#( replies coming i swear! i’m just really slow. )

[jenubyjane]

#𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗼𝗳𝘀𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘀 : i’ve been giving this a lot of thought & wondered… would it be weird if i made this muse multiverse? because i have a raging original character idea that keeps poking at me & i’m too lazy to make another muse. at this point, i’m rambling but i could if i really, really wanted to.

[joelsgoldrush]

“GUILTY PLEASURE” | 8.6k

logan howlett x fem!reader

“I want this like a cigarette / Can we drag it out and never quit?” Guilty Pleasure by Chappell Roan

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut - mdni 18+ fluff, angst, drinking, dirty talk, slow-burnish, grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader, reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes, age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, finger sucking, soft dom!logan, wade being the funniest asshole, logan calls reader "kiddo/kid"

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[fxllfaiiry]

❥ It's so sweet, knowing that you love me

★ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

★ summary: miguel knows you're pregnant, the only problem is he doesn't know how to to tell you. ─ or the time miguel found out before you.

★ warnings: fluff!! usage of many pet names, angst if you squint, miguel being a simp for his wife, pregnancy stuff, swearing, some shitty humor.

★ notes: there aren't enough dad and husband miguel fics out there so i had to write this!! icon credits: @/natashowlet

Miguel knew something was off, he’s known for days.

You’ve recently been throwing up, having odd cravings and random mood swings. At first, he thought you might be sick, you thought the same thing but now he knows it's not that. You were definitely pregnant. Everything adds up, and all of it made sense, then again he could be totally wrong. 

He made up his mind to try and talk to you once you returned home, he would surprise you with a romantic dinner and bring up the subject. He had about an hour to prepare everything. 

Well, that's what he thought, the second he got up to start preparing, you waltzed in through the door. 

“Mi Amor, I’m home.” Why are you home this early? He wanted to surprise you. 

“Mami, why are you home so early?” He says pulling you into a bear hug, usually, he would squish you completely but right now he wasn't sure that’d be the best idea. 

“What, aren't you happy to see me?” You chuckle. 

“No, no I'm really happy, I was just gonna cook you a surprise dinner that's all,”  he replies bashfully

“Aw, that's so sweet.” You threw your arms around him, placing kisses wherever you could reach. “I have the best husband ever.” 

“And I have the most amazing wife, now come on let’s go make something to eat.” He scoops you up in his arms and carries you bridal style towards the kitchen. He desperately wants to bring up the topic of you possibly being pregnant but now was not the best time, he didn't want to ruin the moment. 

This conversation could wait till tomorrow, right now he just wanted to enjoy some time with his wife.  

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Good night, Miggy.” His head was buried into your neck, his arms were secured somewhat tightly around your belly, and your smaller hands were coving his bigger ones. 

He thought about bringing up the topic right now but quickly scratched off that idea.

He was so tired from the day's activities, he could fall asleep instantly.

He could hear you slowly drifting off, your breathing calming him down and lulling him into slumber... well almost. 

Just as he was on the verge of falling asleep he heard something ─ or rather someone. 

He could hear another heartbeat. Coming right from you. He thought he was going crazy at first, but the closer he listened, the clearer it got. He was right, you were pregnant.

Holy shit. You were pregnant. He was going to be a dad. 

In all this, it occurs to him that you didn't even know yet, he would have to tell you tomorrow no matter what.

He’s so happy. He finally has another chance, he won't mess up this time. He would do anything to protect you both.

But what if you didn't want kids just yet? The topic of kids has come up before and you both want them, but what if you changed your mind? There were so many things that could go wrong but Miguel tried to push all the negative thoughts away and focused on falling asleep. 

He slept like a baby that night. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── 

“So, honey, I was hoping to talk to you about something.” He avoided having the conversation all morning, now he needed to tell you. 

“What is it, Miggy?” You sit down looking at him expectantly. You could see that he was nervous, it was obvious by the way he was acting. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yes, everything is fine, mi corazón, don't worry.” How should he start? Should he just jump straight into it or start off slow? He should have thought about this before, well no time to do that now. 

He took a deep breath and it all came rushing out “I think, actually no, I know that you’re pregnant.”  

Silence. You were too stunned to speak. 

“Excuse me?” There was pure shock written all over your face, he would’ve laughed if the situation was different. 

“I heard 2 heartbeats last night, one was yours and the other one was -”

“Are you sure? I mean are you 100% sure? Maybe you heard something else?” You didn't want to get your hopes up just yet, you always wanted a baby with Miguel but if this turned out to be a false alarm you would be a little crushed. 

“I’m 9.99% sure. Bebé, if you want we can get a pregnancy test done?”

“Yeah okay, let’s do it.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

An hour later both of you stood in the bathroom. Three minutes felt like hours right now. 

You might be pregnant. This isn't some crazy dream.

“Bebé, if you don’t want to keep the baby I absolutely respect tha-” He’s still not sure if you’re happy with this or not. He was worried he messed up in some way. 

“No, I want to keep the baby but I just don't want to get my hopes up just yet. I definitely want to have a baby with you.” You wrap your arms around him, his scent calmed you down. You were going to be okay. 

“I want to have a baby with you too,” he whispers. 

You lean up to give him a kiss, your hands gently coming up to stoke his cheeks. Miguel pulled back and mutters, “I love you.”  

“Love you too.” A moment later you both heard the timer going off. This was it. 

You slowly step forward picking up the stick and turning it around. 

Positive. You were pregnant. 

“Well, what does it say?” This whole thing is making him feel so anxious. 

“We’re having a baby.” His wife is carrying his baby, this is real, he isn't dreaming. 

“I knew it! I was right.” He pulls you off the ground and into a hug, placing kisses all over your face while muttering small “thank you’s” and “I love you’s” 

“I can't believe we’re gonna have a mini O’Hara running around soon,” you giggle kissing his jawline. 

“She’s going to be just like her mother. ” Knowing a mix of you and him was going to be here soon made him feel content. 

“How do you know they're gonna be a girl, hm?” 

“Just… a small feeling.” His small feeling would be proven right 9 months later.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Seven Minutes

luke castellan x reader

A/N: i was so excited to write this request as soon as i saw it so i hope you enjoy!

TW: smut, luke being a cocky little shit

word count: 1,172 words

Playing seven minutes in heaven is not an appealing idea to you. You don’t like the idea of being trapped in a closet with a guy who isn’t of your choosing and it isn’t some stupid kissing game that’s over in a second, but there is sadly no saying no to Silena Beauregard. Your friend is literally the embodiment of an Aphrodite child with her ability to persuade. For gods’ sake she actually has the word ‘beautiful’ in her name and everyone knows that someone with such a likeness to the love goddess isn’t someone that can be refused.

“There’s going to be lots of good looking people there I promise… Charlie, Clarisse… Luke.” Silena murmurs the last name.

“What?” You’re clearly pissed. She can hear it in your tone.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” She asks innocently.

“What was the last name you just said?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just listing people at camp who are objectively attractive.”

“Just objectively attractive or objectively attractive and playing seven minutes in heaven tonight?” You ask, giving her a pointed look.

“The second one.” She replies quietly.

“I’m not going if Luke is going to be there.” You tell her petulantly, stopping in your tracks like you’re going to turn around and head back to your cabin.

“So you did hear me.”

“I’m not going.” You start to walk back but she grabs your wrist.

“Yes you are!”

“I’m not. I hate him. I want him dead. I pray for his downfall on every quest he goes on.”

“All I can hear is that you spend a lot of time thinking about him.”

“Silena!”

“I’m sorry but if you think about it, all this hatred could just be pent up sexual frustration.”

“It’s not.”

“It could be!” She realizes that she isn’t anywhere close to getting through to you so she holds both your hands in hers. “Please just come. The bottle most likely won’t even land on him anyway. Just think about it as a fun night.”

“Fun night my ass.” You grumble but turn around and begin to walk back to the Aphrodite cabin. Silena giggles excitedly.

When you walk in, almost everyone of the older campers in Silena’s friend group are already there. Your eyes fall on Luke first and he gives you an annoying little smirk.

“Okay, now that everyone important is here…” Silena smiles before sitting down. Clarisse hands her an empty beer bottle. “I’ll go first.” She spins the bottle and grins when it lands on Charles. If your eyes aren’t deceiving you, you could swear Clarisse’s face drops for a millisecond.

The person next to Charles goes next, and then Clarisse goes and now, it’s your turn. You’re not really sure how it’s your turn already, but you aren’t about to argue with Silena over the spinning order. You look at Luke before you spin and he gives you another cocky smirk. You try to ignore him and spin the bottle, doing it perhaps a touch too hard because it goes in circles forever. When the bottle slows, it is clearly about to stop on some Apollo kid before it shifts a little more and lands on Luke.

What the fuck?

He looks away from a son of Boreas to you. “Up you get then, princess.” He stands.

You look at Silena with ‘help me’ eyes but she shrugs with a guilty grin. So now you’re walking over to Luke. He holds out a hand so he can lead you to the closet but you slap it away as you pass him. He turns on a dim light as you enter and shuts the door behind him.

“Look at my luck.” He says in a suave tone, holding his hands out like it was the gods’ bidding.

“Did you really bribe a wind god kid so that the bottle would land on you?”

“Perceptive.” He comments. “I was just lucky that I happened to be sitting North of you. So maybe it is the gods’ will.”

“You think it’s the gods will that we fuck in this closet?” You scoff.

“You said it, baby not me.” His right hand falls to your waist, gripping at your love handles. “But sadly, we don’t have enough time for me to fuck you properly.”

“Get your hands off me.” Your gaze is filled with a lot of passion. Whether that passion is lust or hate, he isn’t sure.

“Make me.”

When you don’t make him take his hands off you (which you most could) he takes that as a sign that you want him just as much as he wants you, so he pulls you in for a rough kiss. You hate how you kiss him back, whimpering into his mouth when you feel his hand slip up your thigh to rub you through your jeans. He slips his tongue into your mouth as he begins to make quick work of your zipper. Luke tugs your jeans down and chuckles at the sight of your lacy panties.

“Were you planning on getting screwed tonight or is this just coincidence?” 

“Shut up.” You murmur before forcing your mouth back against his.

He rubs you through your panties for a second but you both know you’re short on time so he slips them to the side, sliding his fingers through your arousal. 

“Gods, you’re so wet.” He whispers into your mouth before plunging two fingers inside of you, curling them in just the right spot. You whine softly, pissed at how good he is at touching you. He leans his head down and begins to kiss your neck. He suckles on the same spot for about a minute so he leaves a deep red mark. “Oops, left a little colour.”

“Luke!” You scold quietly and he begins to rub your clit with his thumb so you can’t think straight enough to say anything else.

“Just have to let people know who’s girl you are, princess.” He starts rubbing your clit a little harder. “Who’s girl are you?”

You’re feeling so good and you’re so close to your peak that you moan out, “Your girl.”

“That’s right. Cum on my fingers, baby.” He demands and you do right away, squeezing around his fingers as you get your release. “You better get dressed.” He says as he checks his watch. “You’ve got about 12 seconds before they open that door.”

He’s clearly amused as you struggle to get your pants back on in time but that doesn’t mean you don’t notice as he licks your cum off his fingers, moaning just a little bit.

“Times up, lovebirds.” One of the other Aphrodite girls says as she swings open the door.

You walk out as soon as she does and you don’t make eye contact with anyone as you storm out of the cabin.  

“We’re done with the game for today.” Luke says cockily as he quickly grabs both your jackets and chases you out the door for round two.

Silena grins. “I knew it.”

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi @ravenclawprincess33

Luke Castellan: @amortencjja @urmomsbananabread @kissingyourgrl @vikimontethegirlblogger @maryann2013 @stark-head @remussbitch @ever8ea @batmandabest @jennapancake @junos-web @tanifsblog @stupidtween 

[frannyzooey]

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: E

A/N: Thank you to the incomparable @bageldaddy who not only looked this over for me, but who also inspired the entire idea by being such a inspiring, delicious Joel Miller whore. This one is for you ❤

--

“Stop squirmin’,” he scolds, a hard hand on your hip. 

You’re trying not to, but tension builds between your bodies, the solid wall of his chest rising and falling along your spine. So close you can feel heat leeching through his clothes, his warm breath skims along the nape of your neck and a damp throb beats thick and distracting between your legs. 

Slow, steady breaths are all you have, and so you take them. 

In and out. In and out. 

His hips shift when he zips up the sleeping bag along the side and when his lap nudges you from behind, you hold your breath and clench your eyes tight, your thighs squeezing together. 

The masculine scent pressed into his clothing fills your senses, the strength in his solid form enveloping you in a protective press when he slings his arm around you in an attempt to get comfortable, and struggling to quell the need building deep between your hips, you squirm. 

Waiting a beat, you do it again. 

“Come on now,” he scolds, impatience slipping into his tone. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’s all we got. You need more room, or somethin’?”

That drawl of his is driving you crazy, just as arousing as the constant frown you know he has on his face right now. His sternness shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, and yet it constantly plagues you: is he always this stern? In every situation?

“No, I’m good,” you reply, letting out a sigh. 

You’re really not, but in order for you to be okay, he’d have to be outside the sleeping bag, and so you try to still yourself again, focusing on the sounds of the night. 

Weeks spent traveling together, it’s now a familiar background that often lulls you to sleep: the soft chirp of crickets, the rustling of leaves, the creaking of trees as they sway gently in the breeze. Up until now, you’d gotten away with sleeping separately on the ground but tonight marks the first truly cold one of the season and when he rolled out the single sleeping bag, you bit your lip. 

“It’s a double,” he said gruffly, kneeling to spread it out. “Plus, it’s all we have.”

You knew it would be a tight fit, but this is unbearable. 

His hand twitches, the heavy weight of it brushing just underneath your breasts and your nipples tighten into sensitive peaks underneath your layers. His hand is so close, you can’t help but imagine how it would feel if he slid it up just enough to touch you. 

Taking another slow breath, you try not to move. 

“You sure we can’t light a fire?” you ask.

“Now why am I gonna tell you no?” He sounds exasperated, a tone he uses more often than not with you. 

The closeness of his mouth to your ear has his deep voice sending a shiver through your torso every time he speaks and needing him to be quiet if you’re going to survive this night, you don’t answer. 

He lifts his knees, the front of his thighs coming in contact with the back of yours and the brush of his lap against your ass has you biting back a moan that almost crawls out of your throat. You fit the cradle of it perfectly, and if you really focus, you swear you can feel him through your layers of clothing. 

With that image filling your mind, you try to press your thighs together in hopes of relieving the ache between them, but not only does the squirming ratchet the heat higher, it earns you another scold.  

“You gotta stop.” 

A slight plea to his words, his hand settles on your hip again, but this time his fingers accidentally brush the hem of your shirt up in his haste to stop you from moving and you bite your lip at the warm, dry heat of his palm on your bare skin. All sensation centers on that point of contact, and you feel a fresh wave of dampness creep into the crotch of your underwear. 

“Sorry,” you apologize quietly. 

Restless with want, arousal blooms through your system: starting slick and sticky between your thighs, it spreads low and heavy between your hips, travels with tingling heat through the tips of your breasts, and envelopes your head in a dazed cloud of need. You close your eyes, attempting to will it away, but it only makes all your other senses heighten. 

You feel his presence even more: the weight of his arm around you, the damp heat of his mouth near the delicate skin of your neck, the sound of his breathing. Moving on their own accord, your hips shift again, connecting with his and he lets out a sigh.

“You sleepin’ on a rock, or somethin’?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow. Taking the space he’s left, you roll onto your back to face him and instant recognition registers on his face. He frowns, his stern expression causing another wave of sticky wetness to gather between your thighs. 

“That why you’re so squirrelly?” The register of his voice has dropped lower, more intimate in the darkness yet no less forgiving. “If so, you’ll just have to deal with it later. You ain’t the only one who’s uncomfortable here.”

Your eyes drop down from his face to where you think his crotch must be, automatically seeking confirmation of his words as if you could actually see anything and his head tilts in silent reprimand at the action, his frown deepening. 

“I told you no.”

He did. He said it weeks ago after you kissed him by the fire, again after you took his hands in yours and pressed them along your body in the saddle, again after you kissed him with urgency after a close call in the last town. Every one of those times he responded with his own need: blatant and wanting, all low groans and rough lips and hands and touches, until he pulled himself back. 

“Wouldn’t be right,” he said.

“I’d be takin’ advantage of you,” he said. 

Like you didn’t know your own body. Like you couldn’t make up your own mind. 

He looks down at you for a long moment, the silence heavy between you in your wordless standoff and right when he’s about to lay back down, you speak. 

“Please.”

You almost don’t recognize your voice with how helpless it sounds, breathless with need. 

Dark eyes searching yours, they study your own for a weighted beat and the thing that’s been growing for weeks between your bodies pulls taut: a string, ready to snap. 

You throb and ache, squirming next to him. So, so empty. 

“If I do it, you’ll go to sleep?”

“I promise,” you hastily agree.

His jaw shifts under his sparse beard, his expression contemplative and then his eyes scan the darkness around you for a moment, making sure it’s all clear. 

“Undo your pants.”

You’ve never obeyed a command faster in your life, already reaching under the covers to fumble with your belt. Your fingers trembling, his dark eyes drag down the parts of you he can see and his hand covers yours, stopping you. 

“So needy.” The words are said to himself with a slight shake of his head that has you squirming again, and he pushes your hands out of the way, making room for his own. There is a weighted feel to them against your skin where his knuckles brush against your belly, his fingers working open the button of your jeans and you let out a shuddering breath, the liquid heat between your thighs flaring bright. 

Jeans open for his access, he keeps his eyes on your face when he slowly slips his hand down the front of them, pushing beneath the band of your underwear. When his fingers find the damp, warm heat that greets him, a pained look crosses over his features. 

“So fuckin’ wet, and I ain’t even hardly touched you yet.”

He is touching you, you want to argue, but the words are caught in your mouth when he slides his hold lower, his broad hand cupping you wholly between your legs. The thick tips of his fingers press heavily against your entrance, and you widen your legs to give him more room. 

“Goddamn,” he breathes out, swallowing hard. 

His middle finger dips into your slick seam, immediate wetness covering the digit before he drags it through your folds with a testing stroke and your back nearly arches off the ground, needing so much more yet not being able to breathe with what he is doing. He slips it inside you, just down to the second knuckle, and then he’s sliding his soaked finger up to your clit, finding it with ease. 

Your hips jerk up to meet it, the calloused pad of his finger providing instant relief. Your head falls back, your throat straining with the effort to be quiet. 

“Feels good, huh.”

There is a smugness to his tone that you think faintly should bother you, but it doesn’t. Instead, your body responds in a wholly different way, wanting nothing more to find out what else he seemingly already knows about how to make you feel good. 

“Tell me, or I stop.” 

The harsher tone of his words brings you back to the present, and you frantically nod, eager to obey.

“Yes. Yes, it feels good.” The roughed pad of his middle finger is swirling firm, neat circles just over your clit, the texture and intensity just right and when you answer him, he rewards you with a second finger. Arching your hips into it, your mouth drops open, a silent cry forming in your throat. 

“That’s my girl,” he praises, his hooded eyes looking down at you. 

His fingers speed up, quickly slipping down between your thighs to coat his fingers with arousal before bringing them back up again and your hands find his wrist beneath the sleeping bag, holding on while he swirls, swirls, swirls. 

So wet you can hear it, you’re sticky and slick underneath his touch, and it’s almost clinical  with how quickly he’s going to make you come. Your thighs starting to tremble, his dark eyes never leave your face and chasing his touch, you focus on the centered need he’s building deep within you. 

Still so empty you could cry, your breasts tighten under your sweatshirt, and when you imagine how the cold air would feel on them paired with the contrast of his hot, wet mouth, you pull tight with your release, your hand tightening in its hold on his wrist. 

“It’s –,” you beg him, “I’m so close.” 

Your mouth slack as his thick, calloused fingers work, work, work, he dips his head, his mouth resting just beside your ear. 

“Come on, honey. Just give it to me. I know you want to.”

The rough rasp of his voice is deep enough to pierce through the fog he’s built in your brain, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt to hold onto something as you start to tip over the edge. Right when you’re on the cusp, he slides his fingers lower and fills you swifty with three and the startled cry that breaks free from your throat doesn’t even hit the air before he covers your mouth with his. 

He swallows every low moan, every hitch in your breathing, every hot puff of air you let out as he pumps his fingers to wring every last drop of release from your trembling body and even when he slides his fingers out, his mouth still doesn’t stop. Coated with your slick, his hand smears damp across your jaw as he presses you into place and takes, his tongue sliding hungrily against yours. 

Your own taste is thick on your tongue when he pulls back, and breathless and spent, you’re finally blissfully pliant and loose beside him in the sleeping bag - but not for long. 

Slipping his fingers into his mouth, you blink your damp eyelashes up at him as you watch him suck on them with a low, satisfied groan. The lewd action paired with the deep sound, his eyes are still on your face when he pulls them from his mouth to reach back down into the sleeping bag.

“Feel better?” he asks, and though you don’t even know how to begin to answer that question, you find yourself nodding anyway.

As if nothing happened, he grasps your jeans and gives them a perfunctory, swift tug, putting you back together. Lifting your hips in a daze, you let him. 

Satisfied, he positions you on your side again, facing away from him and settling down behind you, he drags you tight to his chest with a thick arm banded around your waist. 

A thick, solid heft is felt between the two of you, pressed against your ass and his usual gruff voice softens, but only just. 

“Good. Now go to sleep.”

[luvelve]

˚ · . sweet blue - k. mingyu

summary: your husband’s not very good at asking for things, not even for a shave. but of course, he gets it either way.

pairing: husband!mingyu x afab!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

warnings/tags: kissing, shaving, mentions of use of a blade

a/n: i took a long and unexpected break from writing and i’m happy to be back <3 this has been sitting in my drafts for sooooo long and i finally finished it today. the ending was kinda rushed but i wanted to publish it either way to kinda get myself out of this slump. as always, feedback & likes/reblogs are always welcome :)

the dark colored marble touches the front of your thighs as you inch closer, which surprises you but you try your best not to flinch because of the task at hand. at this moment, you feel like an artist, a sculptor if you will; carefully carving clay with utmost precision. except you’re not a sculptor, and you’re not carving clay. you’re in your bathroom giving your husband, mingyu, a shave.

this was new for the both of you, as mingyu always just shaved his incredibly slow growing mustache by himself. what started all this is him seeing you in your nightstand or in the bathroom doing your makeup and skincare, and he finds it all so amusing. he swears harps and violins play in the background when you’re in your own little world, dusting your cheeks with blush, taking your mascara off, or applying lip balm? lip… stick? lip…. whatever it is that you put on your lips, he thinks to himself. all he knows is that he can watch you do it all day. but he’s also left wondering, how it would feel to do what you do on him.

for some reason, mingyu isn’t able to muster up the courage to ask you straightforward to do his skincare, but he is able to ask you to be the one to shave him since he tells you its that time of the month where his mustache gotten too long for his liking. he comes up with the excuse of not doing the job well enough, and that his face gets all ‘itchy’ afterwards. which is all a lie of course, but it’s enough to convince you to do what he asks of you.

and so you find yourself in your shared bathroom at nine in the morning, standing in between your husband’s legs as he sits on the counter, both of your faces inches from each other. the room is silent but not eery, it’s a comfortable silence. mingyu had joyfully shown you the things he uses for his shaving routine: a cheap razor, shaving cream, some aftershave seokmin had recommended to him, and a towel.

“you really should get one of those good quality razors. not these disposable ones.” you scold mingyu softly, looking at him sternly with one hand resting on his head and the other holding the razor.

“but they’re expensive.” he extends the last syllable in protest, his reply a bit garbled as he tries his best not to move his mouth too much. you know mingyu well enough that he would be pouting at this moment, if only you weren’t shaving his upper lip.

you’re too focused on the task at hand that you don’t bother arguing with the giant sulky man in front of you. you continue making slow downward strokes using the razor, watching the hair slowly disappear. mingyu doesn’t have a lot of hair on his face like other guys but you take your time, making sure to get the job done right. it is, after all, your first time.

your husband watches as your lips contort out of focus; a habit of yours that he’s taken notice and grown fond of over the years. every now and then , you get rid of the hair and cream, swishing the razor in the sink that’s filled about halfway in water. mingyu feels nothing else but happiness and content in this very moment that he’s internally doing jumping jacks.

your resting hand shifts from his head and onto his cheek to get better leverage and mingyu just has to lean in to your touch. he relishes the feeling of your warm hand and then looks at you with adoration in his eyes.

“baby…” you raise your eyebrows at him, wondering what on earth he’s doing this for in the middle of a shave. mingyu doesn’t react to your words but instead shoots you a small derpy smile, and only you would know what he means.

if there’s one thing your husband is good at, it’s getting you to give him your love and attention without even saying anything. there are nights when mingyu comes home exhausted and all he has to do is stand there in your doorway, signalling to you that he wants to be in your embrace. or when you get up earlier than him and you find him just as he’s about to wake up; he’s buried in the sheets, hair all messy, just laying there, silently telling you that he wants a taste of your lips before his morning coffee.

and it’s the same thing he’s doing now. you let out a small sigh as you tilt your head a bit in fake annoyance before you lean in to connect your lips with his. it’s quick but it’s enough that mingyu lets out a hum of contentment. you pull back and he giggles as your lips catches some of the shaving cream, giving yourself a tiny little mustache.

“happy?” you quickly reply, and mingyu catches you to plant another kiss on your lips, placing his hand on your cheek to deepen the kiss a bit.

“very.” he says, as he swipes the pad of his thumb on your upper lip to get rid of the shaving cream he transferred onto you. his giggles bounce off the quiet walls of your bathroom.

“now can you sit still so i can finish this little bit that’s left?” you say to him, and he replies with a small nod and a sheepish smile, one that’s big enough that his canines show through. mingyu feels like a sixth grader who just kissed his crush. if the marble counter wasn’t in the way, he’d be kicking his feet.

you finish the small patch of hair that he has left and you proceed to put aftershave on him, assuming it is what you put after one shaves. you put a little bit on your hands and you’re thrown off by its strong musky scent. surely this can’t be good for his skin, you think to yourself.

“babe, you really use this stuff? i think this is way too strong for you.” you say with a worried look on your face. “well… seokmin told me it was good so i just used it too.” he replies.

“well yeah, it could be working for him but for you… i’m not too sure. i don’t know… i’m just worried.” you trail off, getting some tissue to rid your hands of the product and his eyes follow you around the bathroom while you do so. you shuffle back to stand in between mingyu’s legs, “i’ll go get something from my stuff instead.”

he watches as you momentarily leave the room to grab something from your vanity. he waits in the bathroom like a five year old waiting for his mom at the grocery counter. he hears the sound of your drawer open and close and it makes him chew at his lower lip in excitement.

“okay, this should do the job.” you say as you take the product onto your hands and pat it gently on your husband’s annoyingly smooth face. you make sure to cover all the parts that the blade has touched, and your head tilts left and right trying to make sure you didn’t miss any spot.

the way his eyes light up and follow your every move don’t go unnoticed by you. his hands make their way to rest on your hips again, squeezing every so gently as not to distract you.

“aaand, that’s the last bit of it.” you say, tightening the cap of your moisturizer and setting it down on the counter. mingyu internally pouts because the task is done, nonetheless he still props himself off the counter to take a look in the mirror.

“thank you, baby.” he says softly, shooting you a sweet smile as he turns to face you again. his arms snake around your waist to pull you in for a kiss and just when your noses touch, you pause. “you know… we still have a bit of time before we have to head out. why don’t we go back to bed for a little while?”

mingyu instantly picks up on what you’re trying to say and of course he jumps on the opportunity, “yeah?” he questions, and you nod as you wrap your arms around his neck. “well you know i can’t say not to that.” his smile reaching from one ear to the other. he leans down to attach his lips to yours as the both of you slowly walk backwards into your bedroom.

“oh, one more thing.” you mumble, momentarily breaking away from the kiss. “mhmm..” mingyu hums, and you feel it rumble in his chest. “i know you don’t get ‘itchy’ after you shave, it was just an excuse to get me to do it for you.” your tone is playful, and right then and there mingyu knows you’ve got him.

“what-huh? n-yes, i do!” your husband stutters, his ears turning red in embarrassment. “sweetheart, you really expect me to believe that? i know you like the back of my hand.” you reply. before mingyu is able to say anything else, you grab his arm and lead him out of your bedroom. “now let’s go, you owe me a yummy breakfast.”

[amiableness]

hiii!

first, i’m loving this dad!james series its genuinely so heart fulfilling so thank you for taking time out of your day to write

now i’m not sure if this will spark any interest but maybe dad!james and r have been dating for a like a month but no one knows and then the whole gang (or just rem and sirius) come over and like James is like extra touchy with her which like he was before but more so now so they’re both kinda like ??? until james is like she’s my girlfriend

ily

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 977 words

thank you sm babe! i love writing for you all! hope you like it <3

“Do they seem off to you?” Remus murmurs, his gaze following James as he heads into the kitchen. He had muttered something about helping you with the tea, but it wasn’t like you really needed the help.

The whole afternoon, Remus had noticed how James couldn’t keep his eyes off you, his gaze filled with that familiar, adoring warmth. That in itself wasn’t unusual—James had always looked at you that way. But what really caught Remus off guard was how openly you were returning those looks, your eyes just as soft, filled with the same affection. It wasn’t just the casual brush of his fingers against yours or his hand resting briefly on your lower back as you passed. It was also in the subtle, consistent touches—his knee brushing against yours under the table or the way his hand would linger on your arm during conversations.

You both appeared entirely and undeniably in love.

Sirius, however, is lost in his own world, meticulously taking apart one of Henry’s Lego sets just to rebuild it. “No,” he replies, not even looking up, his fingers expertly snapping the pieces back together. “Why? Did you notice something?”

“He hasn’t stopped touching her since we’ve got here.” Remus continues to stare at the doorway, as if expecting it to provide an answer somehow. The wall separating the kitchen from the living room blocks his view, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is different.

“He’s always like that with her.” Sirius says, focusing on a new Lego piece that refuses to snap into place. His frustration is clear as he twists and turns the piece, trying to make it fit.

“No,” Remus replies, shaking his head with a hint of uncertainty. “I’m sure I heard him call her ‘baby’ earlier.”

Sirius finally looks up, curiosity piqued by Remus’s tone. “When did you hear that?”

“When we first got here,” Remus says, his gaze distant as he recalls the moment. “James was talking to her in a more intimate way than usual.”

Sirius considers this, his frown softening slightly. “Oh, he probably did. He’s always calling her something sweet,” Sirius says with a casual shrug. “Lovesick is what he is.”

“He’s never called her ‘baby,’” Remus insists, his brow furrowing. “It’s different, I swear it.”

Sirius sighs and shakes his head, still engrossed in his Lego project. “We’ve thought that for years, and nothing’s ever really changed. Maybe this is just another nickname of his.”

Remus swears he hears you sigh James' name from the kitchen, light and airy, and before Sirius can react, Remus is on his feet, tugging at his shirt with a sense of urgency. Sirius starts to protest, a frown forming on his face, but Remus doesn’t bother with an explanation. “C’mon,” he insists, pulling him toward the kitchen without another word.

“Nothing’s different, Rem. They’re just—” Sirius’s words die in his throat as he catches sight of you both.

James has you perched on the edge of the counter, his body firmly nestled between your legs, the warmth of him pressing against you in all the right ways. One hand cradles your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin as he tilts your head just so, deepening the kiss. His other hand grips your hip, fingers curling into the soft flesh where your shirt has bunched up, his touch pulling a gasp from you. The kiss is slow, unhurried, every brush of his lips against yours filled with a lingering desire, like he’s savoring every second. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, and the way your body arches into his, seeking more of him, makes it clear that neither of you wants to let go. The heat between you is palpable, each movement charged with a quiet intensity that speaks of just how much you want each other.

This is not the first time you’ve kissed clearly.

Remus clears his throat, a sound that cuts through the charged silence. You pull away from James, your breath coming in short, startled gasps. Your lips are swollen and pouty, still tingling from the intensity of the kiss. You clutch at James, reluctant to let go, as if the contact alone is grounding you.

James quickly tugs your shirt back into place, his hands lingering for a moment as he smooths out the fabric with a touch that’s both tender and possessive. His gaze flicks over to the boys, a mix of surprise and awkwardness crossing his face as he registers their stunned expressions. The heat in the room seems to intensify, the once-private moment now exposed under their watchful eyes.

“What the hell?” Sirius exclaims, his voice sharp with disbelief. “We’re out here building Legos—” 

“I wasn’t building—” Remus begins to protest, but Sirius cuts him off.

“—as we wait for our tea, and you two are in here snogging?”

“No, we weren’t sno—” You start to protest, but Remus and Sirius cut you off with pointed looks.

“When did this happen?” Sirius demands, clearly miffed. “Because that’s obviously not the first time you’ve kissed her.” His tone reflects his hurt that James, his best friend, hadn’t mentioned anything about this development.

James clears his throat, his face a mix of embarrassment and defensiveness. “About a month ago,” he admits.

“So you two are just messing around?” Remus asks, raising an eyebrow. James’s expression turns from defensive to offended, his brows knitting together.

“No, you prat! She’s my girlfriend.” James snaps, his voice tinged with frustration.

“Bloody hell, it only took you about eight years.” Remus retorts, a smirk playing on his lips. You let out a laugh, unable to help yourself at Remus’s quip.

Sirius, his annoyance settling, lets out an exaggerated sigh, “I expect another niece or nephew as compensation for making us all wait this long for you two to get together.”

please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write! 💌

[6okuto]

THEIR REACTION TO YOU DRESSING UP

gn!reader | suggestive, mild swearing.

matsukawa, atsumu, hinata, kuroo, suna, osamu, sakusa, iwaizumi, tsukishima

MATSUKAWA’s sprawled on the couch as he waits for you to show him the new outfit you bought. you had excitedly texted him before coming home, hiding the contents of your bag as you ran to change. it’s been a few minutes when he teasingly calls out, “you okay in there, babe? need help?” “no, actually i don’t, issei,” you reply, walking in. issei does a double take, mouth dropping a little. “goddamn.” the speed he gets up is almost comical. you do a slow turn, smoothing out the fabric that seems to hug you in the most perfect way. “i don’t know when i’m gonna wear this, but it’s really nice, right?” “really fuckin' nice,” he agrees, grinning. “respectfully and in love with you, i humbly ask, do you want to kiss and or make out with me right now?”

ATSUMU freezes when you walk into the bedroom. you do a quick spin and smile. “what do you think?” his eyes are wide, gaze fixated on you. “am i dead? are you an angel here to take me away?” he finally asks. you snort and make your way over, reaching to fix the collar of his shirt. “i’m gonna take that as a ‘you look good, babe,’ then.” “just good? baby, i think i’m sweating. maybe cryin’ a little,” he continues, half-joking. “‘tsumu—” atsumu shakes his head. “uh-uh, don’t say my name, i might explode.” you laugh at your boyfriend, face warm from his praise; his own flustered state keeps him from noticing yours. he shakes his head again, as if to get out of a haze. “you know what, let’s go. yeah, let’s go now before i keep you all t’myself. we’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”

HINATA spits out his drink and chokes a little. “oh my–oh my, god, sorry, i—” “shoyo?” you speed over, concerned but also trying not to laugh. “are you okay?” “huh? yeah? i’m so fine,” he says unconvincingly. his face is flushed when he looks at you, whether from the choking, embarrassment, or your outfit, you’re not too sure. then, as if he wasn’t choking a few seconds earlier, he starts showering you in compliments. “anyways, you look great, babe. like, like it really screams 'you,' you know? i bet everyone’s gonna be jealous of me.” “oh really? of you?” shoyo tilts his head, as if you asked a silly question. “well, yeah? 'cause you look this good and i get to date you.”

KUROO almost drops his keys walking through the front door. “tetsu, you’re back early.” “god, please don’t tell me i forgot about a super important event tonight.” he sounds both panicked and in awe, mind in shambles at the sight of you. you open your mouth to speak, but tetsuro's faster. “wait, don’t tell me,”—he paces toward you—“before i die, i want you to know you look incredible, and i’ll gladly be your poorly-dressed accessory for the night.” there’s a joking strain to his voice, and he sniffs before pressing his cheek to your head. “tetsu.” you laugh and pat his back. “there’s nothing happening, i just bought a new outfit and wanted to try it on.” he lets out a relieved noise between a sigh and groan then moves to look at you, now able to fully appreciate the sight. “thank god. i’m going to count that as the second win of the night then, 'cause seriously, you look so good right now.”

SUNA snakes his arm around your waist and kisses your temple. “hi, babe.” “rin! when did you get here?” “a couple of minutes ago. beelined for you after ‘tsumu shoved a drink in my hand.” you laugh and he smiles before finally registering what you’re wearing. he takes a sip from his drink at the same time his eyes scan over the new look. “this what you bought on saturday?” “hm? yeah, it’s really nice, right?” rin looks between you and his drink. “if i didn’t have manners, i would’ve thrown this glass and kissed you.” amused, you jokingly hit his stomach. “why can’t you compliment me like a normal person?” rin takes no offense, instead maneuvering so he can hold his drink while wrapping his other arm around you. he squeezes you, grinning when you yelp. “‘one, cause you look hot, and two, where’s the fun in that?”

OSAMU lets out a low whistle as you walk into the living room, eyes scanning you up and down. he gets up from the couch, and places his hands on your hips. “y’sure you have to go out tonight?” “'samu.” he laughs at your pointed look and puts his hands up in surrender. “i’m kidding, hon. you look stunning, though.” rolling your eyes, you thank him. “c’mon, i’m gonna be late if we don’t go now.” you walk to the door, but osamu thinks back to the weather forecast for the evening. “you aren’t bringin’ a jacket?” “hm? nah, we’re gonna be inside.” putting on your shoes, you respond without looking, and are surprised by the weight that suddenly covers your shoulders. you know osamu's favourite jacket from anywhere, and you let him shift it to cover you. he leans over to kiss your temple and mumbles in your ear, “now you’ll be warm and everyone will remember we’re dating.”

SAKUSA’s fingers slip from his cuff button again, earning a huff and frown from him. “‘omi, are you ready?” “yeah, can you just help me w—” he turns to the sound of your voice and pauses. the new outfit you told him about makes his heart skip a beat, and he almost forgets about his own suit predicament. “with what? oh, the button?” you make your way over to help, kiyoomi staring the entire time. “there ya go.” “you look incredible,” is the first thing he says instead of thank you. it catches you off-guard, “huh? oh. i—thank you. you look very handsome.” there’s a beat of silence as kiyomi weighs the pros and cons of going out or staying home. you have to stop yourself from laughing when he asks with a straight face, “completely related, am i allowed to be mean if anyone tries to flirt with you?”

IWAIZUMI looks up when he hears the changing room door open. you’re fixing the waist of your outfit, and don’t notice the way his eyes widen. he whispers under his breath, “holy fuck.” “haji, do you think it’s too much for the dinner? i know it’s ‘just your old teammates’ but, like, i want to look good,” you explain. his gaze softens and he clears his throat before standing. “no, it’s perfect. you look…you look perfect.” you smile at him and it’s all he can do to stop himself from covering his face and groaning. “oikawa’s going to say something about you looking better than me, and i won’t even be able to disagree.” the sound of your laughter fills the air and hajime huffs a laugh at himself. “well, we better get something just as good for you then.”

TSUKISHIMA’s not great with compliments, and he always wants to kick himself in the ass for it when it comes to you. you look at him standing behind you in the mirror. “i think this is the one. what do you think, kei?” biting his lip, he looks to the side and clears his throat. “it looks good.” he doesn’t have to look to feel you staring at him. “you sure? you don’t think it’s missing something?” kei takes a second to try thinking of a response, then he glances at your wary expression and lets out a breath. “no, i promise. you look great, and this is the best thing you could have chosen.” you smile at yourself, and his gaze softens a fraction before he’s back to being tsukishima—“you ready? because we’re going to be late if we keep standing here, and the group chat’s about to blow up our phones.”

🏷️ | @devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @dimslover @kuroaka @vampyrkookie @sunaslay @the-midnightskies @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @the-b-u-n-n-y @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a

[coryosbaby]

SENSITIVE . Luke Castellan x fem! Reader

Content warning . Broken bones and submissive Luke <3

Whenever someone uses a word to describe Luke Castellan, it’s always this: strong.

He’s the greatest swordsman in camp, after all. He puffs out his chest and slathers his aura in pride, outdoing every opponent.

Except for when it comes to you.

He’s— well, Luke is a sensitive boy. No one knows that, of course, except for you.

He shows his true self, now, on a rainy night in your cabin. Many campers have gone to dinner, and Luke had decided to stay back with you, curled up in your bed.

“(Y/N),” he whines, as you finish your night routine with a drastic slowness. “It hurts.”

You almost roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s antics as you lather on a bit of moisturizer. After a long trip and fall down a flight of stairs—ironic, really, considering his stealthiness— the boy had broken his hand. A small cast is wrapped around it, little phrases that you and other peers had written into it rainbow in color.

“You’re being dramatic.”

His lips form into a pout.

“‘M not,” he replies. His unbroken hand pats the empty spot beside him. “Come here, baby. I miss you.”

You can’t help the tug in your chest at his sweet tone. You do the last steps of your routine, sighing as you move out of your vanity chair and slide onto your silky pink sheets.

“C’mere, you big baby.”

He grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you bring him into your embrace, letting him wrap his big arms around you.

“You smell nice,” he compliments, humming. “Like a pretty flower.”

You giggle. His fingers move up to play with your hair.

“And your hair is so pretty. I love it. And your eyes…”

“Are you saying this because you feel sentimental, or because you want me to make out with you?”

“Both.”

You scoff, pulling him in for a kiss. He reciprocates eagerly, and before you know it his tongue slides warm and wet into your mouth. His hand moves up to your tits, softly groping.

And when you look down, you realize why he’s so clingy. A small smirk spreads across your lips.

“I think you need a little bit of help, sweet boy.”

His cheeks, a dusty pink, turn even darker now. You take in the sight of the large bulge straining against his zipper. He lets out a nervous chuckle, though it doesn’t do much to stifle his nerves. His broken hand still stays trembling underneath your own.

“You don’t have to,” he replies, averting his gaze from you. “I’m not.. I mean.. I can’t—”

“I know.”

You don’t need to say anything else. Your palm splays out over his hardened cock, and he whines, a tiny breathless thing in the back of his throat that makes your panties soak with wetness.

“Mommy,” he utters. “I need your hands,” And then, bordering on a choked sob, “Please? I’ll be good, I swear…”

Oh, it’s so easy to get him worked up. So, so incredibly easy.

You hum, flicking the zipper of his jeans up and down playfully. His brunette locks are turned up and disheveled, and it’s the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.

“Poor baby. It’s been a long time since you’ve touched yourself, hasn’t it ? Four, maybe five days?”

That was the last time he had fucked you, the day he had broken his hand. Your schedules were both so busy that neither of you had time to do anything since. Luke’s eyebrows press together, and a pout forms on his lips as he nods in confirmation. You press a kiss to his jaw, then another. He’s wearing the cologne you like, and a shirt you had once said looked particularly good on him. He had made his way into your room asking for this, you’re sure. He was asking to get all worked up and get you to handle it.

He just wants mommy’s attention, doesn’t he?

You pull his fly down, much to his excitement, a “thank you” falling sweetly off of his soft lips. Pushing his underwear down, his hardened cock slaps up to its fullest attention against his stomach. His balls are drawn up tight above the fabric of his briefs, full and ready to be emptied.

Oh, how worked up the poor thing is. Wet like a girl, cock dripping pre cum and the tip flushed an almost deep scarlett. He’s well endowed, much to your pleasure.

Giving his tip a teasing flick with two of your fingers, you watch as his eyes shut tight and he moans. It sounds precious, a choir full of angels singing. You wish you could hear it over and over again.

He isn’t looking at you, now, and that makes you annoyed. Your hand slaps his length and he lets out a pained yelp.

“Eyes on me. Do you understand?”

His bottom lip wobbles. A sensitive boy he is, despite his usually hard and cold demeanor, and his mommy’s disapproval makes him want to cry. He nods, his teary eyes staring deep into your own as you spit into your palm and take him into your hand.

You start by thumbing over his tip, rubbing softly into his slit. Watching his breathing increase and the way his head tilts back is absolutely enticing.

“Is that good, baby?” You ask softly. He nods eagerly, his hand shaking in his lap. He tries not to clench his broken fist together but that proves difficult, and he lets out a pained cry when he presses down on it. You coo to him, almost mocking, as you snake your arm behind his back and take the cast into your free hand.

“Don’t hurt yourself, okay? Just hold on to me,” your voice is a purr in the shell of his ear. “Need my boy big and strong again.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, his voice high pitched and whiny. “Yeah, mommy, yeah…”

Your hand wraps around the fullness of his length, twisting with a flick of your wrist. His forehead bumps against yours as his open mouth tries to land on your lips. You think he’s trying to kiss you, and it’s absolutely endearing. He can’t help but desperately shove his tongue into the warm confines of your mouth. You giggle at that, pulling him in for a sloppy, wet kiss.

When your lips leave his, it’s so you can bite and suckle pretty marks onto his neck. You lave over the reddish bites, humming as you cover his throat in them.

Other women at camp, be damned. He’s yours.

It isn’t long, with a gasping mouth and fluttering lashes, that he’s close.

“I’m gonna cum,” Luke murmurs, sugary sweet. “I’m g-gonna… momma, momma..”

He buries his face in your neck, salty tears pressing into your skin, and his cock spurts rope after rope of warm, sticky spend all over your hand. You watch with a smile, pressing a kiss into his hair as he fucks his hips up and mewls against you. Your heart flutters at the sound, your body on fire just from watching him come undone.

He sighs when you milk the last few remnants of cum from his spent cock. His curls stick to his forehead, sweat dripping down his brow. What a sight.

You find Luke’s shirt somewhere on the floor and wipe your hand on it. His nose crinkles up.

“That’s gross.”

Rolling your eyes and trying not to smile, you sit down beside him again.

“It’s your mess, Luke.”

He shrugs, his hand going up to push your hair out of your face. He gives you a pretty, lopsided smile. You kiss the scar underneath his eye, and his eyes cloud over again.

Always so sensitive.

He lays down on the bed, signaling you over. His lips find yours again, chaste but still nice, and when he’s using free hand to make you straddle his face, a gasp emits from you.

“Luke. It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“Want to,” he murmurs, sliding your panties to the side. “You took care of me, momma. Let me take care of you.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi

[hederasgarden]

Like Oil and Water

Summary: Your office power struggle with Scott comes to a head. Paring: Scott (Twisters) x F!Scientist!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Enemies to lovers trope, PIV sex, fingering, and dirty talk. Slight angst.  A/N: The story is based on this ask I received. I know there are like…five Scott fans out there besides me so I hope y’all like this. I have no explanation for this fic except I’m horny for Scott. I had an alternative ending to this story but whoops feelings crept in. Thank you to @ryebecca, @whatblogisthis216 and @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over. The snazzy summary is courtesy of @writercole.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day. 

David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

“I’m never picking up your coffee order again,” Javi swears, handing the Starbucks cup to you. “Whatever happened to coffee with a little bit of cream?”

“Capitalism,” you reply, taking a sip. It wasn’t exactly how you liked it, missing that deep caramel flavor, but you appreciate Javi’s effort. “Thanks again.”

He nods, drinking from his cup as you make your way down to the labs, discussing the results from the latest test. 

“We will need to adjust the relays, but other than that, I think we’re in good shape,” you tell him. “I’ll let the techs know we need those changes made this week.”

“Sounds good. I gotta make a quick call, but I’ll join you after,” Javi promises, disappearing into his office while you make your way down the hall.

You hear the low timber of Scott's voice before you spot him in conversation with one of the female techs. You loathe to admit it but he looks good, his tanned forearms on display with the sleeves of his white company shirt rolled up. The baseball cap tucked into his back pocket and dusty boots let you know he probably came straight from the field. 

"We need to fix the relays. They failed the test. Again. That's unacceptable," he begins, gearing up for another one of his infamous lectures. "Back when I was at MIT, this type of calibration was the first thing we were taught."

Scott may have been one of the smartest guys on Javi’s team but he was also a smug asshole. From the moment you met him, he irritated you, reminding you of every man who thought he was smarter and better than you just because of his gender. Everyone expected engineers to be difficult to work with, but Scott took it to another level. Who could blame you for taking him down a peg or two when you had the chance?

"So you went to MIT. Big whoop," you begin, delighted to see Scott tense up at the sound of your voice. When he turns to face you, the tech is quick to scurry away. "Call me when you have a PhD from a real school, like Caltech, Scotty."

He hates it when you call him that but today it's your jab about MIT that strikes a nerve. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he exhales harshly. God, that angry look in his eye really did something for you. Too bad his looks couldn’t make up for how much of a dick he could be. 

Scott practically spits your first name out, stepping into your space to loom over you. His broad shoulders and muscular build block your view of the lab. You tilt your head to look at him, fighting the urge to smile. "You really should address me as ‘doctor,’" you calmly remind him, tapping your name badge. 

You arch a brow, waiting for his response but his mouth snaps shut, attention moving to something behind you. 

It’s Javi.

"Come on guys," he sighs. "Play nice."

You glance over your shoulder, smiling sweetly. "I'm always nice.”

"Why are you even in the labs today?" Scott questions, glancing down at your heels. 

You smooth a hand down your dress and smile. "I'm the Vice President of R&D for Storm Par. These are my labs. I belong here.”

"Dressed like that?" He scoffs. 

"What, you don't like it?" You ask, turning in a slow circle. 

"We had a meeting with some new investors," Javi supplies, trying to cut off the start of another fight between the two of you. 

Scott turns away and you can practically hear his teeth grinding together. He still hasn’t forgiven you for talking Javi out of letting his uncle invest in the company. It would have been easy money but you never liked the business plan. It was best to stick with government grants and investors without any personal connections. 

Javi touches your arm. “Come on, we gotta finish that grant.”

You hum in agreement, trailing behind him to the doorway. Pausing, you glance back and catch Scott watching you, his lips pressed into a thin line. With a grin, you wiggle your fingers at him, amused to see the furrow in his brow deepen even further.

The rest of your day is blessedly Scott-free and you spend your time buried in meetings and wading through needlessly complicated grant submissions. Javi employed some of the smartest people you’ve ever had the privilege of working with but they were terrible when it came to making the science digestible to investors. You sigh, rubbing your temples. It was going to be a long night.

You work uninterrupted, buried in the complexities of the grant, until Scott storms into your office, slamming the door behind him. “Did you tell the techs they could go home early?” he demands.

“Please, do come in,” you deadpan, setting aside the papers you’re holding.

“Did you send them home?” He repeats, rounding your desk and invading your personal space. At his side, his hands are clenched into fists, the veins in his neck standing out.

“I did.” You rise to your full height but even in heels, he dwarfs you. 

“That wasn’t your call.”

“You do remember my job title, right?”

“I’m VP of Operations,” he reminds you. “I say when they go home, especially when we’re on a deadline.”

“They report to me, and you’ve had them working long hours,” you fire back.

He shakes his head, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, as he gives you an unimpressed look. “You’re too soft on them. I told Javi you weren’t right for this job. This isn’t academia. We work hard here.” 

You bristle at his words, clenching your fist so tightly that your nails dig into the soft skin of your palm. He has no idea what it took for you to get here, the challenges you faced, or the men like him you had to prove yourself to.

“Go fuck yourself, Scott.” 

You glare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. You wait, ready for whatever asshole comment is sure to come but he just stares at you. Then, to your surprise, his gaze drops to your mouth. You freeze, electricity zipping up your spine when you realize you’re close enough for your chest to brush his as you exhale. Looking back, you won't remember the impulse that led you to tilt your head and press your lips to his, only that you did.

The kiss only lasts a second before you pull away, heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, neither of you moves, but then suddenly he surges forward, his large hand grasping the side of your face. His lips crash into yours roughly. A hand at your hip urges you back until you bump your desk but he doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragged you on top of it. He presses in close, eating up what little space remains. You groan, grasping at his shirt as you push your hips into his. 

“Fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours as his warm breath fans across your face. For one terrible second, you think he might stop or say something stupid to ruin the moment but then he’s kissing you again. He forces a hand between your bodies and roughly pulls your underwear aside so his fingers can drag through your folds. You’d be shocked by how fast it’s all happening but any higher thought fizzles out once his thumb circles your clit and his tongue breaks the seam of your lips to taste you. 

You’re breathless when he pulls away, back arching in response to his talented fingers. Through your lashes you see him smirk down at you. “No smart comebacks now?” He questions.

Before you can retort he adds a second finger. You moan, rolling your hips to seek more of him. “Knew you’d be fucking greedy,” he whispers.

He watches you fuck yourself on his hand with a hungry glint in his eyes until your pace slows. He glanced at your face. You rise up on your elbows, brow raised. “Am I going to do all the work here?” 

“Shut up,” he growls, withdrawing his fingers.

A witty comeback is on the tip of your tongue but it dies when Scott brings his fingers to his mouth. He stares down at you while he sucks them clean, his Adam's apple bobbing. Your stomach clenches hard at the sight. 

“That’s better,” he comments, unbuckling his belt. “Nice and quiet.” 

He takes a condom from his wallet and rolls it on his thick length. If there was ever a time to stop, it’s now. You look at Scott, his dark gaze swimming with desire and push the thought away, rising up to kiss him. The blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance and you lift your hips. You relish the way he looks, dark hair curling over his sweaty forehead and his body straining for you. Knowing you’ve done this to him sends a rush of want through you. 

Scott pushes inside slowly, hissing as your wet heat envelopes him until he’s halfway in and then he snaps his hips forward unexpectedly. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush. He falls forward and the weight of him is electrifying. You’d be embarrassed at the desperate little sounds his mouth swallows up if he didn’t feel so damn good. 

He fucks with an intense kind of precision you’ve seen him bring to his work, reaching deep inside you to hit all the right places. You bury your fingers in his dark hair and pull, eliciting a needy moan from the irritatingly talented man above you. 

“You gonna come for me?” He asks, breathless. 

A desperate little, please, slips past your lips without your permission, spurring him on. He hooks a hand under your knee and forces your leg into your chest as he keeps up his frantic pace. The new angle takes him even deeper and pleasure ripples through your stomach. He feels unbelievably good and you practically sob when he pulls back and rises to his full height, afraid he’s going to stop. But he doesn’t, grasping your hips with both hands and forcing you to meet his thrusts. 

You’re tantalizing close and, without thinking, you reach down to help yourself along but Scott is quick to slap your hand away, replacing it with his own. 

“That’s mine,” he growls, the rough pad of his thumb catching on the sensitive skin. He watches with rapt attention as his cock and fingers work in tandem to drive you over the edge. You come with his name on your lips. 

“Fuck, just like that,” he gasps. 

Before you can recover your breath, he leans down and kisses you, his weight pressing you into the desk as his hips move relentlessly. Then he shoves himself deep inside and stills, groaning. Your ears ring and your body buzzes with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. The two of you stay like that, intertwined and panting until, finally, Scott moves. 

Cool air rushes between your bodies and you stare up at him. You can see him thinking in real time, his clever gaze searching your face as he continues to process what happened. What could either of you possibly say after this? Nothing good you realize. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t ruin it.” 

Scott closes his eyes and swallows hard. Then he's moving, slipping out of you with a grunt. He turns away from you, redressing. The clink of his belt buckle is loud in the quiet office. Pressing your fingers to your swollen lips, you take a moment to let yourself feel everything before pushing it aside and standing on unsteady legs.

You fix your appearance the best you can and busy yourself with shuffling the mess of papers strewn everywhere. It might be cowardly, but you keep your gaze fixed on your desk when you hear the door creak open. You wait, the minutes dragging by until you know it’s safe to look up, only to find Scott still there.

He lingers in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you. 

Then you blink and he’s gone. 

♡

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[kesujo]

Chapter 5: Miss Pet - Part 1

Previous chapter here.

“Oh, he’s coming to.”

Taeyeon’s voice was the first thing Seojun heard when he came to.

“Seojun?” So loud was the second voice that Seojun instinctively recoiled. “I’m so, so sorry!”

“Quiet down, Fany.”

“Oh!” Her voice came out as a hushed whisper, or at least that seemed to be the intention because the volume of Tiffany’s voice was more or less the ‘normal’ of Taeyeon. Seojun found himself smiling at the well-meaning gesture. “Sorry!”

“It’s OK,” he said, his voice coming out a little croakier than he would’ve liked.

“You’ve been out for over half the day; how are you feeling?” Taeyeon’s gentle, motherly voice was like a soothing wave of healing that washed through him.

“Really? Over half a day? I mean, not that bad honestly. Still a little bit fatigued, I think.”

“If you don’t mind, I can help with that,” Tiffany offered, cautiously putting one knee on the bed he was sitting on.

“Uh…”

Hearing the hesitation in his voice, Tiffany quickly added, “It wasn’t my Trait’s fault, it was mine! We were supposed to take occasional breaks but I was so engrossed that it completely slipped my mind. But what my Trait does is remove all feelings of fatigue and strengthens a body’s resistance to it. I promise it’ll help!”

Seeing Tiffany panic at the hesitation in his voice and interpreting it as a mistrust in her gave Seojun an injection of guilt. “Oh, no, sorry I wasn’t saying that because I didn’t trust you, I just … my brain was being a little slow since I just woke up.”

“…Oh.” Taeyeon laughed at the relieved demoness, a smile breaking out on Seojun’s face as well. “So, is that a yes?”

“So does that mean…” implying it still felt a bit rude despite the ease at which succubae seemed to address sex and related activities.

“You don’t mind kissing me, do you?”

“Oh, no, I don’t!”

Tiffany giggled at the perhaps over enthused response from Seojun, climbing fully onto the bed, her soft hands snaking around to the back of his head while her face neared his. And although he had just spent many hours fucking her, seeing Tiffany’s face come up to close to his caused his heart to race, the actual sensation of her soft, velvety lips on his causing the organ in his chest to go into overdrive. Seojun could swear he could hear every individual heartbeat as Tiffany’s tongue teased open his lips, a few seconds later a warm, slightly viscous liquid being passed into his mouth.

Feeling the foreign substance in his mouth felt simultaneously strange and arousing; he felt his dick twitch in response, his entire body shivering slightly as he felt the fluid travel down his throat after Tiffany pulled away.

His reaction to the transfer of bodily fluids aside, its effects were instantaneous. He could immediately feel the weariness in his muscles evaporate, replaced with the same vigor as during their sex binge hours before. “So?”

“Yeah—wow, I definitely feel better, thanks.”

“I think you can do better to demonstrate your gratitude.” It was Taeyeon who brought the proposition up to Tiffany, whose ears perked with interest. She turned towards the smaller succubus, eagerness in her eyes. “I can’t imagine it felt very pleasant to spontaneously fall unconscious like that.”

Seojun, however, was completely oblivious to the suggestive nature of the proposition, instead jumping in hastily, “Oh, no! It’s OK, I’m fine!”

“But don’t you think Tiffany should compensate you for your toils?” Seeing Taeyeon’s fingers curl around the straps of her skimpy top and pulling them down allowed Seojun to hear the suggestiveness in Taeyeon’s voice.

“Oh…” The semi-mortal man felt dumb for replying like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to agree. After all, Taeyeon and Tiffany were much older than him, and his Korean upbringing couldn’t help but feel hesitant demanding something from his elders.

“If you’re willing to settle for me, I’ll happily do anything you ask of me!” Tiffany’s eager reply partially blew away the hesitation Seojun was feeling, the rest evaporating with Taeyeon’s next few words.

“Also, I want to help demonstrate that sex with Tiffany isn’t always like that. Especially if you’re to bond with her, I want you to understand that, done properly, is just as great as it was yesterday without the negative side-effects following.”

“Oh, you’re so considerate! Thank you, Mistress!”

“Make sure to also thank Seojun for giving you the chance to redeem yourself.”

Tiffany turned around, bowing deeply. Seojun gulped, his eyes darting to the eyeful of her tits he captured, her nipples nearly visible from how loosely the top was hanging onto her ample chest. “Thank you so much, Master!”

Seojun wasn’t exactly sure when Tiffany and Taeyeon decided to slip into the roleplay or how they even decided it amongst themselves. However, now that it was happening, Seojun felt obliged to take part. He reached out to stroke her hair, a more content kind of pleasure coursing through his body at the immensely pleasing sensation of running his hand through what felt like a cloud. “You’re such a good girl, Tiffany.”

Tiffany nuzzled her cheek against his hand, another warm surge of joy surging through his body. Seojun had his fair share of experiences with cute pet behaviors, and Tiffany definitely matched if not exceeded that level of adorableness. Seojun could hear Taeyeon chuckling in the background, Tiffany enjoying Seojun’s hand for a few more seconds before the prey-turned-master retracted it. Tiffany opened her eyes and looked at him, a clear and unadulterated excitement in her eyes. “Thank you so much Master! I don’t deserve your kind words!” Seojun understood that they were doing roleplay … but was she really acting, or were these her genuine feelings?

“Before we start, you should feed more from Tiffany. Saliva definitely won’t suffice. So while you’re offering your pussy to Seojun, I’ll be using mine to warm up his dick.”

“I—” the jealousy was clear in her eyes, but she ended up swallowing the protest clearly visible in her pouty expression, and conceded. “I understand.”

“Are you OK with that, Seojun?”

The one thing that Seojun was unclear about was what his relationship to Taeyeon was, but her gentle inquiry confirmed that they were of equal status in this ‘scenario’. “Of course, Taeyeon.”

Taeyeon crawled onto the bed as well, Tiffany shuffling forward and taking his shirt along with her. Seojun aided her, the cloth coming over his head while Taeyeon’s hands wrapped around the rim of his pants and boxers, pulling them off in one swift motion.

Out sprung his semi-erect dick, precum splashing onto the plush surface of Tiffany’s slowly moving bottom. Her tail immediately sprang into action, collecting it and spooning it directly into her mouth. “Mmm, god, even Master’s precum is delicious…” her deep, sensual moan made him harder, the stiffening rod captured by the dainty yet firm grip of Taeyeon’s fingers.

“You’ll get plenty later if you continue being a good girl. OK?”

Tiffany nodded excitedly, slipping off both her bottom and the undergarments before turning around, presenting her delectable bubble butt to Seojun. Her hands reached around as his vision gradually filled with the delightful view of the excitable succubus’s ass nearing his face, her hands pulling the plump cheeks apart to reveal a pair of damp vaginal lips. “Master, are you ready?”

“I am.”

The confirmation was all Tiffany needed to back up the rest of the way, Seojun meeting her wet pussy lips with his own lips. Immediately, he could hear a soft sigh, her legs body shaking against his torso. As his hands took the job of keeping her tight, plump butt cheeks separated, Taeyeon transitioned from a firm handjob to shifting her own womanhood, radiating with heat, over his erect cock.

“Mistress…” Tiffany moaned, Seojun’s muted moan joining hers and Taeyeon’s as she penetrated herself with his cock.

“Be a good girl, Tiffany,” Taeyeon’s strained voice reminded Tiffany, fighting over the sound of her pleasure from Seojun’s tongue running across her wet folds, “and you’ll get your Master’s cock too.”

“Yes, Mistress…”

But while Tiffany was scornfully pouting in jealousy over Taeyeon’s access to Seojun’s cock, Seojun himself was in complete bliss. Even after an entire night of groping and feeling Tiffany’s firm, plush ass in his hands, it wasn’t enough. It felt like it would never be enough. He wanted more, squeezing and rubbing the pliable, taut skin beneath his palms, digging his fingers into the soft yet firm skin, the experience was made better by the sweet taste of Tiffany’s nectar dribbling onto his lips. Seojun didn’t let up, channeling the intense lust from Taeyeon vigorously riding his cock into kissing Tiffany’s vaginal lips with as much gusto and passion as possible.

“Ah…” Tiffany’s torrid moans continually streamed out of her mouth, arching her back and resting her arms on his torso to give him better access to her ass and leaking entrance. Her eyes fell onto Taeyeon, who was lost in her own world of pleasure.

Taeyeon’s hands were placed firmly on Seojun’s hips, rising until barely half an inch remained inside her before slamming back down onto his crotch. With every connection, bits of her honey splattered onto Seojun’s crotch, creating an increasingly damp landing area for her ass. The firm, crisp sound of her ass slamming onto his crotch gradually turned into a more muted, wetter noise.

Seojun could barely hear it though, Tiffany’s soft upper thighs pressed firmly against his ears. With his eyes closed as well, his other senses sharpened—namely, his sense of taste and touch. He became more aware of the amount of sticky substance from Tiffany’s womanhood dotting his face, the almost water-like consistency of her wet folds. He could feel the shivers sent up Tiffany’s spine every time he ventured downwards to flick the small, erect stub sitting below her entrance with his tongue and savor the endless supply of the succubus’s honey-sweet nectar flowing into and around his mouth.

He could feel Taeyeon’s heat. It was suffocating, burning, only intensified by the torrent of juices her pussy was smothering his cock with. He could feel the flesh, wet walls convulsing, almost massaging, the length of his shaft. He could feel it trying to suck him back in when Taeyeon pulled up and tighten its embrace after Taeyeon sheathed his dick completely. He could feel the flexing of her legs and elasticity of her more-than-supple ass with every stroke, and feel her cervix gently kiss his engorged tip after each downward thrust.

Seojun was so overwhelmed with lust and ecstasy, he was sure that if he was still a regular mortal man, he would have long passed out by now.

“Mistress…” another forlorn mewl escaped Tiffany’s lips, her breath shaking with arousal as she watched Taeyeon ride Seojun’s dick with fervor. The sound of Taeyeon’s ass clapping against Seojun’s crotch area could be faintly heard, nearly overpowered by the lust-charged sighs and moans from the two women atop the succubus’s servant.

Seojun carefully moved his hands away from Tiffany’s ass, around and towards the front. He moved his face downwards, his thumb gently but sturdily rubbing circles around the hard nub atop her slit. His other hand braced itself against her upper thighs, his index and middle fingers rubbing along the outside of her wet labia.

“Aah, Master!”

Her breathing grew deeper, her hands moving upwards and rubbing her own boobs. “Does that feel good, Tiffany?” Seojun asked, temporarily separating himself from her leaking slit, his fingers continuing their harsh rubbing along it.

“Yes, Master! It feels amazing!”

Satisfied, Seojun dove back in, capturing her lips in her nether regions in a liplock. His thumb continued its gentle massaging motions, the index finger from the other hand drawing lines across her inner thighs. He could tell that his every action was working magnificently, her moans growing louder and her legs shivering with every line drawn across the sensitive skin so close to their hot connection.

After finally getting into the rhythm of things, Seojun directed his attention to his mistress, whose hot vaginal walls were tightly clamped around the girth of his cock, sliding fiercely along its length. It took him a few seconds, but when he finally captured Taeyeon’s rhythm, he followed her downward stroke with upwards thrusts.

“Oh! Seojun, fuck!”

Taeyeon’s body shuddered against Seojun’s as a wave of ecstasy crashed down her body, his cock hitting all the way into her cervix. It was a feeling that Seojun figured he would’ve never been able to enjoy with his smaller-than-average dick size, but true to Taeyeon’s words, her pussy compensated for his size. This was one of the many, many reasons why he was thankful he found Taeyeon—or rather, Taeyeon found him: with Taeyeon, Seojun’s deprecating self-talk about his dick size completely disappeared. Every ‘feeding session’ they had, not only did he get to enjoy Taeyeon’s eternally tight, wet pussy, but Taeyeon always conveyed her satisfaction of him with her every movement. The way her eyes squeezed shut, the way her luscious lips parted, the breathy sound of her lustful sighs and moans, the vigor she always used, everything communicated to Seojun that his dick size was a complete non-issue to the succubus.

Maybe here he should say something sappy about ‘finally being accepted’ or something. But really, Seojun was just happy to fuck Taeyeon any chance she presented to him. Because man did every single time feel like a straight shot to cloud nine.

“Mistress…” this time, Tiffany’s voice came out as a whimper, a slight break in her gasping and moaning at the apex of his thrusts.

Although her voice was muted, Seojun could still detect the impatience in her voice. He could more so feel it in the way her hands restlessly rubbed his mid-torso area and her legs drumming against the side of his head. Feeling bad, he separated from her temporarily to speak. “Taeyeon, don’t you think Tiffany’s been a good enough girl to get a reward?”

“Hm, you may be right honey.” Hearing the pet name caused his heart to skip a beat.

Seojun had a conception that their relationship was not much more than a servant and a mistress. Of course, Taeyeon was kind and caring, and in that way she at times acted like a gentle, caring noona, but apart from those two, he figured there would be nothing further, especiallynot a romantic relationship. After all, Taeyeon was much wiser and smarter and more beautiful and talented and would undoubtedly live well past himself. In the grand scheme of her life, Seojun’s would pass by like a blink of an eye.

While Taeyeon calling Seojun ‘honey’ wasn’t the first pet name that she used to address him, but they were always to serve a roleplay—as they were now. And Seojun understood this; they were merely playing a role, but still, even the slightest hint at a romantic relationship between the two made his heart flutter. It was all but inevitable for such a normal man like him to fall in love with such a divine being like Taeyeon, especially after the amount of intimacy they’ve shared in the past weeks.

But Seojun didn’t dare bring this up. After all, he was stuck with Taeyeon for the rest of her life—and depending on how she felt about him, that could last as long as a couple hundred years or a couple of days if Taeyeon ever felt too weird about Seojun’s feelings for her to continue feeding on him. Even though she was a sex demon, Seojun wouldn’t put it past Taeyeon to feel guilty for continuing to feed on someone who had fallen in love with her if she didn’t reciprocate.

“Go ahead and turn around, Fany.”

“Th-Thank you, Mistress! Thank you, Master!���

Tiffany scurried off, Seojun taking a second to try to shake the sticky liquid accumulated on his face but to no avail. Taeyeon, seeing this, giggled, Seojun’s heart skipping another beat upon making eye contact with her. It was weird; his cock was currently buried deep inside her pussy, and not for the first time either—hell, probably not even the tenth time—yet it was seeing her eyes curve up with her lips that caused his heart to stir.

“You made quite a mess on poor Seojun’s face. Was he that good?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Tiffany’s head was turned, facing his, and reached down to wipe the residual juices that she had left behind. “Master’s tongue and fingers felt so good that I couldn’t help myself.”

“Are you ok darling?”

“I’m fine, babe.” Seojun was hesitant to respond with the pet name, his heart missing another beat but this time from anxiety at potential backlash from Taeyeon for calling her ‘babe’. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to faze Taeyeon at all; in fact, she seemed to like it, the corners of her lips curling upwards even further.

“Make sure to drink your fill, alright? And Fany, make sure to cum lots for your Master, OK?”

“I will! Although Master is so good that I doubt I’ll have any trouble with that,” she replied in a chipper voice, settling back down onto Seojun’s face. He took a second to situate himself and shortly after got back to work. A melody of moans arose from the taller demoness, her legs folded on top of themselves to alleviate her body weight from her pleasure-giver but spread apart enough that reconnecting with her labia wasn’t an issue.

Taeyeon’s movements had slowed down, moving from the fierce riding she was doing to a steady grinding of her hips, stirring the rod inside her like a straw inside a cup. Her tail whipped around her body, the tip materializing into the very object that was sheathed to the hilt inside her, and before Seojun had much of an opportunity to note how strange it felt to feel the cool air of the room along with the scorching heat of Taeyeon’s insides, the tail-penis was shoved straight into Tiffany’s backdoor.

“Oh! M-Master, fuck!” Seojun and Tiffany shuddered in unison, the feeling of another, considerably less damp and fleshy set of equally scorching hot walls clamp around his dick and the sensation from the tightness of her sphincter muscles travelling up and down the length of his dick as Taeyeon pumped her tail furiously inside the dark-haired demoness causing waves of pleasure to course through the bodies of both parties.

“Language,” Taeyeon warned, her own voice starting to tremble as she quickly picked back up where she left off, her wet groin sloppily connecting with his groin equally wet with the same fluid.

“I-I’m sorry, Mistress!” Tiffany seemed to be unable to keep her voice down, her back arching and her hands on her chest, rubbing the soft bags of flesh and pinching the rock-hard nipples at their peaks.

Seojun was a helpless slave to lust. His hips moved on their own, his fingers working on her clit and his tongue and lips working on Tiffany’s pussy while her other hole was being mercilessly pounded by Taeyeon’s tail-penis. He wasn’t sure if he was even thinking, even that heart-stopping sensation of love replaced with pure lust. The entire room exuded with the intense lasciviousness of all three parties, the rattling of the bed beneath them echoing about the otherwise empty house.

“Master, I’m close!”

“Be a goof gir and gib Maftur lafts of cum.” Seojun’s voice, although muffled, was audible and coherent enough to serve as the impetus for Tiffany’s orgasm. Heralded by a single, piercing scream, the immortal woman’s entire body succumbed to pleasure, torrent after torrent of her hot, sweet nectar squirting straight into Seojun’s mouth. The semi-mortal man tried his best to collect as much of it with his mouth, but his concentration was shaky at best—hearing the lewd scream of ecstasy, feeling her body vibrate as her orgasm wracked her body not only with his face but with the dick lodged firmly into her rear entrance, and feeling Taeyeon’s pussy tighten in response to seeing her fellow succubus succumb to an orgasm was more than enough to push the building dam over the edge.

“Urgh, fuck,” Seojun grunted, jets of white, viscous fluid shooting straight into the ass of Tiffany and the vagina of Taeyeon.

“A-Ah! M-Master, thank you for filling my tight little ass with your precious cum!”

His hips continued to thrust in and out of Taeyeon as he rode out his orgasm, the euphoric release driving his muscles to ride out the orgasm until it subsided a few seconds later. It barely took any time for Seojun to catch his breath, Tiffany’s Trait keeping his stamina high and his dick hard.

The energetic demoness unmounted Seojun, and upon seeing his face covered in her nectar, hurriedly moved over to help him clean his face off. “Thanks, Tiffany,” Seojun said after his face felt adequately clean.

She beamed in response. “Was I a good girl?”

After taking a few seconds to catch her breath, Taeyeon unsheathed Seojun’s cock, a barely audible whine pushed through her closed lips. It sprang free from its hot confines, soaked to the bone with Taeyeon’s juices, bits of it splattering onto his abdominal area. “What would you say, honey?”

“I think it’s appropriate for her to pay back me performing oral sex on her by her doing the same to me.”

Tiffany perked up, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Seojun couldn’t help but smile seeing Tiffany’s tail waving about excitedly like a dog wagging its tail. “Mistress, may I?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much too, Master!”

Not wasting a single second, Tiffany and Taeyeon swapped position, Tiffany’s body hovering over her legs while Taeyeon hugged him from behind, Seojun having moved to a seated position. The semi-mortal man bit back an aroused sigh, the immensely satisfying feeling of Taeyeon’s ample bust pressed against his back causing a small shudder to roll down his system.

“Do you like my tits that much, babe?”

Another, much stronger shudder rolled down Seojun’s body at the sensation of Taeyeon’s hot breath against his ears, the pet name spoken with such an alluring tone that he had to clench his fists to fight back what would’ve otherwise been a perhaps embarrassingly loud moan.

Before he could answer though, Tiffany piped up. “Would you like me to use my boobs first or my mouth, Master?” Seojun’s gaze shifted away from Taeyeon’s head that was resting on his shoulder to the submissive succubus kneeling atop his legs. Her upper body was folded over her legs, but even so, Seojun could see the curve of her ass sticking out, still maintaining the moist appearance from before. Her voluptuous rack was resting inches away from his erect cock, the innocent inquisitive expression on her face providing a stark contrast to Seojun’s bulging cock inches below her chin.

Fuck, that’s sexy.

“Why don’t you put those tits of yours to use?”

“Gladly!”

Tiffany shifted forward, smothering his shaft still damp with Taeyeon’s honey with her mounds. Most of his member disappeared into the warm abyss of Tiffany’s tits, her hands holding them at the sides and applying a firm pressure onto it.

“Shit,” Seojun hissed, a shaky breath pushed out his mouth.

“Does Master like this?”

The way her eyes curved upward, leaving enough space open to see the absolute joy exuding from her brown orbs, her invitingly plump red lips also curved upwards into a dazzling smile, everything about her joyous expression was almost impossible to disagree with. “It feels fucking amazing.” But even without Tiffany’s infectiously joyous expression, Seojun would’ve said the same thing: it was like two warm pillows of flesh were tightly embracing the length of his shaft. Out of all the females he had copulated with so far, Tiffany definitely had the biggest boobs. And while this wasn’t the first time Tiffany had given him a titjob, the warmness and softness of her milk jugs, not to mention their volume and how thoroughly it enveloped his contrastingly rock-hard cock, felt heavenly.

“Does Master like my boobs?”

“Your Master loves them, Fany.”

The compliment clearly delighted the succubus, using greater vigor to squeeze tighter and pump faster. Again, Seojun briefly wondered how much of Tiffany’s reaction was acting because of how genuine her reaction seemed, especially since it can’t have been the first time, or probably even the hundredth time, she received a compliment for her boobs. They were incredibly beautiful, after all: its color was the perfectly pure white of fresh snow in the morning, the skin taught with not even a hint of a wrinkle in sight. They were perky and had a nice, round shape, the areola a nice pink color, at their centers even pinker nipples just big enough that seeing them made Seojun want nothing to do but to bring his mouth to them and suckle on them.

However, at the moment, they were bouncing up and down his shaft, following the gradually increasing speed of Tiffany’s hands.

“Master’s cock feels so good inside my tits, I—” She stopped herself upon feeling a sticky fluid coming in contact with the silky skin on her mounds. Her eyes narrowed in on it, a clear hunger in her eyes; she stared at the streak of white fluid on her white skin for a solid two seconds before painstakingly lifting her head, not bothering to remove the hunger from her gaze. “Master, may I have it?”

“Leave it.” Why was Seojun being so sadistic? He wasn’t sure, but something about denying Tiffany her delicious meal when it was so close to her made him salivate at the prospect of Tiffany’s reaction to finally receiving his dick. “I’m going to cum all over your beautiful tits, and you aren’t allowed to lick any of it off. Instead, you’re going to spread it all over them. Understood?”

Tiffany’s pained expression reminded him of a wounded puppy, but Taeyeon just laughed. “I didn’t know you were like this, honey.”

“This is also for Tiffany’s sake; the more I deny her, the more she’ll enjoy it when I finally fill her pussy with my cum, right?”

Hearing the words made Tiffany go cross eyed, her lust clearly getting the better of her: the speed and ferocity of her titjob increased even further, so much so that Seojun let out a surprised groan through gritted teeth.

“I think you still owe me an orgasm, babe,” Taeyeon whispered into Seojun’s ear, pressing her bosom further against his back, “But don’t let Tiffany know, she might get jealous.” Seojun couldn’t really comprehend the meaning of Taeyeon’s words until he felt that familiar yet still extremely strange sensation of the warmness of whatever his dick was lodged between and the cool air of Taeyeon’s house, that coolness shortly after changing to the intense heat of Taeyeon’s pussy.

“Master?”

Seeing Seojun’s facial expression contort at seemingly nothing, Tiffany’s puzzled expression peered up at him.

“You’re doing very well, Tiffany. You can go ahead and start using your mouth too.”

The proposal completely blew away the confusion from her face, pulling her chest away and dipping her head down onto his stiff shaft. Her torso arched downwards, inadvertently accentuating her ass even more, but Seojun barely had any time to admire it as Tiffany’s warm, wet mouth enveloped Seojun’s cock.

“Ah, fuck,” he groaned again, in both parts from feeling his cock hilting Taeyeon and from feeling the moist cavern of Tiffany’s mouth form a tight vacuum around his penis.

Tiffany bobbed her head up and down his shaft a few times, making sure there wasn’t a square centimeter of his dick not slathered with saliva by her tongue before coming back up. “Master’s cock tastes so good~” she sang, leaning down to plant a few kisses along its wet exterior. Parker could only grit his teeth, holding back the moans from the increasingly aggressive thrusts of Taeyeon’s penis-tail into her vagina.

“And Master’s cock feels so good inside my pussy too~” Taeyeon cooed teasingly, the softly spoken words drifting directly into Seojun’s ear.

“Fuck,” Seojun gasped. Tiffany looked up at him again, one hand gently fondling his balls while running her lips and tongue along the length of his rod.

“Does it feel that good, Master?”

Seojun nodded, although it was a slight lie. While Tiffany’s lips did feel amazing on his hardened member, it was the combined feeling of Taeyeon continually thrusting his dick so deep that he could feel its tip brush against her cervix with each thrust that drew the noise out of him.

“I’m very pleased right now Tiffany. If you continue being a good girl, I’ll let your pussy have my cock too.”

Seeing the sheer excitement in Tiffany’s eyes again, Seojun decided that it couldn’t be all acting. It just looked too genuine. “Really?!”

“You better make your Master cum if you’re that excited,” Taeyeon noted, only the slightest bit of strain in her voice detectable.

If Tiffany noticed, she made no indication of it, her eyes gaining a newfound determination. “Don’t worry Master, I’ll make you cum in no time.”

“A-And make sure you don’t swallow any of it.”

This time, the strain in Taeyeon’s voice was more apparent, but Tiffany was too focused to mind. Taking a second to dribble coalesced saliva onto Seojun’s penis and spreading it expertly along the sensitive skin with her boobs, she gave the swollen tip of the raging cock a gentle kiss before penetrating her lips with them.

“Aagh,” a warbled moan came out of Seojun’s mouth, finally able to let loose all the ecstasy from Taeyeon’s vaginal walls rubbing so ferociously against the same sensitive skin that was receiving kisses from Tiffany’s luscious, velvety lips. “Tiffany, god you’re so good…”

Tiffany tilted her head upwards and shot him a brief yet heartstoppingly gorgeous and sexy eye-smile before plunging the rest of the way down his dick.

“Ah, shit,” another moan came out of Seojun’s mouth the combined feeling of Tiffany’s throat and Taeyeon’s pussy suffocating his cock overwhelming him for a brief second. Drool started dribbling down the corners of her lips and onto his balls, but Tiffany didn’t let it phase her. She continued at a steadily accelerating pace, her throat flexing impressively around the girth of his penis.

“Use those horns.” Although Taeyeon wasn’t saying anything particularly provocative, the inherent sexiness in her voice itself was enough to distract him for a few seconds, only realizing what she was saying when she nudged him with her chin.

Seojun looked down, and sure enough, her horns had materialized out of her head, in the exact right position to be used as handles.

The gargling sounds from Tiffany deepthroating Seojun’s cock intensified as his hands found firm grips on the hard material and pushed her even further down. “That’s so sexy, isn’t it, babe?”

“It fucking is,” Seojun agreed, wanting to close his eyes from the influx of pleasure but not wanting to let the unique top-down vantage point of Tiffany’s impressive deepthroating go to waste.

It took about a minute or two before Tiffany came back up for air, her hair messy and saliva running down her chin. However, Tiffany paid no attention to it, peering up at her ‘Master’ while carefully rubbing her voluptuous tits against the saliva-drenched penis. “Did Master like it? Did Master think the horns were helpful?”

“I did, it felt amazing, and it was extremely helpful, Tiffany. You’ve been a really good girl so far, only a little more until your reward.”

An overjoyed squeal came out of Tiffany’s excited smile, rubbing the semi-mortal man’s cock a few more times with her boobs before diving back down.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Taeyeon whispered to Seojun playfully, reveling in the pleasure of her partner as he once again let out a guttural groan, feeling Tiffany’s throat once again hugging the circumference of his cock.

Seojun couldn’t find a chance to reply, his mind so overwhelmed with lust that it rendered his speech capabilities inert. With his impending orgasm, his movements became more erratic, the grip on Tiffany’s horns tightening and the matching thrust of his hips into Tiffany’s mouth so forceful that tears started leaking out of Tiffany’s eyes. Tiffany seemed not to mind, and in fact seemed to be pushed further by Seojun’s increased intensity and matched it readily.

By the time he neared the edge, he gave a warning before pushing her off. When they met eyes, Tiffany’s expression clearly told one of confusion and disappointment. “Remember, you aren’t allowed to swallow any yet.”

“Oh … ok…” Reluctant as she was, Tiffany obliged, obediently shifting her body so that her chest was level with his cock. It took only a few pumps before the dam burst yet again, flooding the inside of Taeyeon’s waiting pussy yet again while simultaneously splattering Tiffany’s boobs, her chin, her neck, her clavicle, and even parts of her areola and nipples with the sticky white substance.

The most precarious strip was a streak that landed on the corner of her lip, extending to her cheek. Seojun could see the temptation in Tiffany’s eyes, her mouth parting briefly but summarily closing upon meeting Seojun’s cocked eyebrow. Her hand shot up and collected the two streaks that landed on her face, planting his seed on the soft bags of flesh on her chest. Seojun watched, Tiffany’s hot gaze trained on Seojun’s as she ran her hands all along her upper body, smearing the globules of cum all about her pearly white skin until what was left was a thin, shiny covering of Seojun’s seed.

“Good girl, good job, Tiffany.”

Taeyeon sneakily unplugged her pussy and reverted her tail back to its original state before separating herself from him.

“Does this mean…?”

The hopeful expression in her eyes caused another smile to sprout on Seojun’s face, the expression quickly changing when Seojun confirmed with her, “How do you want it?”

Next chapter here.

[tropes-and-tales]

Don't Gloat

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW:  Richie being Richie, swearing, mild violence (a misunderstanding), smut (PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count:  7289

AN:  Requested by an anonymous person, place, or thing!

AN2: Drabble? I don't know her, apparently.

Your first real fight is over chicken.

You squabble, pretty much from day one.  Carmy hires you to help in the kitchen, and Richie immediately takes an intense dislike to you.  Adding you upsets the delicate ecosystem of The Beef.  You are unnecessary.  Richie makes it known on your first day.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he warns an hour into service.  “Cousin doesn’t run things.”

“Seems like he does,” you shoot back.

“I’m the manager here.”

Here is where the dislike really starts.  Richie is rude and sarcastic, but you’re a chameleon.  You can shift and change your demeanor to match what someone is giving you, so when Richie is rude and sarcastic to you, you respond in kind.

You call him “Mister Manager” in a tone dripping with sarcasm, and by the end of that first shift, Richie completely hates you.

The feeling is mutual by the end of your second shift.

At first, you just squabble.  You trade barbs and insults.  When Richie throws a temper tantrum over Carmy’s organization of the spices, you pout and turn to Ibra and posit that Richie is grumpy because he needs a juice box and a nap.  Which makes Ibra cock his head at you.  He speaks English impeccably, but sometimes he misses the finer nuances of language like sarcasm. 

“I do not think we have juice boxes here,” Ibra says, and Tina swats him as she walks past.

“She’s being sarcastic, you old bitch,” she tells him.

The allusion to Richie being a toddler isn’t far off.  He acts childish all the time.  He flings cookware around when he’s having a tantrum.  He swears, he throws out middle fingers like an angry pre-teen. 

He hides your expensive Henckles knives.  He turns the heat up or down when your back is turned.  Once, he parks you in behind The Beef, and when you go to leave, he’s nowhere to be found—you end up doing a thirty-six point turn, a fraction at a time, before you can properly pull out and drive away.

But your first real fight is over chicken.

The meat delivery is wrong one day.  You’re short on beef, but there’s five whole chickens, and Carmy throws up his hands and tells you to come up with something.

So you do. 

You roast them low and slow so they stay tender, and you’re putting the finishing touches on the sauce—an adobo-based barbeque that’s the perfect blend of tangy and smoky—when Richie strolls in.  He’s in his stupid leather jacket and ridiculous blue track pants, and he announces himself with his usual grinning, “what’s up, you fucking lizards?”

Sweeps and Manny call out their hellos, but Richie ignores them.  He’s already super-focused on you…and the sauce you’re stirring over a low heat.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks.  He stands too close to you, dips his head close to the pot, and takes a loud sniff of it.  Then rears back with a grimace, like you’re simmering a pot of shit and not a finely balanced sauce for your roasting chickens.

“It’s barbeque sauce.  For the chicken.”

“What fucking chicken?”

“Meat delivery was fucked up,” Carmy calls across the kitchen. 

Richie scoffs and turns to Carmy, and he gestures at you and your sauce.  “No offence, Cousin, but the place is called ‘The Beef.’”

“No offence, Cousin, but fuck off,” Carmy replies.

“Heaven forbid we try something new,” you add.  You snap the heat off and settle a lid over the pot to allow the flavors time to mellow together.  Once the chicken is done, you’ll shred it and mix it in.  You have a red cabbage slaw planned for it, and thin slices of sharp cheddar to round it out.  You turn towards the refrigerator, but Richie blocks your path.

“Nothing Italian about whatever the fuck that is.”  He glares down at you; he’s half a head taller than you, but he has a way of puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster spoiling for a fight.

Maybe other people are cowed by his posturing, but you’re unimpressed and not scared at all.

“It’s about as Italian as ‘Jerimovich.’”

His chest puffs out more, and he takes a half step closer to you.  This close, you can smell the cigarette smoke that clings to him, the old man cologne he splashes on with a heavy hand, the subtler scent of laundry detergent. 

“People come here every day and get the same thing,” he says.  “Same order every fuckin’ day.  No one is gonna order whatever fancy Noma bullshit you’re trying to pull out of your ass.”

You take a half step up to him and puff out your chest, and it makes Richie falter for a moment.  He leans back, just a fraction, but you note the movement and smirk up at him.  You reach out and poke him in the sternum with a forefinger, driving home each point.

“One, this isn’t Noma bullshit.  It’s literally slow-roasted chicken.  Two, it’s a pretty simple sauce.  Maybe it seems fancy to you because it’s more challenging to your palate than chicken nuggets.  Three, some customers might appreciate a change in their usual lunch order.  Not everyone is so resistant to change, Cousin.”

Your use of the familiar nickname makes his nostrils flare and his eyes widen in anger.  “I’m not your fucking Cousin.”

“Sure you are, Cousin.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll save you a sandwich, Cousin.”  The thought occurs to you that you’re being childish now, that Richie has brought out some immature part of you, and you think it’s kinda fun, being a juvenile brat at work and leaning into the fight.

“Fucking stop it.”

“Stop what, Cousin?”

He turns away from you so quick, it makes you blink in surprise.  “Fucking bitch,” he mutters to himself, but he’s striding across the kitchen towards the office, and he’s calling for Carmy, so you follow at his heels and call for Carmy too.

“Yo, Cousin, can you fucking fire her already?  Jesus fucking Christ, I—” he starts, but you cut him off, mimic his growling voice and Chicago accent.

“Yo, Carmy, when are we gonna fire Richie already?  I mean, the place is changing—”

It makes Richie go fully nuclear.  The mention of change makes him apoplectic.  He turns and crowds you against the door jamb, and he gets right in your face:  so close that you can see his eyes aren’t completely blue—they are flecked with grey, like bits of mica in pavement.  You’re startled for a moment, surprised to find that his eyes are beautiful, but you obviously don’t say anything because he’s snarling in your face.

“Fuck you!” he spits out, and he points a finger inches from your face.  “Fuck you!  Nothin’ is changin’ here!  Nothin’ needs to change!”

And then he gives you his patented Richie double-chin flick, and he mutters some Italian insult you don’t know, and he’s marching through the kitchen to leave.

Not before he sweeps your mise en place off the counter, sending thin-sliced cabbage and vinegar flying.

Carmy stares at you with a look that is purely beleaguered.  He sighs, he scrubs his face with his hands, and he runs them through his hair before he sighs again.

“Whatever you and Richie have going on?  Squash that shit, Chef.”

You nod, embarrassed at rising—or sinking—to Richie’s childishness.  “Yes, Chef,” you reply.

-----

“Squashing it” mostly means that you and Richie only fight when Carmy isn’t within earshot.

Your fighting still entails getting in each other’s faces.  It still means you insult each other, albeit more quietly.  You hiss insults at him, he grumbles them back.  You part when Carmy shows up, and you each stew in your separate corners and wait for the next round.

You start to suss out where the limits are.  You insult him as a father one single time, and the flash of hurt on his face makes you hold up your hands in a truce and apologize. 

He insults you once as a woman with daddy issues, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.  You did grow up without a father—he died when you were six, and your only memories of him are full of pain from the stomach cancer that slowly killed him.  But you must show the hurt on your face too because Richie takes a step backwards away from you, stammers out an apology too.

All told, once you know each other’s hard limits, you actually fight pretty nicely, and if anyone notices it, no one says anything.

-----

Sunday nights are a good time to come in to The Beef and set yourself up for the week.  You work it out with Carmy because it gives him a break and gives you a few more hours.  You enjoy the time there with the restaurant being closed—you blast your music, you sing along at the top of your lungs as you rotate stock, make detailed shopping lists for Carmy, and make sure everything is clean.

If one thing infuriates you, it’s the way certain national media outlets focus on Chicago as a cesspool of violence.  But it is a large city, and violence does happen, so when you’re in the basement of The Beef and hear the beep of the alarm system as it is deactivated, you immediately feel ice cold all over.  The alarm system, Ibra told you once, is easily overcome, and The Beef has been robbed before.

You glance around and see that you’re trapped, unless you want to rush up the steps (not advisable) or shimmy out a tiny window at street level (also not advisable).  There’s nothing in the way of weapons in the basement either, so you arm yourself with a half-burnt cookie sheet and tremble as you listen to the heavy tread above you.

Maybe they’ll just trash the place and leave.  There’s nothing worth stealing, unless they want to wheel out the massive, ancient Hobart.  Maybe they’ll get into Marcus’s stash of good vanilla.  Maybe they’ll—

Maybe they’ll make their way to the top of the stairs.  Maybe they’ll pause there and start walking down to where you wait.  You try not to breathe too loud, but your heart is hammering in your chest, your pulse is in your ears, and you’re flooded with adrenaline as the shoes of your would-be assailant come into view.

You don’t hear Richie’s voice when he calls out your name.  You’re too panicked.  You don’t hear him, and you don’t even register him when he rounds the corner—he’s in his usual track pants and leather jacket—because you’re fully in fight-or-flight mode…and independent of your will, your body chooses fight.

“Fuck you!” you scream, and you swing the cookie sheet directly at his head with all the force you can muster.  Your assailant stumbles backwards with a cry of pain, and you drop the pan and try to scramble past him, but you trip over his foot in your panic and fall hard, cracking your shinbone against the lowest step.

If you ever idly wondered how you’d react in a real life-or-death scenario, here is your answer:  you scream and scream, and you clutch one hand to your throbbing shin but flail your other hand at the person reaching for you, and it’s not until you smell him—the familiar cigarette/old man cologne smell—that your panic ebbs a little.

And then you see those blue eyes flecked with grey, and even if Richie is your enemy at work, he’s never really been an enemy in the true sense of the word.  The relief that you aren’t about to be raped or murdered floods you so suddenly that you burst into tears. 

And then you hug him, your arms so tight around his middle that he breathes out a sharp oof, but then he wraps one arm around your trembling form while the other clutches his bleeding nose in an attempt to staunch the blood.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he asks.  His voice is thick and nasally, but there’s a hint of amusement to it.

“Thought you were an intruder.”  You release him from your hold, and you will yourself to stop shaking. 

“Carmy.”  He shakes his head.  “Guess Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole didn’t tell you I was coming by.”

“He did not.”

Richie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrinkled napkin.  He presses it to his nose and winces, and your panic is replaced by shame.  You’ll never live this down, you realize.  Richie is going to tell everyone first thing tomorrow, and he’ll add his usual Richie flourishes to make your screams more shrill, your flailing more erratic in the retelling.

His nose stops bleeding, and he checks it tentatively.  He prods at the swollen skin, red that is going to bruise by morning.  He fixes you with a curious look.

“You hit harder than I would have thought.”

“I play softball.”

“Where?”

“Lincoln Park.  At the North Avenue fields.”

He huffs at that.  Clears his throat.  “Yeah, my daughter has t-ball there.”

Your panic is gone now, and you feel more like yourself.  Your leg throbs at where you banged it, and it will be bruised by morning like Richie’s face.  You limp over to the big table and gather up your coat and purse.

“Don’t do that,” you tell Richie.

“Do what?”

“Don’t…whatever.  Talk to me nice.  Tell me about your daughter.  Don’t do that.”

He snorts and says, “why the fuck not?”

“Because we’re not friends, and you scared the shit out of me, and now I’m all keyed up and just want to get home instead of having an impromptu bonding session with the one guy at The Beef who truly, honesty hates me.”

“Alright, fine.  You’re a fucking head-case to freak out the way you did, and I think you broke my fucking nose.  Better?”

It startles a laugh out of you, and your laughter makes Richie grin.  It’s shy, and he ducks his head, but you catch it all the same.

He clears his throat again, then asks if you drove there.  You tell him no—you had a premium parking spot on your street, so you took the L.  He nods at that, and he seems to be thinking through something, so you pull on your coat and sling your bag over your shoulder and wait for him to say something.

“Let me drive you home, at least, “he finally offers.  “You’re all sorts of fucked up.”

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.  Someone looks at you wrong on the train, gonna catch an assault charge.”

“You’d love to see me in prison,” you reply.  “Out of your way.  No one left to defiantly make a delicious chicken sandwich special and destroy the system here.”

“Asshole.”  He shakes his head, then gestures for you to take the stairs ahead of him.  “I’m driving you home.  Let’s go.”

You can’t admit that a ride sounds fantastic.  You do feel keyed up, anxious and twitchy, and even if it’s Richie, you’re grateful for the offer.

Even so, as you limp upstairs, the pain in your leg makes it easier to admit to him.  You turn as he resets the alarm, and you thank him, softly.

“Yeah, fine.  Whatever.”  He points at his car, then grumbles, “c’mon already.”

-----

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Sunday evenings become yours and Richie’s thing.  The work should go twice as fast, but Richie doesn’t work so much as… not work.  He leans in the doorway of the walk-in as you take inventory, he perches on the counter as you make giardiniera for the next day.  He sits in the office as you write out the order list for Carmy, and he gripes about how long you’re taking, how he has better things to do.

If that were true, why does he spend every Sunday with you?  You doubt Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole told him to, yet he shows up every week and complains the entire time.  He complains the entire drive to your place, and when you thank him for the ride, he either flips you off or makes a jacking-off motion with his hand before he peels away from your curb.

“You almost done?” he asks now.  “Got shit to do.”

“You don’t have shit to do.”  You check the takings from last week, do a quick calculation in the margin of the print-out.  “If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“Why, you afraid I might introduce a dish that isn’t entirely Italian-American approved?”

He grumbles, “nothin’ needs to change.  Menu’s fine the way it is.”

“You really don’t have to stay, Richie.  I can handle myself.”

“Bullshit you can.”  He leans forward, taps the side of his nose.  “You handle yourself so well, you dislocated my fucking nose.”

“And it gave your face some character,” you retort.

“What’s wrong with my face?”

You glance at him, roll your eyes.  “Aside from the fact it’s always in my face, glaring or stirring up shit?  Nothing.”

He leans back in his chair again and sighs.  “I don’t stir up shit.”

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I fucking don’t.”

“You talk way too much, Richard.”

“Don’t call me fucking Richard.  You sound like my asshole mother-in-law.”  He pauses, then amends it to, “my former asshole mother-in-law.”

A long beat of silence passes.  You calculate the meat order, the vegetables, the shelf stable stuff.  You balance out the order against where there’s already overdue bills—Carmy is juggling the vendors as best he can, and you try to give him relief where you can—

“Done yet?”

“Nope.”  You cross out the one line for the produce vendor, split it between two vendors.  “What are you in such a hurry for?”

“Told you.  I got stuff to do.”

You glance over at him.  He does seem more keyed up.  His leg bounces up and down, and he wrings his hands in his lap. 

“What sort of stuff?” you ask.

He mumbles his answer, and you miss it at first.  When you arch an eyebrow at him, he repeats it.  An embarrassed, “got a date.”

You pause in your writing and turn to face him.  Fak told you once about Richie’s imploded marriage, and he had heavily implied that Richie was still pining for his ex-wife.  “A date?” 

He shrugs.  “Kind of a date.”

“What’s kind of a date?”

Another shrug, and he fixes his gaze to the dirty tile floor.  “We went out last week, and we talked about grabbing a drink tonight.  I was gonna text her after I drop you off.”

“Sounds like a regular date to me.”

He lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness, then lets them fall again.  “I dunno.  Wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

You turn completely to face him, your list forgotten.  “Then why agree to a second date?”

Another shrug, a sheepish lift and fall of his shoulders.  The two of you are toeing the line of near-friendship, your usual squabbling turning into an honest-to-god friendly chat, but maybe Richie doesn’t have any confidants in his life, because he sighs, then mutters about how she seemed cold, how she wasn’t charmed by his Bill Murray voicemail greeting story, but how he thought he should try anyway—

“Richie, I’m not your gal pal in a rom-com, but if you aren’t feeling it, don’t do it.  Jesus, that’s just common sense.”

He fixes you with a glare.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize you were a goddamned relationship expert.”

“It’s common sense.”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

You bristle at the question.  Your love life is about as dead as The Beef’s commercial credit, but Richie doesn’t need to know that.  But you hesitate long enough that he can guess, and he laughs at you, and you bristle more.

“I knew it!”  He points at you, and you swat at his hand until he lowers it.  “You give off this whole ‘hasn’t been laid in a long time’ vibe.”

You turn away from him and bend your head back to your ordering list.  “Shut up,” you mumble.

“All those prissy little dishes you add to the menu.  You’re all wound up.  It makes sense.”

“My culinary excellence has nothing to do with my love life or lack thereof.”  You hope your tone is even and nonchalant, but you fear it comes out as defensive.  Which it must, because Richie holds up his hands again.

“No judgement.  It’s tough out there.  I get it.”

You groan and turn away from him, twisting yourself to get his smirking face out of your peripheral.  “You should leave.  Go get ready for your kind-of date.”

“Nah.”

“Seriously, you can go.”

“Nah.”  You hear his deep breath, then a beat later, he continues.

“If you ever want to blow off some steam, we could…”  He trails off, but his intent is clear, and you feel a prickly heat break out across your skin. 

“…shut up, Richie.”

You turn a little and he reappears in your peripherals.  He presses his hands together in a prayer position, then presses his fingertips near his mouth in an expression of thoughtfulness. 

“Shut up, Richie isn’t no, Richie.”

“It’s most certainly no, Richie.”

“Look at me.”

“I gotta finish this list and send it to Carmy—”

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You can’t.  You stare at your handwriting—the 50 pounds of cake flour Marcus needs—and you feel yourself heating up at the sudden image of you and Richie—no, you shove the mental image away, shake your head to clear it, and the man notices all of it.

“Why can’t you look at me?” he asks, and his voice is soft, low.  A graveled rumble, roughened by the cigarettes he chain-smokes when he’s not inside, and you don’t know if it really has been that long, but it’s a step-progression of reactions in your body.  The prickle of heat along your skin, the way your skin feels too tight.  The way your mouth feels too dry all of a sudden.

The strong, traitorous pulse of desire between your legs.  Fuck.

“Wouldn’t have to mean anything,” he continues with that low voice.  “No one would have to know.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Still not hearing a no, sweetheart.”

You breathe in deeply through your nose, then turn to face him squarely.  You look him right in his eyes—those bright blue eyes, flecked with grey, beautiful—and say, “No, Richie.”

He stares back at you, and a smile slowly unfurls across his face.  A real smile, not his usual shit-eating grin or smarmy smirk.  A real smile that, paired with his gorgeous eyes, makes his face transform into something beautiful.  It’s like he’s lifted his mask for a moment and is showing you who he really is.

“You’re tempted.”  He sounds in awe of the revelation, and he leans back against the wall.  “Holy shit, you’re really tempted by it.”

“No, I’m—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off.  “You are.”  His smile stays fixed on his face, and he shakes his head.  “Holy shit, sweetheart.”

You grumble out the weakest rebuttal, but he only laughs and shakes his head again, and the last half hour is passed in uncomfortable silence:  you as you email the shopping list to Carmy with hands you will into steadiness, and Richie as he grins at you and chuckles to himself.

Of course he drives you home, just as he always does.

And of course he parks his car and comes up to your apartment when you invite him up, which is a first.

*****

A therapist would have a lifetime of secure business if Richie ever decided to pursue therapy for himself.  Not that he would—feelings are bullshit, and life is tough all over—but if he did…there’d be a lot of deep shit to mine.

At the core of him, Richie is desperately insecure.  He had a dicey childhood, and he glommed on the Berzatto family to make up for his own family’s shortcomings.  He had Tiff, for a glorious while, then lost her.  He has his daughter, but only part-time.  He lost Mikey, the nearest thing to a brother, and now he’s slowly losing The Beef as it becomes something more than a sandwich shop.

No wonder he feels lost all the time.  No wonder he lashes out and hurts those closest to him.

No wonder he’s been riding your ass for months, trying to get you to quit even as his initial dislike has mellowed out to acceptance and then to…something else he won’t name.

He can’t lie to himself:  that night in the basement shifted things.  Maybe you concussed him along with the dislocated nose.  Maybe he has slight brain damage.  He can’t account for it any other way, how seeing you so terrified caused a sea-change in him.  How feeling your arms around him, clinging to him and trembling so hard, softened him towards you.

He won’t name it.  He won’t even think it.  The most he’ll admit is, “maybe I don’t completely hate her.”

Which somehow turns into this moment.  The two of you awkwardly standing in your entryway, unsure if the other is bluffing, unsure if the other is serious.  There’s too much bad blood in your shared past, and you each are expecting the other to say “sike!,” to turn it into a humiliating story to share in the morning with the crew.

You’re both wrong. 

“So, uh, nice place.”  He looks around your apartment and rubs the back of his neck.  “You got a lot of books.”

“I like to read.”

“Yeah.  Nice.”  He takes a few steps deeper into your place, and he studies the titles on the nearest bookshelf.  “Stephen King.  Clive Barker.  You like the spooky shit, huh?”

“Nothing as scary as being ambushed in the basement at night by you.”

He snorts, shakes his head.  As he’s softened towards you, your teasing has gotten gentler too.  You’ve always rose to meet his energy, and now that he’s not actively despising you (he won’t name it, he will not), you aren’t actively despising him.

“Nothing as scary as seeing a giant fucking sheet pan flying at your face—”

You cut him off.  “Okay, Richie.  Enough.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Enough words.  More action.”  You face him and lift your eyebrows challengingly.  “Unless this was all a ruse.”

He shakes his head.

“Unless this is just a prank to embarrass me later.”

He shakes his head again, and he flexes his hands along his sides.  He’s itching to reach out and touch you—he remembers the feel of you in his arms, the way you tucked so perfectly against him when you were scared.  You had been relieved to see it had been him; you had felt safe enough to reach for him, and he’s been chasing that high ever since.  A therapist would make short work of this moment, but Richie wants to feel important to you again.  He wants to feel like you need him to protect you, to shelter you.  He wants to feel like a man, needed, necessary—

You’re talking but he doesn’t register the words.  Instead, he reaches for you, pulls you to him, and when you look up at him in surprise, he dips his head and kisses you.

It’s brutal at first.  He’s out of practice.  He’s certainly never kissed someone like you—someone so infuriatingly challenging—and he mashes his lips too hard against yours, can feel your wince as you struggle to kiss him back.  So he breaks the kiss and tries again, much more carefully, and it’s so much better:  the softness of your lips, the quiet moan you give as you kiss him back.

Maybe you need it bad, but he needs it just as bad, and when he considers why he does, he pushes the thought away completely.  Because if he thinks on it too much in this moment, if he thinks on how good it feels, the way you tug at his clothes—eager but shy, your hands steady but your eyes unable to meet his—he’d have to face an uncomfortable truth.

Still, he needs to see you.  Needs to look you in the eye.  He grasps your chin and tilts your face until you’re looking at him.

“You okay with this?”  He says it softly.  He says it as kindly as he can.

“Yeah.”  You nod, then add, “no one needs to know, right?”

“Right.”

“No one needs to know.”

“Exactly.”

You offer him a smile, and it’s genuine.  It’s not your normal smart-ass smirk, the way one corner of your mouth lifts higher than the other.  It’s a real smile, and he has to push that uncomfortable truth away again because if you’re cute when you smirk, you’re beautiful when you smile, and Richie can’t dwell on the fact.

“C’mon then, Richard.  Bedroom’s this way.”

“Asshole,” he huffs out, but you push his jacket off of his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, and you tug him down your hallway. 

You alternate and he lets you strip him and yourself—a piece of his clothing, a piece of yours.  You leave a trail so that you’re both nearly naked once you’re in the bedroom.  He stands in front of you, his boxers tented, and he takes in the sight of you.  In standard, everyday lingerie—dark grey bra and panties—but the everyday shit makes his mouth run dry.  Elaborate lingerie is not really his thing, but seeing a woman in her everyday shit, the comfortable cotton shit…that feels more special, somehow.  Like you woke up that morning and put on the functional stuff, but now here you are, nearly naked for him.

You always rise to meet his energy.  He’s openly ogling you now, and you gaze back at him, openly staring back.  He has a moment of doubt—maybe he should lift more, cut back on beers after work—but your eyes are blown dark with desire, and it makes his cock twitch to see it.

You seem to want him as much as he wants you. 

“C’mere, you fucking pain in the ass,” he growls, and you roll your eyes but bridge the distance between you.  You press the length of your near-naked body against his, and the sudden touch makes him bite back a groan.  He puts his hands on your waist, and you lay your palms against his chest, and you kiss again.

The kiss grows and grows.  He bullies his way into your mouth, sweeps his tongue and licks against your mouth, and you answer in kind.  You kiss him back, and your hands stroke his chest, his shoulders, his arms.  One snakes lower and grasps him through his boxers, and he swears against your lips at the feel of your palm stoking him.

He pushes you backwards towards the bed.  He pushes you until you hit the bed, and then he pushes you down, but you reach out and grasp him golden chain and tug him down to join you. 

You always rise to meet him.  He takes charge and slots himself between your legs, but you move eagerly.  When he lowers himself onto you, still partially dressed, you lift yourself up and press against him.  Your clothed breasts against his chest, and he dips his head and tugs the cups of your bra down until you’re exposed to him.  He lowers his head and kisses you, works his mouth against you.  He sucks a mark on each curve of your breast, right where your bra will cover.  He wants you to see them and think of him, a pair of mementos to this moment.

“Fuck, Richie.”  You breathe it out, and your hand cups the back of his head.  You hold him against you, and he’s too happy to stay here for a while:  sucking against your nipples, biting lightly until you squirm.  Laving your tender buds with the flat of his tongue, pinching and tugging until you shove him away with a groan.

“Too much,” you whine, but you tangle in his chain again and tug his mouth to yours.  He kisses you, relishes how flushed your skin feels under his lips as he kisses his way across your face, down your neck, across your bare shoulders.  He pauses long enough to undo your bra in earnest, tosses it aside.  Then he kisses his way down your chest again, traces his tongue further down to your soft belly until his chin is perched right on the waistband of your panties.

“Can I?” he asks.  He traces a finger under the lace edging, and he watches your face.  You gaze back at him, your eyes still dark and pupils blown.  Your lips are swollen, and your chest rises and falls with how hard you’re breathing.

You nod.  “You can take them off.”

“Is that it?  Nothing else?”

You laugh, breathless.  “Some other time.  Really want you to fuck me instead.”

Some other time.  The thought makes Richie’s dick twitch at the idea of doing this another time.

You feel him twitch against you.  You laugh again to feel it, and you lift a leg to hook it clumsily along the waistband of his boxers.  You try to push them down, and then you’re chanting “come on, come on, come on” as he scrambles to shuck off the rest of his clothing, scrambles to hook his fingers under your panties as he draws them down your legs. 

“Condoms in the bedside stand,” you tell him, and he opens the drawer, snags one.  He notes the bright pink vibrator there but doesn’t remark on it.  He’ll tuck the image away and revisit it days later in the shower:  a rich bit of fantasy where he pictures you masturbating to the thought of him.

He tears the foil with his teeth, and he watches you as he rolls the condom on himself.  You’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, better than he ever imagined, and a galling little voice in the back of his head asks, “so you’ve been imagining her, huh, asshole?”

He ignores the voice and what it might say next.  He stands over you and asks instead, “how do you want me, sweetheart?”

Another smile.  A genuine one.  “However you want it.”

“Anal, then.”

It startles a laugh out of you, and Richie thinks he might love that—the way he surprises you into laughing.  You prop yourself up on your elbows and look at him.  You kick out a bare foot and press your toes low against his belly, centimeters away from touching the tip of his cock where it stands at attention.

“Not that,” you chide.  “That requires prep.”

“Not a no, sweetheart.”

“It’s a no for this moment.”

“Hmm.  Interesting.”  He grips your ankle and circles it with his hand, and he bends your leg.  Pushes it away from him, pushes it closer to you, and it reveals your gorgeous pussy to him:  the neat-trimmed curls, the slick arousal, the swollen bud of your clit.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he groans to see you.  “Gotta tell me how you want me, and fucking quick.”

“Missionary works for me,” you reply.  “Old reliable.”

So he climbs onto you.  He kneels between your legs, then pushes them apart obscenely wide.  You stay propped up on your elbows, watching him, but when he settles between your thighs, you fall back against your pillow.

“Good?” he asks.

“You haven’t done much,” you point out. 

“Smart-ass.”  He reaches down and grasps his cock at the base, and he drags the tip of himself through your folds.  He coats himself in your arousal, feels the heat of your pussy even through the latex, then notches himself at your entrance.  He looks down and pushes just the tip in, and the sight of it—barely inside you, the promise of burying himself inside you—makes his vision go fuzzy around the edges.

“Richie.”  You reach up with one hand to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes.  “Fuck me, please.”

Your other hand finds the small of his back.  You can’t quite reach his ass, so you lay your palm against the small of his back and urge him forward, and he pushes into you.  He goes slow but steady, and he hears your small gasp as your tight cunt makes room for him.  He feels the stretch of it, the smooth muscles twitching at him, and he studies your face for any pain but finds none.

“Pussy’s gripping at me,” he grits out once he’s seated in you.  “Guess you needed it bad after all.”

“Don’t gloat.”  You bear down on him, squeeze him like a fist, and it makes him choke out a curse.  “You needed it bad too, I think.”

“Not complaining here, sweetheart.”

You take his chain in your hand and tug him down to you again.  You kiss him, then mumble against his mouth, “so fuck me then, Richard.  Move.”

He does as you ask.  You’re a pain in the ass, and you’re a representative of all the change occurring in his life without his permission, but he wants to make it good for you.  He remembers the way you clung to him that night in the basement, and he wants to capture that feeling again…even as he shoves the memory aside and begins to fuck you in earnest.

He doesn’t thrust in and out so much as up and down; he learned this move a long time ago and knows it feels better for his partner.  His thrusts hit every part—each reseating brushes the tip of him against the end of you, and it makes you whine each time.  The slide in and out, at this angle, draws along the firm bud of your clit.  And each time he pushes himself home, the base of him grinds along your clit too, and it makes him feel like a million bucks when you gasp out his name, warn him that you’re close—

“Fuck, fuck.  God, Richie, I’m c-close.  Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—"

And then it tears out of you:  the hard snap of your hips as you lift them to meet his most punishing thrust, the way you tremble under him, your legs shaking, your eyes rolled back in your head.  The way your cunt grips him, ripples against him until it feels like he’s being pulled into your body, and the thought takes hold of him.  He wants to crawl inside you, wants to fill you with himself, wants to merge with you, and the thoughts are so rapid-fire he feels insane for a moment before he settles.

You open your eyes and blink up at him, surprised.  “Holy shit.”

“Told you.”

“Don’t gloat.”  You lift your head and kiss the side of his neck, and he adjusts himself and keeps fucking you.

He’s hit his rhythm now; he deals you hard thrusts and you take them.  You beg for more.  His arms burn as he arches over you.  His calves burn as he drives his cock into you, and sweat beads along his hairline.  He’s covered in a sheen of it, but he doesn’t stop.  He fucks you hard, and his gold necklace swings in time to his thrusts.  It hits you in your face until you hook it with a finger and put the fucking thing in your mouth, and he doesn’t know why it's so hot—maybe it makes him think of your mouth on parts of him instead of just his necklace. 

He makes you come a second time, and it breaks around you again, leaves you trembling and incoherent, but after you recover, you push him over.  It’s easy for you to do—he’s winded as fuck from all his smoking—and Richie finds himself underneath you as you ride him.

He’s happy for the break, but he’s happy to see this side of you.  Any shyness from earlier is long gone.  You sit astride him and bounce on his cock, and it makes your tits bounce too, and he can look down at where he disappears into your tight, wet pussy.

He’s not going to last much longer, and he tells you so.

“S’fine,” you pant out.  “Want you to come too, Richie.”

Then you reach down and take his hands in yours, you place his hands on your tits, and he sort of loves how you take charge at the end.  You push your chest into his hands and ride him, and once he’s touching you there—pinching at your nipples until you arch your back—you reach down and touch yourself.  He watches, transfixed, as you rub a tight circle against your clit, and he can feel you getting close now.  Two orgasms down, he can feel the warning signs.

“Try to come with me,” you order him.  “Want to feel it.”

He’s close.  He’s been close for a while, has been forestalling his own pleasure by listing out White Sox statistics in his head.  But now he wants to come with you as you’ve asked (he wants to do everything for you, anything you ask, he wants all of it, and he struggles to push the thoughts away this time).  He breathes in time with your riding, and he feels his balls tighten as his orgasm approaches.

“I’m close,” he warns.  “Fuck, sweetheart, are you close?”

“Y-y-yes.”  You close your eyes and drop your head, focusing on whatever you’re feeling.

“Gonna come with me?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  You take a sharp breath, then moan as you come a third time, and if he doesn’t quite come with you at exactly the same time, it’s close enough:  the way your pussy grasps at him, draws him in deeper is enough to push him over the edge, and he shifts his hands to your waist.  He pulls you down onto him and stills, feels the pulse of his orgasm as he spills in the condom.

It takes him a long while to recover.  He feels weightless.  Boneless.  He feels like he’s melting into the covers of your bed.  Like he could sleep for a hundred years.  Like he could give up cigarettes and Xanax if he could just stay here and fuck  you whenever his anxiety or insomnia are too much….

You dismount on shaky legs, and you disappear.  When you return, you’re in an oversized t-shirt that skims the top of your thighs, and you hand him a warm washcloth.

“You can take your time,” you tell him.  “No rush.”

Richie reaches down and pulls the condom off.  He ties it off and looks around until he sees a waste bin.  He tosses it, then flops back down on your bed.

“Just need a minute,” he says, but his voice is already thick with sleep, and he doesn’t remember anything else until morning when he wakes up to the smell of strong coffee and sizzling bacon.

He doesn’t remember you standing over him, bemused as you watch him snore.  He doesn’t remember you lying down beside him, covering both of you with a blanket.

And he certainly doesn’t remember reaching for you in his sleep.  He doesn’t remember how you wrap your arms around him, just like that night in the basement of The Beef, and how he sighs at the feeling of you tucked against him again.

[endlessthxxghts]

For Your Safety

no outbreak!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 1.8k

Summary: Your bladder forces you to disrupt your make out session with your boyfriend. Joel seeks out a different way to relieve you.

Content warnings: Reader has female sex anatomy and has slight implied feminine descriptors. Feminine pet names (baby, mama). Pussy has pronouns (she/her), but reader directly does not. Joel carries reader once. Established relationship. 18+ MDNI!! Porn with very minimal plot. BDSM play/undertones. Exploring new kinks. Slight discomfort/reluctancy (implied safe words in place - Joel will stop if you say the safe words). P in V unprotected sex. Overstimulation. Piss kink. I think that's it! Please let me know if I missed anything!

Author's note: I'M BACK, MY LOVES!!! I'VE MISSED YOU! I've got several things coming your guys' way, but I just wrote this little thing to get my juices (figuratively and literally) flowing again hehehe. Thank you @strang3lov3 for being my second pair of eyes on this little baby and for making this beautiful, perfect fucking moodboard, I appreciate you so much🩶 I hope you guys enjoy xx

masterlist | notifs blog

“Mm, baby, wait,” you mutter, breaking away from the puffy lips of the insatiable man underneath you. 

“You okay?” He breathes into your mouth, a frown already forming that your lips aren’t on his anymore. 

With a kiss to the tip of his nose, “Yes, I’m okay, I just really need to pee.”

Lifting off of his lap, you begin to turn away before Joel’s pawing at your wrist. “Wait.”

You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t go pee yet.”

“Joel,” you giggle. “I’ll literally be two seconds, I know that boner isn’t going away anytime soon.”

“No- I mean…” he trails off. He sits up, his hands finding their way back to your waist. Your body easily begins to give in. 

“Baby,” you lightly scold.

“You trust me?” His gaze never breaks from yours. 

“Always,” you reply immediately. 

Without missing a beat: “Then sit on me.”

“What?” Your eyebrows furrow. 

Without further explanation, his fingers find the hem of your bottoms. He gives you a chance to tell him to stop, but when you never take that chance, he lets your clothing fall into a little pile on your living room floor. He pulls away for a moment after, shedding himself of his belt and jeans, letting his clothes join yours. 

Your heart jumps at the sight of him—his entire length on display, tip red and leaking, eyes blackened with hunger as he devours you with his eyes alone. “Baby,” you whimper, “I swear to God, if I get aroused any further I will not be able to control my fucking bladder—”

A smirk begins to form across his face.

Oh. 

The way Joel’s eyes gloss over as you finally piece it together has your body shuddering. He didn’t say not to pee. He just said not to pee yet. 

“C’mere, baby,” he drawls lazily. His hands are reaching out for you, guiding you to straddle him once more. 

Settling into his lap, Joel wastes no time guiding his length to you, your previous makeout session and the proposition of what’s about to happen providing you already with an ample amount of slick for him to work with. 

The second he fixes merely the head of him in your entrance, a pleasurable flutter erupts through you, starting in your lower belly, shooting up your spine. A breathy yelp of a fuck escapes your throat at the sensation, the feeling of your bladder intensifying tenfold. 

“Joel,” you whine, eyes clamping shut as your hips meet his own, his grip tight and unrelenting. “It- it h-hurts…” you trail off, gasping when he begins moving you back and forth, grinding you against him. 

“It hurts?” He asks, slowing but not to a halt. 

So good, you think, it hurts so fucking good. But already, you’re too turned on and blissed out for any coherent thought to form. Instead, your hands find his chest, using the newfound stability to grind down even harder onto him, whimpers and murmured curses in breathy exhales make his chest—and cock—swell with pride. 

He’s been meaning to tell you about this secret little fantasy he’s had for a while. Joel has never had a piss kink or anything before, but after that time he made you squirt and you literally sprayed him everywhere from his mouth down? Oh, he needed more—needed to feel it happen around him—and he needed it badly. He just wasn’t sure how you’d react. 

Sure, you’re both more explorative in the bedroom than most people, but anything involving pee has always been on the more extreme side. He didn’t want to scare you away—as if you could ever, you’d probably tell him. And he could just make you squirt again, but where’s the fun in that? The fun in making every part of you lose control from him and him alone? 

And now here you are, providing him with the perfect opportunity to show rather than tell you about his fantasies. 

“Oh, my poor baby, ” he taunts, the worry of you being in actual pain dissipating immediately. “Hurts so bad because she need’a cum, huh? That it, baby?” 

His chest is heaving with how fucking good you feel, tight and warm and utterly fucking soaked. It is taking absolutely everything within him to not cum inside you at this very moment, but he needs you to get there first. He’s determined.

With your hips finding a steady, needy rhythm, you nod your head rapidly—thighs shaking, nails stabbing through the fabric of his green flannel. “Please, bab— oh my god,” you groan out as he brings his fingers in between where you two meet, the added pleasure forcing the familiar muscle in your belly to clench, your pussy fluttering out of her mind around him. 

“Oh my god, oh fuck—” you cry. A sense of rationale floods your brain, allowing you a moment to slur something decently audible. “Joel, the couch,” you pant. “I’m gonna— it’s gonna get dirty, baby, please, I can’t—”

Your hips are still driving eagerly despite your spoken protests, and Joel is just having way too much fun with this. “Never had a problem fuckin’ on the couch before, baby, what’s the difference now?” He asks with a grunt, the corner of his mouth upturned. 

“Joel,” you try to bite, but your venom is useless when he has you like this, on the verge of forcing your body into the astral plane with no say in the matter. Still, you try once more. “Joel, I— I’m gonna fucking—” a moan forces itself out, choking you on your words. “Fuck, please, I’m gonna fucking pee, baby, please, I can’t hold it,” you beg, tears pooling into your lash line, the pleasure nearing the territory of overstimulation. 

Joel contemplates. He seriously has no problems deep cleaning the couch later, but your discomfort is more important. If you don’t want to dirty the couch, then you two aren’t going to dirty the couch. 

“Hold tight,” he tells you, and you do despite your face’s confusion. His arms hold you snug against him, and he stands with you on him—with him in you—and makes a beeline for the bathroom. 

“Oh, fuck,” you groan as he walks, the tinge of sex already sticking to the creases of his neck. Each step causes your belly to flutter, bringing you closer and closer to release—closer to releasing your bladder all over the damn house. “Baby, please,” you gasp, your nails digging into the back of his head as you try to hold off on letting go. 

Joel kicks the door open, uncaring in the slightest sound of a crack that should make the contractor in him jump, but it doesn’t phase him. He’s got other priorities.

The main bathroom of your guys’ house has a walk-in shower, and a few months ago, he installed some railings against each of the walls. He may have had ulterior motives, but he was adamant that it was for your safety, baby. 

Smirking to himself at the thought, he steps inside, settling your ass against the wall, perching you against the cold metal for some added support. His arms snake down your body, and he hooks himself underneath the bend of your knees. Gripping onto the rail, he renders you entirely immobile, and immediately, he’s on a mission. 

He pulls out, the tip threatening to slip from your heat, but before you know it, he’s slamming into you, the sheer force of your man stealing all the breath from your lungs. 

“Joel—” you scream out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you moan and gasp for air. 

“Gonna cum for me, baby? Huh?”

“Y-yeah, fuck— I’m gonna—”

“Gonna pee, too, mama? Gonna fuckin’ make a mess ‘a me? I can feel you, baby, feel her fuckin’ grippin’ me,” he snarls, eyes laser focused on his cream-coated, glistening cock as he pierces you over and over again. “Let go f’me, baby, c’mon, I gotcha,” his voice coos, albeit a little muffled to your ears as you finally give in to your body’s desires, your body’s needs. 

Your head thumps against the shower wall as your eyes clamp shut, sweet wails of ecstasy reverberating in the tiny-tiled room. Not only does Joel feel warmth and thick wetness along the length of him, but he feels running hot liquid stream down the front of his body, his legs. Fuck. 

The steady stream he hears and feels is what finally brings himself to his edge, his cock twitching and pulsing, painting every single inch inside you. His movement comes to a reluctant stop, slowly taking away each arm from your leg to let you stand on your own.

“Can you stand?” he asks. 

“Are you kidding me?” you murmur with a weak laugh. “I had these rails installed a bit ago… for my safety,” you smirk, exaggerating the way you hold onto the pipes. “I’ll be fine.”

He jokingly rolls his eyes at you before he leans forward, kissing you on the forehead. “I’m sorry I kind of cornered ya with this one,” he mutters softly. 

“No, baby, no apologies. You would’ve stopped if I said, but it doesn’t matter anyway because I… I really liked it,” you admit, cheeks hotter than a bonfire. 

“Oh,” he says, his cheeks threatening a dopey expression. 

“Just—”

“Yeah?” He cuts off eagerly.

“Just not in places where we’d have people, okay?”

“Deal,” he smirks, catching your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. 

Let’s rinse off,” you squeak into his mouth. You’re fucking exhausted after everything, but you can feel your insatiable body getting worked up yet again with the way his mouth is on you. 

“Yeah, alright,” he pulls away, smacking your ass in the process before turning the shower nozzle to the preferred temperature. Not your preferred temperature—the temperature that his soft, precious, sensitive skin could handle. You test the water underneath your fingertips, laughing to yourself at how cold it is. 

“Oh, also.”

“What’s up?” you ask, prepping the loofah with the vanilla body wash you know he loves but will never admit. 

“Do we have gatorade? Or like, Smartwater or somethin’? Somethin’ with those hydration things— what are they called? Electrolytes?”

You cock an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

“No reason,” he shrugs his shoulders. “I jus’ wanna make sure you’re hydrated. At all times. It’s important to stay hydrated, y’know?”

You look him up and down, calculating your thoughts before you respond. “We can go to the store after this,” you offer. 

“Yeah? Okay,” he leans forward to drop another kiss to your lips. “You know how much your health means to me,” he adds. 

“I thought it was my safety,” you say pointing to one out of the many “safety” modifications he’s added to your shared home. 

“Your health, too, mama. Especially your hydration, hm?” 

“Right,” you say with an exaggerated lilt. “Now turn around so I can scrub your ass.”

Extended note:

I would love to hear what you guys think! I love you all so much, thank you for always sticking by my side and supporting me always. You all are my happy place. Wouldn't be where I am without you.🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

graphics by @saradika-graphics

[hanglimi]

are we just friends? - chaewon

5 times y/n and chaewon were "just friends" and the one time they weren't.

TAGS - non-idol! chaewon x non-idol! reader, friends to lovers, fluff, f!reader

WORDCOUNT - 2000~

WARNINGS - like two swears or something

A/N - not proofread, ending kinda rushed

(1)

“isn’t that chaewon’s sweater?” yunjin mentioned in passing as she sat down your bed, looking around and observing the walls.

you threw a quick glance to where she was, noting the baby blue sweater draped on the back of your chair. you hummed absentmindedly in response and ushered your roommate off your bed, swiping at the sheets.

“can you please get out of my room and go clean up yours instead,” you muttered while continuing to fix every nook and cranny. you turned to look behind you, and groaned at yunjin’s slow pace, pushing her through the doorway of your room.

“chaewon’s coming over in like,” you checked the watch on your wrist and your eyes widened at the sight. “she’s coming over in 10 minutes!” you exclaimed shocked, rushing around your apartment trying to organise everything.

yunjin simply let out a chuckle as she inched towards her room, “you act like she doesn’t come over every day. i’m sure she won’t mind the sight of people actually living here.”

“fuck off!” you said in response and continued to wipe down the counters of your small kitchen.

-

“y/nnie!” chaewon exclaimed in joy as you opened the door for her, widening your arms for a hug. she slipped into your hold, fitting into place exactly like how she always did. your body untensed during the hug and you held her tight, smelling her hair.

you pulled away after a short time, noting the slight look of disappointment on your friend's face.

“i forgot to give it to you yesterday before you left, but I’ll wash the sweater you gave me and give it back to you as soon as possible.” you said, leading chaewon into the living room.

“don’t worry about it. you can keep it.”

“really? I thought it was your favourite one,” you raised your eyebrow in pleasant shock and sat down on the couch, chaewon following suite, grabbing the remote to the tv.

“it’s fine, really. i like how it looks on you anyways.” her smile grew as she leaned her head on your shoulder. your face felt warm at the comment and you quickly switched the topic, snatching the remote, and scrolling through movies to watch.

you swore you could hear yunjin cackling through the thin walls of your apartment.

(2)

“would you be interested in coming with me to sakura’s party?” chaewon said, preheating the oven as you whisked together the ingredients in the bowl in front of you. “she mentioned that I needed to bring a plus one, and you're obviously my go to,” she finished. you could feel her eyes on the back of your head as you continued moving your wrist.

“i’d love to, but isn’t a plus one supposed to be someone you're interested in?” you stopped whisking to turn to look chaewon in her eyes. “i think I’d feel weird if I came along.” at the sound of your subtle rejection, the glimmer in chaewon’s eyes dimmed and she faced the other way again, putting the ingredients away.

“it’s just,” chaewon started, gripping the edge of the counter, “we’ve been going to events together for such a long time– even things that were usually for couples. it’d be so weird if I were to suddenly stop bringing my closest friend because this time it's a little more serious.” she vaguely bent her fingers at the word serious, deepening her voice for the effect.

you nodded along to her words in silence, testing your response in your head before replying.

“i’ll go.” she cheered in response before you could finish, and jumped up and down, fully turning around again to grab onto your arms.

“but,” you drawled, rolling your eyes at her actions. “next time one of these things happens you’re bringing someone else. you gotta talk to other people these days, chaewon. i won’t be here forever.” you smiled slightly at your words, but quickly frowned at the sight of chaewon’s shoulders slumping down, even as she tried to fake her own laugh.

you quickly grabbed a handful of flour and threw it at her face, causing her to slap you on the arm.

“yah! what was that for!” she growled, ready to retaliate.

“you just looked like an angry puppy. whenever you have that face i can’t help but swoon.”

the pink of her neck rose to her cheeks and her ears, so she continued to hit your body, muttering random things.

you had always hated making chaewon sad.

(3)

you checked the time on your phone before glancing back up at your friends. the three of you had been eating for two hours, and the time felt right to leave and go home.

“i gotta go guys, but it’s been really fun catching up again!” you wrapped the conversation up, gathering your things.

“aww. is grown up y/n gonna go to her girlfriend now?” aeri imitated a child’s voice as minjeong giggled alongside her, hitting her shoulder urging her to stop.

you raised your brow in annoyance at her voice and confusion of the statement, “who’s my girlfriend?”

“chaewon, duh.” aeri stuck her tongue out at you, saying it as if it was common knowledge as she continued packing up her things.

“when have you guys ever even met her?” you were totally confused now, trying to recall a past date where the two friend groups had collided.

“never. but you talk about her enough that we could practically write a whole biography on her.” minjeong grinned at her words.

you pinched your nose at your two friends' antics. there was no way that you talked about chaewon enough for them to fabricate her being your girlfriend. it was obviously an over exaggeration on their part.

“you guys are literally liars. there’s no way you even know who she is.” you leaned back in your chair and crossed your arms. “you probably know her name because I’ve mentioned her before.”

“call us all the names you can construct in that little brain of yours, but we know her like the back of our hands.” aeri said, continuing to rile you up.

you soon left the restaurant with a throbbing headache because of aeri’s annoying self.

you’d need to ask your other friends if you really did talk about chaewon that often.

(4)

“why’d you bring me here again?” chaewon asked, grabbing onto your outstretched hand as you led her up the hill.

“can’t a girl just bring her best friend somewhere special?” you said lightly, continuing up and dragging chaewon along.

the both of you reached the peak of the hill, and you brought out a soft blanket from your backpack, laying it down on the grass.

“so this is what you prepare instead of studying for final exams.” chaewon stated, hands on her hips as she analysed the get up.

you chuckled and gestured down towards the blanket, “i took the time out of my studying to set this up. you can at least appreciate me and my efforts a little bit.”

“oh I definitely appreciate it. i think it’s cute.”

you laid down on the blanket, interlocking your fingers onto your stomach, gazing at the dark sky above as chaewon lowered herself down to the ground. her shoulders brushed against yours as she got comfortable, fidgeting with her feet.

the two of you stared up at the night, watching and searching for the stars. minutes passed, and chaewon’s breathing evened out, her body relaxing. the bright lights from the city drowned out the twinkling of the stars anyways, so you turned your whole body towards your friends, roving your eyes up and down her face. You propped up an elbow and laid upright onto your side, taking in chaewon’s features.

“why’re you looking at me like that,” a mumble fell from the girl’s lips, and she slowly opened her eyes, her words piercing the silence.

“no reason.” you fell back down onto your back, going back to staring upwards.

“y/n.”

“mmm.” you let out, trying to fuse into the blanket underneath you for warmth. chaewon noticed this and shifted closer, letting her arms wrap familiarly around your body.

“thanks for this.”

“of course chaewon. anything for you.”

you really would do anything to make chaewon happy.

(5)

“i wonder how it’d sound if it went like this.” your friend’s voice drifted from one side of the room to the other. you looked up from your schoolwork and directed your attention to the girl on the other side of the room. her brows were furrowed deep in concentration, and she tapped a pen to her lips, a pouty look to them

she continued to sing unknowingly, stopping to make tweaks, and continuing from where she left off. it was a ritual – you would bring the work you needed to catch up on to chaewon’s little studio room while she would practise her singing. something easy to fall into, somewhat of a tradition really. all your friends knew when it was “y/n and chaewon” time – or whatever they liked to call it, so they’d leave the both of you to your devices.

chaewon’s smooth voice brought you back to where you were, and you glanced back at the schoolwork you were doing not too long ago, to see scribbles and words relating to chaewon on your paper. a groan escaped your lips as you erased the illegible comments.

“you alright?” chaewon asked, pausing her melodies to push her glasses up her nose and glance in your direction.

“just fine.” you whispered back, throwing a thumbs up in her direction.

“we can leave early if you’d like-”

“no!” you shouted, covering your mouth in shock at your outburst. “no thank you, i like the quiet of this room.” in reality, you just wanted to stay with her alone a little longer.

she laughed a little and went back to her own work, fully in the zone again.

you dropped your pencil, and quietly turned in your chair to look at her. her hair seemed to be shining in the light of the room, and her whole body posture was loose, showcasing her love for what she was doing. it felt as though her aura was pulling you in. the thought of looking away from her– looking away from her when she was doing what she loved, looking so entranced, was not a thought that stayed in your mind. you’d rarely seen her this focused on what she was doing, and you selfishly wished for just a second, that all that attention was on you.

“are you sure you’re okay?” she looked back up to you, your eyes burning a hole into the side of her face.

“yep. just enjoying the view.”

she giggled and told you to shut up.

you are definitely going to watch her do this again.

(+1)

“y/n?” chaewon called to you as you held the door open for her, her music and notes in her hands. “i hope that wasn’t too boring for you. i wasn’t really talking to you that much this time.”

“oh no it’s alright! i quite enjoyed the peace and quiet.”

“are you trying to say i talk too much,” chaewon glared sarcastically, a slight smirk playing on her lips.

“who knows what i’m trying to say.” you shrug, falling into step with chaewon as you walked her to her apartment.

the evening sun was setting, but you were still able to feel its warm rays hit your face and body as you stepped forward. the comfortable silence enveloped you two, and you didn’t think much of it.

halfway through the walk, chaewon stopped walking and turned to face you, “look over here.”

so you turned, and the girl in front of you seemed to be looking more ethereal than ever. the sun was framing her face perfectly, her eyes were glimmering, and her mouth was wide with a smile. she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and just stood there, looking at you.

the thought that this was your best friend – someone who you had known for years – didn’t cross your mind as you closed the gap between you two, your lips connecting. you shut your eyes and leaned into the kiss, letting her take the lead. her papers were pressed between you guys, the sound of the rustling entered your ears, but it didn’t stay long as chaewon slowly moved back, opening her eyes slowly.

and as you reached an arm out to pull her back in, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you were a little bit in love with her.

A/N - this is so jank im so so rusty, please forgive me. I hope you enjoyed it though!

[starlazergazer]

Figure Something Out

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request: I was wondering if you could make a enemies to lover where Anakin is madly in love with reader but wont admit it since he likes to mock and annoy her but the reader doesnt, like there are but they arent as strong as Anakins. So as time passes she starts to catch feelings for him and ends in fluff but its a little angsty too yk

Warnings: Swearing, Anakin being a bit of dick

Word Count: 7.5k (sorry not sorry we love a slow burn enemies/academic rivals to lovers)

A/N: Check the blog for a little update if you want but I really hope this was worth the wait! As always please please let me know what you think!

Your eyes bounced fervently back and forth between your master’s and Anakin’s, not even bothering to hide the shock you were sure was etched into your expression. “You can’t be serious”

“Do I look like I’m joking” came your master’s quick reply, his tone alone enough to scold you for your loss in decorum, your posture snapping up reflexively as you schooled your face back to a more natural expression, unable to keep yourself from getting defensive.

“I just mean-“ the hurried deflection rolled off your tongue before you could stop it, your master’s unamused glare enough to keep the words from fully coming out. Taking a deep breath, you tried to better control yourself before you continued. “he’s a padawan, same seniority as me how could he train me?”

“He’s also standing right here” Anakin’s gruff voice proved he was just as thrilled about this assignment as you, though you barely spared him a glance, keeping your gaze locked onto your master’s, a silent plea for him to take it back.

“Padawan Skywalker is the best padawan with a saber by leagues I think he could be of great help to you” And you knew that tone your master used here, one he reserved to tell you he was done discussing the matter.

Dejectedly you finally let your gaze slip over to Anakin’s, offering him a tight-lipped smile “I appreciate your help Padawan Skywalker” you nearly choked on the words, having to force them out of your throat.

Anakin in response said nothing, his arms crossed defensively over his chest as he let his eyes rake your figure quickly, letting your words hang uncomfortably in the air until your master finally broke the silence.

“Truly padawan Skywalker we appreciate everything you do for us” He offered a small nod, clapping Anakin on the back.

“Of course master Koon” and you didn’t miss the way he offered your master a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, nor the way he was happy to return a comment to your master’s thanks but not your own. The two of you were already off to a great start to what was bound to be a very short apprenticeship.

With a small nod back in return Master Koon took his leave, leaving you and Anakin alone in the hallway, you looking up at the padawan expectantly, him pointedly avoiding your gaze as much as possible.

“Look” you drew his attention back to you with a sigh “neither of us want to be doing this so how about we just forget this and go our separate ways?”

He raised an eyebrow up at you in response, clearly unimpressed by your proposed solution “I told Master Koon I would help”

“And how noble of you to do so” you replied with a huff, crossing your arms over your chest to match his posture “but since you clearly want to spend as much time with me as I do you this felt mutually beneficial”

“I’ve seen you fight” he responded back with a small shake of his head “you very obviously do need the help”

“Believe me you’ve made it abundantly clear what you think of my fighting skills in training” you replied with a bitter laugh.

“When it takes your opponent less than a minute to get your saber out of your hand it’s hard to keep my comments to myself”

“It does not-“ and you cut yourself off before you could properly blow up, Anakin always having this weird affect on you, pushing you over the edge with little more than a tap. You weren’t letting him get to you that easily this time. With a deep breath you tried to collect yourself “Fine, when do you want to start?”

Anakin paused for a moment, doing nothing but survey you, probably curious as to why you hadn’t started biting his head off yet, but nonetheless continued “after dinner tonight, now come on we have battle strategies with master Kenobi”

“You were asked to help me train with my lightsaber, doesn’t mean you have to walk me to class from now on” you huffed but followed him down the hallway nonetheless.

“Then start jogging and we’ll call this training too” he answered with a shrug.

-

You sat back trying to listen to Obi-wan’s lecture, finding yourself for the first time ever in this class unable to pay attention to the lecture, instead your focused was solely on the person next to you.

Anakin has spent the last several years making his feelings towards you abundantly clear. If the chiding remarks, the mocking comments, the downright insults were anything to go by then you could easily say that he didn’t seem to like you that much. And you had to say by this point the feeling was mutual.

He’d spent all of his time in this class in particular sitting on the other side of the room, pointedly the chair that was just about as far away from you as possible, something you were sure the rest of the padawan’s had picked up on by this point. And that would explain why now that he not only showed up to class with you in tow but took a seat next to your usual one the entire rooms attention seemed to subtly shift in your direction.

Not that the room’s attention wasn’t usually in his direction if you were being honest. Anakin was the jedi council’s golden boy, the prophetic child that would bring balance to the force, as well as being a hell of a fighter with his light saber, and if you were being totally objective he wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes. All of this meant he had a natural sort of charisma that seemed to draw the unconscious attentive weight of a room in his direction, a weight that now sat squarely on your shoulders as well.

This new attention combined with Anakin’s incessant knee bouncing meant your focus was on just about anything but the lecture at hand.

“You know you don’t need to babysit me in every other part of jedi training” you whispered over to him, Anakin’s knee bouncing harmlessly against yours as he leaned in to listen and you fought the urge to pull your own back. Afterall this was your desk you weren’t about to contort yourself so he could be more comfortable.

“Is this why you need my help?” he responded with an annoying smirk, leaning in even more as he whispered “because you struggle to pay attention in class?”

You narrowed your eyes back at him in response “I’ll have you know-“

“Padawan Y/L/N, Skywalker” Obi-wan’s unamused voice broke through your whisper sharply, freezing you in place, your face now uncomfortably close to Anakin’s as every eye turned towards the two of you “is there something you would like to share with the class”

“no Master” Anakin answered quickly, righting himself just as you did.

“Perhaps some insight on the battle then?” Obi-wan goaded, gesturing to the holomap before him, amusement sparkling in his eyes as he watched his padawan squirm beneath his gaze.

“Well I-“ you could hear the lost tone in Anakin’s voice as he desperately searched for something to say, you having half a mind to let him sit in the hot seat before you let your eyes roam over the map, happy to see that you recognized the battle Obi-wan was walking you through.

“The republic’s army comes from behind” you offered before things could get too awkward, feeling Anakin’s gaze snap in your direction as you spoke “on that ridge over there, flanking the enemy forcing them to surrender”

Obi-wan’s gaze turned to yours with a warm smile as he nodded, no doubt knowing you would know the answer even if you hadn’t been paying complete attention, before he flicked it back to his padawan, raising his eyebrows slightly as he spoke “very good padawan Y/L/N”

He held Anakin’s gaze for a moment longer, an unspoken conversation happening between the two of them before Obi-wan continued lecture like usual, turning back to face the rest of the room.

Taking the opportunity you leaned back towards Anakin again “if there’s one thing I don’t need your help with, it’s this class”

The smirk made another appearance on his mouth as he looked down at you, but this one felt different than before, warmer somehow, as he nodded “noted princess”

-

Whatever confidence you had bolstered from battle strategies quickly left you the minute you got to saber training.

Anakin was already in the center of the room, feet planted squarely on the mat as he spun his saber effortlessly around his body, concentration etched onto his face though you could tell even from across the room that he was just having fun with it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to whip your saber around with such precision that it seemed almost careless.

“You gonna come fight or having too much fun back there enjoying the show?”

You detested the amusement in his voice as you realized you’d spent much too long staring at him from the doorway. Unable to think of much of a response, you immediately cast your gaze down to your shoes, blindly making your way towards the mat, unclipping the saber from your belt.

“What no training sticks?” You asked with a bitter laugh as you turned on your lightsaber, giving it a half hearted twirl in your hand as you set your stance.

“Don’t worry I’ll try not to hurt you” he winked back as he did the same, making you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

You waited for him to make the first attack, the two of you spinning in a circle around one another, each waiting for the other to strike first.

Not once did that stupid smirk fall from his face, frustration rising more and more within you with each step until you couldn’t take it anymore, deciding to suck it up and make the first move.

Swinging your saber down at him Anakin deflected the blow with little more than a flick of his wrist, barely moving from his original position no doubt in an attempt to show you how easily he could win if he wanted to. Fine, if that’s how he wants to play it.

You barely gave yourself time to recover before making another swing, Anakin deflecting with another simple movement, but you were back at it. Blow after blow Anakin’s saber met yours at every thrust effortlessly, but still you push forward, kept getting closer, not even noting that Anakin never bothered to take a step back. Not noticing how close you got to him until his empty hand shot out mid swing, capturing your wrist and disarming you with a twist, your saber now held tightly in his hand.

Before you could even comprehend what had happened he yanked hard on your arm, twisting you wildly until your back came crashing against his chest, one arm holding your saber and wrapping around your waist to pin you against him the other pressing his blade right up against your throat.

You could’ve screamed in frustration, at how easily he had pinned you, at how effortlessly he seemed to be able to block everything you threw at him, at how close and vulnerable you were now that he had you now pinned against him.

“What is this some game for you? Are you just toying with me?” You spat back at him, not bothering to hide the anger in your voice.

You heard a deep chuckle from behind you, could feel it ruminate up through his chest as it pressed you even further into his chest before he spoke, voice low and right in your ear, his breath tickling the shell of it with each word “I’m teaching you princess. Now use that big brain of yours and figure something out”

And you could’ve laughed at his so called advice, at how easy it is to tell someone to figure something out when you didn’t have a saber against your throat.

Instead you decided you were done fucking around.

Picking your foot up you slammed it down hard on the jedi’s left foot at the same time rearing your head back harshly to make contact with his nose, both attacks catching Anakin enough by surprise that he released his hold on you, stumbling back and releasing his grip on your saber enough that you could slip it from his grasp, pivoting on the spot and pointing the tip of the blade right at the jedi’s throat.

Anakin in response held his nose in his hand, pinching the bridge of it as he completely ignored your saber pointed at him, giving you a disappointed glare from overtop of it.

He sniffed and wiggled his nose before shaking his head and bating off your saber with his own half-heartedly “you know that trick won’t work anywhere but here”

“Good thing I don’t need it to work anywhere but here” you returned with a smirk, stepping back a few feet before dropping back into a fighting stance.

Anakin offered nothing more than a disappointed sigh before he dropped into a stance of his own, giving his nose one last check before he launched forward to attack.

You had no problem dodging each of his blows, your body always out of the way of the arc of his saber. The issue arose when it came to deflecting them. Swing after swing your saber was always there to meet his but the effort of stopping each of the jedi’s much more powerful swings had your arms shaking after mere minutes, your feet scrambling back to try and avoid the brunt of each blow as much as possible.

Anakin, however, seemed to zero in on your weakness immediately, never relenting as he swung again and again. You in response started to try and redirect each blow, hoping that redirecting the power of the swing would take the load off your arms.

That was until his saber seemed to hit yours at just the right speed, just the right angle, that the force of it reverberated down to your hands, your grip faltering for just a second but it was enough to have the cool metal of the hilt of your saber slip from your grasp.

Anakin hit immediately with another blow, effectively knocking your saber out of your hands.

You watched dejectedly as your saber slid out from your grasp and flew across the room. With a small sigh you held your empty hands up defensively ready for Anakin to sheath his saber and start listing off all the things you did wrong.

Instead you watched as Anakin stayed rigid in his position, lightsaber still held in front of you, knees still bent ready to strike.

“I get it, you win, I’ll get ‘em next time” you pushed mock enthusiasm into your voice as you started to make your way off the mat in the direction you saw your saber go when a blue column of light swung down just in front of you, barring your movement.

“So in an actual battle your plan is just to give up when you lose your lightsaber?” Anakin’s chiding voice had you gritting your teeth as your head snapped in his direction, little more than an amused smirk on his face as he talked “maybe offer your neck to the sith for an easy decapitation”

“No I’ll-“ frustrated words died in your throat as you sought an end for your sentence. You were tired, sweat had your robes sticking to your torso uncomfortably and every muscle you had burned, now was not the time for his mind games.

“You’ll what?” he pushed forwards, retracting his lightsaber so it now was held in that defensive position you were now all to used to seeing him in.

“I don’t know I’ll figure something out” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Then figure something out” he goaded with a raised brow before striking, his saber moving slightly slower than you knew he was capable of, giving you plenty of time to side step out of the way.

“Okay I get it” you called back to him as you dodged another swing, taking a step back towards the edge of the mat “you’ve made your point”

“I’ve made my point when you stop thinking of this as just training” he shot back with another swing of his saber, pushing forward forcing you to take another step back “this isn’t just to get through training so you can advance in the jedi ranks this is about survival” another swing, another dodge and another step back “this is about making sure you stand a chance out on the battle field” you felt the floor beneath your heels start to give way, your toes balancing on the edge of the mat “this isn’t some game Y/N”

You felt your irritation grow within you with each word. You knew this wasn’t some game, you had been outside of the walls of the temple, you had been on a battle field, you knew you needed help with your fighting skills but who was he to decide after one day that you weren’t taking this seriously enough.

You watched as he set up for his next attack, as his foot landed far out in front of him as he lunged forward, the whole world seeming to slow around you as you side stepped the saber, Anakin’s hand sailing past you effortlessly. Without a second thought you seized his wrist, giving it a small twist in the wrong direction as you pulled him forward with it, effectively knocking the jedi off his balance.

Before he could realize what was happening Anakin was sailing forward, past you, to the ground below as you pivoted around to face him from atop the mat, his lightsaber now clutched firmly in your grasp.

Spinning slightly in the air so that his shoulder first made contact with the floor Anakin slid a few inches on the ground, coming to a stop on his back and looking up at you only to see his own lightsaber pointed down at his throat.

“Do you want to offer up your neck for an easy decapitation now?”

And to your surprise you heard nothing back but a laugh. A sound you didn’t think Anakin Skywalker was even capable of.

“That was good Y/N”

You felt your feet faulter beneath you, your knees nearly giving out, was that a compliment?

Your mind was still reeling as you shut down his saber and dropped it to the ground next to you, because Anakin Skywalker did not compliment you. Tease, chastise, bully sure he did all of those things but never compliment. And he certainly didn’t smile at you like he was doing now.

It was a weird sight to see, Anakin grinning from the ground below you, eyes twinkling slightly as his whole face changed with it, and to your horror you found a part of you liking the way it looked on him, as he extended his hand out to you.

Before you could even think better of it you reached out and grabbed his hand, helping to haul him to his feet, ignoring the slight tingle his touch left on your skin, blaming the way your cheeks felt hot beneath his gaze on the exertion of fighting him.

“You may never overpower your opponent but you’re fast” Anakin continued on as if nothing had changed, dusting himself off, the hint of a smile still playing on his lips as he talked “use that, dodge until you have them making sloppy attacks then strike as soon as you can”

It took you too long to notice that he was waiting for you to say something, little more coming out of your mouth than a half-hearted “yeah” that had his brows drawing in confusion.

Stooping slightly, he came down to your eyelevel, nose nearly close enough to touch your own, and for a brief moment staring deeply into each eye before shaking his head softly “that was probably too much for today wasn’t it”

Still you didn’t respond, not sure if you could’ve if you tried, for some reason unable to pull your gaze from Anakin as he looked at you, fluffy hair framing his face perfectly as if you hadn’t spent the last two hours dueling, as if you weren’t drenched in sweat.

Anakin frowned back in response, a single hand coming out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before he could think better of it. Then bending down and picking up his lightsaber from where you had dropped it “get some rest princess”

He spoke softly, softer than you had ever really heard him speak before he started to make his way towards the exit, leaving you standing on the edge of the mat, before he called out “I mean it, you did well today”

It was only after he left that it dawned on you, he had used your actual name.

-

Maybe it was naive of you to think that things could change so quickly.

That all it took was one decent lesson from him and the two of you could seamlessly slip into a weird sort of friendship.

Maybe you just wanted to believe you could put everything behind you so easily that you assumed he wanted to do the same.

You’d heard people gush about Anakin Skywalker before. About how helpful he could be, how nice, how charming.

You never got to meet that side of Anakin Skywalker, the man locking that part of himself from you practically the moment he met you. But you had really thought you were starting to see it these past few weeks.

The teasing comments had started to disappear, or they at least lost all their edge, coming off as more inside jokes than anything. He walked you to class every day, some days going out of his way to find you before he started to head in that direction. Your personal space found itself being invaded by him more and more, Anakin no longer going out of his way to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. Lingering touches, wandering eyes, inside jokes that had the two of you seeking out each others gaze in crowded rooms to silently revel in what was just said in a way only the two of you would understand.

Anakin Skywalker was quickly becoming your friend.

It was why when you got notified you were heading out on a mission to track down a bounty hunter with him for the first time ever you weren’t dreading the experience.

No you were actually excited.

Excited as you clipped your saber to your belt and headed out of your room.

Excited as you rounded the corner to head to your transport ship.

Excited as you stepped foot on the entrance ramp.

Excited as-

“I just don’t understand why she has to come with me”

It was as if a lead ball had dropped into your stomach. The excitement evaporating on the spot as a numbness took over and your step faltered, your body freezing in place just steps down from the ships entrance.

Because you knew that voice, but even worse you knew that tone. The anger, the contempt, the annoyance.

All it took was one simple phrase and you were ripped back into the same existence of just weeks ago before you had fallen for all of Anakin Skywalkers tricks.

“I agreed to train her and I’ve been doing that why does she have to hijack my missions now”

And you wished you could say his words didn’t affect you. Afterall just a few weeks ago you would’ve expected to hear them from him, you’d practically grown up hearing this resentment for merely existing in his vicinity.

Then why did they hurt so much now?

Why did they have a painful lump starting to grow in your throat?

Why did they make you wish the ground would swallow you whole on the spot?

Why did you ever think you could be friends with Anakin Skywalker?

“Yes master”

Anakin’s final words snapped you from your daze but still you had to force your legs to move you forward slowly, making sure that as Obi-wan exited the ship you were an appropriate distance back from the entrance.

He gave you a kind smile as he exited. As easy as it would have been to resent Obi-wan due to his proximity to Anakin you could never bring it upon yourself. “May the force be with you Y/N” he offered you with a small head bow.

“Thank you master Kenobi” you responded easily, mirroring his bow.

And he looked like he wanted to say more. Perhaps apologize for his padawan, perhaps offer parting words of wisdom, instead he seemed to swallow them, giving you one more slightly tense smile before departing, leaving you with no where to go but up the ramp.

Anakin’s eyes were on you the second you came into view, his face morphing too easily into a soft, friendly smile. “Hey, you ready?”

And it was the way he could flip the switch so easily, act so flawlessly that everything was okay, so effortlessly at ease.

Weeks ago you would have bit back, would’ve offered back some scathing comment, some backhanded remark. It was one thing that kept you from outright hating the young Skywalker. For every insult he spat you always had one to hurl back at him. He could insult you, berate you, belittle you, but you always came back swinging.

Right now though you didn’t have it in you.

You offered nothing more than a small nod of your head, not missing the way his smile morphed into a frown at it.

Maybe he was expecting you to say something, maybe he was gearing up for a fight, maybe he really thought you hadn’t heard him.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care what was running through his head at this moment.

You brushed past him towards the cockpit not missing the way his eyes never left you as you did so, not missing the way his hand hovered just over your arm, not missing the way he so hesitantly followed you.

You just had to get through this one mission and you could go back to ignoring Anakin Skywalker.

You weren’t as excited for that prospect as you thought you would be.

-

An involuntary hiss slipped past your lips the second your left foot hit the ground, your weight quickly shifting back to your right to avoid the pain, overcorrecting just enough to knock yourself off balance, all weight balanced dangerously on the edge of one foot as your arms reached out half-hazardly seeking anything solid to steady yourself.

Just before you could tip over another body slotted itself beside you, shoulders fluidly depositing themselves beneath your arm as another arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into Anakin’s slide as he swore quietly “I told you to stay put”

You laughed bitterly at that, forcing yourself to lean back away from him as much as possible even as the arm on your waist tightened, his other hand clipping his saber to his belt so that it could come up and grab the hand he had thrown around his shoulders, effectively pinning you to his side as he started to drag you back to the wall “Yeah sure so you can just leave me”

You felt him still at your words, the grip on your hand and waist slackening for a second as your words seemed to hit him physically, your position keeping you from properly viewing his face as his voice came out softer than you had ever heard him “I wouldn’t do that”

His tone caught you by surprise. If there was one thing you knew about Anakin Skywalker it was that the man was loud, the way he carried himself, spoke, hell the way he flew reeked of confidence to the point of arrogance. Anakin was anything but the soft, almost vulnerable tone that just left him.

And you felt a part of you already starting to reach out to him, ready to pull him into your side and assure him that you knew that, assure him that you knew he was a good person, to tell him that you trusted him.

But another part of you couldn’t give up the way he tried bench you. How after everything you had been through: all the training, the way he seemed to go out of his way to be nice to you lately, how everything seemed to be looking up, he still thought you were nothing more than a nuisance, a less than.

Less than capable, less than a good jedi, less than an apt fighter, less than worthy of his trust.

His motion continued after the brief pause, the two of you finally reaching the wall and Anakin taking care to slowly set you down against it, a hand supporting your calf as you squatted down, careful to keep your foot off the ground.

“You’re right that’s probably a touch too far even for you, so instead you want to what scold me for getting in your way? Tell me I’m a shitty jedi for getting myself injured? Pull my hair and call me ugly?”

Anakin only sighed in response, one hand coming up to tangle his fingers in his hair as the other planted on his hip, Anakin doing nothing but looking down at you in your position on the floor. “why are you always so determined to see the worst in me?”

Again the softness in his tone gave you pause, the sincerity in it something you had only gotten used to in the past few weeks. “Anakin that’s all you’ve ever shown me”

“not lately” his reply came out rushed, a note of exasperation crawling its way onto his voice “lately we were good. At least I thought we were good”

You debated your next words for a second, debated how much vulnerability you were ready to show to the man who has been nothing but hot and cold with you for the past few weeks “I thought we were too”

“so what happened?”

“You tried to get me kicked off this mission” your answer was quick and blunt, eyes immediately picking up on the way his brow furrowed “don’t even try to deny it I heard you-“

“No that’s not-“ he cut you off quickly, letting out a frustrated sigh before continuing “I was trying to do the right thing”

“The right thing?” you echoed back now furrowing your own brow.

“You coming here was an unnecessary risk-“

“ah so you still don’t trust me” you interjected quickly, watching closely the way his entire body seemed to recoil at your words.

“What no-“

“we’ve spent weeks training, you’ve given me good advice, I’ve gotten better you’ve said so yourself. So I don’t get why you still don’t-“

“it’s not that-“

“So then what you still can’t stand to be alone with me for that long?”

“Y/N!” he finally cut you off with a small shout, crouching down in front of you close enough that he nearly occupied your entire field of vision, physically forcing you to pay attention to him rather than let your mind run any longer. “I was just trying to protect you”

Your eyes bounced back and forth between his for a moment, trying to decern the truth, trying to find the underlying meaning. “I don’t know why you think I need your protection. I can handle myself”

Another dejected sigh from Anakin, neither of you moving for a tense few seconds before you heard a muttered “forget it” underneath his breath as he pushed himself up to a standing position.

“we need to get out of here” he offered a hand to you, helping you stand though kept his gaze planted on the back door of the building “we’ll stick to the alleyways and use nothing but blasters if we have to, the sabers will be a dead giveaway”

And though you wanted to push the subject more you knew he was right, get yourself through this mission and you could go back to avoiding Anakin Skywalker. It had quickly become a mantra for you.

You let him pull you softly out the back door, Anakin carefully checking around each corner before ushering you forward, helping you hobble on your one good leg slowly back towards your ship. That was until you heard an eerily familiar voice around the next bend.

“Find the jedi scum and bring them to me. The separatists have plans so I want them alive do you understand me?”

Anakin didn’t hesitate before pushing you back against the nearest wall, using his own body to try and shield yours from view as he pinned you against it, one arm bracing himself against it just over your head.

You looked up at him with wide eyes as the two of you listened intently, footsteps slowly drawing much too close for your comfort.

From this distance you could clearly see the set in Anakin’s jaw as he kept his eyes planted at the nearest corner, muscles tense ready to pounce at a moments notice. That was when the thought struck you.

“Quick kiss me”

Anakin’s entire body froze at your words, his eyes snapping to meet yours blown wide in confusion and shock.

“Come across two people kissing in an alleyway they’re certainly not going to expect them to be jedi so quick” You explained in a harsh whisper, giving his robes a quick tug.

Anakin, however, stayed rooted in place, elbow on his arm planted on the wall locking in place to prevent him from getting any closer to you, wide eyes cemented on your face as his chest didn’t even rise with breath.

“Ani quick” you hissed, trying to snap him out of whatever trance he was in.

The footsteps continued to grow louder, the soft drag of a heel against the pavement your only indication that they were steps away from your hiding spot.

Anakin still didn’t respond, gave no indication that he had heard you after your first command. To no avail you tried to silently beg him to move with your eyes.

“Hey what’re you-“

That was all you let them get out before you made your next decision, grabbing for the blaster on Anakin’s hip you aimed and fired, the shot hitting them square in the forehead sending the hunter to the ground before they could even finish their question.

The blaster noise seemed to finally snap Anakin out of it, a soft shake to the Jedi’s head being the only indication that anything had been wrong as he wordlessly pushed himself off of you and snapped his gaze down to the dead man before you.

“What the fuck was that Anakin?” You hissed, giving his chest a small shove.

Anakin’s eyes, however, never strayed from the unconscious body beneath your feet, his chest heaving with each breath as he kept his jaw locked in place.

“Anakin” you tried calling his name again, another push to his chest, still his eyes never strayed from the ground, his body staggering slightly as he let you push him “you blew our cover and because what? You’re so disgusted by me you can’t put up with one stupid kiss for half a second?”

Finally you got a reaction, his stark blue eyes finally snapping up to meet yours, a steel hard gaze you weren’t entirely prepared for, eyes that begged you to drop it.

You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly at his look, limping a few steps back from him as you shook your head, the heels of your palms coming up to dig tiredly into your eyes “Even after all that’s happened you really still hate me so much you’d jeopardize the mission to get out of a kiss”

“It can’t happen like that” His voice surprised you, the words in of themselves confusing but his tone throwing you off more than anything, an almost pained ring in it sending you sparling.

“What?”

A quiet swear from under his breath as he started to pace “Our first” he called louder, as if that were an  explanation, his hands clenching at his sides “It shouldn’t happen like that, it can’t”

And you could feel the frustration start to rise within you, the anger from his inaction ebbing to confusion “Ani slow down what is happening right now”

The nickname seemed to have the desired effect, his pace slowing to a soft stop, eyes snapping up to meet yours once again, an almost guilty expression on his face as he stood before you, Anakin Skywalker looking almost small before you for the first time ever “Do you know how many times I’ve thought of it?” he asked you softly, an anxious hand running through his hair as his eyes broke to look at anything but you “How many times I almost just-“ and he cut himself off with a sigh, a soft shake in his head as he looked down at his shoes, a small scoff escaping before he continued “to think that the first time it would happen was to maintain some stupid cover. That it didn’t mean anything. I couldn’t do it”

A part of your brain was lighting up with realization, another part pushing it back down with denial. He couldn’t be talking about kissing you, not now, not after sending you years of signals that said otherwise “Anakin what are you saying?”

His eyes connected with yours again, a pained expression and a small tilt of his head telling you to stop pretending you didn’t know, begging you to move past faking obliviousness.

But still a part of you was reeling back, sending a huff of air through your nose as you shook your head “How many times could you have really thought about it, you just started being nice to me a week ago”

“Years worth” the words came out on his next exhale, a small shrug in his shoulder as he answered “at least since we were nine”

But that didn’t make any sense, that couldn’t possibly be true “This isn’t funny”

A small bitter laugh escaped him in response, a soft shake of his head as he spoke “believe me sweetheart I’m not laughing”

You barely registered the words, your mind already reeling as it went over every thing he’s ever said to you since then, “you’ve been nothing but mean to me since I’ve met you” your words were soft, spoken more to yourself than to him but still Anakin opened his mouth to respond, your voice cutting him off before he could “always criticizing me in front of the masters, mocking my attempts to learn, making me doubt my own abilities”

“I’m sorry”

And some part of your brain registered that those were not words Anakin used lightly, knew the weight those words held for him. Another part knew it still wasn’t enough.

“You’re sorry?” You scoffed “you made me dread every moment I had to spend in your presence for years and the best you have is I’m sorry?”

Anakin had no response to that, his jaw visibly clenching as he fought to maintain eye contact with you, but no words came, he had no excuse, no real way to make up for it, and you both knew it.

“Why?” and the question shouldn’t matter to you, the ends didn’t justify the means, they couldn’t, but still you needed to know.

Anakin took a second, drawing in a deep breath as his gaze shifted to your feet, a small shrug of one shoulder before he answered “I wanted to get your attention”

And like that you were ready to start yelling again, because surely it wasn’t that simple, surely Anakin wasn’t that stupid, that childish. Instead, he continued on.

“I don’t think I realized that was what it was at first, just knew I liked it when you got in my face and pushed back, liked when you got so wrapped up in me that the rest of the world ceased to exist for a little bit” another pause, another deep breath “then once I figured it out I knew I needed to shut it down, the code meant I couldn’t get close, couldn’t form attachments. Pissing you off felt like a good way to keep you at arm’s length while still getting you to notice me”

A million different emotions swirled around inside of you, each trying to claw their way to the surface. You wanted to yell at him, tell him how stupid that was, berate him for having the emotional regulation skills of a child. You wanted to stay silent, let him stew in his miserly, in his guilt. You wanted to cry, the catharsis, the confusion, the mix of conflicting emotions all welling up inside of you, overwhelming you.

Instead, you spoke softly, your voice sounding almost hollow on your own ears “you know when you first came to the temple all the other kid’s thought you were weird”

Anakin’s gaze shot up to meet yours, a slight furrow in his brow as he tried to figure out where you were going with this.

“Looking back I think they were just jealous. You came in later than the rest of us but you already had a master, Obi-wan Kenobi at that, and you already had the councils attention, so they all tried to stay away from you” you took a deep breath, swallowing down the slight shake in it “I thought that was dumb and that I was going to be your friend so I went up to you and I was nice. And at first I thought you were nice. Maker I was so excited to make a new friend and then the next time I saw you it was like a switch had been flipped” Anakin’s disappointed sigh barely registered as you continued “so I tried to be funny, then entertaining, then chill. I tried everything I could to be someone who was worth your time”

You could practically hear Anakin’s teeth grinding as he clenched his fist at his side, leaning back to slump against the wall as he thought for a moment before speaking.

“When I first got to the temple I was scared.” He admitted softly, gaze casted out blankly to the wall on the other side of the alley “I had just lost Qui-Gon, the council didn’t seem to like me, I missed my mother. Then out of nowhere this beautiful girl my age came up to me, took my hand and told me that it was going to be okay, that I was going to be okay, and she said it with such conviction that I couldn’t help but believe her”

You waited with bated breath for him to go on, for him to fill in the gaps of your own story.

“Then what the council said to me about fear hit and I became ashamed of having been a coward, ashamed of needing someone to hold my hand, ashamed of being weak”

You couldn’t have stopped the small chuckle from escaping if you had tried “Anakin you are a lot of things but weak isn’t one of them”

He finally met your gaze at the sound, the corner of his lips tilting up in response “I certainly made sure it appeared that way”

Another silence blanketed the two of you as you each digested the others story, Anakin finally breaking it with a soft chuckle “you were an intimidating kid you know that?”

“I was not” you denied it with an easy shake of your head, barely giving the statement any thought.

“you were” he persisted nonetheless “you were the perfect jedi student, Obi-wan was always on me about being more like you. Listening to him better, meditating better, paying more attention in class”

“Bet that didn’t help the whole hating me thing” there was no resentment in your voice, a soft understanding if anything.

“Don’t you get it sweetheart” he smiled sadly “I’ve never hated you. I’m not sure I could if I tried”

You shook your head softly at that, eyes casted out over the alley around you, speaking after another short beat “come on Skywalker, let’s get back to the ship”

Anakin stayed leaned against the wall for another moment, giving himself a pause to study you before he pushed himself up and offered you his arm to help you walk with a small nod.

You hobbled further down the ally with his help, nothing but the sounds of your deep breaths until you spoke in little more than a whisper “you know you were so busy ‘not hating’ me I don’t think I ever got to know the real Anakin Skywalker”

There was a slight pause in his step at your words, his eyes shooting to the side to meet yours as he raised a brow “are you sure you want to?”

“If he’s anything like the man I’ve been around for the past few weeks” you answered with a small shrug “then yeah. I really do”

Anakin’s face broke out into a wide grin at your words, and you found yourself admiring it once again, for the first time your own mind remaining quiet as you did rather than chastising you for it as usual.

“I’ll try not to disappoint Y/N”

You chuckled softly at that, “Given your previous experience you’ve set the bar exceptionally low” you pointed out giving his shoulder a playful shove “ but I’ll hold you to that”

[st7rns]

𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒, m. sturniolo

✿ IN WHICH, everytime matt messed up his girlfriend’s lip gloss

✿ WARNINGS, black!reader, fluff, swearing, kinda suggestive at the end??

✿ RORA SPEAKS, i hope ygs like this! ik it’s kinda short but i js wanted to write smth quick n easy and im a literal lip gloss addict so.

NO. 1

i’m standing in the mirror, layering my lips with my favorite pink lip gloss. my lips were already lined with my signature brown lip liner and the lip gloss just added the cherry on top. me and matt were going out today for lunch, so of course, i wanted to look good.

in the reflection of the mirror, i see matt walk into our shared room. “you look really pretty, baby” he compliments me which makes me smile and reply with a shy, “thank you.” even though me and matt had been dating for almost 6 months, he still made me nervous.

“so pretty i wanna kiss you” he leans in and gives me a sweet, but long kiss. i break away and pout, turning to look back to the mirror at my smudged lip gloss.

“matt!” i whine, “i literally JUST put this on.” i give him a stern look. he only laughs and wraps his arms around my waist from behind, “i’m sorry i just can’t help it when your lips look so damn kissable”

i roll my eyes in reply before reapplying my lip gloss and saying very seriously to matt, “that was your only chance of kissing me tonight, because i’m not about to be putting this back on a thousand fucking times”

matt unwraps his from around me to throw them in the air. “what the fuck? that’s not even fair!”

NO. 2

i was getting ready to record tiktok’s and take pictures because my hair looked good as fuck today and i didn’t want it to be for nothing. i add the final touch, lipgloss, before smiling at my reflection and heading to the triplets’ living room.

their living room literally has the best lighting in the whole house. i scroll through my saved tiktok sounds and land on nicki minaj’s black barbie song, the lyrics saying “i’m a fuckin’ black barbie. pretty face, perfect body.” and instantly smile and choosing it.

as i’m fixing my necklace so it fits just right, i hear the triplets walk through the front door. i lock eyes with nick first, who smiles at me “damn, you look fucking good!”

matt sets the fast food on the counter before looking me up and down, “my girl always looks good” he says proudly. chris snorts and mocks him in a childish voice before saying, “what the fuck did you expect? her to look bad?”

nicks punches chris in the arm, making him grab his shoulder in pain. “stop trying to start arguments cause you’re fucking miserable”

matt laughs and kisses me on the cheek, “she could never look bad” i smile and before i could say anything, he grabs my chin and kisses me on the lips. i immediately break away and groan, “matt, my lip gloss!”

“just put it on again” he shrugs, not even feeling bad. i throw my head back in annoyance, “it was the last of it! i can’t just put it on again” i grab my phone and storm off to the bathroom.

“you know i can just buy you another one?” i hear him yell but i ignore it and slam the bathroom door.

NO. 3

i’m laying on matt’s bed, scrolling through pinterest. we just got back from filming a car video, that lasted longer than usual because chris had to pee a hundred times. that kid needs to really stop drinking pepsi so much.

matt comes in the room, fresh out the shower. he lays down next to me and i can smell his cocoa body wash. i give him a soft smile as i run my hands through his hair. i can’t help but admire him. everything about him. his blue eyes. his pink lips. his stubble above his lips.

“what?” he laughs, staring back at me. i shake my head and quietly say “nothing. you just look so handsome right now” he smiles back at me and snakes a hand around my waist, pulling me closer.

he stares down at my lips before back up at my eyes. i feel him trace patterns on my waist. i look at his lips as well, which only gives him the confirmation he needs to kiss me. it’s a slow and sweet kiss but quickly turns heated, his tongue exploring my mouth.

he breaks away to gasp and cover his hand with his mouth, “i forgot about you’re lip gloss” he giggles. i laugh with him and playfully roll my eyes, “for the first time, i don’t give a fuck about my lip gloss,” i hook my leg around his waist and flip myself on top of him.

“now kiss me” i say against his ear. matt wastes no time connecting our lips and dropping his hand to my ass, squeezing the plump skin.