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gothcsz · 2 days ago

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part six of the neighbors series. thank you to the anon who sent this angsty prompt for getting the gears turning in my head, hehe. these two are something else, i tell ya. the miscommunication is just so... i am pushing them together forcing them to kiss at this point lol hope you guys like it 🖤 and feel free to send me more things for this little au!

javier peña x f!reader. ~2k word count. nothing too extreme to tag, it's straight up just angst and yearning.

Being with Mateo is nice, sweet even. He calls when he says he will, makes you laugh, and remembers how you take your coffee. And you really do try with him. You take interest in his hobbies, hold his hand when you’re walking down the street, and even let him take you to bed.

The sex is fine, nothing spectacular and just barely above average. Being with him is normal and safe.

But every now and then, your mind drifts to what it would be like if it was Javier in his place. You shake those thoughts off as fast as they come. If you’re going to move on, it has to be for real, not half-heartedly.

It’s a little easier to bury those feelings now that Javier is caught up in something—or someone—of his own.

She’s over at his place constantly, her laugh sometimes drifting through the walls late at night. It feels like they’re always whispering to each other, talking until all hours, and you hate how that little spark of jealousy sits in your chest.

You catch yourself wondering what her name is, how they met, if she gets that look from him—the one that he used to give you when he’d make you laugh.

You pass Javier in the hallway sometimes, and when he offers a half-smile and rushed, “Hey,” you return it with something tight and brief, barely meeting his gaze.

But he’s always in his own world these days, buried in work, and if he notices you distancing yourself, he doesn’t show it. Or maybe he’s too distracted to care. Either way, it reinforces the choice you’ve made to keep things this way.

Every time you pass his closed door, you tell yourself you’re doing the right thing. Him being absent is the push you need to keep stepping back, to keep looking at apartments a few neighborhoods over, just in case.

One day, Mateo notices you’re distracted during dinner, poking at your food more than eating it.

“Querida,” he says, nudging your hand, “you alright?”

“Yeah.” You force a smile. “Just thinking about work.” You try to shake off the odd feelings you can’t seem to put to rest—the unease of Javier wrapped up in someone else and it working for him but not for you, leaving you more restless than before.

He’s become a background hum of missed chances and bad timing.

Mateo catches the shift in your expression and rests his hand on yours. “If it’s about your place, I don’t mind helping you look around. Maybe even do a little apartment tour spree together this weekend?”

His warmth stirs something in you, a pang of guilt for not giving him the part of you that’s still tucked away. “Yeah, that sounds nice. I’d like that.”

Javier’s schedule continues to keep him out of the complex and you can’t remember the last time you saw him at the embassy.

Granted, you work in different departments but still, there was enough overlap for you to at least catch glimpses of him throughout the day.

There’s a wall between you two—one he doesn’t even realize is there.

One evening, as you’re walking up to your door, you hear his low voice in the hallway, murmuring something to that beautiful brunette that you feel so strongly against because of your own insecurities.

It strikes a nerve, seeing her leaned up against his door like that with Javier crowding her, his fingers tucking a strand of her curly hair behind her ear.

They don’t even notice you and that fucking stings, then you remind yourself that you’re being ridiculous and unlock your door quickly, barely giving him a second glance when he finally turns his head to acknowledge you. You just shut your door.

Later, as you sit by your window with a glass of wine, a part of you wishes you could confront him about it—how you miss having a friend even if these feelings you’ve grown for him have tainted your friendship.

But instead, you brush it off. It’s better this way, the distance and silence. Cutting him off quietly.

You have Mateo now, and maybe in time, those feelings you’re trying to force yourself to feel for him will start to feel more real.

In the meantime, you keep Mateo close and Javier at arm’s length, praying the ache in your chest will fade into something easier to ignore.

When things with Helena spiral, Javier’s entire world dips into a darkness he struggles to fight off.

He’d been steeling himself for months, pretending that what he felt for her was just a part of the job, just another way to gather intel, to stay sharp. But things had shifted, unraveled into something he wasn’t prepared for.

She had become more than an informant; something tangible and real, someone he genuinely cared about. He should have known better than to let it get personal—mixing affection with the job, letting his heart get tangled up in a life as brutal as theirs.

It’s in the wake of this disaster that you pop into his mind again. The truth is, he’d forced you out of it completely, buried you beneath his work, his duties, his time with her.

After all, what place did someone like him, wound up in the cartel’s mess, have with someone like you? You were safe, building a life with an uppity banker, someone who could give you things Javier’s world would never allow.

Security, stability, and something close to a normal life—things he could barely imagine anymore.

And he’d see it, too, in the way you were with Mateo. He could hear it sometimes through the walls, that light laugh of yours, the one that’d once been his to hear on a quiet afternoon or over a shared meal. Now it belonged to someone else.

Javier would watch the asshole come by, flowers in hand, gifts in his arms, looking like the kind of guy he could never be, the kind of guy you deserved.

Maybe that’s why he fell for Helena so quickly, so intensely. She was tough, resilient, unafraid of the shadows he’d cast around him. With her, he didn’t have to pretend.

They shared the same night-bound existence and he didn’t care that she was a prostitute. She understood, even when he didn’t, the danger of crossing those lines in his work, the way it weighed on him, without flinching at the blood on his hands.

But now… he’s haunted by what he should have seen coming. She’d been hurt, and every part of him feels complicit.

He couldn’t protect her, couldn’t protect himself from feeling it all in his bones, and the guilt wraps around his heart, squeezing so tight it might burst.

The weight of it pulls him under, and he finds himself wondering how he’s going to claw his way out. His work is far from over.

He's at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon one night when he realizes just how long it's been since he’s really seen you.

The ache that realization brings feels like another knife twisting in his chest. Your bright eyes, that quirky laugh you give when he actually manages to crack you up, and the way you can turn his chaos to calm without even trying—they’ve been missing from his life for months now, and he’s feeling the loss more deeply than he wants to admit.

With sluggish, heavy steps, he staggers across his apartment until he ends up at your door. He knocks, too loudly, too long, until you swing it open, looking bleary-eyed and definitely frustrated. He’s clearly woken you up.

“Hola, cariño—”

“It’s two in the goddamn morning, Javier. ¿Qué necesitas?”

You’ve got your arms crossed, and he blinks a few times, almost impressed with the improvement of your accent. He opens his mouth, trying to form the words, but you beat him to it, eyeing him up and down.

“Are you drunk? You reek of liquor, Peña.” Your tone is flat. “You need to go back home.”

“Te extraño,” he slurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I can’t be in there another second without feelin’ like I’m losing my damn mind.”

You’re sizing him up, at a war with yourself, and he lets his gaze wander even in his bleary state. You’re wearing that familiar robe with a slip dress underneath, and he has no idea if it helps or makes things worse.

“Then you should probably call your girl,” you say, voice cool. “Or go upstairs and bother Murphy. I have to be up early.”

You go to close the door, but his large palm spreads against it, steadying himself. “Javier—”

“Please,” he says, voice softer. “Don’t do this. Not tonight.”

For a moment, you search his eyes, your own gaze conflicted, and then, almost begrudgingly, you sigh. “Fine,” you mutter, “but you’re out by the time I’m up for work in the morning.”

You let him in, and he feels that distance in your voice like a physical wall between you. It’s his own fault—he knows it, hates it, but here you are, standing back to let him in anyway.

He stumbles, almost falling flat on his face, and your smaller hands catch him with a muttered curse. Like he’s a child.

You steer him to the couch with an exasperated huff, and even as you help him settle, he’s not sure if it’s the liquor making his chest tighten or the fact that you’re handling him with more care than he deserves.

You wrestle him out of his jacket, tugging it from his broad shoulders, then go for his boots.

The grunts you make in effort, the feeling of your hands on him—even if it’s just to deal with his drunk ass—makes him ache in a way that alcohol only magnifies.

His thoughts drift to places they have no business going. He’d tried to move past the want he felt for you, burying it under other bodies, other names, other distractions. But here you are in a thin slip dress under your robe and all he can think about is how it’d feel to have you moving against him, to finally let his hands roam your curves, bring you pleasure and fuck you like he’s sure no man has. Not even your goody-two-shoes of a boyfriend.

Once he’s settled on your couch, you leave, only to return a moment later with a glass of water, setting it on the coffee table with a quiet sigh. “If you need to puke, please use my bathroom,” you say flatly, “not the new couch.”

“New couch?” he mumbles, sitting up on his elbows and frowning at it. “What was wrong with the old one?”

You just shake your head, the patience gone from your expression. “Goodnight, Javi,” you say flatly, but he stops you before you leave.

“Thank you for this and I’m sorry—”

“Just stop,” you cut him off with a deep sigh. “You’re always apologizing and I don’t want to hear it. Get some rest.” And then you’re gone, the door to your room closing softly but definitively behind you.

After that night, he tries to make things go back to normal but the distance that happened during that time seems impossible to close now.

Every attempt he makes to lessen it only meets the cool edge of your guarded smile or your quick, polite excuses to cut conversations short. The silence between you has settled too deeply now, like it’s found a home where friendship used to be.

He doesn’t know what to do and you’re still stuck in your forced delusion that Mateo is what you want.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️: @persephone-girl . @almostempty . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @samanthajonees . @dontlookatme121 . @thundermartini . @dinanabuu . @cherrysugarx . @dontlookatme121 . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

#javier pena fanfic #javier pena fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader

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malk1ns · 20 hours ago

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november 8 2024 @ capitals, 4-2 win

the next part in my soulbond series (1, 2, 3, 4). hope you like it!

Sid can feel this season rapidly slipping out of his grasp.

He’d had a lot of talks with Kyle over the summer. Kyle was up-front about his plans for the year, honest and forthright about what he realistically thought the team could do. Their final conversation before Sid signed his extension ended with Kyle telling him, the Penguins are your team, Sidney, but if the direction we’re headed isn’t how you want to finish your career, I understand. It’s up to you.

He’d signed. He’s staying. It wasn’t ever really a choice.

Sid thinks there’s still a part of him that hoped, though. He’s never going to give up on winning, never going to stop chasing the ultimate goal, and the part of his brain that asks his barber to shave down the hair on his temples until the gray is less visible is the same part that clung to the idea of contending.

And, well, anything’s possible. They’re not even a quarter of the way through the season. But.

Worse than the team, though, Sid can feel Geno slipping away.

Geno’s been avoiding him since the Islanders game. After the hellish Carolina blowout, Sid tried to pin him down for a conversation, to actually talk about this bond and how they can fix it, but Geno slipped away, insulated from Sid on the plane by the poker game group and practically running up to his hotel room when they landed in DC.

For a moment Sid even considered going to morning skate to corner him, but Geno’s gameday routine is even more rigid than Sid’s own, and Sid can’t bring himself to mess up Geno’s rhythm, not on a day like today.

Games against Washington always have a little extra importance. Sid takes every game seriously, of course he does, but he won’t lie and say that the Capitals don’t stand out on the calendar more than the rest. Especially now, with records in sight and careers coming to an end.

It’s why he loses his temper and screams on the bench when they blow another lead again in the second.

Losing to an opponent because they’re just better than you is one thing. But what Sid can’t abide, won’t tolerate, is a lack of effort, sloppy play and ignoring the details and fundamentals, making careless mistakes that lead to chances against.

His line is playing well. He can’t say the same for anyone else.

At intermission, Sully stays out of the room at first, and Sid lets loose all his frustrations with the year so far, his anger at the losing streaks and his own struggles, and shouts the team down until they’re properly cowed. And when the coaching staff comes in again, Sid marches up to Sully and tells him to take Geno off the top line.

He says it loud enough for most of the guys to hear, but he doesn’t look over to see what face Geno’s making.

Geno’s been on his wing because of a bond he clearly doesn’t want, and Sid’s been taking advantage of it. If Sid can’t score with the wingers he has, he deserves any failures coming his way.

He spares a thought for his parents, somewhere up in the stands because Sid’s getting close to yet another milestone. Maybe he should tell them to go home.

It was the right decision. Partway through the third, Geno reads a rebound like only he can, breaks the tie, and the Penguins don’t look back.

Winning in Washington always means a lot, but even watching Alex smash his stick and yell at himself on the Capitals’ bench as time ticks down doesn’t make Sid feel better. He keeps his head down when he strips out of his gear, spends entirely too much time on a cooldown bike, and is the last one on the bus, barely making it before Sully would have started yelling about him being late.

At least they have the weekend off.

Sid can feel Geno watching him on the plane. Normally after a road trip like this, Geno would commandeer the window seat next to him, sprawl out and get his legs in Sid’s space, jostling him until Sid relaxed enough to laugh and poke back, the two of them picking at each other until they settled enough to get some sleep.

Nobody takes the empty seat next to Sid this time. He tugs his hat over his eyes and purposely thinks about nothing. At least it’s a short flight.

When they’re deboarding in Pittsburgh, for the first time ever Sid reaches out with the bond on purpose.

The recoil he gets from Geno is enough to send him practically running to his car, racing through the quiet streets to Sewickley faster than he’d normally drive. He feels sick.

Geno might hate him. It was Sid’s lagging production that pulled him into this bond, after all, chained Geno to his side for a week until Sid stopped being selfish and forced them apart again. Geno had been sick, Geno hadn’t been producing, and the second Sid let him free he scored, so… Sid can’t say with confidence that he wouldn’t be furious if their roles were reversed.

He’s so wrapped up in his own self-recriminations that he doesn’t realize Geno’s coming over until he hears a key in his lock, and suddenly Geno’s presence in the back of his mind is inescapable.

“Sid?” Geno calls, and Sid, sitting at his island in his dark kitchen, drops his head into his hands and waits.

When Geno finds him, he swears long and low, a tumble of Russian that Sid would have gotten the gist of even without the bond pulsing concern and guilt his way.

He flinches when Geno flicks the lights on, blinking up at where Geno’s suddenly looming over him.

“We need to talk,” Geno says, and Sid stares at him helplessly, because what is there to say?

Geno shakes his head and sits on the stool next to him, pressing their knees together. Sid feels a wash of relief at the contact so powerful he has to blink away dizzy darkness from the corners of his vision. Geno frowns, the downturned corners of his mouth digging lines into his face. In the harsh overhead lights, he looks haggard, skin pale under the remnants of his summer tan and the bags under his eyes dark and pronounced.

“My fault,” Geno says, holding up one big hand when Sid opens his mouth. “It’s me who starts this, like, after Sochi. I’m think probably I know it’s there and we’re ignore for so long it’s say, no more, has to happen. We have to fix or we’re sick for season.”

Sid shakes his head. “It’s me who made it…whatever,” he says, gesturing. He doesn’t know the right words for what’s happening to them, never read up on bonds because he never expected to have one. “Like, I needed you and made it…this.”

“You needed me,” Geno repeats, and his voice is toneless, but Sid feels a soft bloom of…something in the bond, something that makes him want to reach out and touch.

“I always need you,” Sid mutters, staring at his hands instead of Geno’s face. Almost twenty years together on this team and it shouldn’t feel so strange to admit, of course they need each other, but something about saying it now, out loud…the way he’s feeling, the way he can tell Geno is feeling, makes the words feel fraught.

There’s a long silence, and when Sid looks up, Geno’s biting his lip. “Don’t know what to do,” he admits, and Sid shouldn’t feel relief there, but at least he’s not alone in feeling totally lost.

There’s no real literature for this, not really. They haven’t even been able to have more than a few quick consults with bond specialists since they’ve been on the road.

Sid startles a little when Geno reaches out and covers Sid’s hands with one of his own. His palm is a little damp, but he’s warm, and his hand is big enough to cover both of Sid’s where they’re twisting in his lap.

It’s late. They both should get sleep, even with two full days off from games.

They sit in Sid’s kitchen in silence as night deepens outside.

#sidgeno #hockey rpf #my writing #my fic #24-25 series

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fxckn-sxck-fr · 3 days ago

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Okay so this idea is kind of meh but what about AU frat boy! Dick Grayson who everyone likes but with a reader who’s kind of wary of him like gets put off vibes and discovers to their horror he’s a serial killer? Like maybe catches him in the act? Could be romantic or platonic either or :)

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍…

!!! GN reader, egregiously long post, paranoia, mind games, brief mention of suicides, death, blood, dead body, can be translated as romantic or platonic, idk what else needs to be warned.

Frat boy Dick Grayson AU, you will forever be famous in my heart. Why haven’t I written something like this before.

He’s got it all. The charm, the good looks, the surprisingly tasteful humor (considering he’s a part of a frat)… what’s not to like about him? He’s the number one campus heart-throb, with just about anyone throwing themselves at his feet.

Well, everyone except you.

Because there’s just something so off about him. For whatever reason, alarm bells go off in your head whenever he’s near. Some may call it paranoia, some may call it straight-up jealousy. But to you, it’s something much more; enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck when he decides to sit next to you in lectures.

At first, you thought it was due to the envious looks from other students. I mean, the Dick Grayson has decided to sit next to you of all people? That’s bound to start some nasty one-sided shit from people you don’t even know. But no… it’s not the whispers or glares. It’s him. The voice in the back of your head practically screams that it’s him. You just don’t know why.

Again, he’s got it all. Charm, good looks, humor. Maybe what’s so off-putting is that he’s just so friendly. Due to his outgoing personality, it’s no shock to see him hanging around someone new every day, and it’s to the point where you’re convinced he knows everyone on campus by name. Maybe you just need to understand the nature of a social butterfly more. Then he’ll stop being so off-putting. Right?

But, the more you interact with him, the less sure you are. It drives you crazy when he picks you as his lecture buddy because there’s just something so wrong. But what? Is it his casual questions about your hobbies? His friendly, gentle shoulder-grabs when he wants your attention? His relaxed demeanor around someone who should realistically be a total stranger to him, as neither of you share the shame lifestyles outside of classes?

No, you randomly realized one day; it’s none of that.

It’s the fact that his smile never reaches his eyes.

Dick Grayson has beautiful crystal blues; you’ll give him that much. They’re bewitching to look into, and you’ll find yourself captivated by his gaze even if you aren’t big on eye contact. But whoever came up with the saying, “the eyes are the window to the soul” clearly never met Dick Grayson. No matter how warm his smile may be, it’s impossible to know what he’s truly thinking with how guarded his stare is. A damn mystery, with no clues other than the slightest hint of a knowing twinkle every now and then.

You quickly decided that it’s creepy as hell. Why would a guy who acts like an open book have eyes so frosty? Has anyone else noticed this, or are they too busy being charmed by his honey words and pearly whites? Maybe it’s a part of his allure. People drool over the secretive ones, don’t they?

(Upon having that thought, you’d feel a shiver go up your spine. You can hear the echo of Dick Grayson’s voice saying, “you’re a secretive one, (Y/N). I’ll admit, it’s kinda cute” somewhere in your mind.)

(If you recall correctly, it was the day where you began to wonder where exactly he heard your name from.)

But you’ve begun to observe this anomaly named Dick Grayson. You’ve begun to pick up on how he carries himself around other people, and something became immediately apparent. Whatever the deal is with weird, closed-off look he has in his eyes… it’s situational. Strategic, even. While you have yet to pick up on the pattern, some conversations — or people, even — warrant shimmering eyes filled with mirth, while others get that plotting, calculating stare.

And, for whatever reason, everything about you seems to earn the latter.

(Like when you think he doesn’t notice you watching him. A seat ahead of you, he’ll carry on with the cheerleader just fine, his eyes sparkling with whatever emotion he desires. Then, when the conversation lulls, he’ll subtly crane his head behind him the slightest bit, icy eyes darting in your general direction.)

(You might be going crazy, but you swear he smirks a fraction of an inch when your gazes accidentally connect.)

So, yeah. Either you’re reading into things way too much, or this guy’s just not what he seems to be on the surface. And if this is really the game of cat and mouse you think it is, you’re pretty sure he knows you’re on to him. Because why else would he give you a peek behind the curtains of his true intentions? Okay, maybe that’s a little too far, as you’re not sure what his true intentions are, but still… something about how he interacts with you — which seems to be a lot, by the way — just has this subtle taunting undertone to everything. Like he knows you know something and no one will believe you.

God, if only you actually knew what he knows you know. It would make this game of mental fuckery much more palatable.

Something is so off about Dick Grayson. You’re not sure if anyone else feels the same way, but it’s just… true. That jolt of fight or flight you get when he’s looking at you has been there since day one, and it will probably continue to be there for as long as you’re in the same classes as him. And you know what doesn’t help? The strange disappearances happening around campus. Because of course there has to be some sort of side plot happening. It’s not just enough that you have this weirdo friendly frat guy wanting to get all-chummy with everyone. Nope; students and faculty alike seem to be dropping like flies, some of them even found dead after an accident or an unfortunately successful suicide attempt.

So, maybe you consume too much true crime content. Maybe people are right about that shit fucking up your mentality, and now you’re just a paranoid loser who thinks everyone is out to get them. But… I mean… a charismatic guy who’s enchanted pretty much everyone within a ten-mile radius? Come on. Where have you heard that one before. The signs are right there. Why are you the only fucking person seeing them?! Why is no one else suspicious of this weirdo who’s obviously up to something?! Why is no one calling him out on this behavior?!

… Because it’s all in your head. Because you’ve officially lost it, and the only weirdo here is you. Because when a girl started having an allergic reaction, the one who was able to control the situation and save her life was none other than Dick Grayson. Because his tone was so serious, his eyes were so focused, and his hands were so gentle yet methodical as he administered her epipen. Because he went through breathing exercises with her to calm her down, and asked with a genuinely worried expression how she was feeling.

Because Dick Grayson is a nice person who wanted to walk her back to her dorm, and all you are is a judgmental creep who comes up with batshit crazy conspiracies when someone looks at them weird.

Maybe nothing is wrong with him. If there was, why would he look so sincere during that whole thing? Aren’t life or death situations the perfect way to pick up on people’s true natures? Being right there, all you saw was a natural-born leader commanding the room, eyes ablaze with conviction as he ordered you to hand that girl’s back to him so he can dig for the epi. Sure, he might get a strange look in his eyes every now and then, but does that really matter in the grand scheme of things? As long as he’s got his head on his shoulder when needed, a mischievous glance or two never hurt anyone.

That night, you walked back to your dorm feeling like a piece of shit. There was no plotting. There was no game of cat and mouse. The friendly frat boy was always just that; a friendly frat boy. So, now here you are, even going as far as to take the long way back from your 8 pm lecture in order to fully maximize this time to reflect. Maybe you should somehow apologize to him. While you didn’t outwardly do anything wrong, you’ve always had this slight distrusting attitude towards him, and it was about time you change it. Who knows, maybe you’ll be the one to take initiative and sit next to him. Start the conversation yourself, ask him some questions, just generally return the friendliness he’s always shown you.

That’s when the hairs on the back of your neck began to stand.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your foot barely even flat on the beaten path before you. He was near. You knew he was near. That fight or flight instinct has basically been conditioned to sense his presence at this point, and now here it was, screaming at you that he’s near. Whatever thoughts you had to make amends with Dick Grayson were immediately thrown out in favor of that old, reliable fear.

He’s near, but you don’t see him.

No. You hear him.

He’s humming. Somewhere behind the tall, untamed shrubbery next to the path, friendly frat boy Dick Grayson is humming an unfamiliar tune, his soft voice smooth as a stone in a river. However, what would probably sound soothing to a normal person instead fills you with a sense of dread. What the hell is he doing out here?! Close to 10 in the fucking night, singing a little tune like some fucking creep?

Then, you noticed it. The sounds of something heavy scuffing against the dirt. Or, rather, dragging.

Behind the bushes and trees, Dick Grayson is dragging something. At 10 in the night.

What the actual fuck.

Curiosity is a dangerous thing. As much as you sure as hell wanted nothing to do with whatever he’s doing, a dark voice in your brain — which sounded a bit too close to Dick Grayson’s voice — urged you to look. Come on, just a peek. This bastard’s been playing mind games with you all semester, hasn’t he? Don’t you wanna know what his intentions are for sure? I mean, what kind of a frat boy hangs out in the bushes while he could be out partying on a Friday night?

Isn’t this just weird, (Y/N)?

Before you even knew it, your feet were moving on their own. Gentle steps. Avoid the twigs, avoid the leaves. Do not let him hear you. With a feather-light touch, your hand steadied itself against a nearby tree as you used it for cover.

A few long, quiet breaths. Just to calm your nerves.

Then, you slowly craned your head out from behind the tree.

There he was, slightly hunched over with his back facing you. He had a fist full of something, though you couldn’t tell quite what it was due to the night’s shadows. Dark, inky stains caked his sweater, and while the naïve part of your brain wanted to call it mud, the dread in your gut knew better. You craned your head out a bit further to get a better look at the scene.

A body. In front of Dick Grayson’s hunched over form was a body lying face down. His fist was clutching its hair, assumingely dragging it by the head from… wherever. The new angle also gave you the advantage of seeing Dick’s other hand, clutching what looked to be a hammer cover in… definitely not mud.

He was still humming. That bastard was still humming after doing whatever the fuck he did to that poor person. That person… Dick finally stood up straight, lifting the head with him by their hair… that girl. It was the same one who had the allergic reaction. Bloodied and with a dented forehead — god, you were going to be sick — but you knew it was her. She was limp in his grasp, swaying aimlessly as Dick rotated her a bit as though he was admiring his own handiwork.

He killed her.

Dick Grayson killed her.

You didn’t move. Christ, how could you after seeing something so horrific? The alarm bells in your head were much louder than your own heartbeat, screaming for you to run run run run runrunrunRUNRUNRUNRUN—

His head suddenly swiveled towards you.

No more humming as his gaze found yours.

The two of you were locked in a stalemate, staring at each other with such intensity. Those icy blue eyes held no readable emotion, not even a hint of surprise that you caught him in the act. No; he just stared at you, one hand holding a fist-full of hair and the other absently fiddling with his hammer.

A sly smirk slowly broke out on his face.

He knew you were watching the entire time, didn’t he?

Because he is a plotting piece of shit, isn’t he? This has always been a game of cat and mouse to him, and he knew you were on to him since the beginning. That friendly, charming exterior… the disappearances. Goddamnit, you were fucking right.

Something is so off about Dick Grayson.

And no one will believe you.

#❥ CALL INCOMING: DO YOU LIKE SCARY MOVIES?#❥ TW: YANDERE #❥ PLATONIC YANDERE #❥ ROMANTIC YANDERE #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON #❥ YANDERE DICK GRAYSON X READER #❥ GN READER

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firemenenthusiast · 2 days ago

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—“to love”

farleigh start x reader

summary: asking farleigh to let you go if loving you isn’t worth it

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, swearing, fluff

a/n: i couldn’t decide between angst and fluff and i haven’t posted fluff for a while so yall getting BOTH. also sorry if this is kinda boring and cheesy and dramatic (me fr) 😞✌🏻

the sound of water drops drumming against the window fills your ear, tapping away at each droplets of the pouring rain, taking you away from the realisation that it’s been raining since the sun slipped off the horizon. it must be cold outside, you imagine, with the loud heavy rain and thunders.

must be the complete contrast of how warm it is inside, especially the room you and farleigh share in this mansion given that you always kept the temperature toasty. farleigh always fussed about it too, saying that it’s too warm for him and insisted that if you’re gonna keep it that way, he’s gonna have to be shirtless in the room. wiping away another stray tear rolling down your right cheek, your lips curl in a quiver as you shut your eyes.

it’s almost hysterical how even in a space that warm and cozy, having yourself all wrapped up in his blanket and sitting by the window, you still feel all alone. you don’t get it. you have all these people around you, well, all the people downstairs partying away because it’s felix’s early Christmas party yet you still feeling left behind.

farleigh’s downstairs too, you believe he’s doing all the things he usually does when he’s in the party mood. maybe by now he’s already had too much to drink for, or he’s plopped down against the couch and counting the stars dancing around at the ceiling.

normally you would be snuggling by his side, holding his firm arm close to your body so some of his warmth could radiate against your skin, but it’s been months since you and farleigh had that kind of time together. now, it’s just routine quick kisses on the top of your head, before he’s out again to catch a smoke by the courtyard and disappearing all day long, even with you in the house.

feeling all the pent up confusion, mellow and slight anger settling down, you can’t help the small hiccups escaping your lips as your shoulders jerk at every sob. you can hear the muffled music from downstairs, and sounds of people cheering for whatever reason you could easily guess at. they’re typical, you would say, but what’s not typical is the distance you feel with farleigh, and how his behaviour as of late makes you feel worthless, and that the spark you felt when you first started dating has gone into a mere strike.

you know you should’ve just told him how you’re feeling. you know you could’ve just said that you hate the way he doesn’t kiss you anymore. you miss the feeling of his lips against yours, his soft ones cradling your lips that is enough to make you melt into the moment because farleigh is such a good kisser. you know how they say to communicate, but you wish it was that fucking easy.

because you hate having to beg for affection. you hate having to tell someone to love you, you hate having to teach someone that you desperately love to no end, how to love you properly. if you were really worth it, you wouldn’t have to do all that, would you ? if farleigh really loved you like you love him, he wouldn’t make you feel like this, all disregarded and unimportant. truth is, you almost made yourself believe that the relationship is a dead end, and that he’s gonna break the news to you anytime now. what’s the point anyways ? it’s not like he cares, does he ? he certainly didn’t when he left you feeling the worst after getting back your test marks and it was so awful that you cried. all he said was, and you quote, “just a test” before leaving you to go tanning with felix when he knew you studied all night long for weeks. he knew, because he was there, watching you flip through your notes desperately.

as you sit looking out through the window, your eyes trailing the fragile looking droplets of rainfall down the pane, drinking in your sobs that were frantic a few moments ago. you’ve spent the past couple of months just smiling away and comforting yourself that maybe he was just tired, and that he wasn’t feeling like wrapping his arms around you when you needed him the most. yet deep down, you know that it wasn’t supposed to be like that. he shouldn’t get to pick and choose just whenever the fuck he feels like having a relationship.

at this point you’ve made yourself believe that farleigh only keeps you around for the sake of having a girlfriend. you don’t think he wants to be a boyfriend alongside of that, nor he cares that he’s made you feel worthless with the fact that he hasn’t kissed you on the lips for weeks now. not sure if he even realises that, having made himself busy with all the cigarette breaks and hanging out with the group. sometimes you think that he goes on all that cigarette breaks just to get away from you. it’s funny because it’s not like you couldn’t stand the smoke, if anything you don’t care if he does it around you at all, as long as you get to be with him.

leaning deeper into the farleigh-scented blanket, the fuzzy material hugs you nicely making you feel a little comforted. you could hear the knob turning before the creaking of the old hinge of the door screeches your ear. quickly wiping the tears almost dripping off your chin, you suck in a shaky breath, bumpy from the sobs and the huge lump in your throat.

“hey babe, i didn’t see you downstairs. how long have you been here ?”

of course he didn’t even realise that you were never downstairs. eventually you get sick of the annoying music and lingering smell of alcohol on everyone. you hated how reckless everyone would be, just bumping against each other that sometimes someone gets pushed to the ground. you know because last time it had happened to you, and farleigh was nowhere to be found. he was probably doing a line at the corner of the room with his other friends but hey, at least he’s not cheating right ?

blinking away your tears, you could feel your eyes are already puffy from how much you were crying. the sniffles caught his attention, halting his movements on taking off his santa hat as he settles it down on the nightstand before carefully walking towards you.

“hey— hey, what’s wrong ?”

the huge flat of his palm finds its way against your back, slowly caressing the skin through your sweatshirt as he struggles to meet your eyes.

“baby,, c’mon—look at me, hey”

his deep voice soft, but nothing’s new as farleigh had never raised his voice at you, or yelled at you. he was always so sweet when talking to you, so when he started becoming so distant, of course you’d feel it.

slowly pulling your body into his embrace, his arms wrapping around your shoulder as you lean your head against his chest. the warmth radiating off his skin spreads across your body as the both of you just sit there, sheltering against each other’s body, seeking comfort and reassurance.

“what’s wrong ?” he’d ask for the second time, holding your jaw in his hands with his fingers cupped along your cheeks. his thumb caresses the soft skin of your tear stained cheeks before looking deep into your eyes, his beautiful brown hues piercing into your orbs.

you’re still silent, knowing that if you were to tell him all the doubts in your heart that you have of him, you’d just burst into tears again. instead, you just give him your biggest smile, praying that it doesn’t look so forced and that you’re about to cry again in his arms.

farleigh can’t help his own smile at seeing your cute face squished into his large hands, though it pains him seeing you like this. it physically pains him looking at you so broken, the puffiness of your eyes tells him that you’ve been crying a lot, yet he knows nothing of it, or the reason why. when he asks you again, coaxing an answer from you, you’d just shake your head.

“you know you can tell me anything” he coaxes, smoothing his palms down your hair, cradling your whole head in his hands

hearing the title he just called you jerks a new stream of tears down your cheeks almost immediately, as you shut your eyes and softly sob into his hands. seeing your reaction worries him, making him desperately pull you closer into his arms, trying to shield you from anything that may be fear in your eyes, and just protect you from being hurt, ever.

“just say it, farleigh” you manage to sob out, quirking his eyebrows into visible confusion.

“say ? say what ?” pulling away slightly to look at your face, your eyes busy counting the stray threads poking out the blanket

“— that you don’t love me anymore” letting out the words softly, you realise that you sounded so insecure and it’s just going to make him mad. but you know what you’ve been feeling, and it’s not you being insecure.

farleigh couldn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth as they leave him speechless. slowly pulling his arms away from you, he looks at you to try to find an explanation.

“what the fu— what are you talking about ?” it was ridiculous, what you just said. he hopes that there’s a better explanation for it seeing that your lips are quivering and you’re looking at him with knitted brows.

“all the cigarette breaks, leaving me in the middle of the night to go sleep on the couch, hanging out with felix all the time when im literally right in front of you, do you think im stupid—?“

“what— he’s my cousin !” he retaliates, thick eyebrows furrowed at your reasoning, thinking that it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“and im your girlfriend, farleigh. i don’t even wanna talk about how i was never downstairs tonight and you didn’t care enough to even realise !”

“you’re being absurd, there was a shitload of people” he’s leaning back against his heels, moving further from you as he looks at you in disbelief.

“i guess you don’t even care that we haven’t kissed in weeks”

your last words leaves him dumbfounded, having realised that he hasn’t felt the soft lips he’s so obsessed with on his for weeks now. it started for a couple of days when he was busy and overall just dealing with his own mental issues but only now had he realised that it’s been weeks. taking a few steps back, he’s now fully on his feet, with his arms crossed before moving a hand to rest on his jaw.

“you don’t have to love me if you don’t want to, farleigh” you mutter out softly, the volume only enough to register in his ears

you hear him scoff at the words as you turn to look at him, pacing around at the edge of the bed before snapping his head towards you

“i can’t believe this” you hear him mutter under his breath before tilting his head towards you

“you know, i try— sooo fucking hard to love you-“ he cocks his head to the side, eyes squinting in your direction. if you want to argue on the love in this relationship, he’s been meaning to fight back.

“i care so deeply about you, i pushed away my own issues, i struggle with my own being, those voices in my head—“ you’re looking at him, your whole body tense as you blink away the tears clinging onto your lashes

“all just so i can be with you, all so i can keep you safe with me, even if it means that im fucked up in the head—“

“farleigh—“

“i don’t know how do you want me to love you, because the only love i’ve ever felt was from my mom. even that they take away from me—“

“so i try, so fucking hard to love you, as best as i could. so for you to imply that it’s not enough—“ he scoffs once again, a pained laugh threatens to blow out of his mouth. looking up at him, his face contorts in what you could make out to be disappointment. or even disgust, with the way his lips bend into a frown. scanning your eyes across his sharp features, you wished you could take it all back so you wouldn’t have to see him looking at you like that. it isn’t hatred, or is it ? but you’d imagine how you’re pushing him through his limits.

“— that’s just fucking selfish. i don’t know what else do you want from me”

just as you’re about to open your mouth to say something, a loud thunder booms through the clouds, tearing the peace from the whole estate. the eardrums shattering sound horrifies the fear you have of thunder that you can’t help the scream piercing out of your mouth. you’re clutching tight at the material of the blanket, your head throbbing from the loud noise of the following rumbles from outside, the flashing of lightning accompanying the thunder that almost rips your heart of your chest, if it wasn’t already being ripped out by your cries.

immediately as he sees the flashing light before the thunder, like a natural reflex farleigh practically throws himself over to quickly wrap his arms around you and pull you into him. he knows how bad thunder fucks with your nerves and how much you hated being alone when there’s thunders outside. rubbing his hand against your arms, smoothing over your sweater, you hear him hush softly on top of your head as he pulls you closer to his chest by the side of your head.

he rests his chin against your hair while he gazes through the window. amidst all the chaos of the loud booming noises and car alarms going off outside, you found yourself fisting at his knitted sweater, clutching your fingers, in an attempt to be as close to him as possible, to feel safe. after all farleigh’s still your safe place. it’s not like you ever want to seek home in anybody else.

“im sorry” just as you hear him say these words you softly push him away to tilt your head towards his face. all those things he said, makes you feel like a shitty person. maybe you’re the one who didn’t care enough to see what he’s going through. maybe he’s right, you are selfish.

“why, um-“ you begin with a coarse voice, the lump in your throat still clinging onto the walls before you clear it

“why didn’t you say anything ?—“ moving your head to follow his eyes, the glossy brown pair struggling to look into yours.

“—do i not listen to you ever, farleigh ?” you struggle to find the right question for him, having no understanding for why he feels like he couldn’t say anything and instead, just left you hanging all these while.

he’s silent, eyebrows knitted as he looks up at you with a tear rolling down his cheek. the corners of his eyes red, he’s been struggling not to cry since you brought up the issue.

a shallow regret claws at the walls of your insides when you look at him, with tears down his pretty face. moving to sit on your heels, you peel the blanket off your shoulders to pull him into the warmth, both of you sitting underneath the fuzzy material

“im sorry“ the only same words he manages to let out, again

“farleigh i should’ve-“ just as you open your mouth he cuts you off

“no—”

“—im sorry that you feel like i don’t love you anymore” it’s only when he says this does he look into your eyes, his hands moving over your face to move the strands covering your eyes away.

“because i love you, so fucking much—“ farleigh inches over, hovering his forehead over yours that the tip of your noses bump into each other. you can feel his hot breath fanning against your skin, as he smooths his thumbs over your jaw, catching the stray tear falling over your waterline.

“all those stuff you said,, fuck i didn’t know it was fucked up—“

“im sorry i made you feel like that. i didn’t wanna drag you along with me. i didn’t wanna make you feel unsafe” his words pain you, knowing that he kept everything that was wrong to himself. somehow it angers you, the fact that he feels like he couldn’t come to you. does he think that you were gonna leave him if he did ?

“you know you can tell me anything, farleigh—“

“i know, i just,,” as he searches for words, a hiccup makes his shoulders jerk.

“i was afraid that-“ trailing his words off his lips, he tilts his head to suck in a deep breath, his shoulders shaky as you search into his tear stained face. you offer him the softest look you could give, letting him know that if you’re gonna be here until the sun comes up just talking, so be it.

“i didn’t want you to leave— i thought,, i thought if i ever said anything, you’d think im weak” his lips quiver as he utter the last of his words before a single tear spills over down his cheek. his hand reaches up to wipe over his nose, his slender fingers almost covering the entirety of his face.

you know how bad farleigh struggles with the way the cattons treat him, and how they always disregard it all if he even dare to bring it up. everyone seems to think they’re this untouchable perfectly wealthy family but you know how small farleigh feels sitting among them. if anyone spends as much time around them and farleigh, they’d also see how they’re treating him like an outsider while desperately trying to make him feel like family. but you didn’t know it was getting to him this badly. you didn’t know it fucks with him to the point that ut gets this bad. you could just imagine how hard he tried to conceal his own insecurities while having you around, trying to make you believe that everything was fine.

“i thought if i just kept quiet you wouldn’t notice” farleigh pushed his words out from the strings of sobs restraining him to speak as he finally breaks down from all the blocks of boulder that keeps being dropped on him, weighing him down

“im sorry—” now it’s your turn to say these two words to him, pulling him down towards you into a hug, your fingers sprawled out across his back, letting him rest his head in the crook of your neck as he cries.

“—im sorry that im too selfish to notice” you cant help but sob out into his shoulder, your hands pulling at the fabric on his back. he’s crummed up into you, as the both of you just sat there by the window, listening to the sounds of water droplets tapping at the glass.

as he pulls away, he moves so he could look into your eyes, your fingers cupping his jaw as it’s your turn to wipe his cheeks with your thumbs. trailing your eyes over each of his features, taking in every details on his face, from his long lashes to his tiny freckles. closing in the mere inches in between you, you place your lips against his delicately, kissing at his bottom lips. farleigh closes his eyes as he returns the kiss, soft and gentle, as you slowly move in a rhythm. it’s been so long since he last kissed you, and he’d only realise how much he misses sharing your warmths in a kiss, how much he misses just kissing away all the doubts you have deep within.

when you slowly pull away you feel his hands gripping on your waist as he moves forward to catch your lips again, into another kiss. he feels like it wasn’t enough for him, he wanted to stay like this forever if he could. caressing his jaw, you lean back into the kiss as you hear him hum and continue to move his lips against yours as if he never stopped kissing you since your first kiss.

pushing him away by his chest, you had to take a breath as soft giggles leave your lips looking at his swollen ones. both from crying, and also kissing you like he hasn’t for years. he can’t help but let out a few chuckles too, your pained smile radiates warmth off his heart, melting it all over again.

“teach me how to love you properly” he starts, pulling at the blanket to peel it off of him and placing it around you again.

knowing that farleigh barely ever felt love from his own family, let alone be shown how it actually is to be loved, it’s only logical that the things he did for you, and the love he showed you, was the only thing he knew of love. and to compare to the scraps he receives in this house, the love that farleigh has ever showed you was everything in this world for him, and probably beyond the kind of love he could ever imagined.

“i will”

you promise, as you’re willing to fix this over and over again knowing that you’d also be fixing him, who’s been broken since the day he was born. if anyone else leaves when the only thing he seeks for is love, let you be his shelter.

taglist: @flipsconhelado @r4vn @love-me-pls @radioloom @farleighlover @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @luckystrikerealness @juniperhasfallen @themoonchildwhofell @khxna @inglourious-imagines @aracade

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leth-writes · 4 hours ago

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yandere reader x yandere batfam

SUMMARY: yandere batfam x yandere reader

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

MASTERLIST

Requests are open!

Just thinking of a yandere darling. You’re a little intense, maybe just on the creepy side of protective.

But you’re not very good at it 🙁

You’re stalking them, they’re stalking you as you stalk them, it’s a whole thing.

They honestly might be relieved. They know where you are at all times, they’ve long ago put a tracker on you, but having you always hovering around eases their worries.

Tim definitely hacks the bugs you’ve put on them, making sure you aren’t accidentally catching on to the fact they’re night-time vigilantes.

Overall, though, I can see them LOVING the trackers you try to place on them. You’re so clumsy about it anyone would notice, but they pretend not to, just so your self-esteem doesn’t get hurt.

It’s like a kitten trying to fight a tiger; the tiger’s playing, the kitten is unaware of how bad their odds are.

There’s no way you’d be able to break into the manor by yourself.

They see it as enrichment, they just… leave a single window open, on the ground floor, into a rarely used family room.

Once they catch you planting the bugs all over the room, not even bothering to make your way throughout the rest of the manor, they’ll spend more time in the room, playing up their personas.

Bruce is especially amused; he’s really playing up the ditzy Brucie persona around you, entirely so that he can get close to you without you suspecting he’s onto you.

You’re really protective over him; there’s been times you’ve been gearing up to fight some creep at a gala who won’t leave poor ol’ Brucie alone.

He doesn’t need your help, he’s working on a case, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy, knowing you’re there. Even if there’s no way you’d actually be able to deal with the types of enemies he has.

You’re like pulling him off to the side, holding his hands in yours and staring at him so determinedly, eyes blazing. “Bruce, don’t be scared to tell me if someone’s bugging you, okay? I’ll handle it.” You tell him. Internally, Bruce is cooing. When he tells the others about it later, in the privacy of the cave, they’ll do the same.

You just think he’s too soft for this world. He needs protection! He thought Mexico was a continent!

He’ll definitely pretend to be super drunk just as an excuse to lean on you, his side pressed to yours and an arm slung around your neck. He loves the way he can feel the heat of your blush.

Dick is much the same way. You’ve signed up for his gymnastics class and you’re so determined to succeed at something he loves that he just can’t help but prioritize you. Some of the other students even complain about how obvious the favoritism is. Don’t be surprised if you miraculously win free 1-on-1 lessons with him. He just loves being able to physically touch and guide you, watching how flustered you get.

Sometimes you slip in a bit of information he knows isn’t really available to the general public, just little things about his time in the circus. It makes him happy to know how much time you’ve spent researching him, even if it is pretty baseline stuff, nothing too deep. He’s just appreciating your hard work!

Jason, you have a hard time with. He doesn’t appear in public often, so you spend most of your time just watching him read in the family room. He knows you’re reading the stuff he picks out, so he deliberately chooses books he thinks you’d like.

When it comes to Tim, he’s definitely matching your freak. You get a tracker on him, he has 3 on you. He’s discreetly watching you watch him.

Puts on a show, makes himself seem like any naive rich kid. You’ll never see the true predator until it’s too late.

Definitely fiddles with the trackers in his spare time, he loves being reminded of how much you love him; it plays right into those deep seated insecurities left over from his biological parents.

Damian is definitely the least subtle about it. He’s not gonna pretend to be something he isn’t, and he definitely wants you to step up your game. He’ll smash the trackers until you manage to get it into a satisfactory spot.

He will absolutely refuse to spend much time in the family room; he sees it as too easy. He wants you to work to learn more about him. His past is definitely one of the harder ones to dig up.

Cass can read the desperation on you, and just befriends you. She doesn’t really put up much of an act, and just satisfies your protective instincts by listening to your ‘suggestions’ about how awful her ‘friends’ are. They’re acquaintances at best, so you aren’t really accomplishing much of anything, but she feels it’s the thought that counts.

Just imagine when you’re finally kidnapped, and they’re like Surprise! We knew the whole time!

OH MY GOD THE HUMILIATION

They’re completely different than how you thought they were, and you slowly realize you’ve made a big fucking mistake, but oh well, it’s their turn now!

#yandere batfam #lethwrites #yandere platonic #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere cassandra cain

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verified-villain-fxcker · 3 months ago

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It’s been months 😭

#Claudia #vampire claudia #claudia de pointe du lac #claudia de lioncourt #delainey hayles #iwtv #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #theatres des vampires #Alina cherone #daniel hart #the vampire armand #bailey bass #I don’t like windows when they’re closed #my baby loves windows #louis de pointe du lac

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bellacardoza16 · 5 months ago

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Currently watching tonight’s episode and I now got I don’t like windows when they’re closed stuck in my head.

#iwtv s2 #iwtv spoilers #I don’t like windows when they’re closed #claudia iwtv

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luvsupa · 2 months ago

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STUDY FUCK BUDDIES ?!

tags: gojo satoru x fem!reader, college au, gojo’s hella rich and a player, smut (p in v), cōckwarming, exhibitionism, dumbification, public sex (ish, they’re kinda hidden), i quickly edited this so sorry if there’s mistakes, I’ll fix it up soon!! mdni.

w.c: 1.8k

a/n: THANK U GUYS SOSOSOSO MUCH FOR 1.1K!! I DIDNT REALIZE UNTIL TODAY SO HERES THISS MWAAA 🩷🩷🩷

"can we study together?"

you huff in annoyance, pausing your studies to glare at the white-haired male who's been distracting you for the past hour. studying for physics is hard enough without gojo's constant interruptions. you set your pencil down, leaning back in your creaky old chair, the sound echoing in the mostly quiet library. you're tucked into a corner of the library, somewhat secluded by the shelves but still very visible to anyone passing by.

"gojo, you never study and still get perfect grades. stop rubbing it in my face," you pout, crossing your arms and slouching deeper into your seat. he giggles, leaning on the table, his black satchel sliding beside you.

gojo is the model student in every professor's eyes-good-looking, always attending class, acing exams, and tutoring everyone. it's infuriating. but beneath that perfect exterior lies the campus's biggest player, known for throwing parties and sleeping with a string of girls every week. did you mention he's gorgeous?

your thoughts are interrupted when gojo pulls out a chair beside you, manspreading as your gaze involuntarily roams over him-lower and lower.

ugh, focus.

but he smells incredible, his expensive cologne filling your senses and making your head spin. he's so close that your heart races, his intoxicating scent overwhelming you. you've been near him before, but this feels different.

"m’kayy, let's study," he says, scooting his chair closer, the wood screeching against the floor as a few heads turn your way. he leans in, peering at the cursed physics textbook in front of you.

"is this a bet or something?" you ask kinda off topic, arching an eyebrow as he tilts his head, confusion dancing in his striking blue eyes, now darker in the dimly lit library.

"rich frat student, gojo satoru wins a bet after helping unknown classmate," you say sarcastically, air quoting for effect. gojo narrows his eyes, contemplating before smirking.

"hmm, sounds like a good porno-big dick satoru fucks hot classmate in library," he replies, mimicking your air quotes. you gasp, and he bursts into laughter, drawing a few glares from nearby students who can't help but overhear your conversation.

"so, this is a bet to get in my pants?" you whisper, raising an eyebrow. he leans closer, a little too close, and you inhale more of his addictive scent. fuck he smells so good.

"nope," he says softly, flashing that killer smile as his minty breath fans against your face, his gaze drifting shamelessly to your chest. "but if you wanna fuck, we coulddd."your jaw drops at his bluntness, does he have any shame?

you turn back to your work, but from the corner of your eye, you see gojo smirking as he pulls out his phone, scrolling through random videos.

for the past ten minutes you try to concentrate, but he turns the volume up, his phone speaking blasting his videos loudly- completely derailing your focus. the library is now slightly scattered with students; most students have left, unable to endure the disturbance, but those remaining can still see you both.

you glance at the window, noticing the sun setting. panic rises-your physics assignment is due tonight, and you've barely completed three questions- and you don’t even know if you did it right!

turning to gojo, you find him mindlessly scrolling, his legs still spread wide as he’s gotten too comfortable, causing you to tighten the grip on your pencil out of frustration. he said he would help!

though, you kinda declined his offer...

"satoru, i need help—"

"look at this," he interrupts, shoving his phone in your face. you squint at the bright screen.

spicy library challenges.

your eyes widen in horror at the video montage of couples trying to hide their moans while having risky sex in libraries. gojo bites his lip, clearly enjoying your reaction.

"y-you wanna do this? with me?" you stammer, pushing his phone away, but he nods, an eager glint in his eye. part of you is tempted to experience that with him, but another part just wants to finish your assignment.

"yeaa-what, are you a virgin?"

"what? no, i'm not!" you protest, the squeal in your voice betraying your truth, i’m not! he hums, clearly skeptical.

"whatever. what do you need help with?" he asks, frowning slightly as he grabs your worksheet and textbook.

"what about the video?" you counter, referring to the spicy library challenge, meeting his gaze. he looks directly into your eyes, a warm smile spreading across his face.

"looks like someone had a change of heart," he teases, and you look away, the tension between you almost unbearable as you realize you're still in the line of sight of curious onlookers who might be listening in.

and that’s how you found yourself in this tangled mess, a challenge you thought you could conquer like those girls in the video. but this was nothing like you imagined. gojo had pulled you onto his lap, pulling down your panties as well as your pants- only down to your thighs as he made you sit on his thick cock. he filled you to the brim- completely moulding your cunt for him. your velvety walls hugging him tightly as he groans once in a while as you clench hard- wanting to feel more- a little thrust will send you over, but no. he wants you to sit all cute on his cock as you read your book aloud- without making any mistakes.

cockwarming is easy, he said. oh what a liar.

his hands rested firmly on your waist, holding you as you struggled to focus on the words of the book in your hands. each time you tried to read aloud, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, sending shivers down your spine. you try your hardest to hold back a moan each time you read each word.

“c’monn pretty, you were just reading so well,” he encourages, his voice laced with venom as he leans closer to you, causing you to moan at the subtle friction. you can feel every inch of him- every vein down his thick shaft and his as his bulbous tip smushing your cervix. “starttttt here.” he points with his index finger, but you’re trying your hardest to focus- but everything is so overwhelming you mentally can’t.

“c-cursed energy is… nghh- generated by… positive- fuckkk,” you moan loudly, your cunt spasms as one of gojos hands moved swiftly and sharp under the table- slapping your soaked cunt as a punishment, your poor clit twitching at the impact.

“positive? sweetheart, read that again.” gojo scolds as he smothers your cunt with your slick, rubbing cute circles on your nub as you clench hard- gripping him tighter while bucking your hips forward- causing him to groan in the nape of your neck.

another moan escapes your lips as your body is now trembling- you could barely sit up straight as rudely smacks your cunt once again- the electricity moving through your body as you slightly regain focus.

“negative- ‘s negative e-energy,” you stammer as you feel a burning pool in your lower stomach- your head already starts to feel dizzy. you feel like you’re going to burst.

“good fuckin’ girl,“ he praises as you fall forward onto the paper work- slightly crumbling the worksheet as his brows raise at your reaction, his hand moves away from your heat as attempts to get you to sit up and continue on.

“c-cum… ‘m gonna cum,” you stammer out as your face is practically up against the textbook. at this point gojo nearly loses it, he never been this turned on up until now. his eyes flutter as you start rocking your hips. you’re drunk off him that all you can think about is- gojo, gojo, gojo- that you’ve completely forgotten where you guys are— but he feels so good you can’t think straight. you slowly start a steady pace, moving faster as you fuck yourself on his thick cock, wincing each time at the length as his tip is repeatedly kissing your cervix.

gojo on the other hand is gnawing his bottom lip- holding back his moans as he watches his length disappear into your sopping cunt. he can’t take it anymore that he abruptly stands up the wooden chair now knocked over as he’s digging his slender fingers on your hips as he bends you on the wooden table. both of you unsure whether there’s people still in the library or not. he roughly grabs your flesh as he fucks you hard, ramming his cock in and out as you cry out, soaking your papers with your tears. the sounds of skin slapping echos the library as the table begins to shake roughly, creakkss heard by every thrust met.

“fuckk you feel so g-good,” gojo whimpers as your pussy us swallowing him whole, his deep pace making you see stars as you both moan uncontrollably.

“where do you want it? inside?” he rasps as you can’t think straight, all you want is him to continue fucking you good. gojo brings one of his hands to swat your ass, making you yelp at the stinging pain.

“‘m speaking to you-“

“i-inside,” you manage to get out as he grins, his pace quickening as he continued to babble. your cunt flutters around his cock as both of you come undone with his final thrust. his thick and heavy cum painting the inside of your walls white as you moan at how full you feel- being stuffed to the brim.

both of you are panting loudly- out of breath as you need a minute to regain full consciousness. gojo carefully slips out with a slight pop!, as you whine at the loss of his length as your cunt clenches around nothing. gojo crouches down to see the mess you two made as both of your mixed cum seeps out of your slit, so thick and goopy. unexpectedly, gojo drags a lonngggg swipe along your achy cunt- his tongue collecting both of your messes as he loudly slurps.

“f-fuck you’re so nasty,” you shudder at the feeling of his tongue entering your sore cunt as he laps up the mess. gojo pulls away, kissing the back of your thighs as he stands up- tucking away his soft cock back into his pants as he also helps you look more presentable than you do now. you look down at the mess you’ve made, papers crumbled and damp, the textbook slightly damaged, and everything else rearranged on the wooden table.

“same time tomorrow?”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfic #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #anime smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru smut

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curehaus · 1 month ago

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No I don’t like windows when they’re closed!

#iwtv #interview with the vampire #art #iwtv art #claudia #claudia eparvier #claudia de pointe du lac #claudia de lioncourt #portrait #she’s my favorite ever #i love drawing her #ignore that this is old i just realized i never posted it here

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thehmn · 11 months ago

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Does it seem weird that people treat cats like they’re wild animals to anyone else? And by that I don’t mean people expect cats to survive on their own in the wild. I mean people act like pet cats who have owners are wild animals that the owners aren’t responsible for. And I’m not talking about cat owners specifically. A lot of people who doesn’t have any pets at all act like cats are wild animals (which might be why so many people treat them like wild animals that can be hurt with no consequences)

I never thought about that until a few years ago when someone in the town Facebook group asked who owned a cat that kept jumping in through his windows. It was summer so he couldn’t keep his windows closed (we don’t use air conditioning in this country) and he had a terrible allergy to cats so it was legit dangerous for him to have a cat running around his house.

People started offering solutions like “buy this spray that deters cats” and “you can buy this rolling thing for the top of your fence” but his response was “Okay but why am I expected to spend all this money to keep someone’s pet out? Who owns this cat!?” When he didn’t get an answer he eventually got a friend to pick the cat up when it was in his house and he drove it to a shelter, and informed the Facebook group which shelter. Suddenly the owner responded, angry that he’d do such a thing! Getting the cat back would cost money! But the guy was like where the fuck were you when I asked who the cat belonged to!? I was trying to avoid this!

I was honestly surprised by how many people were on the side of the cat’s owner. Another cat owner on our street isn’t responsible enough to keep her cat indoors but responsible enough to at least buy stuff for other people if her cats bother them. She practically have a small stach of cat deterrent spray she hands out to the neighbors who doesn’t want cats in their garden.

The whole thing really made me realize how strange it is that cats are the only pets where we expect other people to spend their money on building fences to keep them out instead of the owners trying to keep them in, as if they were wild animals with no owner to look after them.

#humontalks #random thoughts #cats

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mostly-imagines · 3 months ago

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At Least I’m Not Alone at the Wake

jason todd x fem!reader

aka how jason feels safe even when he feels like he’s dying

HEY today we’re going to play a game where we practice reblogging fics: if you read this and like it—reblog!! ie, if you like and dont reblog i might block bc im getting sick of the lack of decorum

warnings: angst w comfort throughout

It took less than thirty seconds for the silence of the night to drift into sounds of shrieks echoing off the buildings along the street. The sharp contrast had you and Jason bolting upright on the couch, ears on alert. It only took a few seconds more of listening for you to realize you’re not hearing shouting—it’s laughter. Maniacal, uncontrolled laughter.

There’s a beat as you both freeze upon the implication, the unsettling realization dropping in on you. You barely have a moment to process it before Jason’s pushing up from the couch and heading towards the bathroom.

“Close the window,” he grumbles.

You blink as you register his words before jumping up to do as told, quickly sliding the frame shut and locking it. He returns soon with an armful of towels in hand, and you stand back as he stuffs a couple along the window sill with rough movements. He goes throughout the apartment, doing the same to the other windows. He rounds back to the living room window, looking down at the street with a heavy look on his face.

You trust that the towels will do their job in preventing the laughing gas from getting in the apartment, but they’re unable to block out the bellows of hysteria.

He backs away from the window, letting the living room wall hold his weight. You both listen to the harrowing echoes with still bodies.

You watch him, waiting for a reaction. You don’t mean to, but you know you’re looking at him like he’s a loaded spring. You try not to, you know how much he hates how his family does that to him, but fuck, it’s hard not to worry about him.

When Joker incidents have come up, they’ve usually been something you’re able to ignore or even get ahead of and drive out of the city. But this is raucous and chaotic, clearly enough to shut down the city from the inside. Besides, Jason would be booking it out of here if he thought there was any chance of a clean getaway in this.

But you know he’s got no interest in inserting himself in anything Joker related, especially something so destabilizing.

While you know Jason’s family cares about him, of course they do, but you’ve noticed they sometimes put Gotham’s needs first and his second. So the severity of this attack is concerning for you for two reasons.

“Will they…” you shuffle, “Will they need you?”

He’s quick to answer, voice firm. “No.” A long moment passes before he adds on, quieter, “They won’t want me out there.”

You nod to yourself, trying to relax your body. You being on edge isn’t going to help him.

You watch as his head thumps against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. He’s tough—you know he’s tough. He can withstand a hell of a lot more than you’ll probably ever even know. But even for Gotham, this is a lot. And even for someone who hasn’t been through what Jason has, the ringing repetitions of laughter are maddening. You wonder if this is what the Joker hears in his head. You wonder if this is what Jason heard.

The intensity of the laughing increases, more people likely becoming exposed to the gas. You think you can hear it in one of your neighbor’s apartments too.

He thumps his head against the drywall again, hands clenching at his sides. It takes one more forceful thud for you to move over to him, cradling your hand to the side of his head, holding him still. He lets you, though he still doesn’t open his eyes.

“Jay,” you say softly, stroking his hair. “Let’s take a shower, yeah?” Normally you’d try for a bath to calm him instead but you hope the waterfall from the shower might be enough to drown out the noise.

He takes a second to respond, letting your hand bear the weight of his head. “Yeah.”

His voice is splintered though, and his shoulders droop as he stands up fully. He waits to move until you start to lead him, flinching at every spike of laughter. You reach back and take his hand, giving it two squeezes. He squeezes your hand back but doesn’t loosen his grip.

As you enter the bathroom he wastes no time getting straight to the shower nozzle and turning it on. You press the door shut behind you, sealing out a decent portion of the chaos. You decide against turning the overhead light on, opting instead to let the small pink-shaded lamp provide a warm glow that you can easily maneuver throughout the shadows in. You figure he needs a more tranquil atmosphere than the harsh white light the bathroom ceiling can provide.

You turn to him in time to catch him pulling his shirt up harshly, movements jerked and impatient.

You place a gentle hand on his forearm, “Hey.”

He pauses his actions, eyes on the floor.

You don’t say anything else, but he understands your objection regardless. You remove your touch and he peels his shirt off slower, kinder to himself.

You wait to make sure he continues this method with the rest of his clothes before you start to remove yours.

The downpour of water on the tiles does it’s intended job in creating your own little sanctum away from the noise. You climb into the shower after him, standing in the stray mist sprays that made their way past him. The bits of water that do manage their way to you are hot—not scalding, but hot enough that you know his chest is going to start getting numb very soon standing in front of the stream like this.

You trace lines over the muscles of his back, outlining them and every little indent of a scar. When you run out of canvas on his back you move onto his arms, right then left.

It’s not until you trace down his wrist that you realize his head is angled down. You don’t need to be standing in front of him to know that his focus is zeroed in on his scar and you’re not sure how long it's been that way. Too long, in any case.

“Jay,” you say so softly that the water nearly drowns you out. “Will you look at me, please?”

He does turn to you, slowly, but he doesn’t look up.

You hold his face in your hands, nudging him to look up at you. He looks tired, drained.

You know he has to hear that laughter in a different way than you do. It’s uncomfortable and frightening for you, but for him, it’s layers upon layers of the sound he heard while he was being beaten to death. And even beyond that horrible trauma, the reminder of it brings forth every memory of what happened afterwards, not to mention the heavy baggage you know he feels over being here at all. And you can see it all mulling behind his eyes.

“You know I love you,” you tell him with sincerity. His gaze stays heavy and you can tell it’s a struggle for him to hold the eye contact.

You lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, catching his bottom lip slightly. Your next kiss meets his lips fully. You have to push up on your toes a little bit but he does the work of meeting you halfway. It’s a slow, intimate exchange, as fluid and serene as breathing.

“I love all of you,” you murmur against his lips. You let your hands fall to his chest, resting as gently as they can over his pecs. “Everything about you.”

You kiss the top of his Y scar, trailing down soft pecks to where it forks off. You feel his shoulders sag a bit, tension forcing its way out of him. You lean down to continue your kisses down the vertical line marking his abdomen, your hands lightly following in your wake.

He says your name painfully, like he’s begging you to stop. You’ll give him partial reprieve, taking his hands in yours and kissing his scarred knuckles. It’s his instinct to push affection away, you know that, but you also know that he needs it. That’s why he doesn’t stop you now—he knows he needs it—it’s just a lot for him all at once, emotionally. Which is why he gives no warning before he picks you up by your thighs and pulls you close.

He’s got you a full head higher than him and he uses the difference to hide his face in your neck. Sometimes he feels like that’s the only place he can go. He maneuvers you around so your back is pressed up against the wall as you hold each other tight.

You stay in there like that until the water runs cold, and then some. You have to nudge him a bit into setting you back down then, but he does, letting you collect and wrap the both of you in towels. The second the water turns off you can hear the cackling through the walls.

As you return to the bedroom, he only bothers to pull on a pair of boxers before collapsing his weight onto the mattress. The lack of layers won’t help him any, but you know why he did it.

He can’t always look after himself the way he should—he disregards his own needs and has trouble even thinking of what could help him. You’ve developed a mind for it though—for him—and you know that being exposed and vulnerable like this isn’t going to help him calm down. He prefers being covered up when he’s stressed, it gives him more security, you think.

You open up the dresser and dig through for his most comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. He takes them from you, but he looks remiss at the thought of exerting anymore energy right now, so you help him tug on the clothes, successfully blocking out the now icy air from the AC.

Once he’s fully clothed he pulls you forward to sit on his lap. You stumble a bit on the way but he compensates by holding you very tight, not giving your body any option to fall. His grip on you tells you that he’s not concerned with you getting dressed too, which you’re perfectly willing to oblige.

You have to force him to let you break away a little bit so you can reach over to the nightstand and grab your phone and earbuds.

“Movie or music?”

He doesn’t say anything, only nods his head once at the end of your sentence. You take that to mean music and open up your playlist on your phone, handing him the headphones.

There’s a harsh spike in the hysterics outside, mixed with what sounds like screams, and it has Jason flinching hard. You think you can see tears welled in his eyes as he fumbles to get the headphones in his ears. He takes the phone from you and picks the first song he sees and turns the volume up, up, up.

You shift yourself around so that you’re laying back against the pillows, giving him room to lay down over your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist with a firm grip. You pull the hood up over his head, but keep your hands woven underneath, threading through his hair.

His cheek mushes against your bare stomach, and with the way he’s laying, you’re sure the earbuds are digging uncomfortably into his ear. He makes no effort to move in any case. You can hear the song playing word for word, and while the noise exposure concerns you, if there was ever a time to let it go, it would be now.

You’re both wrapped up nicely in the blankets and you can only see the tip of his nose and a few strands of ivory hair strewn past his forehead. Despite all the snug layers, he shakes a bit under your touch.

He falls asleep before the problem outside gets wrapped up, and you turn down the music. Not all the way, just enough that he can rest in peace.

After a while the giggles die down and aside from a few first responder sirens, things get quiet again. About twenty minutes later, Nightwing ducks in through your window and scares the hell out of you. The interaction does not, however, wake Jason up, which is how you know tonight took a very heavy toll on him.

Even though the lights aren’t on in your bedroom you slide down from the pillows a bit more and let the blanket and Jason drown your chest out from visibility.

Nightwing gives you a silent, if not awkward, wave and scans over Jason. Even in the dark can see the worry in his eyes. He looks back up at you and throws up a questioning thumbs up with a tilt of his head.

You nod and he nods back slowly as he takes one more look at his brother before hopping out the window.

You peer down at Jason and brush his curls back gently. His hold on you tightens just a bit as he turns in his sleep.

reblog or get out seriously

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gloomwitchwrites · 3 months ago

Note

First of all, I 100% know this is an overused trope... but still....

What If 141 2 people 1 bed trope

Who cares that it's an overused trope? It's a classic for a reason!

I will never tire of a one bed trope. It can be steamy and sexy. It can be angsty. It can be tense. It can literally be so many things at once. It's also a wonderful canvas to play around, and I had a lot of fun with this one. I know you've waited for this one for a while. I hope you enjoy it! :)

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x TF141 Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, multiple positions, rough kissing, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male & female receiving), admission of feelings, pretend sex, fake dating/married

Word Count: 6.3k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Fuck,” mutters Price.

You glance over your shoulder. Captain Price stands near the hotel window, the gauzy blinds closed but the thicker ones bunched to the sides, allowing in natural light. He’s staring at something happening in the parking lot.

“What it is?” you ask, starting to walk over to him.

“They might have found us.”

Dread flares hot, clenching the muscles in your stomach until it hurts. “Are you sure?”

Price nods, and then backs away from the window. “There’s no way they saw our faces during the infiltration. We wore masks. Might have tracked the stolen car.”

“We need to leave,” you say, but Price shakes his head.

“There’s too many of them, and they’re likely watching all exits on the main floor.” He sighs. “We need to play this right.”

The two of you are freshly showered, and the clothes you wore for the infiltration have already been discarded. Burned—actually, somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. At the moment, the two of you look like civilians.

“They can’t search the building, John. Not without bloodshed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting across the room as his brain works something over. You fidget, picking at your nails. It’s a terrible habit. One you do when you’re nervous.

Price glances at you and your heart drops. “They look official, and that’s probably all that matters. The scrawny teenager at the front desk isn’t going to put up a fight if the credentials appear legitimate.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, striding toward the window to look for yourself.

Captain Price is right. They do look official. They also look fucking terrifying which would scare anyone into compliance if you don’t know what to look for.

“We’re on the bottom floor,” you say, stepping back.

“I know,” growls Price. He pivots, examining the entire room.

He goes for the car keys and shuts them inside the safe. The only other thing in the room is a duffle bag full of plain clothes and generic toiletries. Price pushes clothes aside and then draws out the pistol hiding beneath it all. He checks the clip and then preps the barrel.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?” you ask, startled.

Price walks over to the singular bed in the room, tucking the gun beneath the pillows. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely,” you affirm.

“Then take off your clothes,” repeats Price, reaching behind his head with one hand to grab the collar of his shirt. He pulls it over and off, tossing it aside.

“Spread it around. Make a mess,” he instructs as he goes for the belt on his jeans.

For a moment, you’re stunned, staring at Captain Price’s bare chest. While he’s muscular, it isn’t from a life in the gym. He is thick in all the right places. A solid wall with a beautiful dusting of dark hair that travels downward.

The belt is gone, and that too is tossed aside.

Without removing your gaze, you tentatively discard your shirt, but keep your bra on. It’s a barrier. A safety net. Price isn’t even glancing at you, but you do notice some color at the tops of his cheeks. A soft pink that makes your thoughts spiral outward to imagine if this gentle blush is the same color as the head of his cock.

Price’s jeans go next, already discarded before you move on to the next article of clothing. He’s only in socks and black boxer briefs. There is so much of him on display that you’re starting to forget yourself.

He glances at you, and that color in his cheeks darken. “You’re still dressed.”

You open your mouth to answer but then you hear a shout from down the hall and sharp banging on a door. They’re far too close.

This urges you on, moving with faster intention, and once you’re down to just your bra and underwear, you finally glance at Price again.

Price—who is naked. Completely bare. And you have a full view of what he’s been packing underneath all that.

Fuck.

He approaches the bed, and tugs back the sheets. The muscles in his arms and back tense as he crumples the bedding to sexed perfection—as if the two of you have been going at it for hours.

Price sits down on the edge of the bed and slides underneath, his legs parting enough that you get a glimpse of everything. This man isn’t even fully hard but from what you can see, it would be a tight fit if you actually sat on him.

Lifting a pillow, Price checks for the pistol and then sets it back, settling into the sheets. He frowns slightly when his attention returns to you.

“All of that has to go.”

“Does it?” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

There’s another thunderous pounding on a nearby door followed by shouting.

“It does if we’re going to make it out of here alive.” Price shrugs, and then smirks. “Could help you.”

Sighing heavily and you reach behind your back, unclasping the bra. You hurl it at him and Price catches it out of the air. Crossing your arms over your chest, you hurry toward the bed. But you don’t make it beneath the sheets.

“Everything,” repeats Price.

Reaching out, Price snags the thin cotton fabric and pulls down, revealing you to him and the room. Instinct as you grasping for control, hands splayed over his large forearms as he gives the fabric another yank.

You cannot form a response. Words leave you as Price drags you into the bed with him.

“Sorry about this,” he grumbles, that color returning to his cheeks in full force. It’s cute actually—how sheepish he looks.

You swallow, and lick your lips. “It’s fine.”

Price leans back against the pillows, guiding you with him. “Get on top.”

Straddling his hips, you settle yourself over him. You try—and fail—to not notice the way the hard length of him nestles against your pussy. You keep one arm crossed over your breasts but all it does is hides your nipples from him. Your other hand is splayed wide and pressed against his chest.

“We’re married,” he says, staring into your eyes. “That’s the story. I’ll do the talking. You act like the scared wife when they come barging in.”

You nod, and Price releases a deep exhalation. His hands rest on your thighs. They’re a brand. Warm. All you can think about. They move upward to settle on your hips.

“Pretend you’re riding me,” he murmurs.

With a gentle hand, Price grasps your wrist, drawing your arm away from your breasts. You don’t resist, and he brings your other palm to rest against his chest.

“Pretend,” he reiterates, hands returning to your hips. Price creates the motion by dragging you back and forth, imitating a rocking motion. Though you’re stationary, your pussy still drags against the length of his cock.

You notice the tremor in his jaw as your bodies rub against each other. This is affecting him as much as it is you.

“Pretend,” you say back to him.

Price nods and then grabs for the television remote from the bedside table. He turns it on and then ups the volume. You imitate the motion he created, rocking back and forth, sliding yourself along his cock, pretending you don’t notice how wet you’ve become over the course of the last few minutes.

His hands return to your hips, and then Price sinks back completely into the pillows, his eyelids softening as he gazes up at you. It’s far too intimate of a stare, and it’s only compounded when one of his hands meander upward to slide over your stomach and then between your breasts. You gasp as his thumb traces the underside of your breast.

Head tilting back, you grind downward, finding yourself diving into the warmth that’s starting to pool low in your belly.

A sharp pounding at the door has you snapping to attention. Every muscle tenses. Seizes.

“You’re fine,” coos Price. “We’ll be fine.”

The pounding comes again and then a yell from behind it. The voice is muffled. Not only by the door but from the television.

Swallowing, you try to connect into it again, rolling your hips, imagining that Price is your husband—that you love him—and this is simply an exploration of that love.

When you roll your hips again, Price sits up slightly, his warm breath brushing against your breast. A tingle shudders through you, and Price groans before his tongue grazes over your nipple, bringing it to a point.

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” he says softly at the same moment the hotel door bursts open.

One second, you’re atop Price, and the next his arms are around you, turning you away from the door to hide you from sight. You’re not on your back but Price has shoved you toward the bed as he sits up, creating a barrier between you and the intruders.

The tactical-clad trio entering the room—with a hotel worker nervously trailing behind—

don’t even get a word in before Price starts going off on them.

“Get out! Get the fuck out!”

His accent is gone, replaced by an American one. It’s incredibly good, and his feigned anger even more so. The men entering faulter under Price’s tirade. They likely weren’t expecting this, and Price uses this opportunity to push the advance.

“We’re fucking busy in here. Fuck off!”

The man at the head of the trio clears his throat and holds up a hand, but Price chucks one of the water glasses at the man. The guy ducks and it shatters against the wall. The hotel worker at their back squeaks and pushes forward.

“We’re so sorry. Just a search for some prison escapees. We’re clearly in the wrong room.”

Prison escapees? You want to laugh but think better of it. Instead, you press your face against Price’s arm, feigning sheepishness.

Price’s lips turn into a snarl, and the hotel worker blanches.

“We’ll give you a complimentary stay for the inconvenience,” the man babbles before waving his arms to usher the other men out.

For a moment, you don’t think it’ll work, but they go.

You and Price don’t sigh with relief until the door shuts. His forehead presses against yours, chest heaving.

“Nice accent,” you whisper and this draws a smile from his lips.

“Like it more than this one?” he asks, his regular accent returning.

“Nope,” you say. “This one suits you fine.”

Price’s gaze draws over your exposed body and then lands on your face. It’s soft. Sensual. You’re frozen beneath it, breath catching as his fingers brush along the line of your jaw.

You’re not sure who moves first but his lips are on yours and then you’re moaning. Price rolls you onto your back, each kiss more demanding and fiercer than the last. He tastes of the mint toothpaste he used earlier and smells of soap.

Reaching between your bodies, you find him hard, and there is no other need within you but the one that craves for him to be inside. To fuck you ceaselessly.

You stroke him and Price groans into your mouth, his hand wrapping around your throat. Hooking your legs behind him, you guide him to your entrance. With a light press of your heels, Price takes your meaning.

There is no gentle pretense. No soft kisses or playful coaxing. Price goes all in, and you break the kiss to gasp aloud, nails digging into his back. Price is thick and having him inside you is a deliciously painful stretch.

It is all desperate the way he moves. Price isn’t gentle. It’s skin slapping against skin. It is sweat and groans. A savage hardness that borders on hysteria.

Your hand reaches behind you to press against the headboard as Price fucks you into the bed, but even that is shaking, banging loudly against the wall. It’s clear even over the drone from the television. The people next door will know exactly what the two of you are up to.

Price is relentless. A man starved. He nips at your bottom lip. Sucks it into his mouth. And when that isn’t enough, he goes for your neck and then your breasts, making your nipples smart and throb under his teeth and tongue.

The orgasm comes sharp and hot, bursting forth like a wave. And when you squeeze around him, Price is right there with you, his cum coating your insides as he too finds his end.

The two of you are all heavy breath. Sweaty limbs.

Price nuzzles the side of your neck, placing soft kisses there until he travels up to find your lips again. These are gentle. Not desperate like before.

When there’s a moment to speak, it is you that breaks the silence.

“So much for pretending.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

It’s the middle of the day but you wouldn’t be able to tell.

A storm is raging—the rain thick and heavy. It falls from the sky in large drops that soak clothes and slick the skin. It’s a bit cold, too. A little chilly. The kind of wet chill that hardens the nipples and brings a shiver to your bones.

“Here. You’re soaked.”

Kyle presents a towel. It’s off-white and a bit frayed. But what can you expect from a motel in the middle of nowhere? Having a towel at all is nice. At least it isn’t threadbare.

“Thanks,” you reply softly, gently dapping the rough-textured material against your face.

Kyle strides over to the heating unit. It’s dirty and barely anchored to the wall. He hits a few buttons and then the thing turns on. It’s loud. Clunky. But heat starts to seep from the slats, warming the room.

After drying your face, you begin to remove outer pieces of clothing. Kyle might be your teammate, but there isn’t really anywhere to hide but the bathroom. Knowing the state of most motels, you don’t really want to find out either.

Kyle has the same idea. He dries off with his own towel, removing soaked articles of clothing as he goes. You try not to look—to be discreet—but it’s hard not to steal a peek. Kyle is all toned muscle and firmness. There’s a light dusting of hair on his chest. It’s a bit thicker around his navel. It trails downwards, and your mind wanders to a place it shouldn’t.

You glance away but not fast enough. His gaze roams upward, finding you, and there he pauses, observing you as you did him.

Pretending is best.

You attempt to act like you don’t notice him at all, turning your back like you’re incredibly interested with the wallpaper that likely hasn’t been replaced in years.

It’s his heat that draws your attention—that steals your breath, and makes every muscle in your body tense with anticipation.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs.

Kyle is so close. Close enough that his breath brushes against your bare shoulder. You’re just in your bra and underwear, the only items that aren’t completely soaked from the rain.

He inhales, and that exhalation teases your flesh again. Giving in, you close your eyes, sinking into Kyle’s presence.

When you open them again, you notice a mirror hanging on the wall. It’s great if you were trying to plan an outfit, but that isn’t what you notice.

Instead, you see yourself. And Kyle.

The backs of his knuckles lightly caress the side of your arm. His head is tipped forward and turned inward like you’ll turn around any moment to kiss him.

The urge is there. Tugging. Wanting you to do just that.

The two of you are always walking around the other, seeking comfort and closeness but never seizing it. Maybe you should. Maybe—turning around is the best thing you can do for yourself.

“Kyle,” you breathe, and his little hum in answer tightens that string.

Without hesitation, you do turn.

Kyle’s lips are right there. They’re parted slightly. Inviting.

His arm drapes across your waist, hand splaying wide against your stomach, pressing until the two of you are sandwiched together.

It’s not like you don’t want this. You do. You want Kyle. Have since the moment he introduced himself to you. But the two of you have always remained professional in every space you occupy.

And now there is no one around.

No one to see.

No one to know.

Your head tips back in answer, and Kyle leans into it, pressing his lips to yours. It is sweet. Gentle. More of an ask than anything else.

And you reply, meeting him in equal measure. The pressure on your stomach increases just as Kyle’s other hand wraps around the front of your throat, holding you still. Each kiss is a claiming, one you freely submit to.

Kyle is all sugared-warmth, and you want to rot your teeth.

Draping your arm around the back of his neck, you pull him closer. Kyle nips. Bites. Sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before soothing the burn with a few tender kisses. Heat blossoms in your core before morphing into an aching slickness.

You’ve been putting him off—brushing him aside.

Why wait any longer when Kyle is all you crave?

“Fucking hell, love,” he groans against your mouth.

Your lips part, and Kyle slides his tongue inside. His taste is everything, but you want to know him everywhere.

Your hand seeks, brushing against his hardness through his boxer briefs. When you slip your hand beneath the elastic band, Kyle’s only response to kiss you harder.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you start to stroke what you can with the little room you have. Your thumb brushes over the head of his cock and Kyle draws back.

“I’ve wanted this since I met you,” he says, voice a bit rough.

Twisting in his grip, you turn to face him. “Can I show you how much I’ve wanted you, too?” you ask, pressing your breasts against his chest.

Kyle loosens his hold and you drop to your knees, taking his boxer briefs with you. His cock is gorgeous. It curves upward slightly, and a pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit.

He whispers your name, and then you have him in hand. Stroking once. Twice.

You lick off that bead. Savor his taste. Go back for more.

Kyle grabs the back of your head, drawing you to him. You open your mouth. Swallow him down. Throating him until you gag.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongating the vowel.

You work him with hand and mouth, keeping a steady rhythm that has him weak and wanton. You have all the control—until you don’t.

“Let me fuck your mouth, love. Please.”

The please is what does it. You release his cock, placing both hands on his thighs. With a pleased growl, Kyle keeps your head stationary. You anticipate the first thrust, and it is sinful. The movement goes straight to your pussy as you imagining him fucking you there like he fucks your mouth.

Fingers dig into muscled thigh. You want to touch yourself, to tease your clit while he does it. He is a god above you—Adonis.

“Can’t wait to taste your cunt, love,” rasps Kyle. “Can’t wait to make you drip for me.”

His desire fuels your own, and you urge him on, gently cupping him with one hand, thumb lightly rubbing the sensitive strip of flesh there.

Kyle’s hips stutter, and you relax your throat, humming around his cock as your lips meet the base. He holds you there, and you take it all, thighs chaffing from the friction of you rubbing them together in anticipation.

You blink up at him, and Kyle wipes away a tear with his thumb.

“My turn,” he murmurs.

You’re on your feet and then on your back in seconds. All the wind is knocked out of you, and then Kyle’s tongue is there, sliding through your slickness. Parting. Teasing the opening of your vagina before trailing upward to circle around your clit.

Gasping, your hands reach for him. Kyle grabs both wrists, keeps them planting on your stomach as he fucks you with his tongue. His shoulders dig into your thighs, keeping them wide. He’s stronger than you even as your thighs quiver, wanting to close, wanting to shut.

Kyle groans against your pussy, and then he’s on your clit, moving in such an easy, languid way that everything explodes outward. A shudder passes from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Your pussy clenches. Unclenches. Clenches again.

Kyle doesn’t let up. He doesn’t cease. Every stroke strikes true and then your body betrays itself, overstimulation setting in, and the urge to wiggle away is paramount.

But just as you push at him—just as your body draws back. Kyle is releasing your wrists, pushing himself up and over you, spreading those legs even wider to slide inside.

The bed creaks beneath you, and then he’s thrusting.

Your moans of pleasure become one with the rain.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Single lamp. Lone bed.

Peeling paint. Dusty corners.

“Something’s on your mind.” Your voice is the only sound in the room other than the AC unit.

Soap’s sigh is soft and small as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

It’s the last night before the potential end. Before victory or failure. Just the two of you now with the plan to meet up with others later.

He nods, and you take a tentative step forward. “We attended the briefing. You know the details.”

“Aye.”

“Then what has you worried?” you ask, taking another step in Soap’s direction.

A warm, orange glow emits from the singular lamp on the bedside table. It’s not enough light to illuminate the cheap peeling paint or the dirt in the corners of the room. It only gives life to the bed and the side of Soap’s face.

It’s not like you have an unlimited budget. A motel room is the best the two of you could manage for some rest before moving on. The man at the desk didn’t even glance up when he asked if they only wanted a room for an hour.

You had asked for two beds. The man at the desk replied that no one who stops here asks for that.

One bed it is.

One bed.

Somehow, you’ll have to sleep beside Soap while simultaneously shoving down the urge to reach out to him.

Sighing, Soap leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. His gaze drifts slightly as if he’s not focusing on anything in particular. Running his fingers through his short mohawk, he tugs on the ends, mussing the freshly washed strands, creating a wavy mess.

Just that one movement as you leaning forward, nostrils flaring to inhale that clean scent.

“Adaptability,” he answers. Finally.

Instead of sitting on the bed beside him, you sink to your knees, resting your arm on the bed, and your chin on your arm.

The two of you have been on missions before but never together like this.

Never alone.

Keeping your gaze downward, you notice just how close you are to him—and how Soap leans in your direction, the edge of his knee brushing against the side of your hand.

It’s a small contact, but he’s warm, and that warmth is transferring into yourself, unspooling outward. It’s a difficult thing—because all this time you’ve harbored feelings for him, and yet have never acted on them.

“You’re quick on your feet, Soap,” you murmur, one finger absently extended to brush over the curve of his knee.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You can call me Johnny.”

Johnny. You’ve never called him that. Soap, sure. Sergeant MacTavish? All the time.

“I thought Ghost only had that right.”

Only Ghost calls Soap ‘Johnny.’ That’s understood by everyone.

Soap shrugs. “He did.” He glances at you, his smile widening. “But I’d like to hear you say it.”

Something swirls in your stomach, twisting like a knife.

“How would you like to hear it?” you reply.

Johnny’s smile, which is so wide and teasing, softens into a sultry smirk. “I have options?”

“You do.”

Johnny’s usual playfulness emerges. “Say it like you’re angry with me.”

“Johnny,” you say, deepening your voice to sound like Ghost.

He bursts out laughing, falling back onto the bed, clutching his stomach. “Oh, aye. I’ll give you that.”

“What else?” you tease. “I demand more.”

“Say it like you’re annoyed with me.”

You do just that, and Johnny sits up, turning on his side.

“Again,” you prompt.

The middle of Johnny’s brow creases and then his hand cradles the side of your face. He closes the distance, kissing you deeply—as if you are his lover and not a friend.

But you don’t pull away. You indulge yourself, kissing him back just as sweetly.

You’re not sure how much time passes, just that it does, and his small retreat after it’s done is all you have in acknowledging its passing.

The withdrawal is short. Johnny doesn’t move away. He keeps his hand on your cheek. The tip of his nose nearly brushing yours.

“Say it now,” he breathes, voice raspy.

“Johnny,” but it’s not what you intended to say.

He sighs. “Again.”

“Johnny.”

This time he groans, and then your lips are fusing, becoming one. You’re dragged off the floor and into his arms, tangling in his heat, forgetting yourself completely.

“Johnny,” you repeat, and then your shirt is gone, followed by your bra.

He nips at the curve of your breasts before sucking your nipple into his mouth. His teeth graze flesh and you say his name again until it becomes a strangled moan.

The front of your jeans is open, and his hand is there, cupping your sex, fingers dragging through your wetness.

“Johnny,” but it’s to stop him, to remind him that this cannot go on.

“Fucking hell. Love the way you say my name.”

This melts your resolve. Makes your legs spread wider. Makes you shove at your pants and create plenty of space.

Johnny knows. He understands.

He yanks them down even as he peppers your breasts with little nips and kisses. Your fingers drags through his hair as he sucks the other nipple into his mouth, bringing it to perky attention.

One finger slides inside, and you groan loudly, legs falling wide as Johnny settles himself between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, claiming your mouth and pumping his finger. You whimper as he inserts a second. “Wanted you so bad.”

Your pussy flutters, squeezing around him. It is Johnny that groans this time, and it is a primal sound.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks. “Please.”

“Johnny,” you breathe. “Johnny.”

“Need a yes or no. Tell me. Do you want me? I’ve wanted you.”

You answer by finding him—guiding him to the place you need him to.

With a low growl, Johnny pins your arms above your head, slotting his pelvis against yours, the head of his cock sinking in until you’re taking all of him.

“Johnny!”

“That’s what I want to hear,” he croons, starting to thrust.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“I can’t tell what blood is yours and what isn’t.”

“Can fucking do it myself.”

“Ghost—”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Simon,” you snap, and he stops fidgeting.

Behind the plain balaclava, you see the fire in Lieutenant Riley’s eyes. This man is your superior. At least, right now he is. But the mission is done. It’s over. Yet the two of you are stranded, and making contact with Price is going to take time.

Not to mention that Simon is injured, and you have no fucking idea where at.

“Let me help you,” you say as soothingly as possible.

You don’t want to fight with him. All you want is to help Simon, to clean him up, and get him into bed. Rest and healing are what he needs right now. Contacting Price can wait. Base can stew for a while longer.

The two of you are in a motel room in the middle of fucking nowhere America. It’s shit overall, but it will have to do. There’s no way anyone is searching for the two of you out here. You drove until you nearly ran out of gas, and then you refilled and drove some more. Simon was in the back of the car, covered in blood.

But he was awake. Moving. Not a head injury, and not enough to get him immediate medical treatment. Not like he would have allowed you to take him to a hospital anyway. Lieutenant Riley is fucking stubborn. Sometimes infuriatingly so.

Simon stares, hard, his dark eyes intense behind the balaclava. He blinks, and then pushes up from the chair, keeping his gaze trained on you.

“Lieutenant,” you mutter, annoyed.

As Simon stands and attempts to take a step forward, his left leg wobbles, and he nearly topples forward. Your arms go out to catch him, holding him steady. He’s a big guy, and he seems to know this because he tries to prop himself up using the chair.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you snap.”

“Listen—”

“I’m not arguing with you Simon Riley.”

Using his full name shuts him up. It’ll likely earn you a reprimand later, but fuck it, you’re over this.

“Stay there.” You shove him back down into the chair and head into the bathroom.

There is a single overhead light. Flipping the switch turns it on and the fan. It’s a tight space, but thankfully the shower isn’t also a tub. That would be a nightmare getting him in. Instead, there is a sink, a toilet, and a dividing wall that cuts the room in half. It’s more like a locker shower but it’ll work.

Reaching in, you turn the handle. You jump back as cold water shoots out of the shower head. After waiting for a few seconds, steam starts to rise.

You take a deep breath, knowing what you have to do. “You got this,” you murmur, heading back into the room.

Simon leans forward in the chair, forearms resting on his knees.

You hold out your hand. “Let’s go.”

Lieutenant Riley’s head swivels in your direction. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” you reply, holding firm. “Come on.”

With a deep sigh, Simon reaches out and slides his hand into yours. It’s warm. Calloused. You squeeze it and step forward, extending your other arm to wrap around his torso. Simon stands. Wobbles. But you snake your arm around him, and then it’s a slow trek into the bathroom.

Simon is limping, but he’s showing no other signs that his injury hurts him. Might be minor, or he’s just good at covering up the pain.

Once the two of you are inside the bathroom, you realize just how small the space is. Maneuvering Simon to the shower is difficult, a weird dance to wiggle around the door and toilet to the opening of the shower.

You retreat slightly, and Simon leans against the wall, his eyelids closing as he takes a deep breath.

“You good?” you ask, concern creasing your brow.

Simon nods. “I’ll manage.” His eyelids open slowly and then he stares into the shower. “You want me in there?”

“You’ll need to remove a few things first,” you reply, gesturing toward his uniform.

Simon snorts. “Trying to get me naked?”

“You wish,” you retort, even as your cheeks heat with embarrassment. “Need help?”

At first, Simon doesn’t say anything. He just reaches for his belt, removing it slowly with one hand.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you mumble, starting to turn away.

“Wait.”

You freeze, and then glance over your shoulder. “What is it?”

Simon shrugs. “What if I slip? Might need you to catch me.”

This bastard.

“Then I’ll stay,” you reply cooly, pretending that this doesn’t affect you.

But it does. It’s reshaping you, and Simon’s slow undressing isn’t helping things. He keeps his gaze on you the entire time, and you purposefully keep your eyes averted, when really you want to look. You want to know what he’s like under all that.

The belt goes. So does his tactical gear and jacket. Next is his shirt followed by his balaclava. You sneak a peek then, and Simon grins at you like he knew you’d look eventually.

“I’ll need some help with these. Getting them down that is.” Simon gestures towards his pants and you feel your face grow so hot you fear it might explode.

“Sure.”

You reach for him, silently chastising your shaking fingers. This is too much, even though you like it, and want more from it. You undo the button and zipper. Sliding your hands beneath the band, you shimmy Simon’s pants to the floor. He kicks them away and all that’s left are his boxer briefs. They’re tight and you notice the massive bulge in front.

Fuck.

“You can do the rest,” you reply, glancing away.

Simon removes them, and then he starts forward, arms outstretched to balance himself as he enters the shower.

“Fucking hell,” moans Simon as the hot water hits his body.

The groan that comes after is deep, and so sultry you feel a bolt of pleasure spike from your pussy.

“Should join me.”

“No thanks,” you say, averting your gaze away from Simon’s muscled backside.

One moment you’re facing the wall, and the next you’re under the spray of water.

“What the fuck,” you shriek, stumbling backward as Simon chuckles. Muttering under your breath, you stare down at your soaked clothing. “Goddamn it.” You start removing articles of clothing, the wet fabric peeling away from your skin.

“Fucking fine, Simon.”

You shed everything and storm under the spray, only for Simon to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you against him. There is no pause between then and the moment his lips find yours. It is sweet, and warm. You instantly melt, enjoying every second.

But it’s fleeting.

You draw back, heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re covered in blood. Remember?”

Simon shrugs and then offers you the soap. “Clean me then.”

You do it, and when you’re done, he does the same for you. It’s far too intimate, and Simon’s gentleness is surprising. Once finished, you dry and bandage the wound on his leg. It’s not terrible—and will likely need stitches—but it’s not bleeding anymore.

The singular bed in the middle of the room is far too small. Not with Simon in at, spread out and naked under the sheets.

You slide in beside him, not knowing where you should settle. Simon is large, taking up most of the best. The only place is curled up next to his side.

Turning your resolve to steal, you settle in. You begin to turn away from Simon, but his arm shoots out, grasping your waist. You’re yanked across the bed, only to find yourself in Simon’s arms.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

“Stop pretending, love. We both know what’s going on. Don’t deny it.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Simon—”

“We’ve been making eyes at each other for fucking months. And now we’re alone. You think I don’t see the opportunity?”

Simon’s hand slides over the curve of your ass, and then dips beneath your shirt. You’re not wearing underwear, and when his fingers brush over your pussy, you gasp, pressing into him.

“You’re already wet for me,” growls Simon as he drags a finger through your folds. “So fucking wet.” He presses in, and your pussy parts for him.

“We can’t, Simon. You’re injured.”

“Not so much,” he coos. “Especially since I can do this.” On this, Simon drags the tips of his finger along the inside your pussy, hitting that sweet spot.

You moan, fingers digging into his chest as your back arches to press you further down on him.

“It’s just my leg that’s injured.” Simon’s lips brush against your cheek and then the edge of your ear. His breath is warm against your skin. “I can still fuck you. Have you on top. Bounce you on my cock.” Simon gives the curve of your ear the faintest kiss. “Would you like that, love? Do you want me to fuck you?”

“We—we—”

With his other hand, Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you against him, silencing whatever it is you’re trying to say. He seizes your mouth in a fierce kiss. You open for him, and his tongue slides inside. He tastes nice, and you want to sink into the feeling. Have him devour you completely.

“Let me in,” he murmurs against your lips.

You push up, doing exactly as he wants you to do. You settle on his lap, his hard cock pressed up against your thigh.

With a low growl, Simon removes your shirt, leaving you completely bare to his gaze.

“Much better,” he says, cupping your breasts as you lean on his chest, lifting your hips.

His cock slides through your folds, and then you start the descent, moaning as he splits you in two. The stretch is intense—nearly sharp with pain, but laced with pleasure. Simon’s eyelids flutter slightly, and his groan is pure sin.

Simon lightly squeezes your breasts one more time before his hands find your hips. He lifts you up, and then back down, bouncing you on his cock. You cling to him, allowing him to use you, to fuck you in whatever way he wants.

Each grunt and growl from him only makes you wetter. Hungrier.

“I’m gonna come inside you.”

It’s not a question. There is no other option, and you wouldn’t take anything else even if there was.

“Please,” you whimper.

Simon’s hands tighten, his hips thrusting upward to meet every downward movement. He sits up, his mouth clamping around a nipple to nip and suck. Your orgasm roars up from nowhere, and then you’re clenching around him, milking Simon’s cock as his own end greets him.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

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gilverrwrites · 5 months ago

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Random Jason Todd headcanons that I think about too much. Heavy on bookworm!Jason cause I love bookworm!Jason.

Calls you his backpack, when he gives you a ride on the back of his bike.

Lets you personalise his spare helmet, and does not care when his siblings/other passangers complain about having to wear whatever you've created with stickers and gemstones, or whatever you're into.

If there are two seats available, he’ll sit in one then put his feet up in the other, or otherwise occupy the second seat so you’re forced to sit in his lap. He doesn’t care how much you weigh; he just wants you as close as possible, wants to feel you against him, put his hands on you.

Even if they’re not his kind of book, he’ll still read and annotate your favourites.

He doesn’t really have guilty pleasures. He’ll happily binge watch 90s chick-flics, or barbie films without shame, if that’s what you’re into.

Buys you pill dispensers for your meds/vitamins/whatevers, and leaves you little reminders to take them along with other things like – ‘don’t forget to eat some protein today x’ or ‘if you’re gonna rot in front of the TV all day, OPEN A WINDOW ♡’

Will respond to your texts with the most out of pocket stuff that knocks you off your feet, some fun, some romantic, often book quotes.

23:58: Jay, when are you coming home. I miss kisses xx 00:04: Soon, you should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how. Xx

02:03: You should be asleep, but in case you’re not, sleep well babe x 06:15: Good morning my heart, my life, my one and only thought x

17:45: What do you want to eat tonight? Xx 17:58: You xx 18:00: You can’t eat me, I’m not a substantial meal! x 18:06: Don’t talk bad about yourself like that xx 18:06: I ate you last night, I would eat you every night if I could xx 18:09: Your choices are pasta or take out x 18:16: 😔 18:18: Fine, you can eat me, but you have to have real food first x 18:18: I’ll pick up thai food on the way xx

Buys you gas station flowers, or candies, or books by your favourite authors, whenever he sees them, wherever he is, just cause they make him think of you.

Likes it when you massage his muscles, when you gently ghost your fingertips over his scars.

Loves it when you run your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp and behind his ears.

When you pull his hair, oh boy. Pull his hair.

You’re hot when you’re angry. Not that he would ever intentionally try to wind you up.

You’re hot when you’re bossy too.

Complains when you steal his t-shirts and hoodies, but if he sees you deciding between one of his jackets and one of your own, and you don’t pick his, he’ll get mad about it.

You're one of very few people he lets wear the brown jacket, because he couldn't say no to you if he tried.

#jason todd #red hood #jason todd/reader #jason todd x reader #red hood/reader #red hood x reader #headcanons #hcs #x reader #gilverrwrites

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avocado-writing · 2 months ago

Text

pairing: logan howlett x reader x wade wilson

rating: E, minors dni, 18+ (mmf threesome; resolved sexual tension; sex pollen; unprotected p in v sex; oral [f receiving]; double penetration)

words: 6.7k

summary: you, logan and wade are on a stakeout after reports of a new drug which only affects mutants. but what happens when you accidentally get a hit of it yourselves…? (the sex pollen fic from the poll! thank you @eupheme for betaing for me, i owe you my life!)

“I spy with my little eye…”

“Wade, I swear to god…” Logan’s voice is a low rumble, a warning.

“Awww c’mon, peanut! What else do we have to do? Indulge me in my childlike whimsy.”

“Let me guess,” you say, shelling a pistachio before throwing it in the air to catch it on your waiting tongue, “you spy something beginning with R-D, which is the rising damp, which is the fourth goddamn time you spied it because there’s nothing else in this fucking place.”

Wade huffs and throws himself back in his chair.

“Killjoy,” he mutters, and goes back to carving obscene doodles into the side table with baby knife.

On the first day you were happy to play along, just to ease the boredom and tension which came hand-in-hand with this arrangement. Now it’s been five of them, stacking on top of each other and getting claustrophobic-heavy, the three of you crowded into each other’s space and on the razor’s edge.

Something is going to break, and you’re worried it’ll be Wade’s nose under Logan’s fist.

What a stupid fucking mission. You should never have said yes.

Ever since the whole Void situation was resolved you, Logan and Wade have been X-Men adjacent. Not part of the group exactly but happy to play along if needed. This most recent assignment had been a request from Piotr - there was something going on downtown to do with trafficking drugs which affected mutants, and someone needed to keep an eye on it. Couldn’t be anyone from the mansion, they’re all hands on deck at the moment keeping an influx of kids in check. But the three of you? With no jobs between you and an urge to do good?

It was a problem with an obvious solution.

It’s a stakeout. Which means sitting and waiting and holy fuck is it boring.

You can tell something is going on in the alley across the street but you’ve had strict instructions not to take action until you see the guy in charge: thickset man with a penchant for misdeeds and built like a brick shithouse. Once you have proof he’s involved, you’ll get the go-ahead to close in and shut the place down in whatever manner you see fit.

But until he comes in, your little trio has no choice but to stay put, watching petty criminals come and go with no idea they’re being monitored.

Life has revolved around watches from the dingy window. Usually two of you will stay up while one of you tries to get some sleep on one of the uncomfortable twin beds that have been provided, but it isn’t easy to drift off when it feels like the mattresses are made of cinder blocks stuffed with broken glass. It isn’t that you’re unused to being in each others’ spaces - if you’re not at their apartment they’re at yours, after all, you are friends - but this is different. You have the luxury of walking away from each other in normal day-to-day life when things gets too much. Here? Here, you’re stuck until you’re done with the job. You’re all tired, irritated, and desperate for entertainment. You’ve even considered chopping off your own hand to watch it grow back, just for something to do.

And the thing is that’s not the worst of it. Ever since the three of you returned from the Void there’s been something there. Something difficult to pin down, exactly. A niggling little feeling worming its way through your body. Something which thrums every time Wade flexes the muscles in his hand and you see his long, strong fingers; every time Logan grits his jaw and the tendons in his neck throb.

Oh, right. You sort of really want to fuck them both.

You don’t go through something that traumatic and not have deep-rooted feelings which surpass normal boundaries. You fought for each others’ lives. You’re bonded in a way people rarely are. And the more time you spend with them the blurrier the lines between platonic and fucking soulmate become. You’ve seen both of them stare at you - and each other - when they think you’re not looking, so you’re sure this isn’t something that only you are harbouring. It’s a secret desire harboured by all three of you.

Like you said, something is gonna break. And in this shitty little surveillance room? It’s gonna break soon.

A movement outside. The three of you sit forward to take a look at the evening’s street view, only to fall back into your chairs as it turns out to be a false alarm. Just a pedestrian walking by. You’re going to go insane.

You drum your fingers on your thighs just to keep them busy, then turn to Logan.

“You got a smoke?”

He cocks a brow at you.

“You want a cigar?”

“Nothing else to fucking do.”

“Whoa, hey!” says Wade, putting his hand on Logan’s arm as he roots around in his jacket pocket, “No no no, you quit last year! Don’t start up bad habits again unless I’m the one convincing you to, pookie.”

“Wade, c’mon. I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t have something to do,” you groan. Plus, really, you’d kinda like something to suck on, just to relieve some of the ache in your belly.

As if Wade can hear your thoughts he pipes up again.

“Well if you’re that desperate to use your mouth, I know what we could play to pass the time…”

You and Logan groan in unison, and he balls his fist in a way which suggests it’s not long until the claws come out. Wade holds up his hands to signify peace.

“Whoa, chill out, honeybadger. No need to get scratchy. You don’t have to join in if you don’t want to… but it’s more fun the more people there are.”

Accepting there’s nothing else to pass the time, Logan lets out a long, exhausted sigh and lets Wade continue.

The mercenary licks his lips as if, for once, considering his phrasing. Then blurts out what he wanted to say anyway.

“We could play blowjob roulette.”

It was a foolish time to take a drink of your soda, because you spurt it out your nose. After a moment of mopping yourself up with your sleeve you manage a, “what?!”

“Well, oral roulette I guess, if we’re being PC about it.”

“Oh my god,” Logan groans, getting to his feet and stomping into the tiny excuse for a kitchenette, grabbing a beer and opening it with such gusto that the cap bounces off an adjacent wall.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything! We just spin the bottle and whoever it ends up pointing out deals out a round of Australian kisses for the other players. Relieves the boredom, and it’s fun to see how long everyone lasts.”

Your mouth is open, you’re sure of it. You’re looking at Wade in abject horror. This has got to just be part of his stupid bravado, right? Making an ill-timed joke?

Because the other option is he’s serious.

Logan drinks. You stare. Wade rabbits on.

“I’m just saying we used to play it at Sister Margaret’s all the time, when we were waiting for new marks to come in and didn’t have anything better to do! It wasn’t gay or anything except for, you know, the rampant homoeroticism of slurping everyone’s gherkin.”

“Did you… did you ever have to do it?” you ask, morbid fascination taking over. He scoffs.

“Did I ever have to… pookie, I’ve taken more loads than my building’s washing machine. Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty fucking great at it.”

He’s staring at you with an intensity which makes you feel like you’re on fire, but from embarrassment or enthusiasm you’re not sure.

“So?” he asks, quietly, putting a hand on your knee. Your body burns. You swallow. You look to Logan.

He sighs. Finishes his beer, but in a way which suggests he’s giving in. You see the way Logan’s teeth touch his bottom lip. The start of a fricative.

He’s going to say fine.

Movement out of the window. You bolt up, knocking Wade’s hand away. He deflates.

“Aww. But I really wanted to - ”

“No, guys - look!”

They quickly crowd you, following where you point. A huge man walks into the alleyway, flanked by underlings, the bulk of him taking up the small space.

“There’s our guy,” you say, “let’s go.”

You descend upon the alleyway in a flash of swords and claws. You tug your cowl up over your nose to protect your face, hand on one of your Brügger & Thomet MP9s as the three of you come face-to-face with the door you’ve been monitoring all week.

“So are we going in sneaky style, or—”

Logan rips the door off its hinges, throwing it down the length of the alley; he is desperate to be done with this. You exchange a look with Wade.

“Okiedokie, asked and answered I guess,” he sighs, grabbing his Desert Eagles from his holsters.

You both follow Logan who’s thrown himself into the middle of the lab claws-first. Two-thirds of the people scream and flee, the others stand their guard and grab their guns.

Fingers on triggers, you take a beat to examine the situation.

Equipment everywhere. Beakers and cylinders you can possibly guess the use for, set up on desks and synthesising something nasty. The boss is standing in the middle of the room, eyebrow cocked and mild annoyance plastered on his face. Bingo. You make a beeline for him, taking a couple of bullets in your flank as you go.

“Cover me!” you shout to Wade. He pulls his katana out of a guy’s head and throws you a bloodied thumbs-up.

“Got your back, pookie! Hate to see you leave, love to watch you spill entrails as you go!”

As if he was predicting your next action, you whip your knife out of your belt and stab it in an assailant’s belly, watching his warm guts slide onto the floor. He releases a strangled noise as he drops to his knees - you make a move to continue on your way to the boss only to feel someone pick you up.

“Shit!” you mutter as you’re hoisted into the air. Wade and Logan stop their onslaught to turn at the sound of your panic, their eyes both going wide as they see you restrained. With a twinned shout of your name they come running to help.

Aww, your boys. It’d be cute if you weren’t bracing yourself for the pain.

Your attacker launches you across the room. A couple of seconds go by as you fly through the air - and then into a table full of test tubes and pipettes.

A great cloud rises into the air. A cloud of spores?

Before you can get a chance to properly read the situation, Wade and Logan are at your side. Sturdy hands grasp around your forearms and you’re dragged to your feet.

Of course, it goes unnoticed…but all three of you take in a deep breath.

“You okay, baby?” rasps Logan.

“Yeah, I’m f— move!” you scream, shouldering him out of the way so you can sink your knife into the neck of the man about to spray bullets down his spine. As you rip through the soft skin at his throat something occurs to you.

‘Baby’? Where did that come from?

Not that it isn’t nice, obviously, but… it’s unlike Logan to show that much tenderness ever. Especially with pet names.

Oh well, no time to dwell.

Picking bits of glass from your biceps you tank a punch from a man closing in on your left, parry his next couple of blows, then shoot him in the dick. Wade has called this a ‘low blow’ before which isn’t incorrect but honestly, there’s no time for fighting fair when it’s 3-versus-30.

The boss has finally gotten involved. A pair of brass knuckles shines against his fist as he swings at Logan, a meaty crack filling the air in a way which you’re worried might actually have dented one of your friend’s ribs. Wade uses the distraction to stab a katana into the guy’s back, then another one a little further up - using him like a goddamn climbing wall. The boss roars like an animal and attempts to swat him off but there’s no use. His massive bulk is working against him, and Wade can be a fast little motherfucker when he wants to be.

Wade lets out a ‘peekaboo!’ as he pops up over the boss’s shoulder, pressing his pistol into the meat of his neck and firing. Blood sprays across the floor but somehow the guy doesn’t stop, not even when Logan picks himself back up and sinks both his claws into his stomach; it only elicits another snarl.

Okay, time to close.

You sheath your guns and go back to your knife, using Logan as a launchpad as you throw yourself off the arch of his back and into the air - stabbing down into the boss’s skull with a dull thunk.

A line of blood dribbles out of his mouth. He starts to fall.

“Uh oh - call me Ke$ha, because I’m yelling timber!” Wade warns. With a snarl Logan rips his claws free from muscle, snatching you off of the boss’s corpse as he stumbles forward under his own weight. Pulling you free you both lose your footing, and you crash down onto your friend.

You look at Logan.

He looks at you.

Suddenly, his hands clasp around your hips. Probably you move you off of him…

And then you’re on fire.

Like gasoline has made a line from his touch to your cunt, everything in you is set ablaze. Your pussy clenches and you’ve never felt so empty before - or at least not so aware of it.

There is a cock-shaped hole and it’s begging to be filled.

You expect Logan to freak out, you’re freaking out - you never thought you had a murder kink but you guess you’re never too old to find out something new about yourself - but he doesn’t.

Instead you just see him furrow his brow as if processing something; then acknowledge the press of his hardening cock rub against your thigh as he bucks up into you.

Oh no. Something is wrong.

When you feel Wade grab your shoulder and haul you back to your feet it’s the same, that delicious burning sensation rocketing through you… and from the way he moans as soon as his hands are on you, the feeling is mutual.

“Fuck. Fuck,” he breathes. Yeah. You want to, that’s the issue.

You stagger away from him with wide eyes and electric skin, a beat passing between the three of you as the people left in the lab decide to give up the fight now their boss is toast. Hearts racing, hands wanting to reach out and touch.

Logan is the one to break the silence.

“We should call in and let the others know we’re done,” he manages. You nod.

“Yeah. Can we… can we go back across the street? I don’t feel so good.”

“Oh, don’t you go Spider-Man Infinity War Part 1 on me,” Wade chuckles. You don’t have the energy to work out what he’s referencing, especially when a jolt goes through your body to your cunt when you feel his eyes meet yours.

Damn. This is bad.

“Yeah. Of course, honey,” Logan manages. He goes to put his hand on the small of your back and then thinks better of it, though you can feel its nearness like a magnetic pull. You almost moan when he retracts his touch instead. Wade whips his phone out and fires off a message to let someone know a cleanup crew is needed as you stagger out of the alleyway and back across the street.

You didn’t bother closing the door when you ran out, too desperate to monopolise on the chance of getting your mark. The three of you tumble back into the room you’d been dying to get out of just a scant few minutes ago, relieved to be in the privacy of its confines again.

A moment passes as all three of you adjust to the feeling coursing through your bodies.

“What’s happening?” you breathe, bracing your hands on the back of your go-to wooden chair and breaking it with the force of your grip. You wince at the sound of splintering, blood dripping down your palms before you feel it heal over.

“I’ve not felt like this since I first discovered how easy it was to masturbate to Good Housekeeping,” Wade groans, whipping off his mask as he flops down onto the battered-up-couch. Logan has made his way to the fridge again, practically ripping its door off to get to a beer which he downs in one swig. Fuck. It’s so sexy. You want to lick the muscles in his neck.

“It’s a pollen,” he states, voice rocky in a way which goes straight to the burning pit of your stomach. You and Wade exchange a look and then turn to him, waiting for further explanation. “Only has a reaction in mutants. Charles said it was something about putting the id into overdrive, like a fuckin’ adrenaline shot to the libido.”

“It… it makes you aroused?” you manage, attempting not to rock your cunt into the palm of your hand. Logan grunts.

“Was trying to be more tactful, but yeah, honey. That’s the idea.”

Honey. The pet name once again goes down your spine.

“Fucking sorry,” says Wade, “someone was manufacturing this stuff as a drug for what? To make mutants too horny to fight?”

Logan shrugs, still not tearing his gaze from his empty bottle, as if to agree it’s his best guess. Wade’s head falls back against the sofa’s arm.

“I mean, damn, they could have just shown me any frame from Magic Mike XXL and it would have had the same result. Seems like a lot of effort.”

Something about the way Logan talks sticks out to you, you circle back around to it.

“Logan, you seem to know a lot about this stuff… have you encountered it before?”

Another beer grabbed and chugged down, the forward hunch in his shoulders physical evidence of his walls raising.

“Once. Back in the day with the other X-Men.”

“How did you get through it? Does it go away?”

Logan doesn’t reply. Drinks.

The unspoken answer sinks in.

“Oh my god, you had to fuck it out, didn’t you?” gasps Wade. Logan doesn’t even growl. Jesus Christ he’s right. “Who was it? Storm? Beast? By the love of all things 100k+ enemies-to-lovers-slowburn, tell me it was Cyclops.”

Logan doesn’t dignify him with an answer, instead putting the empty bottle down with enough force you’re surprised it doesn’t shatter.

“It’ll pass. I just need to sit it out,” he reasons, the grit in his jaw suggesting this isn’t the optimal solution. You feel your eyebrows tug together, a crease of concern settling between them.

“But…”

“I’ll be fine.” The way he says it, he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone. With the room in the air practically throbbing he heads to the bedroom, leaving you and Wade alone.

Holy shit. You and Wade are alone.

Your eyes wander over to him, to find his gaze is already resting heavy on you. Your skin lights up.

“So, uh,” he starts, shifting himself awkwardly where his hard-on is trapped in his suit, “you read any good books lately?”

That does help to alleviate the tension and you find yourself chuckling, only for the relief to be ablated when your empty pussy pulses. You whine.

“Wade…”

As soon as you say his name he’s rushing over to you, helping you sit down on the ruined chair. You both moan as hot skin slides against hot skin.

“Look, it isn’t…” you groan as you slide your hand up his bicep. Fuck, he’s strong. “...it isn’t a crazy idea to help each other out, right? We’re friends. It’s just two friends giving each other a hand…”

Wade dips down to run the bridge of nose along the line of your jaw, letting his lips drop to the pulse in your neck.

“Just friends…” he mutters. You buck up into nothing. Oh, god. You’re going to die here. “Baby?”

Oh shit, oh fuck. You want him to call you that over and over again, stamp it into your fucking mind.

“Yeah?” you reply, the word ripped rawly from your throat.

“I wanted to do this before we even left this goddamn apartment, you think I might have changed my mind after the mutant viagra?”

He pulls back just enough for you to see the seriousness on his face. No, he’s not joking, not saying something dirty just because he thinks it’s funny.

He’s saying it because it’s true, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying.

“Can I?”

Oh, it’s so tempting to say yes yes yes… but the more tempting thing is to tease him. Just a little.

You hook your leg over his shoulder and he groans as you dig your heel into the muscle of his back. He groans loud and long.

“Wade?”

“Mmm?”

“Ask me properly.”

His breath hitches in his throat, and you’re pretty sure he’s making a mess in his suit.

“Fuck, can I eat you out, baby? Please?”

You nod so fast you fear you’ll break your neck.

Wade lifts you like you weigh fucking nothing at all, strong arms scooping you up and bringing you to the couch - desperate for more space. His hands move quick and roughly as he goes to the pants on your suit, so wracked with need his fingers shake just from the promise of getting to touch you properly. You help him as much as you can, toeing off your boots and helping him tug your underwear off along with your waistband. His eyes widen as he realises your panties are in his hands. He takes a moment to run his thumb over the cotton of them and he fucking moans. Oh, god damn it, you’re going to be fucking ruined.

“Fuck. Never seen a pussy look this good,” he breathes as he finds himself face-to-face with your dripping cunt. You’re already so wet that it’s embarrassing and, while it would be easy enough to blame on the pollen, you know that you’ve wanted this for months. When he drags his tongue up your puffy, desperate folds, you pretty much combust.

“Oh shit,” you groan, wrapping your other leg round his face to hold him flush against you - not that Wade needs any convincing though, because you’ve never seen a man so desperate to fuck you with his mouth before. He buries himself in you, scarred hands reaching up to dig into the soft skin of your thighs and keep you steady. He wants you at his own pace, it seems, and is strong enough to make it happen. Fuck, you are not complaining.

Wade’s eyes flit upwards to see how you’re reacting as he moves his whole face side to side to bury himself into your cunt deeper. It’s like he’s trying to find where your scent is the strongest and, honestly? With what you’ve heard about this pollen stuff? Seems right on track. He has no hair for you to bury your fingers in so instead you press your hand to the top of his head and pull him closer, because god knows you don’t have the ability to vocalise it. You sink your fingernails in so he knows, though.

Holy hell you’ve never felt so good. The pollen is heightening everything, each movement he makes into you shooting shockwaves through your nerves. Wade’s tongue is insistent in exploring every inch of you, pressing bluntly into your clit; lapping at the wetness seeping from you like he’ll die if he can’t taste what he’s doing to you; dragging down to your ass and toying with you there, too. Yes, fuck, anything he goddamn wants. When his teeth skim the needy folds of your cunt you jackknife into his mouth, almost breaking them clean out of his gums.

“Holy shit, babe. What’s gotten into you?” he chuckles, pupils so blown wide with lust that his eyes are eclipsed with black. You chase after him with your hips.

“Not you, and that’s the problem,” you harrumph. He grins and you see how covered with your slick he is and fuck you are going to die here.

“I’ll take care of you. That’s what friends do, right?” he asks, putting emphasis on the word you’re both masquerading behind. When you reach out with a searching hand he threads his finger through yours wordlessly, using the other to grab a pillow so he has something to fuck up against. You feel a tiny bit bad for not offering to help but you know he’ll get his in time - in fact just thinking about sucking his cock your mouth begins to water.

He presses his palm into yours as he goes back to your cunt with his mouth. It takes only moments for him to start up his desperate pace again, tongue sinfully sweet, and you’re chasing and chasing…

Stars explode in your vision and in your blood. The noise you let out is feral, a euphony of pleasure and you don’t care who hears. Wade’s eyes drift close as he tastes your orgasm directly at his lips, drinking you down. You’re certain his hips stutter as he comes just from getting you off. Oh god it’s so hot.

Oh god, you’re not done.

Wade surges up your body and kisses you ferociously, you moan at the taste of yourself he gives back.

“Fuck, yes, do you taste that, baby? What did I do to you? Holy fuck you are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen…”

“Wade, I need you.”

“Yeah, fuck, okay. Let me get this stupid sexy suit off…”

Hands begin to fumble messily, needily at each other’s zippers in order to strip. You sit up to get a better handle on him—

And freeze when you see you have an audience.

Wade follows your gaze to where Logan is standing in the bedroom doorway. He’s managed to get his suit off and change back into his jeans, though you can’t imagine he’ll want to stay in them for long the way his trapped cock is staining dark blue denim even darker. He’s gripping the doorframe with such force that his claws have popped out, eyes a matching pitch black to Wade’s, chest heaving as he watches the show.

“You okay, honey badger?” Wade drawls, a cocky smile dragging across him. Logan grunts. Swallows hard. You go for a softer tactic.

“Logan, sweetheart, you wanna join in?” your voice is husky as you ask, oh so inviting. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and his fist tight, taking a chunk out of the wall.

“Get into the goddamn bedroom, both of you,” he growls. The two of you absolutely do not need to be told twice. Partially undressed you vault over the back of the dishevelled sofa, letting Logan lead the way. As soon as you’re within arms’ reach he snags you around the waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

Logan kisses like he wants to devour you. Rough, commanding, dragging his tongue into your mouth as if trying to claim you. Oh, you’ll let him a hundred times over. You mewl when his hand reaches down you cup your still dripping pussy, immediately swiping a thumb against your clit. It pulses as if Wade didn’t just pull an orgasm out of you.

“Fuckin’ needy little thing,” he snarls, delighted. You reach down to grab the bulge he’s rocking, squeezing hard enough to get him to groan.

“Look who’s talking,” you chuckle. He taps at the top of your suit, an instruction.

“Off,” he says, but that’s as much as he gets to say, because Wade grabs him by the beard and steers him in for a kiss. You pause for just a second to see what will happen but clearly you needn’t have worried - Logan moans into your friend’s mouth, grabbing a handful of Wade’s pretty decent ass and digging in his fingers. While they’re busy you finish stripping, going for the zipper on the back of the red suit and pulling it down. It’s such a goddamn stupid design having it at the back like a goddamn prom dress - but at the moment you’re kinda thankful for it because it means you get to kiss along the revealed plain of skin. Wade has such beautiful fucking back muscles, you’ve stared at them for long enough to memorise every damned one.

He steps out of the suit when you get to his feet - yeah, he did come just from eating you out earlier and holy fuck are you proud - and lets out a strangled noise when you bite the meat of his asscheek hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck, are you gonna rim me? Because if so I’m a thousand percent down,” he chokes, pulling away from Logan’s mouth and leaving a string of spit between them, evidence of a messy kiss. You shrug.

“You want me to, baby?”

Wade seems to have a crisis of faith as he considers this, letting Logan nibble down the length of his neck; eventually he shakes his head though.

“No, I wanna be inside you, like, yesterday,” he confesses.

“I’ve got enough room for two,” you state, so absolutely sure the pollen will accommodate that you don’t even need to think about it. Both Wade and Logan suck in a breath at that idea.

“Fuck, baby, aren’t you just perfect,” Logan drawls, grabbing you by the hips as you stand up and pulling you to the pathetic twin bed this apartment was provided with. Not how you wanted this first time to go down but hey, at least it’s going down at all. No longer just a dirty fantasy you bury your fingers into your cunt imagining but a real bonafide liaison (boner-fide liaison, Wade’s voice in your head pipes up).

You paw at his jeans, desperate to have all three of you naked and ready. There’s nothing to hide between you any more. Any boundaries have been not only crossed but decimated, absolutely destroyed beyond repair, and you couldn’t be happier. When his cock falls heavy into your palm you can’t help but suck air in through your teeth at its sheer size. Logan chuckles, gravelly and tempting.

“Oh it’ll fit, baby,” he coos, as if reading your mind. Fuck. Yep, it will. There’s no two ways about it. You’re having both Wade and Logan inside you if it kills you.

He wraps you in his arms before you can have any more thoughts on the matter and pulls you down onto the mattress with him, the pollen in your veins making you feel every touch like the end of a live wire - yet you keep coming back to get shocked. Logan positions himself under you, chest-to-chest, grinning at the way your nipples rub against the coarse and gorgeous hair of his chest. There’s a slapping noise and you realise it’s Wade’s hand on Logan’s thigh, encouraging him to move up the bed.

“Big boy, you know you have to scoot up if this is happening. I’m all for fucking the same pussy together but you have to be realistic…”

Obscured by your body, only you get to see the way Logan rolls his eyes fondly at Wade’s blabbering. He manouveurs you both to allow Wade room to kneel on the mattress behind you and you gasp at the feeling of their cocks bullying at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, body on fire and desperate to be extinguished by them. Logan hums in your ear.

“I know, baby, I know. We’ll take care of you.”

“And each other. I got sex-pollened too, old man,” Wade harrumphs, rubbing his head against the slick lips of your cunt.

“Nobody’s forgetting you, princess,” he murmurs, “now be good and put me inside.”

Logan probably misses the soft hiss Wade lets out at that, but you feel the way the mercenary’s hand wraps around his cock and presses Logan to your empty cunt. You moan in pleasure as he follows the path Wade has laid out and pushes himself inside of you, no resistance given. It takes you only a couple of seconds to adjust to the pure size of him. Holy shit, if this were any other time you’d be falling apart by now, but the way your body pumps with desperation suggests one dick alone isn’t going to be enough.

“You okay?” Logan rumbles by your ear. You cling onto him for dear life, nodding.

“Yeah. Fuck, Wade, I know you’ll fit, you’ve gotta fuck me too.”

Wade doesn’t even have an answer for that. Instead you feel his thumb tug at your lips, stretching you for him - or just watching the way Logan fills you, getting off on the filthy way you’re plugged. Another cock begins to press at your already stuffed hole and you whine.

“S’okay, I gotcha,” Logan says through gritted teeth as he feels Wade’s length slide along his own, the feeling almost overwhelming for him. You drop your head to his shoulder and choke on your own spit as Wade forces himself inside of you. Your cunt feels like it is about to burst into flames in the most satisfying way possible, flowering open between them both.

“Fuck, never felt anything so goddamn tight in my life…” Wade manages. Eventually he bottoms out alongside Logan, both of them sitting snugly inside of you, sharing you, clutched in your warmth.

“There we go,” Logan growls. “You okay, baby?”

Not knowing if the question is aimed at you or Wade you both whine a yes. Logan laughs and you feel his chest move beneath you, all muscle and heat.

“I’m gonna move now.”

He drags himself out of you, inch by glorious inch, like a match striking against a box and sparking an ember. A deep ragged breath shudders through you at the feeling of it but it is nothing compared to how he slams back inside. Lights flood your periphery. You are going to fucking die between these two men and that is fine. Heaven, even.

Once Wade feels Logan’s rhythm it is too much of a competition for him not to match it. The mercenary’s arms fall either side of your bodies to support himself as he works himself in and out of you, sliding deep as Logan retreats to the tip. Your cunt makes a lewd noise as they piston inside of you and you have never cared about anything less in your life. You are bathed in light, high off this, euphoric over being fucked. A tiny rivulet of drool falls from the edge of your mouth into Logan’s chest hair and he curses at the glorious rawness of it all.

Above you, Wade has finally found his voice again.

“Look at you taking us so well. Oh, fuck, goddamn. I’ve wanted you like this for so long. Remember when we were neighbours, honey? Those guys who you used to bring home… fuck, baby… I used to give myself the old low-five to the sound of you getting fucked…”

You make a pathetic little noise which spurs him onwards. Wade’s mouth drops to your ear.

“...and I used to get angry because I knew I could do it better myself.”

“Oh my god Wade…” you whisper. Tears are beginning to pool in your eyes at the way you’re starting to get overstimulated, two cocks hitting that sweet spot inside you verges on being too much. Were the pollen not still in full force you’re sure you’d need to tap out.

“And you?” Wade’s hand grips Logan’s bicep, squeezing appreciatively. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up every morning and see you shirtless on my couch, and not be able to fuck you? You do it on purpose, peanut, I swear…”

Logan chuckles again, that deep honey-rich sound eked out in magnitudes.

“And what if I do, Red?”

Wade pauses in his thrusting, you don’t have to see him to know that his eyes are wide.

“Wait, what? For real?”

“Wade!” you whine, reaching over to slap at his arm, annoyed that he’s stopped moving. “Can we all just agree we’ve gotten off to the thought of each other and we’d have fucked eventually anyway?”

The men either side of you seem to think it’s a good compromise to come to and redouble their efforts. All you can do is to cling onto whatever muscles you’re able to find and ride the wave of pleasure. Fireworks go off in your synapses, brain a messy goo of euphoria, cunt fucked out and thoroughly taken care of.

They speed up, thrusts getting messy and arrhythmic and yet still somehow matching, and you know that they’re going to come together. What a fucking treat, how divine, oh god. Logan’s hands sink into your ass to keep you anchored as his cock goes faster, skin slapping on skin as his sac moves against Wade’s - causing the merc to let out a string of curses - and you’re suddenly flooded with his warm, sticky cum pumping inside you in jets. Wade whines at the feeling of himself being doused and follows Logan’s lead. The filthy cocktail of them drips around both their lengths and out of your hole, falling onto the pathetic mattress below. One last little nudge of the hips is all it takes to push you over the edge again. Your next orgasm is dragged out of you… but you know your body will demand more.

For now, though, respite. The urge to reach that peak again immediately has at least settled for the moment.

“Holy fuck,” you sigh. Logan hums an affirmative note, fingers playing with the small of your back as Wade peppers kisses across your shoulderblades.

“We should go on stakeouts more often, if this is the nice little bow everything gets tied up in,” Wade sighs, dreamily. You nod against Logan’s chest. His hair rubs your cheek deliciously. Your pussy throbs again, reminding you this dirty escapade needs to continue soon. “So what does this mean? Are we a little mutant charcuterie now?”

Your brow furrows as you try to parse what Wade has just said.

“Oh. Wade, baby, do you mean ‘coterie’?”

Logan bursts out laughing, a noise you’ve never properly heard before, and it has you grinning - and Wade, too, even though he grumbles a little at being corrected. Their cocks jostle inside you and you feel them getting hard again and, as you prepare yourself for round two, it’s nice to know that whatever the three of you face at the end of this will be happy.

Three days later, you’re laid across the couch, head in Wade’s lap and legs in Logan’s, all tangled together as you get the single worst telling-off of your life.

“Non-lethal mission, Wade! How many times did I have to tell you, it was meant to be non-lethal!” Piotr shouts down the line. Wade grimaces.

“Look, there were other things we had to sort out first, okay? We kinda forgot about the no-killing part. Besides the guy can’t traffic drugs if he’s dead,” he confesses. You can picture Piotr’s disappointed face.

“Other things!? WHAT other things, Wade?!”

“Okay so there was this horny pollen, and we all had to—”

Logan grabs Wade’s phone and hurls it across the room. It shatters into pieces against the wall. Wade gawps.

“Hey! That was new! Well, okay, not new, but it wasn’t cracked. Well, it was cracked, but it had all my best dick pics on there!”

“You can take new ones,” Logan states.

You smile. Yeah. The charcuterie is nice.

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom #Deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader x wolverine #wolverine x reader x deadpool

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jayparked · 2 months ago

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𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 | 𝒿𝑜𝓃𝑔𝓈𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑔 | 𝓂

snippet: "Ride me." Jay huffs. It's a command, not a request. He moves back to the head of the bed, adjusting the pillows before leaning back against them. Lifting the covers away from his body, he removes his boxers slowly. looking into your eyes as he does so. pairing: park jongseong x female reader genre: smut au: music producer jay, established relationship rating: explicit/18+, minors dni word count: 9.7k warnings: thunder and lightning storms, cigarette smoking sexual warnings: early morning sex, unprotected sex, lots of moaning, y/n tries to be a brat but jay aint having it, forced orgasm, oral (female and male receiving), jay almost lets y/n dom but then quickly changes his mind, spitting/mentions of drool, fingering, biting, marking, light bruising (from fingernails and biting), choking, language, some light foot worship, jay just really needs y/n to moan the way she did earlier so he can use it for his track, voice recording, brief use of sex toys i.e: restraints and vibrator, begging, whimpering, overstimulation, dirty talk, cigarette use, uhh jay uses the ashes from his cigarette on y/n’s nipples as a stimulant..., there’s some real good aftercare in there too so don’t worry, they’re like...grossly in love

The sound of the rain pitter pattering against the window is what initially draws you from your slumber. It falls rhythmically in a way that would normally lull you back to sleep, but the loud, harsh, fast contact of the water against the glass is almost flinch worthy. It isn’t an ordinary skylight window above a bed. The bedroom walls are slanted invertedly so that when you’re lying on the bed and look up, the window is slanted right above you. You watch as the raindrops hit the window and slowly slide down.

Yawning, you stretch out your arms and feel your muscles tighten before relaxing and you sigh softly with pleasure. You rub your eyes with your fists, blinking quickly as the moonlight escapes past the clouds barrier and cascades across your face causing you to squint annoyedly. Jay loves leaving the specially built blinds up at night, something you had to grow accustomed to after some time living together. Night after night watching him gaze wistfully towards the moon, it became your favorite part of your nightly routine. Watching that look of childish wonder gloss over your boyfriend’s eyes...there’s just nothing like it.

Tonight, the sky isn’t so peaceful. Lightning angrily streaks across the sky making you jump and clutch the flannel sheets to your chest.

"It wake you up too?"

You gasp, a sharp intake of breath causes your voice to squeak.

"You scared me, Jay!" You slap your boyfriend's shoulder lightly with the palm of your hand. He chuckles and rolls onto his side to face you, black hair swooping down over his forehead, just above his very awake looking eyes.

"Sorry. The thunder woke me up a little while ago. I was waiting for it to get you next." The edges of his eyes pinch together as he smirks, his voice sounding more sultry than playful. You shake your head trying to distract yourself from leading your mind down that alley. But it's hard when he looks that good and especially since you just had a dream about his-

"So. Now that we're both up..." he whispers and runs his pointer finger down your arm from your shoulder to your fingertips. "What should we do?" His big innocent eyes are all a ploy, you know that for sure. His pupils are blown out and his breathing is uneven. He knows exactly what he wants to do...and you're not sure if you're against it.

"How about..." you start slowly. You run your hand up his naked chest, feeling his muscles flex under your palm. He sighs and closes his eyes, completely enjoying the feeling of your hand rubbing against his bare skin. His sleep swollen lips part open and you can hear his breaths coming out sharp and quick, his heart rate rising quickly. You guide your hand down his chest and over his abdomen which makes him take in a sharp breath between his teeth. Jay's eyes remain closed so it's easier to marvel over the way his bottom lip starts to quiver, or the way the moonlight cascades shadows off his eyelashes, or the way his cock becomes more and more visible as it hardens under the sheets.

"How about we go back to sleep!" You say excitedly and remove your hand from your boyfriend's body. You throw your head back into your pillow and quickly close your eyes, pretending to instantly fall back asleep. If only it was that easy, right?

"I think we both know there's no point in sleeping now," Jay says, a low growl vibrating deep in his throat. He grasps the sheets in his hand and with one quick motion he throws them off your bodies and onto the floor. Cold air coats your skin and you tuck your knees up to your chest to try to keep in the warmth.

"Oh. Don't worry." Jay grabs your shoulders and turns you on your back, grasping your knees and opening up your legs so that he could kneel between them. "I'll warm you up real quick."

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, your stomach on fire with anticipation of what's to come. A streak of bright lightning flashes outside once more, followed by a loud clap of thunder over your heads. Jay moves his hand from your shoulder and rubs his palms up and down your thighs- the warmth of his skin makes you sigh and your shoulders relax further into the bed as his hands get further and further up your leg. He gets closer and closer to the edge of your pajama shorts, each time his hands move up and down your legs you're annoyingly aware of the nearness. Like a magnet, your hips move downward to shift your body closer to him, trying so desperately to close that distance. All you want is for him to reach his long fingers underneath your shorts and relieve all of the tension building up at your clit.

"You still with me?" His voice is sultry, almost grainy. He leans back against his heels, now even further away from your heat. But that doesn't stop his roaming hands. Jay's thumb rubs against your talus and moves down to the arch of your foot. At first you flinch from the contact, his fingers tickling your skin. But you relax as he continues to massage your feet, total bliss overtaking your body.

"Sorry," you sigh out. "Feels so good."

Jay smiles, the hunger gone from his eyes for a moment and in their place is the look of a caretaker wanting to bring comfort. He longingly looks at your foot as he continues to massage it and as you look at him you can see clearly how much he loves you. With every soft and delicate touch down to the way he treats every inch of your body as if it were a prized gem.

But then the hunger returns and he moves away from your feet, crawling up towards your face until his lips are mere centimeters away from yours. The heat from his breath makes you hold in your own breathing, your lips parting, desperately wanting for him to kiss you.

This small action does not go unnoticed and Jay prides himself in his ability to have you wrapped around his beautifully long fingers. "Is there something you want?" His lips barely brush over the tops of your own with his annunciation of 'you want'. Shivers run down your spine and your eyes flutter closed, tilting your chin up towards him and elongating your neck. Jay lets his eyes roam over your body, licking his lips as he focuses on the spot of your neck that he knows is extra sensitive.

"What do you want?" His voice is so soft, far beyond a whisper or even a murmur and it completely contrasts against the ever nearing booming of thunder. There's a hidden softness behind his eyes as he peels them away from your body to look into your own. His bangs are falling over his eyes again and you take your hand to sweep them away. Instead of resting your hand back at your side, you cup his cheek, feeling the softness of his skin beneath your fingertips.

Sighing, you can only manage to get out one word in response, "You."

Both of your lips pull together with a force stronger than magnets. There's a faint remnant of smoke hidden behind his breath that's so addicting you can't help but deepen the kiss further. Tongues swirl together and it feels like you've slipped into a dream. One of his hands cradles the small of your back while the other one weaves fingers into your hair. A light tug on your scalp makes you moan into Jay's mouth and he replies hungrily by taking your bottom lip between his teeth, pulling gently yet hard enough to make your head lean forward so that your shoulders lift off the bed.

Jay pulls your body forward more, the hand on the small of your back raising you up until you're both sitting facing one another. His chest feels warm to the touch despite the chill that lingers in the room. You don't blame him though. Your body also feels like it's radiating more heat than normal. With each kiss adds a whole other degree to the body temperature between the two of you. And you just can't get enough.

"Ride me." Jay huffs. It's a command, not a request. He moves back to the head of the bed, adjusting the pillows before leaning back against them. Lifting the covers away from his body, he removes his boxers slowly. looking into your eyes as he does so. This man is so confident it's almost unsettling. But you know he knows how much you love watching him undress. And it wouldn't be Jay if he wasn't teasing you in some way.

The band of his boxers dips below his hips, exposing his deep muscle lines. The bulge of his cock is so prominent it's making your mouth water and legs twitch with anticipation. Finally, he pulls them all the way down and releases his hardened cock from its cotton cage. He looks harder than normal, the redness of his skin a whole new shade of red than before. A large vein pulses at you, encouraging you to get closer and indulge in all the pleasures it offers you.

When Jay's hand grasps his shaft and strokes lazily, that's when your mind starts to feel hazy. Your mouth starts to salivate and that burning need between your legs is growing so intensely if you don't act on it soon you just might combust right here in this very spot.

You crawl towards your boyfriend slowly, watching him leisurely pump his cock in a way a cat would watch a mouse eat. Batting his hand away, you take his thickness in both of your hands, feeling the warm blood pump through his veins. Jay winces as you grip him a little tightly, the tip of his cock nearly throbbing in your hands from the pressure. You lean over him and open your mouth slightly, allowing a bead of drool to drop down and run down the side of his shaft.

"Fuck." Jay leans his head back against the headboard and moans.

"I'm so hungry for you," you purr and flatten your tongue against the side of his cock and lick one long stripe up to the tip, swirling your tongue around it before sliding your tongue back down again. Jay moans underneath you, muscles already shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Do you want me to suck you off or ride you?" You continue to use your tongue to play with him, licking down to the base of his cock before leaving little love bites at the base of his stomach and along his hip bones. Using one of your hands, you reach upward and apply pressure as your hand climbs up his stomach muscles, feeling every curve against your palm until you get to his chest and repeat the motion downward. Another moan leaves his beautiful lips and you can't help but smirk as you realize you could do this all day. Watching him melt in your hands and seeing him mentally debate with himself was a power surge unlike any other.

“Ri-ride me. I want you to ride me.” The words barely come out audible. His eyes are wide as he blinks rapidly, trying his best to stay present, his jaw and neck muscles bulging. He’s so close to the edge you think about ignoring his request. If you just suck him off all the way through, there would be punishment. No doubt about that. As appealing as being punished by your super sexy boyfriend might be, you decide to abide by his request and position yourself over him, your entrance hovering over his weeping cock.

“No more teasing.” The pleading tone is gone from his voice. Instead, it’s commanding and authoritative.

But you choose to ignore that once again.

“Can you even last?” You stick your tongue out playfully, gently biting down as you smirk. Your hands roam over his chest and lightly graze his nipples, a small act that normally drives him insane and right now you can see the clear focus in his eyes. You picked the wrong night to try to be playful.

“Fuck it. You wanna play games? I can play games.” In one sweeping motion, Jay has you on your back, his body hovering over yours. His hand is back on the small of your back, his fingertips gently kneading the muscles of your flesh before he digs his nails in, leaving a trail of scratch marks down your spine.

He tilts his head to the side as he looks into your eyes, pausing to think about something that thrills you to your bones. You’ve never been with a more imaginative partner before and although sometimes his ideas seem scary at first, you trust him completely.

“Oh,” he says simply. “You thinking about something interesting?”

“I’m thinking about all the ways I want you to fuck me.”

“Oof. What a foul mouth you have. Such vulgar words coming out of those pretty lips of yours. I’d fill it if I wasn’t so inclined to fuck that pussy of yours.”

You hitch in a breath, that tingling sensation spurring back to life deep within your core.

As if reading the thoughts of your body, he moves one hand slowly down your midsection, pausing right above your pelvic area. You want to rub your thighs together, hell, you want to touch yourself- no screw that, you need him to fuck you right here and right now. A floodgate of desire opens up within you and you need his cock inside of you. Now.

“Jay please, please fuck me. I need you inside me. I need to feel you.” It came out whinier than you initially intended, but now’s not the time to dwell on one’s tone.

Completely and utterly satisfied with his victory, Jay lines his cock up with your entrance, the tip of his head brushing past your folds and picking up the slick coming out of you. Moaning with the contact, as little as it may be, you try to scoot down further to feel him against your clit. But he holds your hips down firmly in place. You’re not going anywhere unless he wants you to move.

Jay pauses and turns around, grabbing your pillow. You push on your feet, lifting your ass off the bed so that he can rest the pillow underneath there. Now, slightly elevated, he has a better angle and a straight accessway to your g-spot.

Leaning forward, Jay lightly wraps his fingers around your throat, squeezing lightly. Your eyes flutter backwards, already at risk of coming undone from the buildup alone. His pointer finger is pressing right where the sensitive spot on your neck is underneath your ear and it takes everything you have to keep yourself from moaning like a sick person.

The head of his cock teases your entrance once more, getting closer and closer until literally just the tip goes inside before he abruptly pulls back out.

“Please. No more teasing.” You beg, wiggling your shoulders as you pout.

“Not so funny now that you’re on the other end, huh?” Jay lowly chuckles and that’s when he thrusts his hips forward, his cock sliding right into you.

“Oh!” You yell as the tip brushes against your g-spot instantly. Your gasp gets caught in your throat because of his hand around your neck and you nearly swallow your own words. The restricted airways has your head feeling lighter than normal and it gives you a new high that’s impossible to feel if he would have done this without his hand squeezing your neck. Your walls contract instinctually around him, desperately trying to adjust to his length and girth. The light tug feels so satisfying and you grip his forearms tightly, fingernails leaving small half-moon shaped marks in his skin.

“Ugh, you’re so wet and still so tight,” Jay whines and slowly moves his hips back and forth, not enough to remove the head of his cock from you, but enough to brush against your bundle of nerves over and over and over again. He releases his hand from your neck and moves it down on the bed to support himself as he quickens his pace.

Arching your back already, you shut your eyes tightly as you try to keep yourself from coming too soon.

Not quite sure if it’s the angle, the day, or the way he’s rhythmically moving his hips, but this all feels too good. Even more so than sex with Jay usually is. The way he's pounding you into the mattress has your body contorting in what should be inhuman ways. Your arms bend as you grip the sheets above your head, your back arches in a possessed like manner as Jay continues to use his cock to send you over the edge. Sex has never felt this good before. He has never made you feel this good before. Your body is shaking- no, vibrating as you feel that white heat getting closer and closer. Your breath hitches in your throat before you let out the most pornarific moan you've ever heard in your life. Upon hearing you, Jay stutters inside you, his orgasm hitting him harder than he expected. You're still coming down from your own high, the dark spots in the corners of your vision are finally disappearing.

"Holy fuck," Jay pants as he slowly removes himself from you. “You’ve never made that sound before.” He’s sitting back on his heels once more, staring at you with a look of wonder. There’s a spark in his eyes, one that you recognize, and you stifle a laugh knowing what’s about to come next.

“Inspired?” You smile.

“Immensely,” he delights. His fingers start to tap rhythmically against his thighs as he looks over to his music equipment in the corner of the room. In the most innocent and inoffensive way, he’s long forgotten you as his creative mind kicks into overdrive.

“Go.” You yawn. “I’m gonna go back to sleep.”

Jay leans down and gives you a quick kiss on your temple, leaving the bed to quickly pull on his sweatpants and seating himself in his chair, firing up his computer and putting on his headphones.

Your eyes droop slower and slower, getting heavier each time you blink. The last thing you see before sleep takes you is your boyfriend leaning forward in his chair, back muscles rippling as he lights a cigarette, the smoke swirling up towards the ceiling as he exhales, dancing through the fringe of his bangs as it ascends.

“Ugh!”

Your eyes shoot open, sleep being yanked away from you by a loud bang and the yell from Jay. Sitting up, you see your boyfriend’s fists clenched tightly, resting on either side of his keyboard. His face is red, the vein on his temple starting to bulge and his shoulders are hunched so far that his shoulders are almost touching his ears.

“Jay? What’s wrong?” You rub your fists into your eyes, trying to keep the grumpiness of being abruptly woken up at bay.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He slides his headphones off his ears so that they’re sitting at the base of his neck. The ends of his hair is coated with sweat, the tips of his ears red from the headphones being on for too long. Pivoting his chair towards you, you can see the stress lines on his forehead and the strain in his eyes. There’s a nearly finished cigarette tucked between his fingers at the knuckles and a few finished ones lying in the ashtray by his keyboard. He huffs on the one in his hand quickly before putting it out in said ashtray and then climbs onto the bed to sit across from you, his knees touching yours.

"I've been working on this track for the past three hours now. I just can't get the pitch right." He shakes his head in defeat, a long sigh leaving his lips as he does so.

"This happens all the time, but it’s okay. You always get it in the end." You try to sound encouraging but instead your voice comes off dull and uninterested.

Jay's mouth pulls to the right side of his face, making the lines by his cheeks and dimple deepen. "This one is different. I'm already starting to forget how you sounded."

Baffled, you tilt your head to the side and nervously laugh. "Me? I thought I dreamt that!"

"Yes you! I've never heard anything more...more...more," he snaps his fingers as he tries to think of the right word, "more exhilarating! It was dramatic. It was sexy, inspiring even. It was a sound that could tell anyone what you're feeling. It's pure bliss." His fingers absentmindedly make their way to the divot on the inside of your knee, rubbing slow deep circles into your skin. On a regular day, the touch would barely be noticed. Right now, on the other hand, his touch ignites a fire in your blood, raising your body temperature to a whole new degree. It's suddenly hard to swallow and you're very, very aware that you are watching as his lips form words as he speaks, barely comprehending said words at all. The way his jaw moves and the way his mouth molds around each syllable and seeing flashes of his tongue gently touch the rooftop of his mouth.

"Y/N? You fall asleep with your eyes open again?"

You're brought back down to earth, blinking rapidly as you feel your boyfriend softly shake your shoulder.

"Sorry," you rub your eyes and suppress the urge to yawn, "I guess I'm still tired."

"Let me tuck you in." He goes to lay you back down and you gladly let him.

"Here," you mumble, lips barely moving and eyes already shut. You let the weight of your arm bounce against his side of the bed . "You should sleep too. Take a break. Work later."

He doesn't respond but his weight is still on the end of the bed. You can feel the dip and you just want him to lie down already.

"Jaaayyy," you whine, eyes still closed.

"I think," his pitch has changed, a low murmur making your eyes pop open wide immediately. You know that tone. You know it all too well and your body starts to overheat again, "I want to do something else."

Slowly lifting your head, you intend to look into his eyes, but you're very quickly misguided as you watch your boyfriend slowly pumping at his cock, quickly making himself go from semi hard to fully hard in mere seconds. His blue boxers rest below his hip bones, giving yourself a full display on the thing that is going to wreck you into the next dimension momentarily.

"O-oh." You sit there frozen, unsure of what to do next.

"I know I just fucked you but honestly? I can do better." There's a devilish smirk painted onto that beautiful face of his and you've never been more excited to be a sinner.

You match his smirk and use your feet to kick the covers off the bed and before you're done with the action, he's on top of you. Lips that usually feather lightly across your body now hungrily nip and lick over your rib cage, around your hip bones below your stomach line, and over the swell of your collar bones. Each nip and pull makes you shiver beneath him, your hands tracing over the muscles on his back. Your legs come up and hug his hips, now trapping him in place. One of Jay's hands grabs a fistful of your yellow night shorts, tugging them to the side but not necessarily taking them off. His thumb digs into your hip bone while he kisses around your breasts. The closeness of his fingers to your core is driving your body absolutely mad. You're already so turned on and ready to be touched and you know that he knows that that's what you want.

And yet…

His tongue delicately swirls your nipple and you hold your breath for a moment. The coolness of the air mixed in with his saliva makes you feel chills throughout your entire body. He flattens his tongue directly on the tip of your nipple as he squeezes the other breast with his hand and you quickly move your hands from his back and into his soft black hair. You grip tightly at his roots, already feeling your back start to arch as he continues to lick and lap at the hardening buds on your chest.

"Hmm...already?" He chuckles as he takes your nipple between his teeth.

"Hnng," You groan out and grip his hair tighter. Your breathing shallows and your body can't decide what it wants. You want him to rub your clit oh so badly but you don't want him to stop massaging your breasts. The way his tongue swirls around your nipple is almost too good. No one should be this talented with their mouth.

He moves to the side of your breasts and leaves love bites in an array of patterns on your skin.

"Why'd you stop?" You gasp and grip his shoulders. The love bites feel great, they definitely don't help the surge of arousal going straight down into your shorts, but you know you were close to coming and you've never come from nipple stimulation alone.

"You weren't moaning how I wanted you to. Ah- which...actually reminds me..." And just like that, his body is off of yours, taking the heat with him. Getting off the bed, Jay opens one of his desk drawers and removes a small microphone with a clip. You watch as he gathers the necessary chords, no ordinary recording device would do. He quickly attaches one end of the chords into his computer and fishes the rest of the line out as he walks back towards the bed. Still holding the hand sized device, he places his knees on either side of your hips, giving you a full view of his beautifully erected cock. You mentally note that he has definitely shaved recently, his skin looking so soft and kissable. The thought of kissing and sucking at the areas around the base of his cock makes your mouth water. While he busies himself with trying to find a way for the microphone to rest on top of the headboard without falling, you help yourself to a little taste of him.

The tip of his cock is salty with precum and you lick your lips quickly to lubricate them. Jay's hips instinctively flinch backwards, but once he looks down and sees what you're doing, all he does is smirk and continue to work on setting up the microphone.

You slowly insert the head of his cock onto the top of your tongue just inside your mouth. Exhaling, you let your warm breath fall across his shaft and small goosebumps appear at his midsection. Taking a long stripe from the base of his cock and back to the head, you avoid any chastising about teasing by promptly inserting him fully into your mouth, slowly and inch by inch allowing him to sink further and further back into your throat. You go until the tip of your nose and your lips touch his midsection, his length now fully submerged in your throat.

"Jesus you're not playing around tonight aren't you?"

You hum a response that makes his hips sputter, a stuttering groan leaving his lips quickly followed by a whispered ‘fuck’.

Slowly moving your head back, you go until the tip is almost past your lips before moving back down his shaft. You keep up the slow pace, mostly to annoy him and also to insure that he doesn't come anytime soon.

His hands, without warning, are weaving through your hair as you swirl your tongue around his tip. He guides you, quickening your pace and he continues to hit the back of your throat over. And over. And over-

Jay pulls himself back and his cock is out of your mouth.

"You're a sneaky little devil. You almost had me." He wags his finger at your face, making small tsk tsk noises with his mouth as he recenters himself and pulls his boxers up, hiding his beautiful cock from view. "Now, where was I?" He leans back towards the microphone and turns it on, a bright red light blinking up on the side. Adjusting the angle one last time, he's finally happy with his setup.

"Do you know what this is for?" He points to it and gets off the bed. Humoring him, you shake your head no.

"I need you to make that sound you made earlier. Do you understand? I don't want it. I need it."

Worriedly, you realize he's heading towards the closet and fear and excitement root into your chest as you watch him bend down to the last drawer of the dresser and take out a shoe box.

Sauntering back to the bed, he carelessly throws the shoe box onto the bed and some of its contents fall out. A bright blue vibrator as long as your forearm is the first you see followed up by light gray fuzzy handcuffs. There's more in the box, at least half a dozen other toys that Jay only likes to break out when he feels like you need to be punished, or if he needs a specific reaction from your body.

Right now, you're thinking it might be both options.

Jay picks up the handcuffs and looks them over in his hands. He's acting as if he's never used them on you before and that in itself is thrilling because now, you don't know what's going to happen next.

Pulling out three more pairs from the box, he wordlessly cuffs your wrists and ankles to the bedposts while you willingly, and wordlessly, allow him.

Still without words, he moves back to the bed. That's when you notice how steady his breathing is. And although appearing to be calm under a heated situation, his cock continues to throb and twitch, the head surely getting redder and angrier by the second underneath his boxers.

His hands are moving down your body, feeling every curve, reading every detail in your skin as if he were reading braille. Fingers dip inside your waistband, hooking around the material before sliding them down your legs, annoyedly realizing that he should have removed them before cuffing you to the bed. Without blinking, he grasps the material between his hands and tears the fabric as if it were nothing more than a single sheet of paper. The anticipation of his touch is driving you crazy and you're never going to get over the fact that your boyfriend has now literally torn your clothes off your body in order to get you naked.

"Please, babe," you pull at your restraints, the fuzzy padding protecting your wrists from any real harm and you try your best to spread your legs out further for him, "touch me."

Unresponsive, Jay eyes your core, looking at it in a way a man starved looks at a loaf of bread. His hands are on your thighs now, deeply kneading your muscles with his fingertips. His thumbs graze over bruises from previous escapades and it feels borderline euphoric.

"Touch me." You repeat and watch angrily as he remains unresponsive. His hands dip lower, over your knees and down to your shins. Desperation bubbles up from within the pits of your belly and rises until you feel it fester in your throat until you can't keep it down any longer.

"Touch me!" You yell and not so gently nudge his side with your leg. Finally, he looks up at your face and chuckles under his breath.

"So needy," he says with disappointment, but a smile paints softly across his face. "So ungrateful and so spoiled."

Jay's hands move quickly, fingers suddenly grip tightly at your hips as he raises up your lower half until it's level with his face. You bite on your bottom lip to keep yourself from yelping as his fingernails scratch into your skin before moving to support your weight by cupping your ass. You can feel his hot breath hovering over your clit, making you feel just how truly wet you are. Jay gulps down hard, looking as if being presented with a grand holiday meal.

"You're glistening, baby," he groans, proceeding to attach his lips onto your clit. The moment his tongue makes contact with your slickness, you inhale quickly. Finally, finally some contact.

He swirls his tongue slowly around your clit, no longer making direct contact. Gathering as much juices as he can, he spits it back out onto your clit. Warm mixes with cold and you sit up quickly only to be pushed back down by your boyfriend's strong hands. He keeps his hand on your chest right below your collarbone as he uses his other hand to wipe your juices and his spit around your clit.

It's so wet you almost miss the feeling of his bare hands.

"So, so messy." He tsks at you and continues his movements. "What am I going to do with you, Y/n? Hmm?"

You stay silent at the sound of your name instead of his usual pet names for you. His piercing brown eyes stare deep within yours as he continues to stroke you.

"Do I let you come from my fingers? From my tongue? From my cock? What will make you make that pretty...pretty sound again?"

You whimper as he inserts a single finger into your hole, your vagina naturally clenching around the digit. It's not enough. It's not enough. It's not enough.

Jay chuckles and you know he's finding humor in the way he has you wrapped around his finger...well...quite literally. He knows how weak you are when it comes to him, knows you'll do anything for him and knows exactly what to do to make you feel good.

"Are you going to be a good girl and make that pretty sound again? Hm? For me?" He inserts another finger and slowly curls them inside you, beckoning you towards him and touching that spongey bundle of nerves that sends you straight into the heavens.

"I'll try!" You cry out, wishing that he would apply more pressure inside of you so that you can finally release the orgasm that has been building up bigger and bigger. You’re honestly not sure if you can make the same moaning sound that he’s referring to because, quite honestly, you have no idea what you sounded like in the first place.

Jay pushes down your hips that you weren't aware you had raised upward. He keeps his free hand there while he quickens his pace with the other. The beautiful and sinful acts that his fingers can do to your body are coming into effect as you start to shake beneath him. Your breathing is more ragged than ever and you pull as hard as you can at your restraints without caring if it'll hurt you later. The coil deep within your body starts getting tighter and tighter, readying itself to break and unfurl.

You open your mouth to let out a deep, long moan but right as the sound erupts out of your mouth and into existence, Jay pulls his fingers out of you and sits back, completely untouching you.

Your orgasm disappears in a snap and you groan out angrily.

“Okay what the fuck,” you sound angrier than you intended.

“Can’t let you come like that. It’s too easy.” He looks at the bed and pushes past some of the toys until he finds one that breaks out that devilishly handsome smile that you love oh so much.

In his hand he’s holding a simple, small, white vibrator.

Now, vibrators aren’t your favorite and he’s well aware of this. You come too quickly and aren’t able to savor that sweet build up feeling of fire within your lower half, that numbness that overtakes the tips of your toes and makes you want to kick them straight into a wall. The fact that he picked this out of the box of other torturing devices means that he plans on making you come. A lot. And in a short period of time.

Upon realizing his intention you think about pleading with him to use something else, anything else. The tiredness behind your eyes creeps up slower than the night, but it does not slow its pace. You want to come. You want to make him come. And then you want to sleep wrapped up tightly in your boyfriend’s arms.

Jay turns the vibrator on and watches as it purrs to life in his hands. He strokes the length of it as if it were the back of a cat. Now, looking at you, he grins, showing his pearly white teeth and another wave of arousal washes over you. Power exuberates from every inch of his body as he saunters back over to you. A bead of sweat forms at your temple and slowly slides down past your cheekbone. It tickles and makes you shiver, but you don't take your eyes off Jay.

"Are you ready?" he says softly upon reaching the edge of the bed. Standing in between your legs, he waits for your response.

You sigh, "yes," and let the muscles in your legs relax.

Jay places the tip of the vibrator on your left thigh and you moan immediately at the touch, feeling the sensation creep up to your core. The vibrator stays in place for a few moments while Jay watches your expressions intently. His eyebrows are furrowed so deeply that they almost touch and his mouth is scrunched together and pushed to the side. This has become more than sexual pleasure.

This is a science experiment.

"How does it feel when I do this?" he queries and moves the vibrator slowly up your thigh and stops just before it touches your core.

"It feels...torturous." Your hips start to shake purely from lack of physical contact where you need it the most. You try to hold in your pouts, try to hold in your pleading, but if your clit goes any longer without getting relief you're going to lose your mind.

"Good." And then right as you're about to beg for him to touch you, the vibrator is thrust right on your clit with a strong unmoving pressure.

Your hips roll forward and you don't have time to think before you cry out and feel your orgasm come and go quicker than you can blink. The vibrations run deeply through your body and after waiting so long, you just couldn't hold on.

"Whoa. Record time." Jay smarts but keeps the vibrator on you.

As you come down it starts to feel uncomfortable. Overstimulation is not something you're able to have the patience or willpower for.

“You can keep going,” Jay encourages and increases the speed on the vibrator. You whimper and look at him anxiously as your whole body begins to tremble.

“Moan for me, baby. Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me.”

They’re not moans quite yet. It starts off as small gasps as your body desperately tries to adjust to the overstimulation, angry when it realizes it can’t. That’s when the tears prick your eyes. You try to be tough and hold on but you feel another orgasm being forced from your body and you cry out in pleasured agony.

Jay removes the vibrator mid orgasm and your muscles immediately collapse into the bed. Panting harder than a dog on a hot summer day, you truly hope that that was the sound he’s looking for.

“Hmmm...not quite…”

“Please, Jay. Let me help you come. Forget about the sound. Let's get you off so we can go back to sleep.” Your throat feels hoarse as you talk from lack of water or the intense screams and moans, you’re not sure. Perhaps a mixture of all of it. Either way, you’re tired and you wish you could help him, but this project seems like a lost cause.

“Rest for a second. I need to listen to something.” He moves quickly to his computer, putting his headphones on crooked and clicking away at the screen. Your body is too tired to watch what he’s doing.

A few moments pass before Jay stands up again and you notice a freshly lit cigarette in his hand.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I’ll untie you-” Jay pauses mid step and mid sentence and stares at the cigarette in his hand, quickly looking to your naked body, and then back at the cigarette.

"What's wrong?" You strain your head to try to meet his gaze but he's off in another world. His lips move as he mumbles lowly to himself, words incomprehensible to you from this far away. Taking a long drag from the cigarette, he holds in the smoke as he observes the cancer stick before walking closer to you. He’s sworn to quit so many times, but claims the nicotine helps him stay focused when he works on long projects. It’s not a favorable habit, but you just cannot deny how sexy he looks while taking a long drag from a cigarette and letting the smoke swirl out of his pretty lips. It fits his artistic rockstar image a little too well.

Finally you're able to catch: "that wouldn't be messed up...would it?"

"What wouldn't be messed up?" Annoyance is a nice way to put how you're feeling right now. You're just laying here, tied up and your boyfriend is only five feet away from you, completely ignoring your existence. Unfortunately he does this often; spacing out, talking to himself, unable to sense his surroundings. When it's music related it's admirable. When you're involved? Straight up annoying. But it’s even worse when the two are combined.

"I have...a crazy idea. Please let me know if it's too out there and we'll discard it immediately."

You gulp down what feels to be a big rock in your throat that doesn't want to be swallowed. His tone is cautious yet excited and he doesn't look you directly in the eyes but off to the side of your head.

"What is it?" You say slowly, wishing more than ever that you could sit up and talk to him face to face.

Jay brings his cigarette up in front of his face, his eyes concentrating hard on the object in front of him.

"I want to use the cigarette ash as a stimulant on you."

Immediately the first thing that comes to mind is 'what the actual fuck'. You've never heard of anyone using any part of cigarettes as a form of sexual pleasure. But then you let your mind breathe for a second and the idea sounds rather...arousing? Just the thought of Jay flicking his cigarette ash onto your body sounds so degrading and he usually doesn't dip in that direction sexually.

He's carefully watching your face now, looking for any sign that you're not on board with this.

You smile.

"Where on my body?" You say seductively. His eyes light up, that same sexual deviant smile back onto his face. Excitement is evident as his chest rises and falls at a quicker pace. And finally, finally, he walks towards you, that cigarette held loosely between his fingers.

His shadow casts over your midsection as he towers above you. One arm crosses his chest while his other arm, the one with the cigarette, rests on top. It looks like he's about to take another drag but stops himself just before it touches his lips.

"I was thinking...your nipples?"

Your mouth immediately starts to water and your legs involuntarily shift, wanting ever so badly to rub together. Suddenly you're hyper aware of how hard your nipples are. They're like little gumdrops resting on top of your breasts and when you close your eyes you can still feel the wetness of Jay's tongue as he swirled his tongue around them.

Most people use candle wax or ice cubes as nipple stimulants.

But then again, you and Jay aren't most people.

"Please. Do it." Eagerly, you roll your hips forward and jut your chest forward towards him. A deep hunger is rooted in his eyes as he takes a quick huff, blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling before climbing onto the bed. Your heart is beating fast and hard in your chest as you wait for him to make his next move.

Jay’s cock twitches back to life, a newfound surge of want coursing through his veins while your body reacts the same. He quickly checks to make sure his microphone is still on and then puts the cigarette between his lips. He gives himself a quick pump as he moves closer to your body.

Forget the cigarette ash, you think to yourself. You want him.

And he apparently wants you too.

Jay’s hands move expeditiously down the sides of your body, running over your hips and down your thighs as he positions himself between your legs. He uses the head of his cock to rub against your swollen clit, your hips bucking with the sudden contact. Unlike previously, Jay is in no mood to take his time. After rubbing up and down your folds a few times, he uses your slick as lubrication and promptly inserts himself into your hole. He grunts deeply as he bottoms out and you’re left gasping as your body adjusts to his size. Jay rests his chin on top of your head as he breathes heavily around the cigarette hanging crooked in his mouth, away from your hair. The smoke wafts around you and slightly burns your nostrils but you love it.

He’s addicted to cigarettes.

You’re addicted to him.

After giving himself a moment, Jay finally starts to move, rocking his hips slowly back and forth to generate some momentum. A deep moan gurgles from the back of his throat and you can see in his eyes how difficult it is for him to hold himself back.

The air in the room gets stuffy with the heat of your bodies mixed in with the smoke. It makes you both pant harder, faster.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Jay growls and sits back, his cock unfortunately slipping out of you. He takes your legs and sets your feet against his shoulders and realigns himself with your entrance. Without giving you both time to adjust, he slams deep within you, your body jolting in response as he hits your sensitive spot.

“Fuck!” He yells and quickens his pace, his cock relentlessly filling every inch of space within you. Small whimpers move past your lips and a fire lights behind Jay’s eyes.

“What was that? I can’t hear you?” As his hips continue to rock into you, he grabs the microphone off the top of the headboard and shoves it in your face. With his other hand he takes a drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side before leaning down, hovering the cigarette a few inches above one of your nipples.

You look up at him hopefully and you’re open to tell him it’s okay when he taps his pointer finger on top of the cigarette, gray ash tumbling down towards your body.

“Ah!” You exclaim as the ash hits the peak of your breast. The initial impact of the ash to your skin makes your body panic, completely unused to the sensation. But then, it feels erotic. The nerves in your nipples sing with pleasure and your back arches as the warmth sinks deeply into you. You watch as your breasts bounce with each thrust Jay gives you and the ash rolls down onto your chest.

He continues thrusting and taking drags from his cigarette despite looking winded and exhausted. The headboard bangs against the wall, mirroring the thunder still booming in the distance. Soft groans and moans fill the room until Jay pushes your legs closer to your face, going deeper inside of you.

“Dear god your pussy is just too good. You’re still so wet after everything else. Always wet for my cock aren’t you?” His thrusts are getting longer, sloppier.

“Always. I love your cock,” you exhaustedly whisper. You can feel that coil deep inside you wanting to unspring so badly and only Jay can get you there.

He takes a final drag from his cigarette and flicks the biggest chunk of ash towards your nipple. You moan out as it makes contact at the same time the tip of his cock kisses deeply against your cervix, a high pitched moan that makes your eyes roll backwards.

And then he presses his thumb on top of your nipple, smearing the ash on top of you and right as he does it he thrusts so hard and deeply into you and holds himself there.

“F-uh-uck!” You sputter out the mother of all moans as your orgasm rips through you making you see a bright flash of white.

“Oh shit!” Jay grunts and thick ropes of cum spill inside you.

You both take a moment to regain your breaths. Then Jay removes your legs from his shoulders, setting you down gently and fully removing himself from you. He moves to his desk and puts his cigarette butt into the ashtray and his microphone next to the keyboard. He takes a moment and places his fists behind his back right at his hip bones and leans back until a satisfying crack sounds out through the room.

Jay looks back at you with complete adoration in his eyes, a natural smile forming on his lips as he puckers them to give you an air kiss. Promptly untying you from your restraints, he rubs small circles into your wrists after he frees you, the pressure soothing your aching joints.

“I love you,” he mutters tenderly and places a kiss on top of your forehead.

“I love you too.” You smile.

He gets up and heads to the bathroom while you remain on the bed. You hear the bath turn on and run rapidly and the sound makes you feel the sleep wanting to pull you back in. You can't feel your thighs or any part of your lower half for that matter, but yet your muscles still tremble from the overwhelming aftermath of your multiple orgasms. Gazing upward, the white ceiling looks so dull above you and yet, somehow, comforting. Your mind instinctively tries to find pictures within the grooves but it proves to be too much work for your brain right now. So you go back to just staring absentmindedly. Jay is saying something from the bathroom but your brain is too tired to focus on what it was he was saying exactly. Body still trembling, you close your eyes and will for sleep to take you.

But then hands are on your body, lifting your head off the pillow. And then you're being carried, your body feeling weightless. You groan out for your bed, wanting nothing more than to be completely buried in blankets as sleep overcomes you.

The bathroom light has been dimmed and some of your favorite scented candles are lit on the counter. An aroma of lemon and rose petals waft throughout the room. You breathe in deeply through your nose and sigh out of your mouth, your body melting in your boyfriend's arms.

Jay gently places your feet on the mat in front of the freestanding soaking bathtub. There's mountains of bubbles already rising on top of the water and you can't wait to sink down into it.

Jay uses his hand to grip your elbow, guiding you as you put one foot in the water and then the other.

You sit up front where the faucet is dumping soothing warm water. You put your hands together and let the stream pool into your palms and run over your skin. This is total bliss and your aching muscles begin to relax happily.

Water splashes behind you and you turn around to see Jay getting into the bath as well. You smile at him before turning back around and picking up a handful of bubbles.

"What shampoo do you want? The good smelly one or the deep clean one?" Jay holds both bottles in either hand, looking back and forth between the two.

You look back at him and tiredly try to decide. The “good smelly one” is peach while the deep cleaning one is a tea tree extract.

"Would it be weird if I combined both? It honestly might be really good." He awaits your input.

"Both are fine." You nod your head and turn back to the front. You turn off the water and lay your arms over both edges of the tub.

Gentle hands run down your hair from the top of your head down to the tips before returning to your scalp. His fingers massage the shampoos into your head and a low wistful grumble escapes your throat. You feel the shampoo lathering in your hair and the way Jay's fingers move with purpose has you closing your eyes in pure bliss. He uses the pads of his fingers to massage deeply into your skull, nearly lulling you to sleep.

His hands leave your hair and you hear the clicking of another cap opening and then it clicks shut a moment after. His hands are back on your body but this time they're on your shoulders. A strong lavender smell enters your nostrils and it dawns on you that he's massaging your soothing body wash into your skin.

It's silent in the bathroom except for the small droplets of water tinkling from the faucet into the tub. It's not an eerie silence, it's almost tranquil.

You spend a bit more time in the bathtub together. Jay completely taking care of you to wash off every trace of cigarette ash that was left on your body. His hands soothingly rub alongst every inch of your body.

“I’m ready to get out,” you sigh. You’re leaning against Jay’s chest, his bare skin comforting against your own, “before I completely fall asleep in here.”

“Okay. Let me get out first and grab your towel.” He attentively lifts your body forward to give himself some room to emerge from the bath. Water runs off his body and onto the tile floor as he crosses the room for his towel first. You pull the drain plug in the bath and watch as a tiny whirlpool appears.

After aggressively rubbing the towel in his hair, Jay wraps it around his waist to cover himself, his hair looking static as it sticks out in every which way. He grabs you a fresh towel from the cupboard, the fluffy white one you usually save for special self care relaxation days.

Padding his way back over to you, he drapes the white towel in both of his arms and holds it out, waiting to envelope you in it once you step out.

You stand up slowly, clutching the edges of the tub as you push yourself up. Your legs are still quite shaky. For the most part they still feel pretty numb. You lift one leg up carefully and find your footing on the tile before gingerly taking out your other leg. Jay wraps you tightly in the soft towel that could honestly be a blanket if one chose to do so. You sigh into it, your muscles relaxing as Jay dries you off.

“Let’s get you to bed. We can watch a movie.” After he says it, Jay pauses to look at you. Afraid that something is on your face, your hand touches your cheek questionably. He reaches up and moves his hand under yours so that he’s cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing softly against your cheekbone.

“I love you,” he says softly before leaning in and kissing your lips. As soon as your lips touch it feels like you’re melting into him all over again. And all too soon, the kiss is over.

Swiftly, he picks you up bridal style and carries you to bed as you giggle and cling to his neck. He lightly places you back onto the bed and pulls back the covers and quickly throws them over your body once you’re comfortable. Jay adjusts your pillow to make sure your head stays straight and makes sure every one of your toes is snuggled and warm before handing you the TV remote and then walking towards the door.

“What snack do you want?” He calls from the door frame, his hand lightly brushing against the soft pastel yellow paint.

“Surprise me!” You call as you flip through the different genre suggestions, your brain not even registering what the titles are.

After giving up and picking a random movie, Jay walks in with some water bottles and a bag of pretzels and climbs into bed next to you.

“Don’t you want to get back to your music?” You inquire as you grab a handful of pretzels. He gets himself comfortable next to you by adjusting his pillow, grabbing a fistful of pretzels himself once he’s done.

“Nah. That can wait. I just want to be here with you.” He smiles before popping a piece of the tasty snack into his mouth.

Your heart swells knowing how much he wants to be back in that chair working his magic. Normally you couldn’t drag him away from that stupid computer. So you don’t push it and snuggle in deeper next to him, letting your head fall against his shoulder.

Together you munch away, forgetting about sleep entirely, and listening as the thunder grumbles in the distance.

a/n: thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed :] if you did please reblog and leave a comment!

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