was impossible for Simon to stop himself from just shoving his cock inside you all at once. The thickness of him split you open, a hoarse cry ripping through your throat as you clutched at his shoulders. God, you were such a needy little girl.

Simon drew his hips back, lazily pounding his cock inside you again and again. “Tha’s it. Take me so well.” The tip of him brushed against your cervix and he silenced your mewling with a slap to the thigh. Rough and calloused fingers gripped the flesh, tugging your legs up so that they were over his shoulder. “Gonna pound this sweet lil’ cunt.” A darker and more twisted part of him relished in the way you begged for him to slow down.

“Fuckin’ scream f’me.” He growled in your ear, threading a hand through your hair so he could angle your neck to the side. The delicious burn of his teeth sinking into your skin had you clenching around him. “Oh f-fuck, luvie.” He gasped, his hips stuttering before he was slamming his cock inside you relentlessly.

“You’re mine.”

“Mine t’fuck. Mine t’love.” One hand reached between you, rubbing tight, fast circles on your clit. White-hot pleasure sent you jolting underneath him, squirming around and trying to get the overwhelming bliss to stop. “Stay fuckin’ still.” Simon growled, his hand wrapping around your throat.

Simon watched you go all dumb on his cock, your eyes rolling back in your head as you clawed at his hand. He only tightened his grip further, his cock so hard he felt like he might explode. The way you were tightening around him, the way your lips parted, every little sound you made sent him spiralling.

The sound of skin hitting skin filled your shared bedroom, Simon’s balls slapped against your ass with every thrust. “No one’s ever gonna touch you.” He rasped, his own movements getting sloppy.

“Gonna cum real hard f’me?” The only response you could give was frantic nodding and little squeaks with the way he was constricting your airflow. “Gonna- oh, fuck. Gonna make me proud?” Everything felt amplified, and Simon felt drunk, dizzy off the haze of your perfume. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, sucking greedily against your pulse point. “Give me tha’ pretty pussy.”

You could hear every tortured noise he made in your ear, and Simon could feel the way your cunt was fluttering around him. “C’mon, dovie, make me- christ, make me cum inside you.” Your nails raked down his back, leaving trails of desire in their wake. You couldn’t breathe, you could barely see, all that existed was Simon. And then he pinched at your clit and you were falling.

“Oh, atta’ girl.” He groaned. “Good girl, good girl.. gonna make me-” Hot, thick ropes of cum spilled inside you. Simon’s eyes rolled back into his head and he bit down on your neck, letting out a deep, raspy moan. Before you could catch your breath, two large hands wrapped around your waist, flipping you over on the bed. You head was pushed down into the pillow, Simon gripping at the flesh of your hip to tug your ass up into the air.

“You don’t think m’done with you yet, d’you, dove?”

[mandalhoerian]

sacrosanct | leon kennedy x reader | 2

< PREVIOUS | NEXT (c.s.) >

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Leon, a paladin of the temple who became a disillusioned oathbreaker, returns from years of war with a noble title and shattered faith. Once devoted to the Saintess who healed him, Leon's admiration has twisted into repressed desire—feelings he could never express, tainted by guilt and shame. Now a celebrated hero, he’s drawn back not to the kingdom’s praises, but just for a glimpse of you to move on with his life.

The god he abandoned has other plans for him.

word count: 13K

warnings: none. leon being embarrassing is all... you'll see

disclaimer: Leon has some backwards thinking about "providing and protecting" during the end of the fic. Please keep in mind there's two reasons as to why that is:

1) this is a historical fiction no matter how fantastical it is, so conservative values very much exist

2) it actually isn't gender-based. leon is very much okay with the reader doing whatever she wants. he just has a worshipper mentality when it comes to the reader and sees the real world beneath her, so to speak? he basically has her on a pedestal that nobody is allowed to take her down from. she's god's favorite princess and he wants to treat her as such and her serving others is grating on his nerves (they don't deserve it AND she deserves better is the theme here)

3) get your whimsy on and just enjoy being worshipped damn

note: i meant this as a two-shot but . alas, we're here. i swear the next one is the final one. I SWEAR

🌀 READ ON AO3 !

The sound of scrubbing fills the busy kitchen, a rhythmic rasp of bristles against copper. The bucket of soapy water at your side ripples with each jerking movement of your hand, and the cloth slips again, plunging your fingers into the cold water. You wince, pulling back, hands trembling as they fumble over the simple task of cleaning the tarnished pot.

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips. This should be easy—anyone could scrub a pot, right? Any maid worth her salt would handle this without even thinking. But here you are, elbows deep in water, raw fingers rubbing awkwardly at the stubborn stains, trying to remember how much pressure to apply without ruining the metal. It’s a dance you haven’t quite learned yet, despite the amount of practice in the Redfield household.

The weight of the chore feels unnatural in your hands. Once, they were only meant to offer blessings, outstretched for others to kiss, the soft skin never meant for labor. Now, every slip, every misstep, reminds you of how far you’ve fallen. The holy aura that once clung to you like a second skin feels stripped away, leaving you bare, vulnerable—human in the most unflattering way.

Another sigh, heavier this time, as you scrub harder, muscles protesting. Your fingers ache, the bristles biting into your palms, and you fight the urge to just let the cloth drop. The world wasn’t supposed to feel so gritty, so solid. The faint scent of soap mingles with the cool breeze wafting through the open kitchen window, but it does nothing to lift the fog that wraps around your thoughts.

"You're doing it wrong again."

The sharp correction snaps you out of your reverie, and you look up to see Sarah standing over you, hands on her hips. There’s no cruelty in her eyes, only impatience. She bends down, effortlessly taking the pot from your hands.

"See?" She shows you how to twist the rag in tight circles, moving the cloth firmly around the base. "It’s not about force; it’s about control."

Control. You were once the embodiment of control, the saintess who never faltered, who embodied grace in every breath. But here, in the kitchen, control slips through your fingers like water, and you struggle to even follow the motions.

"I see," you murmur, though the words feel hollow. You watch as Sarah finishes the task in a fraction of the time it took you, setting the gleaming pot down with a nod before bustling off to tend to something else.

Once alone again, you look down at your hands, wrinkled from the water, red and sore from the effort. The delicate touch that once administered blessings now feels clumsy, the softness worn away by the rigors of everyday tasks. Dirt clings beneath your nails, and though it frustrates you, there’s something grounding about it, something... real.

Ethelion’s grace never truly belonged to me, you think. I was only ever a vessel. And when that vessel cracks, the divine cannot stay.

Rising from your crouch, you stretch your aching back. Strange how heavy your body feels now, no longer ethereal, no longer buoyed by the sacred weight of divine purpose. Instead, you are bound by flesh and bone, muscles screaming at every chore.

The day stretches ahead, an endless rhythm of work. There are beds to be made, floors to be swept, linens to fold. Each task pulls you further away from the pedestal you once stood upon, but there’s a quiet solace in the routine, in the steady, simple motions. The other maids chat as they move through their own chores, but you remain mostly silent, your thoughts too tangled to join in.

By mid-afternoon, your feet lead you to the garden, the one place that offers a semblance of peace. The air is lighter here, the scent of lilacs and roses calming in a way that nothing else seems to be. Flowers bloom in delicate clusters, their petals soft against your fingertips as you run your hands through them absently.

"Careful now,” someone calls out. "You don’t want to bruise the petals."

You turn to see Piers, the young gardener, smiling at you as he wipes his hands on his apron. He’s always so gentle with the plants, his fingers coaxing them into life with the same patience he shows with you. There’s dirt smudged across his cheek, his hands stained with earth, but it suits him.

"I wasn’t trying to," you reply, embarrassed by your carelessness. Your touch once healed the wounded, and now you worry about crushing flowers.

"Didn’t say you were," he says, coming closer to kneel beside you. "Just reminding you. These flowers... they’re like people. Handle them too roughly, and they’ll wilt. Handle them too gently, and they’ll never bloom."

There is a meaning in there that makes your skin prickle, an awareness that you wish you could erase. He understands too much, has seen too much. Not many of the Redfield staff know your true identity—the noble family wishes to preserve their secrecy regarding you—but Piers knows. From the day you stepped through the estate gates, he knew.

The afternoon sun shines brightly as the two of you fall into the usual silence, the one you enjoy. As you work together, weeding and trimming the hedges. You try to copy his movements, but you feel clumsy beside him, fumbling over yourself with every touch. The lilies you looked after in the temple were plucked and placed in elegant vases, you only ever stood in their presence in the garden, as the monks cared for the vegetation in the sanctified grounds. The fact that you were chosen to stand for Ethelion, you didn’t touch anything—they touched you, and you felt like the flower, the angel of mercy, the beautiful goddess. The ones that surround you now call for more work to thrive, to grow. It seems that no matter how hard you try, your touch won’t be enough.

You reach to pick a weed and nearly knock over a rosebush, the thorns grazing your hand. The sting feels grounding, in a strange way, and for a moment, you linger in it, letting the pain settle into your skin. It doesn't immediately heal like any other wound used to.

"When will you teach me?" You blurt out, looking over at him. "How to properly help you?"

Piers chuckles softly, carefully correcting your posture with his hands until you get into position. "Soon, little lady. Soon, you'll be good at this, just as you are with everything you set your mind to."

Years after, you're still awkward and at a loss with touch. A lifetime of only coming to contact with fabric and porcelain will do that to you, and you think that he notices as such—the way you flinch at unexpected contact, the way you seem to carry that old elegance that never went away with you in all of your actions, even as you struggle with the physicalities of your new life.

To his credit, he doesn't question it, simply guides you patiently as if it's natural. If the rest of the staff finds it odd, they don't say a thing.

This is another world. A world very different from your life before. People of your standing hug and hold hands, brush against one another. When you first began your training, it felt overwhelming, like being engulfed by a current you didn't know how to fight. Now, it is like the sea itself, ever-present but constant.

"Firm grip," Piers says quietly, putting his own hands over yours to guide the motion as he weeds the soil around the small hedge bushes. "You need to have a light touch, but not too light or it won't be efficient."

You adjust your fingers accordingly, gripping the clump of earth and tugging. It comes loose without resistance, falling into your hand. A smile spreads across your face, your eyes brightening.

"Like this?"

"Yes, perfect," Piers says, nodding encouragingly. The corners of his lips quirk up in the barest hint of a grin. "And don't be afraid to get dirty. Mud is natural and good for the earth, helps the flowers flourish."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, and you find yourself wishing, for a moment, that life would remain like this. It isn’t comfortable—not in the way the temple had been, with its cushioned chairs and silken sheets, the robes so thick and warm they felt like velvet against your skin. But here, surrounded by flowers, with the wind ruffling through your hair, it feels...right.

Maybe that is why you found yourself returning to the gardens whenever the chance arose, whether it was after completing your daily chores or even on your days off, even if you were sure you wouldn’t learn anything from it. There was a comfort that came with the sun shining down on you as you pruned and picked at the roses, looking forward to the day when you would be knowledgeable enough to plant lilies on your own and care for them how they deserved.

The day passes in quiet rhythm after that, the routine of your tasks blending into the hum of the estate. There’s comfort in the dirt, in the steady, simple work of tending to life, of watching something grow. It’s not grand, it’s not divine, but it feels real, and for now, that’s enough.

As the sun dips below the horizon, you return to your small room in the servants’ quarters. The day’s dirt still clings to your skin, and as you sit at your modest mirror, you catch a glimpse of your reflection. You’re no longer the saintess, no longer the holy vessel. The person staring back at you is human, grounded in the earth just like the flowers you’ve come to care for.

The soft clink of porcelain and silverware fills the dining hall along with the the quiet hum of conversation between the Redfield family. You stand at the ready, your hands clasped before you, ever attentive to the needs of the table. The crystal carafe of wine glimmers faintly beside you, waiting to be lifted, though your thoughts are far from the task at hand.

"What happened after that?" Lady Claire leans forward, a sly smile on her lips as she gestures animatedly in a very unladylike manner. "You can’t just brush that under the rug! The hero of the kingdom storms into a coronation and attacks the Archbishop? I need details!"

Lord Chris waves his fork dismissively, his mouth full of roasted vegetables. He huffs out a breath, shaking his head as he reaches for his wineglass, "It wasn’t as dramatic as you’re making it sound. Just a bit of a misunderstanding, really."

Lady Claire laughs light and airy as she leans back in her seat. "A misunderstanding that resulted in the knight attacking an esteemed member of the Church of Ethelia? In public. How is that not dramatic?"

You glance toward Chris as you subtly refill his glass, the liquid swirling gently. His features are calm, but there’s a tension around his mouth that suggests he’s holding back more than he’s letting on. You pause, hoping to catch more of the conversation without drawing attention to yourself, your curiosity piqued.

The mental image of Leon doing something as bold as interrupting an event in the capital, let alone something as severe as accosting a highly-respected man of faith is... Unrealistic and highly out of character for him. It seemed too distant from the kind boy who would climb trees to bring down fruits just to make you smile.

The man clears his throat as he cuts into his steak, the knife slicing through the tender meat with ease. "It was more like a minor incident than an attack, honestly. No one was hurt, and the Archbishop has already moved past it."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

It's a great question. Leon wasn't known as someone who made reckless decisions like that—if anything, he was known for following his orders without hesitation, which was what made him an excellent paladin, regardless of what the rest of the clergy thought about him. You had even heard whispers among the priests about his loyalty, his dedication, how he was unfailingly loyal to the temple. He seemed like a steadfast soldier, reliable and sturdy, always steady on his feet no matter what trials Ethelion sent his way.

Lord Chris exhales slowly through his nose as his gaze falls upon his wife. There's a pause, the air heavy with unsaid words, before he responds. "Maybe something just snapped when he saw that Archbishop standing there, acting like everything’s fine after everything he’s seen and been through."

His response is blunt, the words like a punch to your gut. You try to swallow against the dryness in your throat, blinking back the tears that suddenly threaten to spill, biting the inside of your cheek.

An uncomfortable silence settles across the dinner table, broken only by Lady Claire's uneasy chuckle.

You exhale slowly, the sound barely audible, as you reach for the water pitcher. It isn’t until your hand trembles as it hovers over the delicate glass surface that you realize how tense your body is. The truth that he spoke, that slipped through you like poison in bloodstream—

Would Leon attack you the same way he did the Archbishop? The Saintess who sent him off into a war with a prayer and a blessing? Would you, too, end up with his fingers clutching at your clothes, teeth gritting together in a snarl, the words of accusation cutting into you as you stood frozen in place, unable to respond?

"Do you think he’s... dangerous?" Lady Claire asks, stripped off of all her playfulness. "Should we be worried?"

Lord Chris chuckles, though there’s a bitter edge to it. "No, Leon’s not dangerous. Not to us, anyway. He’s just... different. War changes people. It’s not something you can just walk away from without it leaving scars."

Your hands tighten around the stem of the pitcher, steadying your grip. The mention of the Holy War brings a hundred memories rushing back, as fresh as the day they were forged. They wash over you, filling your veins with a rush of sorrow and anger, regret and remorse—

You sent Leon there. Into the midst of that violence and hatred, where men became monsters. Where his blade tasted blood for the first time and changed him forever, like an animal weaned off of milk and discovering a taste for flesh. You did that to him. Did that to all of the righteous paladins and courageous soldiers who died in that field, whose bones now lie in unmarked graves.

Leon would be right to hate you. Ethelion himself should despise you, condemn you. It's why He has let go of you so early into your service.

You don't know why Lord Chris doesn't spit on your face. Why Lady Claire allows you to pour their drinks and serve their meals. How could you ever repent for what you have done to the paladins of this kingdom, their fellow noblemen of faith?

"Enough talk of battle at the dinner table," Dame Jill chides gently, a soothing balm amidst the tension. "We've spent too long dwelling in the dark. Let's leave it at that, shall we?"

"Right, right," Chris agrees, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. "Sorry about that."

The moment between them is tender, so simple yet so intimate that you can’t help but feel like you’re intruding. The way Jill’s hand lingers on Chris’s arm, the way he leans into her touch without even realizing it—it’s a closeness you’ve only ever observed from a distance, a kind of bond you’ve never experienced. You’re not sure you ever will.

"Let's talk about more exciting things," Lady Claire picks up her enthusiasm once more, and as if she's read your mind, she says, "How long do you think is until his marriage to Princess Ashley?"

Chris chokes on his food. So would you if you were in his position.

Jill sighs, a thin smile on her lips as she shoots him a look. "That isn't a conversation we're meant to entertain."

"I don’t think Leon’s worried about marriage right now, Claire," Chris says, though with a hint of amusement. "He’s got enough on his plate without worrying about courting anyone."

"Still," Claire continues, her eyes twinkling mischievously, "I bet every noble lady in the capital is throwing themselves at him right now. A war hero, a noble Margrave, and still single? They’re probably lining up just to get a chance."

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat at the thought. Is that really what’s happening? Is Leon being paraded in front of noble families, their daughters hoping to catch his eye, hoping to be the one he chooses? The idea leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, though you can’t quite place why.

Leon... a Margrave now, a hero of the kingdom, sitting at the top of nobility’s ladder, one step away from being at the king’s side. The image of him standing among lords and ladies, dressed in fine silk and polished armor, feels alien in your mind. You remember him in a different way—so much simpler, much... closer. A heavy feeling settles in your chest.

"Claire, please," Jill interrupts with a chuckle, light but firm. "Leave the poor man alone."

The conversation moves on, but you remain rooted in place, the weight of it all pressing down on you. You steal a glance at Jill and Chris, their easy smiles, their shared glances, and you can’t help but wonder if Leon will find someone like that. Someone who can stand by his side, someone who fits seamlessly into his new world.

Perhaps it's for the best, after the "holy cause" that left him with nothing but a medal of honor and an oathbreaker reputation, the life of a soldier, a faithful paladin cut off from divinity and glory. To have the blessing of Ethelion once again, as a lord, with a beautiful young woman to share the legacy—it's a picture that could only bring envy to anyone's heart.

The manor feels like a gilded cage.

Leon slumps back in his chair, the smooth leather creaking beneath the weight of his armorless body. Before him lies an endless spread of parchment on the grand oak desk in his office—documents stamped with wax seals, crests of various noble families, and inked signatures of men and women he couldn’t care less about.

The words blur together into a maddening jumble, formalities and regulations, reminders of his newfound role as Margrave, a title he’d never wanted but had earned through blood and grit on the battlefield. Now, instead of commanding soldiers, he commands... paper.

The clinking of metal rings from across the room as Dame Ingrid Hunnigan arranges a fresh stack of documents beside him, her presence calm and efficient as always. Her gaze flickers toward him, calculating, and Leon doesn’t miss the slight narrowing of her eyes as she notes the papers he has yet to sign. The steady tick of the ornate clock in the corner seems louder than it should.

"My Lord."

Leon looks up, blinking as though he’s surfacing from deep water. “Yes?”

“We’re behind schedule,” she says, ever pragmatic, her gaze flicking briefly to the mountain of paperwork before returning to meet his. “If we’re to have everything in order for your proposal to Princess Ashley, we’ll need to finalize these arrangements by the end of the week.”

Leon freezes, his quill hovering above the paper like a blade suspended in air, droplets of ink forming a dark blot on the parchment beneath. His heart thuds once, hard, against his ribs, and he feels a strange coldness spreading from his chest to his limbs. Proposal. Marriage. Princess Ashley.

It was the logical next step, wasn’t it? The hero of the war, the man who saved the princess, standing beside her as her husband, uniting the people with their fairy-tale ending.

But the thought of it feels like a noose tightening around his throat.

“I’m not marrying her.”

Hunnigan’s sharp intake of breath is almost imperceptible, but Leon catches it. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, but he can feel the shift in her—an unspoken surprise. "But—”

He places the quill down with a deliberate slowness, his fingers resting on the desk’s polished surface.

“I won’t marry her,” Leon interrupts, low but firm, as if saying it again will solidify his decision, make it real.

“Sir, I’m not certain you understand the implications. The court is already abuzz with speculation. The king’s council has all but planned the ceremony. If you—”

“No.” Leon’s tone sharpens, the edge of it cutting through the room. His jaw tightens, and he pushes back from the desk, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. The papers, the plans, the obligations—they all feel like chains, tethering him to a world he never wanted to belong to.

Hunnigan doesn’t flinch, though she tracks his every movement, assessing. “Then what will you do? The court demands an answer, and soon.”

“I don’t care about their impatience,” Leon cuts her off, harder than he intends. He runs a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair, his frustration mounting. “I’ve just returned from war. I’ve barely had time to breathe, and now they want me to walk down the aisle? It’s absurd.”

“You’re not just a soldier anymore,” Ingrid replies evenly. “You’re a noble now, Sir Leon. A Margrave. And with that title comes expectations. Marrying Princess Ashley solidifies your position. It ensures stability.”

Stability. It’s the word that grates against his skin like a thorn. Stability meant confinement. It meant being locked into a life that wasn’t his own, chained to a destiny he didn’t choose. Marrying into the royal family would make him something he never wanted to be.

From the temple to the palace. Still a pawn.

And worse, it would make him someone unrecognizable to himself.

When she only gets irritable silence in return, Hunnigan doubles down, "The people adore you. You saved Princess Ashley. A marriage between you two would unite the noble houses, secure your standing. It’s—"

"I don’t care." The words burst out of him, louder than intended, and the air between them seems to crackle with the tension of it. He meets her look, daring her to challenge him, to push him further into this corner he feels trapped in. "I’m not marrying her. I never promised that. I never wanted that."

"It’s not about what you want, my lord. It’s about what the kingdom needs. What the crown expects from you."

"The crown expects a puppet," Leon mutters, his voice dropping to an icy low. He rises from the chair, the sound of his boots heavy against the floor as he paces the room, his movements sharp, restless. "They dress me up in these fine clothes, give me a title, and expect me to smile and play my part in their little game. I didn’t fight a war to become this."

"You fought a war to protect the kingdom. And this is part of that protection," Hunnigan argues, "You’ve earned the people’s respect. The life of a hero comes with its responsibilities."

"Responsibilities." He almost laughs at that, though there’s nothing humorous about it. His hand drifts to the hilt of his sword—a relic from the battlefield that feels more like a part of him than the heavy mantle of nobility ever will. "You think I don’t know about responsibilities? I’ve seen men die under my command, Hunnigan. I’ve seen villages burn, innocent lives lost. That’s responsibility. This... this is just playing dress-up."

Hunnigan exhales softly, her face softening, just a little. "I understand. I do. But we live in a world where appearances matter just as much as actions. The people need their hero. And they need their princess to stand beside him."

“I’m not going to chain myself to a life I don’t want. I’ve fought for this kingdom, bled for it, nearly died for it. But I’m done letting other people decide my fate.”

She sighs, crossing her arms as she studies him carefully. “And what do you plan to do? Walk away from the nobility entirely? Abandon your responsibilities now that you’ve earned the title?”

Leon meets her gaze, his eyes dark, stormy. “I’ll fulfill my duties as Margrave. But I’ll do it on my terms.”

There’s a long pause, the weight of his words hanging heavy between them. Ingrid’s expression softens, just slightly, but her professionalism remains unshaken. “You know this won’t be easy. The court won’t be happy with your decision. They’ll try to pressure you, manipulate you. You’ll be seen as defying tradition.”

“Let them,” Leon replies, pushing himself up from the chair, the tension in his muscles begging for release. “I’ve faced worse things than court gossip.”

Hunnigan watches him for a moment longer before nodding, though the concern doesn’t fade. “Very well. But if you’re going to make a decision like this, you should be prepared for the consequences.”

He nods, feeling a wave of exhaustion settle over him. “I am a walking consequence, Hunnigan."

She turns and leaves him to the silence of the room, her footsteps quiet against the stone floor. The moment she’s gone, Leon exhales deeply, his chest tight and his thoughts swirling in chaos. The paperwork remains unfinished on his desk, an ever-growing mountain of expectations and demands that suffocates him more with every passing minute.

He can’t stay here. Not now.

Grabbing his cloak, Leon moves toward the door, his steps quick and purposeful. Outside, the air feels thick, the walls of the manor closing in on him like a vice. He’s grown used to wide open spaces—the battlefield, the wilderness. Here, in the capital, everything feels too close, too crowded, too suffocating.

This is how you must have felt, he thinks bitterly as he pulls the hood of his cloak over his head, his mind drifting to you. Caged in, always watched, always expected to be something more than human.

The streets of the capital stretch before him, bustling with people going about their day—merchants haggling, children running through the alleys, noblewomen in fine dresses gliding down the cobblestone paths. Leon moves through them like a shadow, his presence hidden beneath the cloak, his face obscured from the watchful eyes of guards and passersby.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he’s alone.

He walks with no destination in mind, his boots scuffing against the uneven stones, his thoughts swirling with frustration and longing. The scent of fresh bread drifts through the air from a nearby bakery, mingling with the earthy scent of rain-soaked stone, but none of it grounds him. It only reminds him of the distance between the world he’s in and the world he longs for—the simple, the honest, the free.

His steps carry him further into the city until he reaches the cathedral gates, and he stops, gazing up at the towering spires and stained glass windows. A shudder of recognition courses through his spine as he recalls the last time he was here, the day he knelt at your feet and promised loyalty.

Ethelion may have forsaken him, but this place still calls to him in some strange, primal way—a piece of his past, a connection to his lost faith.

People file in and out of the massive wooden doors, their voices raised in a joyful hum. There is an energy to the crowd that he hadn't noticed before, a buoyant air that sweeps through the throng of worshippers like a tide. Curious, he follows the flow, stepping aside to allow the others to enter as he peers in, watching the mass from the outskirts. The chapel is packed to its gilded seams, everyone cramming into every available space. Every seat is occupied; even the pews on the second story are crammed with devotees, necks straining to catch a glimpse of the spectacle below.

Being on the outside looking in is...strange for him, all his life, he'd been on the inside. An honorary knight, a devoted acolyte, then, a holy warrior tasked with bringing peace back to the world. Now he's on the other side, on the edges. Alone. He should have been in the crowd, standing just beside the Saintess, having a place in line with her.

Now, he's one of the many faces in the crowd. One of the people he had protected with his sword.

At the pulpit stands a new Saintess, clad in shimmering robes of purest white, her mask alight with a silvery glow. The feeling of uncanny valley crawls through him, like the sight is wrong somehow. The figure before him looks the same, the attire, the veil, and even the ethereal glow. However, everything feels off. Where you had held yourself tall and steady with a presence that demanded attention, the current Saintess seems shy, her movements small and uncertain as she addresses the crowd.

Leon's frown deepens as he listens to the girl speak, sweet and lilting, but lacking in the conviction he remembers from your sermons. There's no passion in it, no fervor or fire. Just rote memorization, a pretty puppet reciting lines written by others.

It's not supposed to be like this. He doesn't get the Saintess Cycle, or whatever bullshit it's called that he was informed about right after his outburst.

He had never heard of it before that day. Not even when he’d been sworn in as a paladin. Not when he had stood at your side, thinking you were eternal, untouchable.

The letter sent by the Temple said the Saintess is a vessel—a temporary, ephemeral thing. When she reaches the end of her "cycle," she is retired, replaced by a new, younger girl blessed by Ethelion. It is the way of the divine, they wrote. It’s natural. It’s necessary.

Necessary. The word is poison, burning through him.

The cycle they speak of is cruel, cold. He remembers it again: Once the Saintess matures, her divine grace wanes, and Ethelion selects a new girl, free from worldly knowledge, pure in body and mind.

Pure. That’s what they had valued about you. Not your kindness, not your wisdom, not the way your smile had once lit up entire rooms. Just purity. What do they even mean by that word?

So that’s it then, he thinks bitterly. They’ve stripped you of everything. Reduced you to some… some tool to be replaced when your usefulness runs out.

He can't accept this. He refuses to.

This “cycle” they speak of is nothing but a lie—a grotesque farce designed to keep the chosen girls under their thumb, to strip them of their humanity, their will so they are easier to control, more obedient, self-sacrificing. They want to act as though it’s all part of some divine plan, but Leon knows better. He’s seen the temple’s machinations, the politics woven into their robes, the way they turn divine grace into something transactional.

You were never just a vessel, he tells himself, his jaw tight. You were never just a role to be filled.

He had sworn an oath to protect you, to serve you, and yet, when you needed him most, he had been gone—fighting in wars, chasing glory on blood-soaked battlefields while they took everything from you.

Leon steps back, ready to turn away from the chapel that now feels hollow, stripped of the sanctity it once held, when something catches him—sharp, like the sudden crack of a whip in the still air.

A scent.

It slips through the incense and the stale breath of prayer, weaving between the worshippers like a thread of memory pulled taut. Faint, almost hidden beneath the smoke and ash of the sacred space, but unmistakable. It strikes him like a blade, cutting through the fog of disbelief clouding his mind.

Lilies.

Among the scentless masses, with their simple soaps and the cloying odor of frankincense that clings to the walls—the smell of lilies.

His pulse stutters, a beat skipped in time, before surging back with a violent, thunderous force that shakes him to his core.

It’s your scent.

His breath halts in his throat, suspended, as the world tilts, shifting on its axis as his focus narrows. Someone brushes past him, draped in a nondescript cloak, their head bowed like the rest, just another figure blending into the sea of worshippers.

But his soul screams.

He knows it’s you.

The recognition strikes him so hard he reels with it, body twisting as he turns sharply, every muscle tensing with a frantic energy he can’t control. His eyes dart around, searching, desperate. His heart is slamming against his ribs, each beat like a drum echoing in a cathedral. The scent lingers, tantalizingly close—so close he can taste it, feel it—but the figure is slipping away, vanishing into the faceless crowd, swallowed whole by the masses.

"Wait!" The word rips from his throat, harsh, strangled, louder than intended. Heads turn, whispers hiss, but they are meaningless sounds in a world reduced to the scent of lilies and the figure that’s slipping through his fingers like sand.

"Wait, please!" His yell cracks, raw, frantic. He pushes through the crowd, bodies jostling against him, every step a growing surge of panic that claws at his chest.

The scent fades, thinning like smoke dissipating in the wind, until it’s gone.

Gone.

Leon stumbles to a stop, breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling in time with the wild thrum of his heartbeat. His hands shake, fingers curled into fists at his sides as if he could grasp hold of the memory, keep it alive through sheer will.

But you’re gone.

The world around him fades to a dull hum, the whispers of disapproving worshippers like gnats buzzing in the distance. His vision blurs at the edges, narrowing, tunneling, until all he can see is the space you once occupied. His chest constricts, tightens, the weight of everything—of this moment, of the years lost, of you—crashing down on him with the force of a wave that threatens to drag him under.

No, you’re here.

The thought is dizzying, overwhelming in its certainty. You’re here, in the capital, breathing the same air as him, walking the same streets. The realization hits him like cold water, shocking him awake, filling his lungs with something raw and desperate. His mind spins, thoughts unspooling in a frantic mess he can’t make sense of.

Leon strides into the office, his boots thudding against the polished floor, the sound bouncing off the high, vaulted ceiling. The door swings shut behind him with a muted thud, the energy of his entrance reverberating through the quiet space. Hunnigan barely looks up from her desk, the rustle of paper and the scratching of her quill the only acknowledgment of his presence. The scent of ink, parchment, and faint traces of cedarwood drift through the air—but unable to overpower the lilies at the back of his throat, like a ghost in the chamber.

Without preamble, he blurts out, "Where does one buy lily soap in the capital?"

Hunnigan’s quill freezes mid-stroke, her brows knitting together as she raises her head, her gaze flicking up to meet his with an expression of mild annoyance. Her office is meticulously arranged, papers stacked neatly in front of her, the ink pot perfectly centered on the desk. Leon's sudden intrusion seems to upset the delicate balance of the room.

"My lord?" Her voice carries that familiar undercurrent of impatience, but Leon can see the confusion etched into her features. "Lily soap?"

“Yes," he snaps, pacing before her desk, his movements restless, unsettled. "Soap scented like lilies."

Hunnigan’s stare is blank, clearly trying to piece together the urgency behind his question. She places her quill down carefully, folds her hands in front of her, and straightens her back, as if preparing for some bureaucratic debate.

"I'm afraid I don't—"

In an instant, Leon slams both hands against her desk, rattling the ink pot and causing a cascade of parchment to shift slightly out of place. The sharp bang echoes through the room, and for a second, there is silence, broken only by the rapid rise and fall of Leon's breath. A few sheets of paper flutter down from the pile, but he barely notices.

"Lilies, Hunnigan," Leon grits out, leaning forward, his eyes flashing with a desperation that feels foreign even to him. “Where do they sell lily soap? I need to know, now.”

To her credit, Hunnigan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t so much as blink at his intensity. The edges of her lips tighten, but she meets his frustration with her usual unflinching calm, tilting her head slightly, watching him with that sharp calculation, as if measuring the weight of his demand against her need for propriety. "Lord Leon, it will require time, but if you would like, we will investigate the sources. Such things aren’t kept on record like weapons or grain."

Leon drops into the chair opposite her with a heavy sigh, his hands pressing against his temples as if he can massage away the growing headache pulsing at his skull, but there's a part of him—the rational, disciplined soldier—that knows he can't barrel through this like an enemy barricade.

Hunnigan regards him thoughtfully, studying him as though she’s contemplating his sanity. Finally, she relents with a small nod. "However, at the top of my head, I can tell you that a fragrance like that would most likely be sold at shops that cater to the upper class. Apothecaries, perhaps, though I’ve heard of merchants who specialize in rare oils and soaps for wealthier clientele."

"But no," Leon says, frustration building, "that person... that soap can't have come from somewhere like that. It's too expensive. They're not wealthy, not someone who could afford those kinds of luxuries."

She taps a finger thoughtfully against the edge of her desk, not asking any questions, thankfully. "Commoner households purchase their necessities from street vendors. Most don't have the means to indulge in frivolities, but there are some apothecaries that sell fragrant items for medicinal purposes. Perhaps that’s where it came from."

Leon's mind races, his thoughts jumbling together, ticking off possibilities. He could search the market districts, scour the streets where vendors peddle their wares, but that would take time—too much time. And still, you could be anywhere, hiding among the crowds or nestled in some quiet corner of the capital. He drags a hand through his hair, the rigid set of his jaw flexing.

His thoughts swirl, trying to latch onto something, anything that will give him a lead. And then an idea begins to take shape, unformed at first, but gaining momentum the more he entertains it. He sits up, his eyes sharper, clearer. "Hypothetically, if we were to open a scented soap stall in the market, do you think people would buy it?"

Hunnigan’s brows raise, clearly not expecting the question. "The common folk aren’t exactly known for their fastidiousness when it comes to daily bathing, but soap has been increasing in popularity among the younger generations, particularly young women."

That catches his attention. The market is shifting, changing with the times. And you—you always appreciated those little luxuries, even when you were cloistered away, out of reach. You might not be living among the nobility, but that doesn't mean you wouldn’t still indulge in what small comforts you could.

Leon straightens, the hint of an idea forming. "Good," he murmurs, nodding more to himself than to her. "Then we’ll need to monopolize the market."

Hunnigan watches him with a raised brow, a subtle hint of disbelief in her gaze. "May I ask what exactly brought about this sudden interest in the soap trade? Surely you haven’t returned from the battlefield only to decide you’d like to dabble in perfumeries?"

Her tone is dry, but Leon can hear the underlying curiosity in her words. For a moment, he almost laughs at the absurdity of it all—a knight of the kingdom, scouring the city for lily-scented soap like a man possessed. But the laugh dies in his throat, replaced by the phantom scent of lilies, achingly familiar, almost painful in its clarity.

"I’m looking for someone," he admits, low, quiet, but no less determined. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly as if holding on to his last thread of hope. "And this... this is the only way I can think of to find them."

"Someone," Hunnigan repeats slowly, drawing out the word as if rolling it over her tongue, weighing its significance.

He nods, his jaw clenched.

Hunnigan stares at him for a long moment, and then, without another word, she picks up her quill and begins to write. The scratch of the pen fills the silence as she scribbles down his instructions with the precision and efficiency he’s come to expect from her.

Before she's about to me it to the end of the page, she glances up, the slight furrow of her brow the only indication of the questions that linger in the back of her mind. "Shall I send someone to retrieve these lily soaps for your sampling, or would you prefer to dispose of them immediately?"

"Neither. Send word to the streets that they can only find lily soap in our store in the entire kingdom. Offer them a special gift if they purchase it from us. I want it to reach everyone."

"The entire city, my lord? That will be quite the undertaking."

"If that's what it takes, yes."

She gives a single, decisive nod. "As you wish."

With that, she finishes writing his instruction, rolls up the scroll, and stands, carrying the parchment to the servant waiting outside the doors, whispering instructions to be taken to his household's estate.

He knows this isn’t exactly an ideal plan, that the odds of success are slim, but it's a chance, however small, and he clings to that like a lifeline. Besides, he hasn’t survived this many years on the battlefield, faced monsters and beasts and unspeakable horrors, to lose his nerve now in the face of a soap business.

He can't find you on his own. So, the next best thing is having you come to him.

You sit among the other maids, wooden spoon idly stirring the stew in your bowl, listening to the idle conversations around you. The dining hall of the servants' quarters is loud as usual, the chatter and laughter of the staff filling the room with warmth. A few seats down, Piers and Mark argue about the proper way to clean a fireplace, gesturing wildly with their spoons as they bicker good-naturedly. On the opposite end of the table, the new maid, Nina, sits with Rebecca, listening raptly to a story about Lord Redfield's exploits during a hunting trip.

There's a comfort to it—the familiarity, the routine. After spending years surrounded by the hushed, reverent air of the temple, the chaotic camaraderie of the kitchen staff is almost exhilarating. You sigh, reaching for your goblet as you lean back in your seat, content to listen to the various conversations surrounding you.

"Guess what? The Margrave isn’t marrying the Princess. How crazy is that?"

"Really? Why not," Mark interjects, equally bewildered. "Who wouldn't want to marry a princess?"

Piers shrugs, shoveling a large spoonful of stew into his mouth and continuing. "I guess he wants to be a bachelor."

"Over becoming king one day?"

"This is why you can't trust men to relay information," one of the maids, Angela, says, rolling her eyes. "He's already announced he's looking for a bride. They say he’s broken the hearts of more noble ladies than anyone can count. And the families! Furious, every last one."

A ripple of laughter spreads through the group, the maids delighting in the drama. The bread you’re holding crumbles between your fingers, but you barely notice.

“It's a scandal,” someone else chimes in. “The Princess was practically promised to him, wasn’t she? Now he’s insulted the royal family by turning her down. People should have expected it, he started wreaking havoc as soon as he got back to the capital. Who does he think he is?"

“He’s a war hero, that’s who. He could probably have any noblewoman in the kingdom if he wanted to. Though it seems like none of them are good enough for him.”

You push your bowl away, the food suddenly unappealing, staring down at your hands as if they hold the answers to the growing unease inside.

The Leon they speak of now—a man who breaks hearts, who defies royal expectations—is a stranger to you. But what bothers you more is the memory of him at the cathedral.

The way his eyes had darkened when he looked at the Saintess.

You hadn’t seen him like that before, his expression twisted with anger, with hatred. The shock of it had frozen you in place, and then…you ran. You ran from the cathedral, from the possibility that the man who once looked at you with kindness now only saw betrayal.

And now, sitting here, the moment drowns out the light laughter of your fellow maids. You can’t shake the feeling that the Leon who stood in the cathedral wasn’t just angry—he was looking for you.

But you’re not the Saintess anymore.

You haven’t been for some time, but he wouldn't know. He couldn’t have known that you’d been stripped of your title, that you’ve been replaced. He must’ve thought the woman he saw was you, still wearing the veil of divinity. And the way he looked at her—looked at you—wasn’t with the softness you remember. No, there was something darker, a disdain so palpable that it tore through every fond memory you had of him.

You swallow, your throat dry, as the image of him at the cathedral burns in your mind. How had it come to this? How had the boy you once knew become a man so consumed by anger, by hatred? You think of the maids' gossip—how he’s rejecting noblewomen, how he’s broken hearts without a second thought—and you can’t help but wonder what he would look like now, staring at someone he loves...

Shuddering, you push the thought aside, trying to shake it from your mind. Maybe you can talk to Lord Chris about it, ask for his guidance in making amends with Leon, or maybe—

"Hey, you okay?"

Mark's question cuts through your spiraling thoughts, and you look up to find the entire table staring at you with varying shades of concern. A flush rises to your cheeks, and you fumble for a response, tripping over your words.

"I, um— yes, I'm alright." You take a steadying breath, immediately going back to stirring your food, knuckles whitening. "It's just—I'm a bit tired. I toured nearly the whole market today but had no luck with the thing I was looking for."

You give him your best attempt at a reassuring smile, but judging by the way he tilts his head at you, he's not buying it. He stares at you for a moment longer, studying you intently, before he gives a shrug and turns away.

Not even a month passes before the report lands on his desk.

The majority of lily soap sales, it seems, have gone to one place—the Redfield estate. The testimonies from shopkeepers speak of a particular maid, one who purchased an absurd amount of the soap. They claim she spent a small fortune, fearful of another shortage. But that isn’t what stands out.

No, it’s the way they described her—mistaken for a noble the moment she entered the shop, all because of the way she carried herself. Poised. Dignified.

Leon leans back in his chair, closing his eyes, and for a moment, he allows himself to breathe. It’s you. It has to be. The fragments of the puzzle are slowly coming together, each piece falling into place with a clarity that tightens something in his chest.

He exhales softly, an excited, expectant grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He’ll keep playing this game, keep pulling at the threads until everything unravels. Until you’re standing right in front of him once more.

Sunlight filters through the large, arched windows of Chris Redfield's office, casting long streaks of gold across the dark mahogany floor, dappling the room in a warm, almost serene glow. Dust motes drift lazily in the beams, like memories swirling in the still air. The crackling fire in the hearth only adds to the warmth, a comforting presence in a room filled with sharp edges—of old swords hung on the walls and the faint tang of oiled leather and metal.

Leon sprawls on a chaise near the window, one leg draped over the other, his posture deceptively relaxed, but his body is a coiled spring, ready to snap into action at any moment. His dark coat hangs loosely on the back of the seat, cravat untied, a few buttons of his shirt undone, revealing the faint lines of old scars crisscrossing his chest. There’s a ruggedness to him, an edge that doesn't quite fit in with the refined waistcoat stretching taut against his broad chest. His rolled-up sleeves expose forearms marked with callouses and veins, the map of a warrior’s life etched into his skin.

"How's Claire?" Leon asks, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, watching the sunlight dance off its surface.

Chris takes a long sip before answering. “She’s well. Busy, as always. The horses are coming along better than expected. She’s hoping to have them ready for sale in a few months, especially with the new barn completed.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, taking on a more direct approach. “But I don’t think you came here to talk about my sister or the horses. What’s really going on, Leon? Why the sudden visit?”

Leon offers a tight smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Can’t an old friend stop by for a drink?”

Chris snorts, his grin broad but skeptical. “Sure, if you consider bribery drinking. I see you didn't disappoint with the bottle of twenty-five-year-old cognac." His amusement fades as quickly as it came, the weight of serious matters creeping into the conversation. "Come on, we both know you have more than a friendly visit on your mind, and if it's business, you've been acting strange about it. So...?"

"You're housing the former Saintess."

Chris's glass stills halfway to his mouth, and he looks sharply at Leon as if he's suddenly grown two heads. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

"Where did you hear that?"

Leon huffs, leaning back casually and propping one ankle on the opposite knee, as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell. "Does it matter?"

"Considering it could be a rumor spread by palace spies? Yes."

The question makes him want to tear his hair out. "No palace spies. I did my own investigating."

"Why are you sniffing around her, Leon? If you’ve come here to cause trouble—" Chris's expression darkens, the threat evident as he blatantly starts to glare. "Leave her alone. Don't drag her into whatever scheme you're planning."

Leon bristles at that, his surprise turning to frustration as his fingers tighten around the glass. "Scheme? You think that lowly of me?"

"You come to my home, interrogate me about one of my staff, and expect me to believe it's for innocent reasons? Are you trying to play me for a fool? That won't fly."

"If you must know..." Leon pauses for a beat, letting the tension build before continuing. "I intend to marry her."

For a moment, Chris stares at Leon in stunned silence, a range of emotions flickering across his face—from disbelief to exasperation, finally settling somewhere between exhaustion and resignation. "Are you insane?"

"She deserves better than being a servant, Chris. You and I both know that," Leon shoots back, his grip on the glass tightening to the point where it feels like the whole thing might shatter. "I'm not letting the Saintess be disrespected."

"She deserves peace. That’s what I’m giving her here. She’s living a life of anonymity, away from politics, away from the court. She’s finally free, Leon. You think dragging her back into the spotlight, back into a world that nearly destroyed her, is better?"

"It’s not better if she’s being worked like a peasant. She’s the Saintess. She doesn’t belong here, scrubbing floors and washing dishes."

Chris’s expression hardens. "She’s not the Saintess anymore. She chose this life."

"Did she?" Leon stands abruptly, unable to contain the restless energy burning inside him any longer. He paces to the large windows, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor. Outside, the gardens stretch out in a sea of green, the flowers and foliage swaying gently in the late afternoon breeze. His hands press against the cold stone windowsill, knuckles turning pale as his grip tightens. "Or did the temple abandon her, strip her of her title, and toss her into the gutter? She didn’t have a choice, Chris. She was thrown into this because they used her and discarded her when she was no longer useful."

Finally, Chris exhales, the tension in his body deflating as he slumps back into his chair, running a hand over his face. "You don’t understand what you’re asking for. You think you can just walk in here, sweep her off her feet, and everything will be fine? You’re a noble now. If you marry her, you’ll expose her to the same world that's crushing you."

The words strike a chord in Leon. He looks away, running a hand through his hair, jaw tense. You'd be thrust into a world of backstabbing and corruption, of scheming nobility and ambitious opportunists, all vying for your attention and affection—just as he is. The thought makes something twist in his stomach. By trying to give you the life you deserve, he could very well condemn you to the same fate as him. The irony isn’t lost on him.

After a moment, he meets Chris's gaze with equal intensity. "I can keep her safe."

"And marry a maid instead of a princess? What do you think will happen to keeping her safe once the word gets out? They'll tear into her name trying to figure out who she is and where she came from. Every detail of her life will be dissected by the public. There's no going back after that, Leon."

"I've already purchased a title for her. Daughter of an inconsequential Baron in the countryside, far away from court intrigue. I won't hurt her, I swear to you, I won't—"

"What are you going to do if she doesn’t want that? What if she’s content with the life she has now?"

Leon’s breath catches, his chest constricting painfully as the question slams into him with the force of a blow. His mind whirls, memories of you—laughing, serene, unreachable—colliding with the possible image of you now, hands roughened from labor, back bent in servitude.

Leon’s jaw clenches, his hand curling into a fist at his side. He’s never liked being questioned like this, least of all by someone who doesn’t understand the weight of what he feels. It’s not about control or power, it’s about making sure you’re safe. Protected. Cherished. You deserve more than the drudgery of a servant’s life, more than the anonymity of living in the shadows.

“Content isn't enough,” he snaps, sharper than intended. He looks out the window again, following the path the maid and gardener take as they disappear around the corner of the estate. The thought of you, hidden away, your light dimmed by the mundanity of daily life—it's unbearable. “I want her to be happy.”

“Not everyone wants the life we have. Hell, I barely want it sometimes.”

Leon stays silent for a moment, his mind racing. He’s known Chris for years, fought beside him, trusted him with his life on countless battlefields. And yet, at this moment, it feels as though Chris doesn’t understand him at all. How can he not see that you deserve better? That you deserve more than what this world has handed you?

“I can protect her,” Leon repeats, though the words feel hollow now, like he’s trying to convince himself more than Chris. He turns away from the window.

Chris exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, the lines of stress deepening around his eyes.

Leon’s throat tightens, frustration and something deeper clawing at his chest. He knows Chris is right. He knows it. But that doesn’t make it any easier. He wants to protect you, to shelter you from the harshness of the world, to wrap you in the safety and comfort that he can provide. But what if that’s not what you want? What if you’ve already found peace in the simple life you’ve built for yourself here?

Silence stretches between them, uncertainty flooding the room like a heavy mist. For a while, neither speaks, the only sounds are the faint rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds outside. He watches another maid rush to the gardens down below, idling, starting to tend to it, and his mind wanders, consumed by the possibility of what might be. Of you, warm and smiling, dressed in luxurious gowns, wearing jewelry, no longer burdened with hard labor.

"I know you feel for her," Chris states, breaking the silence.

"Of course, I feel for her! She's the Saintess, Chris. She's—" Leon pauses midway through his outburst, catching the glint in his friend's eye and stopping short. He runs a hand over his face, exhaling heavily. "I've sworn loyalty to her. That isn't going to change."

"So, marriage, all for the sake of her station. What if she wants to marry for love? Did you think about that?"

No.

Leon didn't think about that at all.

His brows furrow, his knuckles white as he grips the windowsill, the confession sinking into him with a force. Had he not taken a vow to Ethelion during his first visit to the cathedral, just to protect the Saintess? Then he'll honor it, he's decided, and it isn't only because he's loyal to his word. There's an unmistakable desire inside him, one he doesn't quite know how to quantify, a selfish, possessive urge that wants to wrap you in silk and diamonds and lace and never let you go. He'd marry you to keep you protected and by his side. He would wed you out of devotion to his duty and to you. He would lay his heart at your feet, offer himself, kneel before you, worship you—if he could.

His heart aches at the thought of you being taken away by some faceless somebody who doesn't deserve you. No, the mere idea of it sets every nerve in his body on fire, a deep, unsettled rage stirring in his gut. Who could ever be worthy of something sacred and untouchable as your love?

The imagination cuts him deeper than any knife could, his ribcage can't expand as if a chestplate way too small for him was forcibly wrapped around his torso. The thought is enough to draw a pained noise out of him, a sound more animal than human, a feral, primal part of himself roaring at the notion. He shakes his head as if to clear the vision from his mind, swallows thickly as he stares blankly out of the window, unable to meet the man's gaze. Beneath his boots, the floor feels unsteady, and for a second, he thinks he might topple over, sink to the ground. Instead, he presses his palms against the stone wall beside the window, anchoring himself to something solid.

The truth is that he's in a position to make a difference in your life, to provide security and happiness beyond your wildest dreams. And Leon would use all that he has for you. Everything he owns, all that he possesses—it's all yours, if only you would accept it.

He ends up saying, "She deserves respect. I can give her that," while focusing on the two workers down in the garden to gain back his footing.

Interrupting the conversation is the door creaking open, and the maids enter, carrying trays of refreshments. The soft clink of glass against polished silver fills the space as they move about, placing items on the low table before the fire. Leon remains by the window, facing the crisp autumn air head blowing in from the open windows on, his silhouette bathed in golden sunlight, hands clasped behind his back, his posture taut.

He hears Chris mutter something, dismissing the maids, but one set of footsteps lingers. A single presence. And Leon knows those gentle, deliberate footsteps like the back of his own hand. He stiffens, arms loosening to hang by his sides like a soldier coming to attention, his throat going dry. He doesn't turn, not yet, unwilling or perhaps unable to face what he feels coming.

“Here she is," Chris says with a quiet finality. "You wanted to speak to her, didn't you? Talk then. I'll be right outside. Don't take too long."

With that, he pushes up from the armchair, taking one of the glasses with him and heading towards the door. The door clicks shut behind Chris, the sound of it like the final toll of a bell, sealing his fate. And for a moment, there's nothing, no movement, no words. Just silence.

For a heartbeat, all Leon can do is stand frozen, the world narrowing to that small room, the soft breath of the person standing just a few steps behind him. Your perfume—lilies and a hint of freshly washed linen—drifts towards him, washing over him in an alluring, almost numbing wave. In this instant, it feels as if all the time and distance he's crossed to find you has brought him back to the cathedral, when you were still the Saintess, veiled and untouchable. You seem to surround him, overwhelming his senses, making the past few years vanish, as if he's walked right into a waking dream.

You shift, and he can sense the slightest movement, like an electrical current beneath his skin, drawing his attention and heightening his awareness of your proximity. He turns slowly, the motion almost hesitant, breath catching as he takes in the figure standing near the exit of the room, framed by the shadows close to the walls.

You're not the same as he remembers. You don't wear flowing robes of pristine white or a veil that obscures your features, standing there, awkward and still, a tray balanced delicately in your hands. The clothing doesn't even resemble the uniform of a saintess—or what the servant garb should look like at the estate. Yet, somehow, in this instance, seeing you dressed like this, a demure maid, hits him with a sense of injustice that tears at his heart.

When your gazes collide, he doesn't know where to look. His gaze darts briefly to the floor, to the mahogany paneling, to anywhere that isn’t your face. The vulnerability that grips him is unfamiliar, unsettling, and it leaves him feeling unmoored, as though the ground beneath his feet might give way at any moment.

When he finally musters the courage to look back up and take in your features with all of his heart without being ashamed by it and feeling like he might go blind like he's looking directly at the sun, it’s in time to catch your wide-eyed stare. You’re just as stunned as he is—perhaps more so—as if you've seen a ghost. And then the tray falls from your hands with a clatter, sending the wine splashing across the expensive rug, a red river swirling with gold.

"Oh, I'm—I apologize!" You flinch back, crouching down hastily to gather the tray with trembling hands. You grab at the cloth napkin and dab at the carpet frantically, desperately trying to mop up the spill.

His body reacts faster than his mind does, and he closes the distance in two long strides, falling to his knees in front of you. His hands cup yours, fingers curling gently around yours. You jolt in surprise, shoulders tensing, but don’t pull away.

"It's alright." His voice is hoarse, thick with emotion. He glances at you and sees your brow creasing as you hold his gaze, your eyes bright with unshed tears. "Please."

There's a sudden prickling pressure at the backs of his nose, the threat of tears threatening to break through, and he drops his head, inhaling a steadying breath. Goddamnit. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the swell of emotion to subside.

Your response is softer than the rustle of pages in a book, almost a whisper, barely audible in the silence of the room. "Sir Leon...?"

The sound of his name is both a caress and a dagger, digging into the tender parts of him that have been raw and exposed.

"Saintess." The word slips out on a ragged breath before he can stop it, an involuntary confession. "I've returned to you."

The warmth of your fingers pressing against his startles him the moment you move, and he becomes aware of what he's been doing -- touching you so carelessly. The newfound title and fame couldn't have gotten to his head so badly that he would forget himself now, could it? Leon can't be sure whether he'd really been the type to behave like a reckless fool all along or if his meeting with you just now and seeing your form for the first time after years had broken down the little that remained of the disciplined man.

Heat climbs his throat and settles in his ears—you're not someone who he can put his hands on. Not even a stranger at this point, to him. In the back of his mind, the young boy with the sickly body remembers that he was touched by you, as a child, the day you healed him, the sensation still vivid, even after so many years.

Leon withdraws, shifting to a kneeling position as he clasps his hands together on his thighs. He tilts his chin upward to find you still crouched in the same position as well, with the wet napkin clenched tightly in your hands, holding your gaze fixed on him. Your intense focus, the way you're studying every line of his face, drinking in his appearance—it makes Leon swallow harshly, hoping his cheeks wouldn't color under your unabashed scrutiny.

"You..." You trail off, lowering your gaze to the floor as you fix your bonnet, as if unsure you should give shape to the words. "I'm no longer the Saintess. The temple has appointed another."

Something twists in his chest, a dark, twisting ache that's become all too familiar as of late. "You think I don't know that?" He means to sound understanding, patient, but instead, his words come out biting, edged with frustration. He deflates when you blink rapidly at him, startled at the change in his demeanor. "I'm sorry," he breathes, offering a shaky smile, "it's just... it was just a lot to take in."

It's a hell of an understatement, but it seems to satisfy you, at least enough to relax a fraction. Still, he watches as your shoulders rise and fall in a shuddering motion, a soft intake of air escaping you.

"We shouldn't be sitting on the floor."

"Ah, yes!" He scrambles to his feet, extending a hand to help you to yours.

When his fingers brush the back of your palm, he feels that same shock, the hairs on his arm standing on end, like an electrical charge, and it takes all his willpower not to snatch his hand away. Instead, he curls his fingers tighter around you, a reflex, and pulls you to your feet. He keeps you steady as you straighten, your bodies close enough that he swears he can feel the heat radiating off yours, warming him better than the fireplace ever could.

He shouldn't.

He really...

"You've changed."

At the sound of your voice, Leon blinks, returning to the present. It takes him a moment to realize he'd been staring. "What, no 'welcome home'?" The attempt at levity dies on his lips when he sees your expression—earnest, searching—and he swallows hard, forcing a tight smile. "Sorry. Impertinent now, aren't I?"

"No—"

"Come," he gestures towards the couch, "sit with me for a bit. It's been... a long time, hasn't it?"

You hesitate for a beat, uncertainty flashing across your features before you nod slowly, allowing him to lead you to the chaise by the hearth, the same seat Leon vacated.

As you settle, his eyes sweep over you, noting your appearance in excruciating detail. A faded grey dress, loose and modest, the neckline high and unfashionable. Lace cuffs, fraying at the edges. Thick wool stockings visible from the ankles, probably borrowed and a size too big, peeking out from under the hem of your skirt. Hems threadbare. Even now, you make it look lovely. Elegant. He wants to get on his knees.

He clears his throat, pulling his thoughts back to the present. "I wanted to—"

"How did you—"

Your words stumble over each other in a rush, and you stop short, caught halfway through your sentence.

He holds his tongue, waiting for you to finish.

"I'm sorry, please, continue," you bow your head apologetically, embarrassment in the flutter of your lashes.

"No, no, it's okay. Please," he motions for you to speak.

You press your palms flat against your lap, smoothing out your wrinkled skirts, trying to buy yourself a few seconds. "Why, I wondered... why you came to see me. After all these years, after everything?"

Why.

Now that was a loaded question.

"Because I swore a vow, didn't I?" He offers a small grin, but it wavers as he tries to explain. "I mean. To—"

"Are you perhaps here to call me to account for my failure, as a servant of Ethelion?" You ask, shaking, almost on the verge of tears. "For failing all my paladins when I should have protected you?"

You duck your head again, hiding behind the brim of your bonnet. Your gaze dips to the floor, fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of your skirts. But not before he catches a glimpse of the haunted expression, the torment and regret clear in the line of your mouth, pulled tight with emotion.

Leon slips off of the chaise all too easily, kneeling on the ground before you, his body moving of its own accord, as if drawn in by an irresistible force. He's so close that if he were to try looking down, he could just... rest his forehead on your knees, lean against your legs for support.

"What are you doing?" You start, half rising from your seat as if you're about to bolt, shocked at his boldness, but sit back down when you can't go anywhere with him as a barrier. “Sir Leon! Stop it, you can't—"

But he doesn't. He stays right there, unmoving, not daring to push boundaries. "You never failed anyone," he says earnestly, speaking with a clarity that catches you by surprise. "Not our cause, not me, not any paladin. It wasn't you who sent us to battle, it was those who served the gods, and they... They ordered their own people into a fight for their own glory."

He pauses, glancing up at your teary eyes, the disbelief, and he knows that you won't believe him, that the guilt will cling to you for days or weeks after today. If he's being honest with himself, the grief of losing his comrades may never fully go away, but—you haven't abandoned them. He will make damn sure you never consider yourself complicit in what happened, for as long as he lives.

Your lips quiver, and you tilt your head away from him, as though wanting to shield your face from view. He hates that he can't do anything to assuage your pain, to shoulder some of the burden you're carrying, but he's equally fascinated by this side of you, hidden and vulnerable, that he rarely saw when you were a saintess. He's grateful, too, that you're trusting him enough to see you like this.

You waver, thin and unsteady, as you respond, "And now what do you need? I'm no longer a Saintess who can bless your endeavors. I can’t give you anything."

The way you say it…

The words feel clumsy on his tongue at what you just said, inadequate compared to the burning intensity of what he truly wishes to convey. There’s too much to be said. That he’d never want anything out of you, that he wouldn’t stand you talking about yourself like something to be exploited, that he hates the way you see yourself…

It's tempting, so tempting, to just reach out. To slide his hand between yours, interlacing your fingers like lovers might. To curl his arm around your waist and draw you closer, to pull your smaller frame into him. It would be easy, so easy. But it would also be improper, disrespectful, wrong. And besides, despite what some might think, he knows how to restrain himself. He doesn't allow his hands to follow through with these baseless impulses.

Instead, he sits back on his heels like a dog, folding his hands in front of him. His posture is stiff and formal, mirroring your own, but his heart hammers wildly in his chest, betraying the calm façade he's attempting to maintain.

"I know you're no longer Saintess," he begins carefully. Your breath catches audibly at the title, and he hurriedly continues, "But I swore an oath to you, nonetheless, and I intend to honor it. You're my Saintess. Always will be."

Silence stretches between you, and he averts his gaze, focusing intently on the swell of your knees, afraid that if he looks at you, he'll break. "It's my duty to protect you, if you'll let me. I—" His words falter, caught in his throat as he struggles to speak past the sudden tightness there, "I swear upon Ethelion, I'll never leave your side. No matter what."

The room falls quiet again, save for the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, the soft hiss and pop as the wood splits apart, consuming itself. Outside, the sounds of birds singing in the breeze drift in, mingling with the rustle of leaves in the wind, distant conversations floating upwards from the grounds below. He counts the heartbeats pounding against his ribcage, three... four... five...

"Leon, what..?"

"Please marry me."

The words slip out, almost involuntarily, as though they'd been perched on the tip of his tongue, waiting for an opening to leap free. The silence grows, stretching taut between you, until he can't stand it any longer.

You draw a breath, and he raises his head. There's no mistaking it now — your eyes widen, and your shoulders tense as you sink back into the cushions of the couch. For a split second, the surprise gives way to something approaching fear, and a surge of panic wells up inside him at the sight.

This isn't what he intended — or, rather, not quite. He meant to ease you into the idea, to present his offer gently and smoothly, the proposal rehearsed in his mind countless times before. But his usual composure and decorum have abandoned him today, and now his mouth is running far ahead of his mind.

"Wh...Why?"

Of all the possible responses you could give, that is perhaps the most unexpected one. He stares at you dumbly, utterly thrown, fumbling for an answer. "I would cherish your hand in mine," he answers after a beat, trying to salvage his words, "I would treasure you, more than anyone ever could."

"But why?"

Leon's frustration bubbles to the surface. “This—” he gestures to the simple dress you wear, the apron tied around your waist, the calluses that have begun to form on your hands from hours of labor. “This is beneath you. Bowing down to others, doing their bidding… this isn’t what you’re meant for.”

Something flares behind your eyes—hurt? Anger? Indignation?

Before he can analyze your reaction too deeply, you ask again, more forcefully this time, “Why do you think it’s beneath me? Just because I don’t hold a sword like you or a blessing scepter in my hand doesn’t mean what I do is any less important—"

"It's not like that!" Leon interjects.

"—You think I should be wasting away as an ornament somewhere, is that what I am to you—"

"That's not what I meant! I meant I'd want to provide for you and protect you, and—"

"From what?! What is there to protect me from here?"

He rakes a hand through his hair, mussing the neatly coiffed locks and lets out an aggravated huff. "They don’t deserve you. The people here… they don’t deserve your labor, your effort. You should be served, not serving others.”

He must have said the wrong thing, your brows knit together as you frown, clearly displeased by his statement. Something in the twist of your lips sends a tremor through him, the way the set of your jaw is so determined, so stubborn, even against his arguments. This is the first time he's seeing fire from you instead of light, a display of character beyond the serene saintess façade you had to carry during the days at the cathedral. It makes heat pool in the pit of his belly, something heavy settling in his lungs and he's suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

"Then what am I supposed to do? Sit around doing nothing because—because you still see me as someone divine?" You shake your head, adamant in the words you utter. "I have purpose here! The Redfields have been kind to me, they took me in—"

"But you serve. You still serve."

Your words seem to die at what he says at the very end. Still serve. "I beg your pardon?"

"You bled every single day. Serving in the temple, serving the masses, serving others with a smile on your face, to the point of losing yourself. Used yourself, your strength, your grace, gave up your sleep and food and even your freedom. Your dignity, as the temple tried to mold you to suit whatever they wanted. That's all you knew for years and then just dropped into the world to figure things out by yourself, and went back to what you know best once more. Serve. This time, under a different name. A Saintess. A servant. It's not all that different, you know. And maybe you don't know how else to live. But I'm here to change that for you. To give you a choice."

Something wounded takes over you, like an injured animal struck by surprise before it bolts. A deep chill settles in him at how lost you look, how frightened and unsure, so unguarded and unprepared for him. He doesn't even know if this conversation is making you feel worse or better; maybe his intentions are clearer now, or more nefarious. It hurts either way, but Leon doesn't back down, doesn't look away from you.

The tears begin to fall without warning, trailing hot and wet down your cheeks. Leon's face crumples at the sight, shame washing over him at causing you distress. He reaches up instinctively, wanting to brush them away, but his fingers only graze your skin for a second before you flinch back and turn, covering your face with a hand as you forcibly stand up from the couch and move away from him.

He lets you go, a pang shooting through him as you cross the room. But when you reach the door, your steps hesitate, and his pulse stutters when you glance over your shoulder at him one last time.

"All I ask of you is to think about it," he pleads, not able to hide the note of misery in his voice as he leans toward your direction, hands placed on where you were just resting, fingers sinking into the cushions, "please."

Your lips part as if you're going to say something. You almost speak, almost giving way to your thoughts. Then you shut your mouth and dart forward, yanking the doors open and fleeing the room.

[swifty-fox]

prompt #15 for inexperienced/virgin gale & john pleaseeeee

15.  “I wanted you to be my first…”

The sheets were scratchy.

Linen chafed pleasantly against Gale's shoulderblades, cradles his head as John tosses Gale's shirt behind them somewhere. Gale hears the soft whisper of it falling on the floor of the room they'd booked for the night. They'd left the rest of their boys at the bar, left Marge with her ladyfriend John had been dancing with all night, and John had driven them to the motel in relative silence.

Silence, not quiet.

The tension between them that had been low vibration at the bar raising with every mile ticked off the counter. John had even turned off the radio, as if to hear the hum of them better.

"You've done this before? Been with someone?" John asks, sucking kisses across the shivering expanse of Gale's stomach.

Gale stares up at the ceiling, tries to ignore the way his body throbs at every single touch. He's trying to show some restraint, or maybe self respect, and not give into the desperate need to beg Bucky to climb right inside his skin. Linen burns against his skin for how he's got his fingers all tangled up in the sheets. John's mustache is a wet prickle-press against his oversensitive skin. He thinks every touch might be enough to have him crashing out.

John's face comes back into his vision, flushed and dumped with hungry concern. His fingers, just big enough to make Gale feel dainty, slide along his jaw, cupping the sharp of it gently.

"Buck?"

"Not a lotta opportunities in Cheyenne or Sheridan, Bucky."

They come together in a sucking kiss, echoing around the room with wet skin contact and a quiet noise from Gale, who was taken by surprise everytime the bold force of John's tongue slipped past his teeth with casual control.

"Plenty of boys up for it in college, more so in basic training."

Gale barely makes the words out through the press of their lips, it takes longer for him to remember to reply. Longer even to allow himself the vulnerability of tender honesty.

"I wanted you to be my first," he stubbornly refuses to allow the color rise to his cheeks.

"Oh," John sighs though there's nothing delicate about the exhalation.

Instead, he sounds ravenous.

His face melts into Gale's shoulder, pressing languishing hungry kisses there, works open-mouthed against Gale's shoulder like there was something to delve his tongue inside of. It sends Gale keening, one knee coming up to cup against John's broad body.

They're rutting against each other and every movement sends his cock squishing wetly against his hip. There's a wet spot on the front of John's slacks, drooling a thin string of connection when he pulls away. Gale watches it stretch and snap, mouth watering like he's a starving man and shuts his eyes when John palms him in one broad hand.

"That's okay, doll," John says softly, "Kinda doing it for me, honestly, that I'm gonna be the one to show you what a man feels like."

"Why you gotta say it like that?"

"Like what?" John works his belt open and pulls his cock out with one smooth movement.

Gale watches John jerk himself root to head in one smooth movement, drooling fat drops of need onto the still-clothed line of Gale's own arousal. Marking him.

He doesn't know his mouth is open in shocked need until John presses a thumb to his bottom lip, smoothing back and forth as if appreciating the plump of it.

"Like I'm your girl."

John grins at him, all crooked lips and twinkling eyes, "Aren't you?"

"Bucky."

Their gazes hold for a long moment. John's still got a hand on his prick, guiding it in a slow grind against the rise of Gale's cock, ruining his pants. Finally, John acquiesces.

"Nah, you're not my girl," John bends down to nip loving teeth at Gale's nipple. Licks the beading sweat from the center of his chest and scrapes along the rise and fall of his torso muscles. They were fit fighting shape, peaked and ready for war.

"You're my fella," John croons, "My man. My copilot."

[kesujo]

Chapter 6: Sick Days - Part 2

Previous chapter here.

Shortly after Parker re-entered the bedroom, upon Jessica’s insistence, he was once again completely nude along with Jessica, trapped against her shapely bottom rubbing against his groin and his growing erection. “Hmm, there’s your cute little friend,” Jessica sang in satisfaction, Parker’s hardening member shamelessly poking at her upper thighs.

Parker wanted to complain, but he knew his words would fall on deaf ears. But maybe, if he tired Jessica out quickly enough, she would permit him to leave. So, instead, he did the opposite;. he took a second to align his rod with her core before swiftly pushing himself inside her.

“Oh, fuck,” Jessica yelped, muffling her voice with the blanket, “Eager, are we? Did you finally give in?”

“The sooner you tire out, the sooner I leave.”

“Ooh, so you’re planning on tiring me out?” Jessica’s salacious remark only earned her a groan from Parker. “Are you going to fuck me so hard that I can’t walk tomorrow morning?”

“Shut up,” he grunted softly, pushing his dick inside her until he felt the pillowy, firm softness of her ass pressing against his crotch. “You just want to fuck, don’t you? You just want to cum a few times with the dick of your husband’s best friend, right? If I can’t get out of it, then at least I can give you what you want as quickly as possible so that I can go back home.”

“Tell me more,” she whispered back, guiding his hands, which were resting on her hips, up towards her boobs. “Tell me how much of a dirty slut I am.” Parker’s hands were placed on her breasts, cupping the sizable mounds in the palm of his sturdy hands. He obliged in Jessica’s silent request, closing his fingers around the pliable skin and feeling the velvety softness in his palms and on his fingers. “Tell me how much of a cheating whore I am, to be fucking my husband’s best friend.” Parker grimaced again, a surge of guilt invading his body parallel the wave of pleasure at the feeling of Jessica’s hot vaginal walls, sticky with her—and possibly, his—own cum squeezing his meat in a vice-grip and her tits giving way to his every kneading and squeezing motion. “Fuck, yes. Milk my slutty tits dry, fuck my naughty ass red, and then deposit all of your semen straight into my greedily waiting pussy.”

“You—you want my cum so badly?” The words coming out of his mouth felt so unnatural, but if it was going to bring Jessica closer to orgasm as it proved to do in the past, then he was willing to do it. “Does your slutty pussy really need my cum so badly, even after receiving that first load?”

“Yes, fuck, god yes,” Jessica replied, her voice indicative of her increasing breathlessness. “I can’t get enough of your cock or the hot feeling of your thick cum filling up me up with your cock stuffing my pussy to the brim. Just the thought of my body vibrating while succumbing to an orgasm with your dick stuffed deep inside me, stretching my tight little cunt is enough to get me to soak my panties…”

As their pace increased, Parker started to hear the audible noise of her butt damp with cum slapping against his groin, moist with a similar liquid, and tried to adjust accordingly. However, Jessica was having none of it. “What are you doing?” she whined, adding a brief rotating, grinding motion against his groin every time Parker’s dick kissed Jessica’s cervix. “You really don’t need me to tell you that you can be rough, do you? After all these times, why do you still insist on waiting for me to ask?”

“Well, for one, if I just start off by doing what you want, doesn’t that mean that you’ve won?”

Jessica couldn’t help but giggle at that. “What? Won? Oh! You mean when I said that thing about feeling like this is a game of trying to ‘soil’ you?”

“Yeah. Plus, I mean, you aren’t normal in many regards.”

“Aw, thanks,” Jessica replied, playfully shaking her ass against his groin. Parker groaned, gritting his teeth as another wave of ecstasy rose up his body.

“I-I meant, that most girls don’t like it as rough as you do, I bet. And I feel like if I get used to starting off too rough, then I’ll just default to it if I ever have sex with other girls.”

“What? You mean to tell me that, with your looks and your dick size, that you aren’t having sex with other girls?” Parker refused to award the teasing remark a response. “Fuck, well, they’re all missing out … maybe I can introduce you?”

“You’re—what is wrong with you?”

Jessica simply giggled. “That can’t have been the only reason though, right? That you’re scared you’ll get too accustomed to being rough when fucking a girl?”

“Well, I mean, it’s loud, isn’t it?”

“You think Hunter can hear the sound of my ass slapping against you through two doors? Fuck me harder, or I’ll give Hunter something to hear.”

It was an extremely precarious situation. Ordinarily, or ‘ordinarily’, Parker would just take this as a final warning from Jessica and use his full strength. However, now he had to make sure to strike a delicate balance; use enough strength to please Jessica, but not so much that it created noise that would draw Hunter’s attention.

So, Parker’s solution was just to gradually ramp up the speed and intensity until the sound of sex was audible to Parker, but still soft enough to not drown out the sound of the running heater of the apartment. “You’re such an attention seeking bitch that you resorted to pretending to be sick so that you could get the attention of both your caring husband and my cock inside your pussy, huh? Are you content, being my personal sex toy while your husband labors just a room away?”

“Yes, fuck Parker, your—” her tone quickly shifted, her body freezing in an instant. “Hunter.” The one word caused Parker such an overwhelming amount of panic that his entire body froze—luckily, the same wasn’t the case for Jessica, who got over her initial shock quickly. “Scoot back, create as much distance between us as possible, and pretend to be asleep.”

Parker obeyed, extracting his sopping wet dick out of Jessica and shifting over, closing his eyes the millisecond he heard the doorknob turning. “Jessica? How are you?”

Jessica, who had also shifted to the edge of the bed while still making sure that the blanket was still adequately covering the two, resumed her ‘sickly’ act. “I’m good,” she replied in a whisper, motioning Hunter to lower his voice.

Hunter, although confused, obeyed as he asked, “What’s Parker doing on the bed?”

The question made Parker start sweating bullets. In the split second that followed, Parker imagined all the fallout that would happen after Hunter learned of the truth: Hunter yelling at his wife, Hunter’s disdainful look at him as Parker collected his clothes and left … but none of it came. Instead, what came was Jessica’s calm, steady voice, “He’s asleep. He didn’t tell you, but he mentioned how, last night, he worked late and fell asleep while kneeling on the bed just now. I didn’t want him to sleep in such an uncomfortable position but didn’t want to disturb you, so I pulled him up onto the bed and tried to create as much distance so he wouldn’t catch my cold.”

“I see. Why’s he on the side closer to the wall though?” Parker saw that loophole in Jessica’s explanation as soon as he heard what she had to say but resisted the urge to spring up and concede and beg for Hunter’s forgiveness. He didn’t really have a choice but to rely on Jessica, a decision that turned out to pay off.

“Well, he was heavy, so I had to use my entire body to get him onto the bed, which ended up with him being on the other side of me.” Parker couldn’t believe it. How calm Jessica and Hunter were despite how bad the situation must’ve looked—although maybe it didn’t look as bad from Hunter’s point of view, not knowing that the two of them were naked underneath the covers—but even more so, he couldn’t believe how believable Jessica’s response was. “What, did you think I was cheating on you with him? Or that Parker would take advantage of his best friend’s sick wife like that?”

Parker dared not even grit his teeth, as much as that teasing question made him want to stuff her mouth with a thick cloth. Although, honestly, Jessica might like that.

But what was more nerve-wracking was the following silence, a few seconds that felt like several eternities, resolving with Hunter’s chuckle and a statement, “Yeah, you’re right. I tried to imagine it and couldn’t even do that. He would never.” Parker let out an internal sigh of relief. Was it that Hunter was being naïve, or was it that Jessica was really that convincing? Parker didn’t know, nor did he care to know—all that he could hope for was that Hunter still hadn’t caught on. “Well, when Parker wakes up, tell him that lunch is on me. I gotta get back to work.”

“OK, love you.”

“Love you too.”

With that being his final words, he closed the door as signified by a final click! At the noise, Parker let out a more audible sigh of relief, Jessica turning around and smirking at him. “Hear that? You would never.”

“Jessica…”

“I mean, he’s right, though. If you had your way, I would’ve never been able to see your magnificent dick, much less fuck it as many times as I have already.”

“Speaking of—”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“I mean—I mean, Hunter almost caught us twice.”

“But that’s what makes it fun! That made me so wet, come back inside me and see for yourself.”

He knew that he should just get it over with, but for whatever reason, that brief interruption completely drained all his motivation to do so. “I really…”

“Come oon, my slutty little pussy is getting cold and lonely without your hot, thick cock inside it,” she whined, closing the distance and grabbing Parker’s hand, grinding her ass against Parker’s erection.

He could feel his dick twitch in excitement, but the guilt pounding at his brain overwhelmed the lust. “Hunter was so trusting of me, and I’m here fucking his wife…”

“Aww, you really are a great friend, aren’t you?” Jessica’s playful demeanor subsided and was replaced with a genuinely concerned voice, “Don’t think of it like that then. You can just think of me as the bad guy and yourself as the victim. Because, I mean, you sort of are.”

Parker just scoffed at that. Honestly, in the past few weeks, he had been griping with the notion that he was technically a victim of rape, as weird as it sounded considering he was a guy, talking about a girl that was, well, ‘raping’ him. It went against all his preconceived notions of the word but knew it to be true. However, that wasn’t even the thing that made Parker scoff. “Then isn’t it a bit weird for a ‘rapist’ to console her ‘victim’?”

“Don’t word it like that!”

“Then what would you call it?”

“I would say, ‘adventuring partner’.”

“That’s—”

“Enough, my pussy isn’t going to fuck itself. Come on, quickly.”

 Parker sighed, although the brief exchange did make him feel a little better about the whole situation somehow and acquiesced with her demand. He quickly found out that Jessica’s claim did have merit; despite having been inside her just minutes ago, Parker found considerable difficulty in pushing his entire length back inside Jessica’s hot hole.

“Mmph, fuck, you’re stretching my naughty little cunt so much,” Jessica groaned, her hips rotating slowly, easing herself onto Parker’s cock. “God, you feel so much bigger…”

“You really are an attention-seeking slut.” The words were mostly spoken out of frustration than lust, his words reflecting a fraction of his true thoughts. “You almost get caught cheating by your husband, and your pussy’s response is to get tighter?”

“Fuck, yes, I’m such a cock-addicted cumwhore,” Jessica moaned, her walls contracting even more in response to Parker’s dirty talk.

“Do you love the idea of risking your marriage just for some dick so much? Do you love feeling my cum blasting your pussy walls with semen so much? Next thing you know, you’ll want me to fuck you while Hunter’s watching. Is that what you want? Feeling your pussy stretched wide open by my cock while your loving, caring husband watches on in both parts betrayal and lust?”

“Fuck … fuck, Parker…” Jessica’s words becoming more and more of a jumbled mess, a slight yelp escaping her lips as Parker’s cock brushed the entrance to her infertile womb. Jessica’s hands, massaging her own tits and pinching and squeezing her own nipples, were slowly replaced with Parker’s, who used the leverage to increase the force and speed of his thrusts. With his orgasm coming at a rapid pace, Parker abandoned all inhibitions and wildly chased the euphoric high, disregarding even the increased volume of Jessica’s plump ass striking Parker’s cleanly shaven crotch at every stroke, until he let out a final warning grunt before burying his cock deep inside the wanton women’s core, a second load of thick, white substance splashing fiercely against Jessica’s womb.

Jessica’s hands came to her mouth, muffling the yelping moaning sound that her body was uncontrollably creating in response to Parker’s orgasm, the second dumping of semen inside her bringing the seductress closer to the edge. Jessica let Parker ride out his orgasm, so it came to a surprise to her to feel him continuing to thrust inside her despite being spent.

“Parker, you can stop.”

“You-you didn’t cum yet.”

A smile found its way onto Jessica’s lips, patting the back of Parker’s hands, still attached to her breasts, saying, “It’s OK. Get off the bed.”

Parker almost couldn’t believe it. Was Jessica letting him go this quickly?

“Thank god.”

The words escaped his lips as he reached over to grab his clothes, Jessica wordlessly letting Parker put his clothes on and climb out of the bed over her. However, his gradually building hopes were quickly dashed the moment he climbed off the bed, Jessica grabbing his hand and saying, “Kneel at the edge of the bed, and eat me out.”

“No.”

There was no way. This—this—surely was where Parker had to draw the line. Fucking Jessica while Hunter was on a business trip? Fine, he couldn’t possibly catch them in the act. Fucking Jessica while separated by a non-soundproof apartment wall? Fine, just don’t make any noise. Fucking Jessica inside a bathroom while Hunter was enjoying a meal at the table, potentially sitting on the very chair they were having sex just minute ago? Fine, at least Hunter had to open the door. Fucking Jessica in her shared bed with Hunter while Hunter was just a few doors away? Fine, at least there were still a few barriers of separation (the door and the blanket), not to mention that they could separate if either of them noticed Hunter coming.

But eating Jessica out while in plain view, of everything, with Parker’s ability to detect Hunter compromised?

“There’s no way. We’ll get caught. I can’t do this.”

Jessica flung the covers off, her nude body revealing itself in all its glory. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to finish myself—”

“Fine, OK? Fine.” Parker could feel his heartbeat in his ears as his panic spiked yet again, Jessica’s triumphant grin only making him curse himself at his own powerlessness.

The sly Asian woman retreated back underneath the covers, Parker mentally preparing himself and kneeling at the edge of the bed. “You better be on edge for Hunter, though.”

“Oh, I will. I mean, I have a stake in this as well you know; if Hunter ever finds out, we’ll never be able to do this again, after all.”

Despite the actual words that came out of her mouth, the confident tone Jessica used reassured him enough to get him to start focusing on the task at hand. Under the thick covers of the blanket, he could see Jessica spread her legs a little, shortly after a hand lifting the covers at waist-level. He could just about feel the musky heat of lust emanating from the peephole into the darkness, took a final deep breath, and burrowed his head into it.

He was immediately met with an invisible barrier of heat as his vision lowered to almost nothing. The only thing he could see was a vague outline of Jessica’s slim legs, but Parker felt barely able to keep his eyes open at the wave of warmth his face was submerged inside, as if his head was submerged inside a thick, viscous soup but with none of the wetness. “Shit…” Parker murmured, his hands on the outside gripping the bedsheets more tightly as he pushed through, letting Jessica loop her leg around his head as it neared her womanhood.

Almost all senses disappeared except for his sense of touch which was completely enveloped in Jessica’s body heat radiating from her hot core, and when his face finally made contact with her wet folds, a sweet, sticky wetness on his lips. Jessica shivered, biting back a moan, her legs tightening around Parker’s head, the growing sensation of orgasm reigniting inside her.

“Oh, fuck…” Jessica’s lustful moans and sighs and whimpers went largely unnoticed by Parker, mostly because he couldn’t hear them as the tight grip of Jessica’s legs on his head meant that his ears were being plugged by her velvety thighs. His hands soon joined his head underneath the covers for added stability, his tongue exploring the moist depths of Jessica’s warm cavern, the taste of her nectar flooding his senses. The more he continued, the wetter his face got, and the more anxious he started to feel: why couldn’t Jessica just cum already? Was Hunter going to catch them? Could he even wipe his face off in time if he did?

Parker tried to shove those thoughts away and focus only on Jessica, but it was damn near impossible. The feeling of her smooth thighs around his head, the shuddering of her body as he continued his assault on her nethers, the warmth of her pulsating pussy walls as his tongue glided along its sticky surface, none of it was enough to distract him from the imminent threat of Hunter. And it turned out to be a good thing as, just as Jessica’s orgasm spilled over the tipping point, her hands shot down and pushed his head away.

Parker immediately understood the intention, his heartrate shooting all the way back up, hastily grabbing the inside of the blanket and wiping his face before emerging from underneath the blanket mere seconds before the door opened back up.

“Oh, hey Parker, you’re awake.”

“Hey, sorry for falling asleep earlier—”

“No, I don’t wanna hear it. I’m sorry for making you take care of my wife after having such a busy day.” Parker just shrugged nonchalantly, hoping his acting was convincing enough. “Thanks again for agreeing to this.”

“Yeah, thanks Parker,” Jessica interluded, not a hint of the playful teasing tone Parker knew she desperately wanted to use, “I really owe you one.” Parker could imagine the teasing grin on her face Jessica would be wearing if they were alone, but knew he had no choice but to play along.

“No problem, really. In fact, this was a nice excuse to take some PTO from work. Also,” Parker turned fully around, standing up and looking at Hunter, “sorry for falling asleep on the bed. I heard about what Jessica did for me and I appreciate it, but I just wanted to—”

“No no no, don’t apologize for that. Are you trying to make me sound like the bad guy, demanding an apology for falling asleep after overworking yourself last night? If you need to sleep, go back to your apartment and take a nap, I don’t want to bother you.”

This was it. This had to be the chance Parker was looking for. The one benefit of Hunter’s proximity and constant check-ins was that he could give Parker an excuse to leave Jessica before she was willing.

“Thanks—” Almost as soon as Parker opened his mouth, he heard Jessica shift on the bed behind him. That one sound, a seemingly innocuous action from the wedded woman, triggered a vision of sorts, imagining Jessica threatening to throw off the covers should he leave. Although Jessica didn’t explicitly state it, the fact that he strongly believed Jessica would do so and the fear that she would caused him to change his mind mid-sentence. “—but I think I’m good. I might just need some food in me, but I can always just go to bed early today.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I got this.”

Hunter nodded graciously. “I really owe ya one, Parker. How about lunch, on me? What do you feel like eating?”

“You don’t need to—”

“I insist.” Hearing those words, Parker knew there was no more arguing with him. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Hm … how about Panera Bread? They also sell soup that Jessica can eat, right?”

“Good thinking; the usual for you?”

“Yep.”

Hunter soon after left the room after announcing his imminent departure, and it wasn’t until the pair heard the door of the residence close that Jessica broke out into another smile. “You know, I was half-debating whether or not to let you finish me off anyway and see if I could explain it away.”

“Are you serious?”

Parker’s words, while initially in response to Jessica’s admission, could also be applied to her pushing aside the blanket and bringing herself to a sitting position. Parker diverted his gaze, unwilling to look at her naked body if he could help it. “Finish me off with your dick.”

 “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying to cum with your veiny cock stuffed deep inside my pussy.”

“What-what if Hunter comes back home?”

“Well, we’ll be able to hear it, but why would he? And I don’t need much, come inside and see for yourself how much wetter and tighter I got,” she said with a playful grin on her face, the last part of the sentence spoken in a sing-song teasing manner.

Parker cursed to himself and turned back to face Jessica, seeing her legs splayed at an obtuse angle and her glossy pink slit clearly visible, her upper body leaning back slightly, supported by her arms, her tits raising and falling with the motion of her breath, her nipples noticeably still erect. While her body was definitely to die for, the sexiest thing about everything was the confident expression on her face and the proud way she displayed her body to him.

“I’m limp.”

Jessica pursed her lips, her eyes falling on his bulge—or rather, its noticeably diminished size. “Well, that’s no good, is it?” Jessica sat up straight and leaned forward, her luscious boobs now hanging more freely off her chest. “Come here, take off your pants and let me help you.”

“I just put them on…” Parker muttered, shuffling forward and pulling them down regardless. He left them pooled at his feet just in case and stopped when his now growing erection was within easy touching distance of the salacious woman.

“Mmm, such a good boy, you’re so happy to see me, aren’t you?” Jessica cooed, her delicate fingers wrapping firmly around the circumference of his girthy member. Parker bit his lip, his legs tensing at the instinctive, primal feeling of pleasure and arousal surging through his body.

A smile befell Jessica’s face, giving it a few pumps for good measure before removing her fingers from his dick and to her chest. “Come closer,” she commanded Parker, who begrudgingly obeyed, and brought her voluptuous breasts to his hardening shaft and enveloped it with the soft sags of flesh.

“Shit,” the curse word naturally fell out of Parker’s mouth, hissing in pleasure as the warmth and pressure from the motion caused another surge of arousal.

“You like that? You like feeling my tits smothering your cock like that?” Jessica teased Parker, grinning as she rubbed the length of his cock with her boobs. Up and down, up and down … with each stroke, Parker could feel his embarrassment raising in parallel with his dick, until its tip escaped the warm confines of Jessica’s cleavage, poking out above it. “Mmm, there it is,” she cooed again, her face drawn to the tip of Parker’s cock oozing with precum.  Without much of a warning, she stuck her tongue out and lapped up the fluid, giving it a few more kisses before releasing it. “There, now you’re ready to go.” Jessica shifted back into her original leaned-back position, her legs spreading out to reveal the glistening slit similarly oozing with her own precum.

Parker simply looked at it, then Jessica’s eager expression, before sighing. “Fuck,” he muttered again, knowing he didn’t really have a choice. He grabbed Jessica’s legs and captured it in the crook of his elbow, angling her entrance upwards, using one hand to guide his cock while the other made way for it. As he neared it, he could once again feel the heat radiating from the sex organ, but didn’t give himself much time to feel it, instead choosing to plunge into the depths of Jessica’s vagina.

“Hmm, fuck…” Jessica moaned, her back arching and her eyes closing, her legs wrapping around his arms, tensing at the feeling of the thick phallic object penetrating her yet again.

Although he never really wanted to know, Parker soon found out that indeed, Jessica was right; somehow, she had gotten even tighter, so much so that he was having pushing himself inside, even with gravity on his side. “Fuck, it’s so tight,” Parker found himself muttering, gritting his teeth as he struggled past Jessica’s vaginal walls fiercely hugging his cock, slathering it anew with her juices, all the while Jessica unleashing a chorus of erotic moans and sighs and strings of dirty talk.

“Fuck me, god, your cock, it’s stretching me so much, holy fuck you feel so big, god I can’t believe how fucking good this feels, god I’m such a slut for enjoying the cock of my husband’s best friend…”

Parker’s mouth remained shut, only emitting the occasional groans and grunts, finding it necessary to pull out and push back in many times before he finally felt his balls making contact with Jessica’s ass. “Fuck, I don’t know how the hell I’m going to do this when you’re this tight.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m so fucking close, oh god, I want to cum all over your dick so badly, Parker, please…”

Parker took in another deep breath, recuperating his strength before resuming, extracting his cock halfway before slamming it back inside. “Oh fuck! More!”

Parker obliged, gritting his teeth while pulling his dick out until only about a third remained inside her, bracing his knees against the edge of the mattress before pistoning the rest of his length back inside. Jessica’s sexually-charged moans continued, urging Parker to go faster and deeper with each thrust, culminating in a final few, barely coherent words streaming out of her mouth followed closely by an ecstatic scream, her voice fully unleashed now that Hunter was no longer in the vicinity. The orgasm wracking her body, rending her unable to do anything but shake violently atop Parker’s cock, flooding it with wave after wave of the sticky substance from her core. Her arms eventually gave way, her upper body collapsing onto the bed with her tits bouncing slightly at the motion, her panting barely steadying even after her orgasm subsided.

“Fuck, that was good.”

Parker took that as a sign that he could pull out, reaching down to pull up his pants despite the lust that built up from the fucking. “I can go now, right?”

“Nuh uh,” she sang, sitting back into an upright position, jumping off the bed and grabbing his hand. “You didn’t cum yet, and I’m not about to blue ball you like that.”

Caught by surprise, Parker’s grip of his pants vanished, stumbling out of the pool of clothing left at the feet of the bed. “Wait, my pants—”

“Panera Bread’s far away; if Hunter hasn’t returned by now because he forgot something, he won’t for a good amount of time.” Jessica was surprisingly flippant about something that had the potential to be so incriminating, but it was in part because she was so flippant that reassured Parker. “It was nice of you to recommend soup for me to Hunter, but I think I know another kind of soup that would make me feel better.”

Parker nearly burst out into laughter from that, even as Jessica guided him to sit atop the toilet with its lid down. “You sound like a porn actress.”

“Oh, that’s an idea. Do you want to do a porn shoot?” The smile quickly faded from Parker’s face. “I’ve heard of places that let people do them anonymously, like with a mask over both people’s faces and whatnot. You just set up an appointment and they pay you up front with money, and then you just fuck in front of a camera for a bit. What do you think?”

“And you really think I would agree to that?”

“Hmm…” Jessica hummed, kneeling down, her warm hands landing on his legs and gently rubbing his upper thighs. “…yeah, I think you would. It sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

“Do that with Hunter, not me.”

Jessica pouted, parting his legs slightly and inserting herself into the space between, her hands closing in on his erect cock. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re—… you are so messed up.”

Jessica simply giggled, her gaze shifting away from his eyes to his cock, her palms pressing flush against the length of his cock, her slim digits wrapping around them firmly. Parker swallowed a moan, his arms balled up in fists at his sides, pushing down on the toilet lid as if trying to break it. “I’ll look for one and let you know when I find it.”

“Please don’t.”

“Well, you have no one to blame but yourself for this. You were the one who gave me the idea, after all.”

“I didn’t—fuck,” the swear word tumbled out of Parker’s already opened mouth as Jessica suddenly dove down, pressing her tongue against the base of his member and running it all the way up to the tip, giving it a loving kiss. “Wait, Jessica—I might have to pee.”

“Nice try.”

“No, I’m serious!”

Jessica pondered for a brief moment before shrugging. “Well then, do it inside my mouth. I’m fine being your personal pee and cum dumpster.”

“What the fuck are you—agh, fuck!” Again, the swear flew out of Parker’s open mouth as Jessica dove straight down onto his pulsating erection.

Jessica was relentless, taking half of it inside her mouth in one stroke. Her hands were planted at the base of the reproductive organ, her soft, pink lips caressing the perimeter of his cock, her tongue resting on the underside of the oblong object lodged inside her mouth. She let out a guttural moan, the reverberations being sent onto Parker’s dick, him jumping at the sensation.

Parker’s eyes were trained fiercely on their connection, barely watching her head retreating and Jessica taking another deep breath through the nose before impaling her throat with the phallic object. “Fuck … Jessica, please, just let me pee first at least…”

Hearing the words, Jessica’s head tilted upwards, her smiling eyes meeting his. A playfully teasing expression sat on her face, in stark contrast to the girthy length of his penis sitting atop her tongue, sitting so deep inside her mouth that it nearly touched her uvula. The pure amativeness of seeing the sexy woman at his crotch, her lips now two-thirds of the way down his rod made Parker briefly forget about his body’s urge to release a nonsexual liquid.

Maintaining eye contact the entire time, Jessica’s head came back up his cock, another shudder running across Parker’s body, before quickly plunging down. A faint gagging noise could be heard as Jessica’s throat flexed impressively to compensate for the intrusive object, a tear running down Jessica’s cheek but the smile never leaving her eyes.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the lustful grunt escaping his lips. His hands clenched into a tighter fist, the muscles in his limbs similarly tensing, watching the adulterous woman’s head bob up and down his shaft, slowly making her way down.

The small, echoey room was soon filled with sounds of Jessica’s hums of pleasure, gagging noises as her mouth attempted to take in more and more of his cock, and the occasional grunts and groans from Parker. In his peripheral vision, he could barely see Jessica’s voluptuous tits swaying with her every motion, pushing against the side of the toilet with every downward stroke. She shook her shapely romp playfully, as if a dog wagging its tail in joy, all the while squeezing Parker’s cock in the warm, tight confines of her gradually expanding mouth.

“Mmm, your cock tastes as good as I remembered,” Jessica said after briefly coming up for air. But before Parker could comment, Jessica dove right back down, her right hand sneaking behind her body, impaling her pussy with two fingers while Parker’s cock impaled her mouth.

“Shit,” Parker grimaced, the desire to pee and the desire to cum now equal in strength. As Jessica advanced further and further down his cock, the desire only built, the combined, faint squishing noises of her slim digits thrusting in and out of the same hole that was previously occupied by the object now lodged deep inside her mouth only making it worse. When Jessica finally reached the base of his cock, with no lack of somehow extremely sexy gagging noises, she let his cock sit inside her throat, her lips firmly wrapped around his girth and her tongue resting firmly against his shaft. Her eyes, which had turned downward as she focused on taking his entire length, now turned upwards and broke out into another smile upon meeting Parker’s gaze. She shook her ass playfully again, demonstrating the ease at which she could hold his penis so far down her throat, barely a sign of struggle present on her face.

After a few seconds, Jessica’s head came back up a few inches before summarily dropping back down to the base, slurping noises now joining the chorus of gagging noises filling the shared bathroom of the wedded couple. Parker grunted, his leg muscles tensing even harder, his toes curling in an attempt to hold back the overpowering flood of whatever was inside him, something that only got harder with every bob of her head, Jessica now uncontrollably slobbering all over his member, drool trickling out of the corner of her mouth. With one hand gently caressing his balls and one hand furiously pumping now every finger of her right hand inside her pussy, Jessica’s blowjob increased in intensity to an absolutely wild degree.

“Fuck, Jessica—!” That was all the warning Parker could give before that tension abruptly broke all at once, a stream of bodily fluid pouring straight into the wanton woman’s esophagus. Jessica’s throat flexed impressively once again, somehow not missing a single beat in swallowing every drop of cum, or piss, as it shot into the back of her throat. Parker felt a shudder overtake his body’s motor controls, riding out his orgasm with his cock buried deep inside Jessica’s mouth, sighing and slumping against the toilet back after it subsided.

Jessica’s head came back up Parker’s softening erection, her left hand catching the stray trails of saliva on her cheeks while the right rubbed her juices off on her tits, the pillowy skin giving way to her hand. “Mmm, I’m feeling better already,” she sang happily, looking at a Parker who was avidly avoiding her gaze in embarrassment and regret. “You can pee now if you want.”

“…That’s the thing. I don’t need to do that anymore.”

Seeing Parker’s forlorn expression, Jessica couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you acting so embarrassed about? I told you that I was willing to swallow your pee too.”

“But—why? That’s disgusting!”

“Mmm, well it was a little saltier than usual, but it still tasted great,” she noted, shrugging, “I don’t mind.”

Parker sighed, his shoulder slumping. “Fuck, I’m sorry…”

“Aww, does my little baby feel bad for using mommy as his own personal urinal?” she cooed, scooting back up to him and placing her heavy rack on his lap, directing them to his slowly softening erection. “Don’t worry baby, mommy is always willing to swallow anything that comes out of my baby’s precious cock.”

“Stop talking like that, please.”

“You say that, but I think your friend thinks otherwise,” Jessica said, watching in delight as the softening penis did a full 180 at the feeling of Jessica’s makeshift titjob.

“No, no more,” Parker replied, cursing the stamina he had developed from all the long, arduous sex sessions he had been having with Jessica.

Jessica pouted. “One more.”

“Please, I’m drained…”

The sly woman grinned, standing up and grabbing Parker’s hand, leading him back into the bedroom, singing, “We’ll see about that~”

[suckerforbassist]

Short drabble

Warnings: NSFW (minors DNI, 18+ only), pussy eating (Sort of), cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), swearing, pet names, not proof read

a/n: hello tumblr community! This is my first drabble and had been in my pc folder since 2021 :) originally, the character was a different person but due to my change of interest, I decided to choose logan as my main character haha.

Word count: 1.8k

“W-what are we doing here?” He dragged me back to his hotel room after the incident at the club.

The noise from the hallway of the hotel became inaudible as the door were shut by the Canadian man and oh shit-

I was left alone in this empty room with this maniac plus the surroundings of the room isn’t helping at all. We barely see each others face and the dim light shone through the curtain from the moon outside was the only source of light. His broad back faced the door, blocking the exit and his facial glinted due to the strangely gleamed by the moonlight. The pair of chocolate eyes bored into mine, not even glancing away from me. I looked away, knowing that he made me felt certain feeling towards him. Crossed my arms to show my confidence that he is not making me nervous even though my heart raced and butterflies fluttered in my belly. A pregnant of silence later, I heard he cleared his throat.

“We’re gonna have a conversation.”

I averted to him in confusion, “There’s nothing to talk about, Logan.”

“Yes there is, sweetheart! Whether you like it or not, you and I are gonna stuck in here- talk it out.”

He exclaimed, still staring into my face. I scoffed with the name he called me. I used to hate that name- but, when it came out from that lips, it just felt right. My eyes landed on his lips, I wondered how that pair of lips felt against mine. Would it felt soft as feather? What would it taste like? Hell, what was I thinking? We hated each other. Immediately, I asserted,

“Stop calling me that! I’m not letting out a single word. Starting from now.”

Logan sighed but he pursued anyway, “Why are you avoiding me?”

My eyes wandered everywhere except for his figure who was standing 4 feet away from me. Mouth was sealed not giving him the satisfaction. Made him frustrated but, it was replaced with a mysterious smirk.

“Fine, you wanna play like that, huh?” Pair of eyes staring into mine. “Then, let the lips do the work.”

“What-”

Swiftly, he took a couple strides towards me and I felt Logan’s right palm caressed softly my cheek as his other hand held onto my waist and pressed his lips against mine. Soft and delicate. So, my assumption about those lips was true. I was daze and my lips froze against his but quickly picked it up when I felt his lips pressed against me a bit harder but, still delicate. Our chests brushed against one another, I felt his heart beating rapidly and so was mine. Logan was about to pull away when I did not give him much response but, I instantly gripped lapel of his flannel shirt and pulled him for another kiss.

All I could remember was that kiss was hot and intense as we picked up the pace. My arms automatically wrapped around his neck as I felt Logan’s hand roamed my back and lower until he rested on my ass. Squeezed it, a squeal escape from my mouth and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into my wet cavern. Exploring every inch of my mouth. Left the tingling sensation all over my body and down to the core. His tongue was erratic, eager to taste every inch of my mouth.

I was not even aware that he bend his knees a bit lower and felt both of his hands caressed the back of my thighs. Gasp escaped from my lips as I was being lifted and forced my legs to wrap around his waist, making the hem of the dress lifted a bit. Setting me gently against the soft sheet of his hotel bed whilst his lips explored to my jaw, few pecks were given delicately and down to the crook my neck. A rattle breath left my lips as the plum pair of lips were pressed on the particular spot on my neck. His sucking, bite and lick made me swoon and unmindful, my eyes were shut closed due to the unforgettably pleasure. Hands were roaming the back of his neck and unruly curls. Fingers were tangled in between the curls.  

“Lo- please.”

Biting the bottom of my lips to contain the sound as he moved towards south to my clavicle, leaving wet kisses behind. His left hand was grazing teasingly at the side of my breast and then, rested on the hip while his right hand propped next to my head. Absentmindedly, I lifted my hips against his. A friction gained between our crouch and immediately I jolted towards the excitement. A few bold grunt were heard by the man above me as I continued to tease. A second later, he halted and I no longer felt his warmth. The hand on the side of my hip was no longer presence. When I opened my eyes, he knelt in front of me with the eyes filled with guilt and lust. Panting and redden cheeks, ran his eyes away from mine.

“Logan?” I sat up on the sheet with him still between my legs.

“This is wrong. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kiss you o-or force you-”

He was not the broody-jerk Logan at the moment, he was so much vulnerable and subtle Logan. The one that I grew accustom to these past few days. Without second thoughts, I knelt in front of him and palmed his stubbly cheeks.

“Hey, non of these are your fault. You didn’t force me to do this. I wanted it, Logan.” His orbs directly staring into mine, looking for sign of discomfort in mine.

“I want you.”

He croaked, “Are you sure?”

I leaned onto him and pressed my lips against his. At the moment, I don’t even care what’s going to happen between us tomorrow, tried my best to ignore all the wrong thoughts after we happened to sleep together. Shifted onto his lap with my thighs straddled him. He was a little hesitant and tried to assure with my decision. He broke the kiss and opened his mouth tried to say something but I beat to him.

“Lo, shut up and unzip me.”

He grunted while his hand wandered behind my back and skillfully, dragged the zip down. Instantly, I lifted from his lap and stood in front of the man. Sensually, my hands roamed the side of my body, purposely touch the tits without leaving my eyes from him. His eyed me lustfully while licking his lips. I reached both of my dress’s straps with thumbs and slowly dragged it down my shoulder. Soon, the satin fabric dropped and pooled around my feet. Leaving me in only strapless navy blue lace bra and panties. A groan left from his lips and a prominent bulge could be seen from his jeans.

“Twirl slowly for me, bub.” His husky voice made me shuddered and my tummy fluttered.

I complied to his order and as I was about to face him, I felt his warm hands on the side of my hips. Pulled me onto his laps, straddled his thighs. Without seconds thought, he pulled me into a desperate kiss and mumbled.

“You’re a goddess. So beautiful.”

His praise made me even wetter and a moan slipped from my throat.

“Tell me, what do you want?”

“I want you. All of you.”

Hastily, he flipped me and my back was against the soft mattress. I felt his lips everywhere and I kept whining as I felt his lips on the braline, one of his hands snaked behind and skillfully took off the strap. As the piece of flimsy fabric came off, Logan was stunned and his throat bobbed. His brown eyes scanned my chest delicately and then averted to my eyes asking permission to touch them but, I pouted.

“Why am I half naked and you’re not?” He chuckled and asked me if I wanted to undress him. Hell, yeah gladly.

When he stripped to only boxer, my hand sneakily went down to his crouch to touch the prominent bulge but, he was quicker. Grabbed, my wrist and brought it above my head. When I asked him why, he said he wanted to taste my skin first. I moaned and begged for him to touch me there.

“Patience, Princess. You’ll get what you want.”

With his a hand still locked both of my arms above my head, he began to explore my chest. Left a trail of wet kisses, licking and sucking the skin around the nipple. I huffed in frustration and tried to tug my hands from his grip. Logan let out a deep chuckled and continued sucking.

“Lo, please.” I whined. “Want you-” Gasped as I felt his tongue licked my left nipple, circled it and then playfully bit the nipple. Wrapped his lips around it and started to suck. Moaned at the sensation and it sent straight to my heat, damped my panties. He did the same to my right nipple, took his time whilst I was squirming mess underneath him.

Logan finally stopped and sat up straight while letting my hands free, stared at his masterpiece that he just created. His mouth was agape, cheeks were flustered and his eyes were blown in lust. At the same time, that pair of eyes were filled with adoration and I dared to say was love. But I can’t, falling in love with him was a huge mistake.

All of my doubts disappear as I felt his fingers trailed my inner thigh delicately, his other hand rested on my hip. Pleasure sent all over my body as his forefinger and middle pressed at the front of my panties, rubbed the wetness up and down. I moaned and fists the pillow underneath my head. Logan mumbled ‘beautiful’ but I was too busy to acknowledge his vocabulary.

“So wet for me, baby.” He leaned between my crouch and continued pressing and circling my covered bundle of nerves with his thumb. I felt a couple of pecks on the hem of my panties and suddenly the pressure on my clit’s gone. I sighed in frustration and sensed Logan was smirking.

“I swear Logan, your balls gonna be blue if you don’t hurry up.”

He chuckled, “No need to be mad, bub. I was just taking my time.”

Both his fingers curled at the hem of my panties but halted as his gentle yet lustful eyes met mine, asking for permission. I lifted my hips as allowing him to take off the flimsy piece. A groan escaped from the bassist lips.

“Fuck baby, all this for me?” He was inches away from my dripping cunt and sniffed, “Smell so amazing, I bet you taste wonderful, sweetheart.”

The way he talked made my face heated in embarrassment and hid my face in my palms. He tutted and removed my hands, placed them both on the duvet. Knowing those hands will gripped the duvet tightly or flying around his hair or back.

“Wanna see you.” He winked, “Just scratch me or anything, alright? I don’t mind.” He dived into my cunt like a starved man.

Gasped as he licked clean-

[skibasyndrome]

Wilmon + "Look at you my beautiful babygirl doing so well"

I need to see more of 🎀heeeer🎀

cw: nsfw, transfeminine Wille, praise kink, fingers, contrary to what you might think, this is kind of very soft

"Look at you, my beautiful babygirl... doing so well."

Simon's sweet drawl wraps around Wille's conscience like a soft blanket and she feels herself relax a little more, feels her shoulders fall, her jaw grow a little slacker. She's doing well, doing so well for Simon, and that's all that matters. She hums happily, earning a gorgeously loud moan from Simon, one that makes her want to do it again and again and again. But before she can try, can try to push just a little bit further, stretch her lips just that much more, there's a hand on her shoulder, another one on the back of her head, both gently, but determinedly, guiding her mouth off Simon's cock. She's just strong enough to hold back a growl in protest, but can't keep her eyebrows from furrowing. Briefly, she wonders if she did something wrong and if she did, then why dide Simon praise her, but when she feels Simon's hand underneath her chin, gently pushing to make her look up at him, all thoughts inside her head grow quiet. There's nothing but softness in his eyes, nothing but reverent adoration, a look that washes over Wille like warm sunlight. That makes her want to bask in the attention but also avert her eyes. She swallows, still feeling Simon in her mouth, still tasting him on her tongue. Simon's eyes, so dark, so gentle, so all-encompassing, don't leave hers when he shifts his hand, cups her jaw, careful fingertips pressing into her cheek. "Wille...," Simon starts, then stops, a tiny movement in the corners of his mouth, like he wants to laugh or smile, but doesn't quite get there. "Baby," he says, instead, and Wille's breath hitches, both from the sound of it, so gone, so lost in his praise for her, and from the sudden press of his thumb against her bottom lip. She stills completely, relishes in the wet slide of Simon's finger over her spit slick mouth, relishes in the knowledge that he, just like her, loves this. That moment of pause, of acknowledgement, of appreciation. Tracing with his fingers where she had his cock just earlier, tracing where she wants him again and where she wants him to kiss her later, afterwards. She loves how he pushed the finger inside, just a bit, how his eyes flit over her face for a moment, like he's encouraging her. She loves how his jaw clenches, barely noticeable, when she wraps her lips around the digit, hollows her cheeks just how he likes it. "So beautiful," Simon rasps out, pulling his finger out again. He drags it over her skin slowly, so fucking slowly that Wille wants to whine. But when grabs her jaw again, his thumb leaving a wet trail on her skin, and speaks again, she halts.

"You're perfect, Wille, my babygirl," he tells her, letting every syllable hang in the air for a moment longer than necessary. Says her name, then her favorite pet name, like they're his prayer, like he's compelled to give the words the space they deserve. This isn't only about now, isn't only about the way they have sex, about the way she does everything to make him feel good, this feels like more, like it's almost a little too much for her to take right now, kneeling on a pillow in between Simon's spread legs. Simon's expression shifts, a new determination twisting his features into more serious lines. "My perfect, perfect Wille," he says, and Wille feels compelled to nod. Then feels herself melting against Simon's palm when his features soften into a smile, a smile that says good and believe me and thank you and I love you. And maybe the feelings are too much for right now, maybe they need to have this conversation afterwards, and so Wille feels the tiniest bit of relief when Simon lets out a soft little laugh after her eyes flit between his face and his now slightly softened cock. "You good?" he asks, letting go of her face and brushing through her hair with his fingers. And that, the care, the attention, the love so neatly packed into every touch and every word make a carefree laugh bubble from her throat as well. She nods, then moves forward again, takes a hold of Simon, brushes her lips along his cock and suppresses a content sigh when Simon lets out a small moan. "So, so beautiful," he breathes out, almost like he's not talking to her, like he's talking to himself and while the thought make warmth spread inside her chest he wants his words for her again and so she parts her lips and finally, happily takes Simon in again.

....... the heart wants what it wants and today that was sex so fluffy it's almost a little bit too much (almost <3). and you know WHAT? Wille deserves no less <3 Thank you thank you THANK YOU a million times for the lovely 🎀prompt🎀 Sophia 💜💜💜

See here and here if you want to see more of 🎀Wille🎀

Send me "Wilmon" + a sentence and I'll write you 5(+) more!

[wings-of-ink]

During camp MC grabs RO and drags them of somewhere at bit more private MC looks back to camp to make sure they are out of hearing range and whispers to RO "I'm really horny for you right now"

Oswin & Zahn

Okay, teeeechnically, this will be a spoiler. I am not sure yet which chapter this will appear in, but I have some drafting and/or outlining done for a couple ROs already (I originally thought it could be as soon as chapter 5 and that is probably not the case, lol). Zahn's is roughly outlined, while Oswin has part of the first draft done...so, how about a little teaser for Oswin's? ^_^

Camp has been peaceful. It's been a nice long evening so far and everyone is relaxing by the fire as Rune plays the lute and sings. You get an idea. It may be a while before you get this chance again, so you subtly signal to Oswin to meet you, and quietly scuttle off to the thicket of trees a ways away from camp. Oswin follows a short time later with a worried look on his face. He places gentle and calloused palms over your cheeks. "Are you okay? You seem flustered." His green eyes shine with so much care. "I'm fine," you say. "I just wanted a moment alone with you while they're all distracted." "Oh?" Oswin's face shifts in relief as he smiles. "Does that mean I…we…kiss? We can kiss, right? Again…I'd like to." He clears his throat. ***Things progress, there's some code here and I won't spoil it all. And then...*** Oswin gropes at your hips, and then moves one hand up to the small of your back and splays it to press you closer. As your pelvis meets his, you feel that he's hard beneath the confines of his trousers. He keeps kissing and sucking at your lips and tongue, completely lost in a haze of new pleasure. But you want more.

[ashthewaterghoul]

Are You Really Okay? - A DewTom One Shot

They tried to lean forwards for another kiss, sliding forward off the bed to straddle Dew. “No, Phantom. I called red.” Dew said while wriggling out from under Phantom. The hurt in Phantom’s eyes carved a hole in Dew’s chest. “You’re always so good for me, my perfect girl.” He cupped their tear and snot striped face in his hands, “But I’m not comfortable doing anything right now. Not until you tell me what the problem is.” “It’s not me who has a fucking problem!” Phantom blurted out, practically shouting it and they both froze. Phantom never raised their voice. Or, What Dew and Phantom thought was going to be their average hotel night whilst on tour, turns into a much needed conversation neither will soon forget.

Words: 1462

Rating: Mature (it does start off spicy)

Tags: Hurt/comfort, angst, self-harm (discussed not shown), starts spicy but leads elsewhere, safeword use, they/them Phantom, confrontations, Phantom wears a dress and also gets called a 'good girl', grief/mourning, Dew and Phantom need hugs, scars.

A/n: Both Dew and Phantom's anatomies are left ambiguous here because ultimately, it doesn't matter. It can be whatever you want! Mind the tags and enjoy!

Title taken from 'Are You Really Okay?' by Sleep Token. I would say it does sort of set the vibe for the story as well.

~~~

    Dew didn’t know what city they were in, and his brain was too fuzzy to remember how Papa had addressed the crowd just hours before. It was their day off tomorrow, so they were in a hotel tonight. The pack had been out clubbing, and after many intoxicating substances, they all split off to make the most of the space and privacy that a hotel afforded but a tour bus did not.

    Dew had been staring at Phantom all day. From the moment he noticed them wearing one of Rory’s crop tops to soundcheck, their lovely little curves as they warmed up and seeing that nimble body on stage. When they all showered and changed for their night out, Dew nearly went weak in the knees when he saw Phantom in a tight little black dress that started just under their armpits and ended just below their butt.

    So, Dew didn’t know what city he was in, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was that Phantom was finally under him in the hotel room.

    Both still fully clothed and hands flying all over each other’s bodies. Their lips were melding together in a filthy kiss that was more fang and tongue than anything, Phantom desperately gripping handfuls of Dew’s black dress shirt which he had purposefully left rather open the whole night, his tattoos and piercings on display for all to see and it had achieved its goal of driving Phantom mad.

    “Calm down, Bug, I’m not going anywhere.” Dew chuckled against Phantom’s lips.

    Phantom whined, “Please. Need you.” they said, untucking Dew’s shirt out of his waistband and trying to undo what few buttons he did actually fasten.

    “I’ve got you, baby. Gonna take good care of you, yeah?” Dew said, moving to kiss down Phantom’s neck and purposefully focusing on a spot in the junction of their neck and shoulder, intent on leaving a mark there.

    When Phantom had finished with the final button, Dew helped get the shirt off his shoulders and thrown in a heap on the floor. He pulled back a moment to start working on his belt, and Phantom’s legs wrapped tight around his waist.

    “No, don’t leave me.”

    Dew saw a certain desperation in Phantom’s eyes that he usually only saw when they had been going for a while or doing more intense scenes, and this was neither.

Read below the cut or on ao3

    “Phantom.” Dew threw his belt to the floor and cupped one side of their jaw in his calloused palm, “Are you okay? What’s your colour, Bat?”

    “Green, so fucking green. Please, need you.” Phantom said immediately.

    “You’ll tell me if that changes, yeah?” Dew asked, face fully serious, no amount of anything would ever stop Dew from making sure they were comfortable.

    “Yes, now please-“ Phantom cut themself off by launching their mouth back against Dew’s causing him to chuckle low in his throat.

    Dew rolled up what little of Phantom’s dress covered of their lower half, providing a more direct point of contact for the two. Phantom started panting and squirming against Dew, making his own interest pique. Phantom was also letting delicious little moans and whimpers fall out and Dew swallowed as many as he could. He put a hand on each side of Phantom’s torso and bracketed them in. Phantom’s hands went to each of Dew’s forearms and they kept letting little whines fall out as their claws skirted across the uneven skin.

    “So fucking gorgeous. All for me.” Dew said.

    “Yours, all yours.” Phantom affirmed, their feet kicking at Dew’s waistband to get it to budge.

    “Be patient, Bat. I’ve waited all day for this, we don’t want it to be over too quick do we?”

    “Fuck, please! Need you. Don’t ever want to go a second without you, I can’t. Please!” Phantom said, tears starting to bead on their lashes.

    Dew’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight, knowing something was wrong, but Phantom’s deft fingers were already fussing with Dew’s button and zipper, pushing right against where he’d been burning for them all day.

    “Bug-“

    “Shut up, please. Want- need you. Dewy, please.” Phantom was practically sobbing. And Dew sobered immediately, anxiety churning deep in his stomach and smothering the flames that had been steadily growing all day.

    “No. Bug, no. I’m calling red.”

    Dew backed away enough so his core was out of Phantom’s reach.

    “No! Dew, please. I need you so bad.” They were sobbing now.

    “Not when you’re like this.” Dew said, grabbing Phantom’s hands and bringing them to sit up on the edge of the bed, fixing the short dress back down and cover up what little it could. He knelt down on the floor before them, “Something’s up with you, what is it?”

    “Nothing, I promise!” Well that wasn’t convincing at all, “I’m just horny, I just need you, please! Wanna be good for you, wanna be your good girl.”

    They tried to lean forwards for another kiss, sliding forward off the bed to straddle Dew.

    “No, Phantom. I called red.” Dew said while wriggling out from under Phantom.

    The hurt in Phantom’s eyes carved a hole in Dew’s chest.

    “You’re always so good for me, my perfect girl.” He cupped their tear and snot striped face in his hands, “But I’m not comfortable doing anything right now. Not until you tell me what the problem is.”

    “It’s not me who has a fucking problem!” Phantom blurted out, practically shouting it and they both froze. Phantom never raised their voice.

    “Wh- what do you mean?” Dew asked, his hands dropping from their face.

    Phantom took a deep breath, steadying their voice against their tears, “We’ve all noticed. It feels like we’re watching you wither away. I can’t lose you.” They rambled.

    Dew’s mind immediately understood. He wasn’t exactly making any effort to hide it, but he was hoping no one would notice.

    “I can’t help it.” Dew said, backing away in shame as his arms wrapped around his own torso.

    “So let us help. Don’t leave us, please.” Phantom begged, crawling over to be face to face with Dew and taking his hand, holding it tight to their chest and putting all his fresh little scars on full display.

    “I’m sorry, it’s the only thing that feels right. It’s the only pain I can control.”

    Dew’s soul had been in a torrent of hurt since Aether was forced back to Hell, and it had taken a long time for Dew to even accept simply living in the same space as Phantom. But he had gotten over it and gotten better. Or so he thought. It was about a month into the tour when Dew got off stage and instinctively searched for Aether. And in a terribly glorious moment where he completely forgot, he panicked and spiralled thinking that something had happened to Aether, terrified that he couldn’t see his mate. Of course something had happened, it was just months prior.

    Since then, Dew had fallen back into his habit of self-harming. He didn’t really know what the goal was, if he wanted to live on, if he just wanted some pain to remind him he was alive. It was just the only thing he could think of doing to fill the void that Aether had left.

    “You can’t leave us. You can’t leave me.” Phantom said, “I finally have you, you’re in my very soul. I won’t loose you.”

    Dew choked on his tongue as he felt the unbridled emotions filling the shitty little hotel room in who-fucking-knows-where.

    “Please, Dew.” Phantom begged, “Stop hurting yourself. It’s hurting all of us too.”

    And if that didn’t cut deeper then any blade Dew had put to his skin.

    “Bat, I-“

    “We all love you.” Phantom said, before putting a gentle kiss to one of Dew’s new scars, “We’re all here for you.” Another kiss, “Just let us help you.” Another kiss.

    Phantom went along Dew’s arms and torso and kissed each and every mark, laving it with the love Dew hadn’t shown himself for a while.

    “I’m sorry, Bat. I’m so sorry.” Dew said, pulling Phantom in for a bone crushing hug that they returned. It felt as though they thought he would fade away at any moment, and that just made Dew hold on tighter.

    “I’ll try, I promise. I’m sorry.” Dew repeated like a mantra.

    “We all love you so much, Dewy. I love you so much.” Phantom cried, kissing whatever they could reach without loosening their hold, “Please never forget that.”

    “I’ll try, I promise I’ll try.” Dew swore.

    And he meant it. With all his heart, with all the love he had for his pack, current and lost, he meant it. He could only hope he wouldn’t be too weak to let everyone down.

[squinch-depraved]

visiting ted and shower sex. yeah

friendly reminder my requests are very much open and i am sososo willing to hear everyone out so don't be afraid to ask :3 <3

you thought you were alone in the apartment, that was why you were sliding around on the floors in your socks, pantless and glowing from a good day spent with ted. that was what you would say if he decided to confront you, if he decided to stop watching you through a mirror around the corner in the dark living room. he didn't know if your traipsing around in just one of his shirts and a thong was truly an invitation at first, but when you looked around slyly, stripped his loose fitting tee off your gentle frame and dropped it on the floor, he gripped the armrest of the couch and palmed himself through his pants at the sight of your breasts. you left your thong and socks a few steps further down the hall and turned into his bathroom. a few seconds later, ted heard the shower start and sighed, relieved that he could whip his cock out and deal with these thoughts of you alone. he began to stroke himself in the dark, leaning his head back and furrowing his brow. a ding from his phone pulled his focus from his mental image of you bouncing on his cock and he huffed, wincing when he remembered he told you he was going out for something and you supposedly thought you were in the apartment alone. in reality, he fell asleep on the couch and assumed you still thought he was out. but you had noticed him earlier, dozing under a blanket, though it was pitch black when you got home. half an hour from your discovery of him later, here he was, reading your message that made him roll his eyes back into his head.

"wish you were home, teddy," his phone read. "could really use a big hug right now." fuck, he loved hugging you. you were so soft, and your body always slotted together with his in a way that left him wanting more. and so, screw it, he decided. he got up off the couch, tearing off his shirt while he walked down the hallway. he paused when he reached your panties and stuffed them into his pocket ashamedly before hastily taking off the rest of his clothes.

the bathroom door was open, and he peeked in to see you naked, shifting your weight between your feet, scrolling on your phone with a puzzled expression on your face.

"need help?" he said after clearing his throat, unable to take his eyes off you. you grinned and ran to pull him into the bathroom fully, wrapping yourself around him and kissing his neck. he moaned loudly and gripped your waist.

"i'm so glad you decided to join me, teddy," you replied softly into his ear. "i can't pick a playlist, do you wanna help me?"

he smiled and nodded, carefully picking out one the two of you had crafted together to match the pace of how he was about to fuck you. once the two of you were in the shower, he was all over you, kissing, licking, biting, leaving marks, kneeling lower and lower until he was low enough to position his mouth between your legs and devour you until your legs were shaking and he had to support you. you came on his face, and cursed yourself for doing this in the shower so you couldn't see your juices all over his adorable visage.

he came up to kiss you again, nipping at your lip and grinning when you yelped. you gazed up at him, eyes clouded with lust, and this time it was your turn to get on your knees. you licked a stripe from base to tip and slid all of him that you could fit down your throat, pumping the rest with your hand. he groaned, rearing his head back, and balled up his fist, using the other hand to cup your jaw. the feeling of his cock fucking your throat through the underside of your jaw earned an even more guttural noise from him, and soon he pulled you off and signaled for you to jump and wrap your legs around him.

once you had done this, he looked you in your eyes as he lined you up on his dick and started fucking into you. you clawed at his upper back as you kissed him, mewling and babbling about how good he was. ego boosted, he spins and pushed you up against the glass wall, thrusting even harder. you screamed into his mouth as he sped up, digging his nails into you. he coaxed another orgasm from you before he eventually mumbled, "close," against your bruised neck. "where do you want it?" he panted.

he grinned when you told him you wanted to swallow it, moving so you could hop off and squat low enough to deepthroat him one last time for the evening, this time sticky white ropes painting your throat before you pulled off. you stood up and he steadied you when you almost lost your balance. the two of you looked at each other for a moment before both chuckling sheepishly and beginning to explain your respective sides of the story, not knowing that you both felt like you took advantage of the other. this was sure to be the first of many nights spent like this.