#Lick the Tins

[albumswhatilistenedto]

[covers-on-spotify]

“Can’t Help Falling in Love”

Original by Elvis Presley

Covered by Lick the Tins

[kairithemang0]

I love the vampire au just for the implication that Curt probably hates it because he's constantly looking at his own blood but just needs to deal with it because Owen's a vampire and to some extent doesn't mind it because it's Owen, but at the same time seeing his blood constantly probably fucks with his head or something

[augment-techs]

Shy affection prompts: ”I want our kids to have your eyes.” + Javelia plssssssss

What if Amelia and Javi really, really couldn't be responsible people, despite Ollie, and Fern, and Mr. Cranston all telling them over and over again: "Your luck will run out"?

What if Amelia said something romantic in the aftermath of a long night of rolling around without a condom or any other kind of birth control, as a joke, as a thought about the future--but it turned into something like self-fulfilling prophecy?

Javi really didn't mind being the mom, being the one stuck with morning sickness, and body aches, and the birthing process, but it was a little insane how on point Amelia's announcement to the universe turned out to be...

@skyland2703

[discluded]

Barcode with his random ass outfit looks so odd between MileApo's coordinated clothes but man, I love that they all got matching lockets to wear. It's so cute!

when in doubt, cite @mirrorofprinces

listen.... they don't care who you are... they'll third wheel anyone. bible. pond. the thousands of fans watching them on IG live. barcode. no one is safe...

Actually, it's funny in the above photo you can see they didn't have it yet when they did the first set of shots, so clearly it was provided by a jeweler who styled them for the event! According to the closet wizard, it's Bulgari (B. ZERO1 NECKLACE).

You know what is cute though?

Apparently Apo's had this suit for at least two years and it's the first chance he's had to wear it! And what a debut, at such an event. And even cuter, Mile got a suit that matches well with it 😭 Mile's is double breasted which is a more classically masculine look and tends to make the wearer more broad while Apo's has this beautiful rounded edge to the jacket.

I could be wrong, but I think they're even wearing the same shoes (as they tend to for events... sometimes in different colors, sometimes the same).

Yeah they were really like "Barcode can wear what he wants, but *points to themselves* this is a set do not separate"

[lokischocolatefountain]

I'm not arguing with a man who's tall and made of metal. Whatever you say, gorgeous.

[bi-writes]

Would you ever do like mob and Simon’s first date night together or something like that ( love your writing )

mail-order bride (18+)

the wine sits idle in the middle of the table. simon leans back against his chair, sighing deeply as he runs a big palm over his lower stomach, all pudgy and full from the meal you had placed on the table.

you had surprised him. candles on the table, his favorite red wine decanted into a crisp glass, beef short ribs falling apart over a plate of mashed potatoes. he had no time to scold you for cooking because you had been finished by the time he stepped through the door.

immaculate, sweet girl. the first bite of the food had him sucking on his teeth, biting back a moan. such a good meal, perfection in a pot, with creamy potatoes that had him licking the prongs of the fork as he watched you from across the table, eyes glazed over with love for feeding him better than he ever had been in his whole life. he had seconds, thirds, pawing at your skirt when you asked if he wanted more, his tongue sliding over the knife that he didn't even need to get any piece of sauce off the plate.

and then dessert. perfect little chocolate cakes in pretty little tins, with a cracked top. and when he broke the surface with his spoon, it was flooded with hot ganache, a gooey molten lava cake that he gave you heart eyes for as he ate it up with dramatic slurps.

fuck, he cannot stop looking at you. maybe you put poison in the food because you've never looked more beautiful than you do right now. you're sitting there, hair off your face, spoon in your mouth as you lick off the warm chocolate from it. that pretty pink tongue sliding over the edge of it, gathering that sweet center and swallowing, the bob of your throat making his breath catch as he follows it all the way to the low neckline of your dress. that sweetheart neckline makes your tits look so perky, so bouncy, and he can tell you aren't wearing a bra because he can see your nipples between the polka dot pattern.

"come 'ere," simon says lowly, dropping the spoon with a defiant clatter onto his plate. you smile, standing from your seat, and you bounce over to where he's sitting. simon sits you down on the table in front of him, shoving his plate far back to give you room. he picks up his glass of wine and chugs it practically, licking the last drop before setting down the glass and flipping you over with practiced ease.

you gasp as your hips hit the wood. you bend, barely having enough time to catch yourself with your hands before you hear his chair scrape against the floor. you can feel his size as he stands up and towers over you, and your toes curl when you hear the buckle of his belt.

"w-what--"

"'m not gonna fuck ya, baby," simon sighs, smoothing his hands up the back of your thighs before flipping your skirt up. he snorts when he sees you're wearing polka dot panties to match your little dress, and you squeak when he grips the flimsy fabric with one big hand and shreds it with ease, tossing it aside. "first time 's gonna be so nice, i promise..." he clicks his tongue, "but fuck, ya gotta let me, luvvie..."

"please," you gasp, sliding back a little, pressing your ass against the front of his jeans. you can feel the open zipper scratch against your cunt, and he sighs shakily. you hear the rustle of fabric, and you sob with relief when you feel the warmth of his cock slap against your ass. "oh, god--simon!"

"i know, luv," he groans, "i know...not ready for it, not yet..." he licks his lips, sliding your dress up further, exposing your lower back and the sweat that's gathered there. he grips himself at the base, swiping over his wet tip before using it to give himself a languid stroke. at the first sound of a squelch, you whine, and he squeezes your hip gently. "agggh--fuck--"

your back bows when he slides his cock between your thighs. he's so big. thick and wide, not as lengthy as you might have expected but god, he's got the girth of your fucking arm. he keeps your back arched as he grips your wrists and tugs, drawing you up until your neck leans back against his chest. he gives you a slow thrust, the tip of his cock catching on your clit as he rolls his hips just right.

"oh--simon--"

"can't wait," he mumbles, sliding a thick palm over your throat, mouthing against your ear. "fuck, i can't wait to 'ave ya...can't wait to devour this fuckin' pussy--"

"simon--" you cry, reaching up and gripping his hand around your throat, and you sob again when you feel the cold band of his wedding ring. mine, mine, mine, mine--

"wot's y'r fuckin' name, baby?" simon asks, rocking his hips. you shake every time he hits your clit, and with his tight grip, all you can do is stand there and take it as he fucks your thighs. his cock is moving so nice between your folds, stimulating every little part of you, and you aren't coherent enough to be ashamed of how wet you are, starting to soak his cock and contribute to the intense wet shlick that sounds from between your legs. "huh? tell me--"

"'m mrs. riley," you babble, sucking his fingers into your mouth as they move up your throat. your eyes flutter shut, your entire body going slack as he lets go of your wrist with his free hand and pulls your hips back against his.

"tha's right," simon grunts, "my pretty girl. my perfect little wife, cookin' so fucking good for me, takin' such good care o' me, fuck--" simon groans, "rock fuckin' hard ever since i walked through tha' fuckin' door, baby."

"mmm--!" you squeal, bracing yourself against the edge of the table as he cups your pussy with one hand and cums between your folds the next. with just a few warm strokes, you're spilling into his palm, jelly in his arms as he collapses into the seat behind him and cradles you in his lap. "mrs...mrs. riley..." you're babbling again, giggling all warm and lucid, and simon chuckles as he cups the back of your head, feeding you his wet fingers and cursing under his breath as he watches you lick the slick off his hand.

you pay special attention to his ring finger, tongue swirling around the gold band. when you let his finger go with a pop, your eyes flutter open, and they meet his.

yeah, he thinks. she's ready.

[slushycoookie]

I Like Your Dress ~ Logan Howlett x Fem! Reader

✩ Word Count: 2.7k

✩ Content: Logan goes crazy over your dress, Domino shows up (I miss her so bad), cream pie is mentioned A LOT, Wade breaks the 4th wall, P in V, Logan does NOT wrap it up this time, MINORS DNI!!

✩ A/N: Reader is the same reader as the one shot I wrote. You don't have to read that one, I don't go into much detail but if you guys want to read that one, read it here

Masterlist | Commissions

The fresh smell of food made Logan awake from his slumber.

Sleepily searching for you on your side of the bed, only to discover that you weren't there. Having a sudden burst of energy, Logan got out of bed to find you. He didn’t need to go far when sees you wiggling your hips at the stove, stirring a pot.

“Hey.”

You look behind you when hearing his voice, “Hi!”

Logan pulls you close as you greet him with good morning kisses. Well, afternoon after checking the time.

“How did you sleep? I let you sleep in a little bit, you were so tired from that mission last night.”

Logan smiles, “I slept alright.”

He sees the multitude of ingredients on the counter and remembers what they're were for. Wade was throwing a potluck since Domino was coming back from a month long mission. Of course, he invited you two and you were so excited. Logan was neutral. He would've preferred to stay in bed with you all day.

You said you were making a few things, but the amount of ingredients you had made him wonder. “How many people are you planning to feed?”

“Enough.” You said, going back to your pot, which he found out was pasta. “Colossus and Peter will be there. We both know how much they like to eat.”

“Don’t push yourself.” His tone was rough but you knew it was his way of caring.

“I won't.”

Logan grabbed himself an afternoon shot of bourbon before excusing himself to get ready. Trying to prepare himself for socializing and dealing with Wade.

When he came back clean and not as rugged, you were finishing up, putting white icing on the strawberry cake. Logan swiped his finger on the cake and licked it, cream cheese on his tongue.

“That’s good.”

“Don’t lick it anymore.” You lightly threaten, smacking his hand away. “Save it for the party.”

“Fine.” Logan kisses your cheek and stands behind you to watch you finish icing the cake. In your beautiful handwriting ‘Welcome back, Domino’ in pink icing. “Would ya look at that? You should be on those baking shows.”

“Nuh uh, I'm okay with just watching videos.”

Once you were finished, he helped you place the cake in the dome, ready to go with the rest of the food. You gave him an order to not eat any of it before you ran into the bathroom to get ready. Logan gave you about five minutes before inspecting the tins. He smiled when he saw you only made a few items, a large tray of pasta salad and spinach dip. Just to make sure it wasn't poisoned, he took a swipe of each, humming at how good it tasted.

He knew you were going to be a while so he opened a window, grabbed a cigar and lounged to smoke. Logan knew you didn't like it when he smoked in the apartment, but said it was okay as long as he let in some fresh air after.

As usual, you took almost a hour getting ready, but it was well worth the wait.

When you stepped out of the room, Logan started coughing, blowing smoke out the window to make sure a lot didn't linger. His eyes trailed your outfit, a tie dye colored maxi dress with thin straps, and cute, brown sandals to match. Logan didn't care when you scolded him for obviously taking a bite of your pasta salad. His breath was stolen away.

“I like your dress.”

“You're changing the subject, but thanks.”

He steps in front of you, eyes lowered as he kept gazing at your form. The dress hugging your body while still being appropriate. Logan's hand rests on your ass cheek, giving it a firm squeeze.

“I really like your dress.”

You avoid his lustful gaze, “Don’t you start.”

“Start what?” He steals a kiss from you, careful not to mess up your lipstick. “I can't compliment my lady?”

“You can compliment me by using your words.”

“It's not as fun that way.” He dips his head between your neck to smell you. You weren't wearing any perfume this time, but the honey scent from your lotion was enough to complete the entire package. Logan growls, squeezing your ass some more and making you giggle.

“We should go, I don't wanna be late.”

“We won't. I swear.” His hand cups the nape of your neck, putting it back so he could kiss you some more. Parting your lips to dive his tongue right in. Your moans spurring him on.

It didn't last long though.

“Logan.” You gently push him away, “We will have some time later.”

He sucked his teeth before grabbing all of the food you made.

Logan remained a scowling mess when you two arrived for the potluck.

You were the more social one out of the relationship, so you immediately flocked to the crowd who welcomed you with open arms. Even Domino, despite that this was the first time you two saw each other. Logan makes his usual rounds of saying hi before picking a corner with a drink in his hand and observing.

It was his way of enjoying himself without being easily annoyed and overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in the apartment. Best of all, he could watch you socialize. Your face lighting up at the conversations while that gorgeous dress clung to your body. Logan always likes to admire you in your element, but you wearing that dress was more than enough to make him want to do things to you. His hands involuntary flexed at the idea of feeling your body through the dress.

“There’s my grumpy kitty!” Domino says to Logan, who scowled at her, but there was no malice behind it.

“Hey, Dom.”

“Wade told me that your hair was getting better and now I see why.” She motions to you talking to Peter about him getting highlights. Logan's lips curl upwards again at the sight of you. “She's cute.”

“Thanks. I heard she scheduled you an appointment?”

Domino nods, “Gonna try something new. This is getting stale.” She motions to her afro.

“Don’t you dare change it.” Wade joins in, pointing at her. “You know how I feel about change.”

“Aww.” Domino pinches his cheek, “We all gotta grow up sometime.”

“You know who you're talking to right?” Logan comments under his drink.

“Your afro was one of the reasons you were so likeable in the second movie. Now what do we have, a woman with luck powers? I still don't believe that's a thing, by the way.”

Domino shakes her head at the audacity of it all, “I missed you too.”

She excuses herself, leaving Logan and Wade together. The latter started getting a little giddy, cradling his cup, while shooting multiple glances. Logan promised you that he was going to play nice during the party and not get easily annoyed at Wade.

“What?”

“We’re having cream pie.” Wade mentions, “Do you wanna know what flavor it is?”

Logan holds back an eyeroll, “Sure.”

“It's boston cream pie. I know we have a lot of sweet things considering we also have the cake your lady made, but I really wanted some. Actually, it's been a while since you've had cream pie, right?”

“I guess.”

“Oh you'll enjoy this one. You have a bit of a sweet tooth.” There was a moment of silence between them as they watched everyone enjoy themselves. You were getting many compliments on your food, asking for the recipes to make at home. “ Vanessa and I are huge fans of cream pie. Does your lovely lady like it too?”

Logan glared at him for a second before thinking about the question, “I think so.”

“Has she had it in a while?”

“No.”

“I think she'll be very happy when she gets some-”

“Why…in the fuck do you keep talking about the damn cream pie?” He feels a slight headache coming on.

Wade shrugs before taking a sip of his drink. “I can't like pie?”

Logan growls, ready to toss him out the apartment when you inadvertently save Wade, walking over with a huge smile on your face.

“Hi.”

“Hey, sugar.”

You embrace him with arms around his neck. Your lips kissing his cheek, taking in the aftershave.

“Hi Wade.”

“Hi. Your grumpy boyfriend and I were just talking about cream pie. Do you know we're having pie later?”

Logan felt his eye twitch at the question, his hand on your hip to keep himself from punching Wade.

“No, I didn’t!” Your eyes light up, “What kind of pie?”

“Boston cream. One of the best pies in the world, I should say.”

“Ooh, you know what, I haven’t had cream pie in a long time.”

“Oh really?” Wade tilts his head a little, while you nod. “Well, obviously you gotta have some. I think you'll enjoy it. The author knows what I'm talking about.”

And just like that, he's gone.

Logan didn't want to acknowledge whatever that was so he pulls you amongst his body. The most handy you'll ever allow him to be in public.

“We should go.” He whispers in your ear.

“Hm? We've only been here for two hours.”

That was enough, he wanted to say. Everytime he focuses on you and that dress, he wants to forget behaving and take you back home to lavish on you all night. For those two hours, Logan was trying to keep his thoughts pure enough to get a raging hard on. He didn't know how long he could last.

“Just hang in there a bit longer, okay?” You give him a kiss for encouragement. Logan takes in the imprint of your lips as you go back to socialize. No, he wasn't going to make it.

He hangs on when everyone sits around the table, laughing and talking. You're beside him, hand on his thigh to stabilize him and keep him in the conversation. Logan wants you to go higher, feel the impending hard on.

He needs to get you alone, show you that he was failing at behaving. There weren't a lot of places where you two wouldn't be disturbed. And he didn't want to take you outside and fuck you in an alleyway.

But God answered him.

You excused yourself, making your way to the bathroom. Logan watches you go as everyone continues talking. He gives it a minute before getting up and pretending to grab another drink. Instead, he beelines to the bathroom, standing beside the door and waits. His heartbeat in his chest.

“Who wants some cream pie?” Wade asks, everyone roaring with excitement once you finally open the door.

Logan pushes you back into the bathroom, lips immediately on yours. Your surprised gasp eggs him on while he traps your body against the wall.

“This is all your fault.” He mutters, constantly stealing kisses.

“Huh? What?” You try to keep up with him as his hands are all over your body, feeling your soft curves through the dress.

“You know what. Wearing this dress, not letting me do something to you before we came here. Torturing me.”

As he spoke, his lips were everywhere. Your face and neck. Trying to wear you down and submit.

“Torturing you? That, that wasn't my intention-oh.” His teeth latched on to your shoulder, having some self control to mark you in a place no one could see.

“I need you.” Logan starts bunching up your dress.

You try to stop him by pushing his hands down, “L-Logan? Logan, baby you didn't lock the door.”

“It's gonna be quick.” You let him bunch up your dress, seeing a glimpse of your panties, which he now sees that it's the lacey blue ones he liked. The ones you mentioned reminded you of the accent colors of his suit.

Logan's jeans were getting tight when he removed them, stuffing them in his pocket. Without saying a word, you jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist. You whimpered under his lips as he was finally able to touch you while wearing the dress. Large hands molding your breasts through the fabric, still managing to locate the nipple and pinching it. His hips rolling against you, creating a nice friction against your cunt.

You were doing so good at keeping quiet for him, only managing the occasional whimper when he hit a perfect spot. Making sure you were stable on his arm, Logan reaches down to your core. His chest rumbles when he feels how wet you're getting. Sinking one digit inside while his thumb presses on your clit. Making circular motions while he was getting you ready.

“Didn’t need to do much, huh?” He said, watching you twist and turn. “You wanted this as much as I did.”

You didn't say anything but he smelled you. His finger coated in your delectable arousal. If you two weren't on a time limit, he'd reach down to get a taste.

Once you were ready, Logan maneuvers to unzip his pants. Even though you were dazed out of your mind, you remember something.

“I left my purse out there.” Your purse had condoms and knowing Logan, he didn't bring them as you insisted on being prepared in case something like this happens. But now both of you were unprepared.

“I'll get ya plan b at the store.” He continues to unzip his jeans.

“Don’t forget…”

Logan pulls his cock out with one motion, using some of your wetness for lubrication. “I won't.”

He then slips into you. You clutch on to him for dear life, your nails digging into his shirt. Curse his healing factor. He wanted to see the marks you'd leave on him.

He keeps you stable against the wall, sinking into you completely before starting to move. Quick and sharp thrusts in and out of you. Low, wet sounds filling his ears besides your shaky sobs.

“O-Oh god…”

Logan rolls his eyes back at your desperate tone, “God's not here, honey.”

His own voice comes out strained as he's fucking you. How he wants to pull your dress up further to see your breasts move. But having you like this was much hotter. Wanting you to remember that this was the dress that made him go crazy.

“Mmh Lo’…” He almost comes right there when your hand grips the nape of his neck, pulling the hairs.

Logan grunts, picking up speed, feeling some of his cum leaking out into you. His tip pressing against your cervix that was making you croon. Goosebumps forming on your skin as he hit that spot repeatedly. Making you whine and wince under him.

“Squeeze around me, sweetheart.” He commands and you do so. Your walls molding around his cock as you silently cried out. Even at the height of your pleasure, you still managed to be quiet, mouth agape and he wanted to shut those lips with his own. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Logan wasn't far behind, pounding into you mercilessly before shooting his cum inside you. He stilled for a moment then pumped into you a few times to make sure all of his load made it inside. You capture him in another kiss, both of you sighing against each other.

Laughter nearby caused you two to come down from the high. Logan put you down, handing you your panties. He grabbed a few paper towels to make sure no cum stained his jeans. You were checking yourself out in the mirror, making sure Logan didn't mess up your makeup. He did ended up getting some on his face, which had you quickly trying to wipe it away with your thumb.

“I'm good, I'm good.” Logan reassures you before fixing his shirt. “I'll go out first.”

“Okay.” Before parting, he gave you another kiss, completely not caring if lipstick stained his lips.

The party continued as if the two of you weren't missing for the last fifteen minutes. Logan played it cool by grabbing another drink. When you came out the bathroom, you two momentarily locked eyes, before acting like nothing happened.

“Did you enjoy the cream pie?”

Logan jumps at Wade's sudden appearance, “What the fuck? How did you know that I-?”

“The pie's right there.” Wade points to the cut up pie on the kitchen counter. Logan stares at it, a bit dumbfounded. “It's good right?”

Logan's eyes land on you as you're speaking to Domino once more, “Yeah. It was good.”

Tags: @allmyn1ghts

[goosita]

coriolanus snow is not a good man— he watches you from afar, eyes like a hawk and plush bottom lip pulled between his teeth. he doesn’t know if he’s being obvious and he doesn’t particularly care. he feels his teeth clench when you laugh and chat with other men, something hot and unpleasant stirring below his ribs. it should be him that makes you giggle like that, makes your nose scrunch like a little bunny rabbit at a joke. jealousy stings and he finds himself having cruel thoughts about things he wishes would happen to those other boys.

coriolanus snow is not a good man— but you speak to him so kindly, so softly. he’s never once mentioned anything about his home life, careful to keep up his facade. but you? you notice the way his cheeks are hollow, the way his belt has extra notches punched into it to tighten further. you wordlessly slide him a granola bar in class and pretend you don’t hear the way his stomach gasps the way he refuses to let his mouth do. you bring him a tin of cookies you “had leftover” the night before, filled with chocolate chips and butter that will bring his calorie count for the day up. he doesn’t say thank you, but the way the corners of his lips twitch upwards and his gaze softens when you pass him a pastry under the school desk is enough thanks for you.

coriolanus snow is not a good man— his hands shake sometimes, when he remembers the way sejanus had cried for him to help at the hanging tree. when he remembers the sound of his only friend’s neck snapping and echoing, the way it sent chills down his spine and he felt like vomiting. he did that. he killed sejanus. he is a murderer, and yet you still brush his hair back in the middle of the night. its starting to grow again, pale locks falling over his brow. he is a murderer, and you still kiss his temple. you still whisper that you love him, that he’ll be okay.

coriolanus snow is not a good man— the sore in his mouth aches, a necessary evil to ensure your safety. he’d had no other choice, that senator from 2 was eyeing you all evening at dinner. for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t let it get to him. he’s a president now, not some unhinged teenage boy. but the way that man had touched you, let his fingers linger at your waist, that would simply not do. you are the first lady of panem, you were untouchable. to anyone but him, of course. as you pass by him where he sits, you tut softly and pause to brush the blood off his lip, licking the red fluid off your own fingertip and dropping a kiss to his head. you remind him to be careful.

but coryo is good to you— he touches you so carefully, hands so gentle. his fingertips are always cold, but it never bothers you. not when they brush against your hairline, his palms cradling your cheeks as he kisses you like a man starved. not when they graze the bare skin of your back, your chest flush with his as his lips make their way down your neck. not when they squeeze at your hips, your thighs splayed out around his own waist and trembling with the way he pushes his cock up into you. not when they caress your cheek in the morning, his soft whispers of “good morning, sweetheart,” echoing in your ears.

coriolanus snow is not a good man. but he is your man.

[skydaemon]

i think the reason i love tuna sm is bc it's a bonding activity for me and the cat

[avocado-writing]

Omg i love your poly Deadpool and Wolverine fics !! I especially love that reader is totally a sunshine ! Could you do any fic with them and that trope ? 😍

vague sequel to this

Your bad day has been utterly forgotten. 

It’s not incredibly hard for them to cheer you up, Logan and Wade have learned. You’re so rarely sad that it’s hardly an issue anyway, but all they really need to do is redirect your energy into something else. A distraction to take your mind off of whatever’s gotten under your skin.  

There’s a little carnival that’s set up near the apartment. One of those ones which is constantly on the move, overcharges for everything, and is exactly the kind of place you love. So it was a no-brainer to take you there for the evening. 

Logan bought you a necklace made of hard candies, Wade took you on all the rollercoasters which were definitely not safe but you screamed with joy while riding. You’d insisted all three of you squeezed into a boat through the tunnel of love, and they’d come out the other side with your lipstick all over their faces, you smugly sandwiched between them. 

And through the evening you’ve been fucking jubilant. Your laughter rolls like thunder, but the kind which means a storm is going to clear out the oppressive atmosphere of a muggy day. A sweet, loud kind of laughter which peals from your very soul. Wade and Logan catch each other’s eye as you absolutely decimate a stick of neon blue cotton candy: they’ve done well. 

The three of you are preparing to go home when something catches your eye, slowing you to a stop as you stare. It’s a prize booth - the kind where you have to knock over a tower of tin cans to win. Hanging from the rafters are huge plushies of your favourite animal. 

“C’mon baby, you know these games are rigged,” Logan sighs, aware he’s marching into a losing battle. You lick the sugar off of your fingers and dump the wooden stick into a garbage bin, eyes wide in the fluorescent lights of the bumper cars nearby. 

“Aww… but they’re so cute…” you sigh, looking really disappointed. 

Well, neither of them are ones to let that happen, so Logan and Wade find themselves speaking in unison when they say: “I’ll win you one.”

They exchange a look and you grin. Oh. This has become a challenge, and both are too stubborn to back down. Together they step up to the counter, each slamming five dollars down and making the poor teenager manning the booth jump. 

“Uh, okay, you have two balls and need to knock the whole tower—”

The teen doesn’t even get a chance to finish their explanation before Logan has launched one of the pathetic beanbags at the cans with such force that it crumples a couple of them in half. They’re cleared off completely in one hit. The attendant can only gawp as he smugly points to one of the huge plushies which is dutifully fetched. You let out a little woop of joy as he passes it into your arms, giving Wade a look which says beat that. 

Wade hums, throwing the beanbag up and down in his hand, testing its weight. 

“Okay, well, not all of us are barbarians who need to use brute strength to compensate for our advanced age. It’s all about the finesse, pookie.”

Wade angles his throw so it bounces off the side wall, clearing all of the cans but one. Logan lets out a smug huff. Wade frowns. 

“Hey, look, is that Spiderman doing full-frontal nudity?” he says, pointing into the distance, distracting the teen with one hand while he whips out a knife with the other and skewers the can to the back of the booth. 

“Prize please!” he says when they turn back, turning pale at the sight of what’s been done to their game. They pass him another plushie from the roof with shaking hands, and Wade presents it to you with a flourish. 

“That was cheating,” Logan states as the three of you walk away.

“Uh, I cleared the cans, old man. No cheating about it.”

“You had a second ball to throw,” you point out, and Wade pauses. 

“Do you want the toy or not, sweetcheeks?”

And that is how you find yourself more stuffed animal than human, waddling out of the carnival with a huge smile and arms full of polyester. The whole thing is sort of ridiculous but, honestly, if you’re smiling? Logan and Wade can agree it’s totally worth it. 

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk @starfleetteddybear

[pseudowho]

The Voice, Part 1/2

VoiceActor!AU. Nanami Kento is the most acclaimed and beloved voice actor of his generation. When the mysterious woman of his dreams is swept away from him in a moment of passing fates, will he ever find her again?

Full credit to @delirious-donna for dropping this into my head fully formed.

The next part will be all smut. No apologies.

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It began with anime; the first embers of your gentle obsession sparked to life, and you felt like the woman who had discovered fire. The voice. His voice.

You were not the only one, you were sure, as you diligently bought audiobooks in his voice, the words steeping in whiskey and smoke; played games with his voice threaded to the soul of a character; watched his voice brought to life on screen, and his characters were tinged with gold.

He was faceless; Nanami Kento, the most beloved voice actor of your generation, was a man of mystery, preferring to stay out of the limelight with stubborn insistence. You did not mind. His voice was enough, for you, soothing loneliness, companionable and smooth. It balmed the sores of your soul.

News outlets hunted for him. People gave up family members and colleagues, touting them as the owner of the voice belonging to Japan's beloved master of the spoken word. You knew they were wrong. Again, you didn't mind. Your obsession held no possession; there was no bite, no ownership.

You simply allowed the dulcet tones of a stranger to lick you to sleep every night. You simply dreamed of knowing him better. You simply dreamed of his voice, guiding you through your peak. In all other ways...you were perfectly 'normal'.

Heading to work in Tokyo snow, you caught yourself slipslid into the downstream of Tokyo commuters, flowing into Shibuya's subway. The crowd undulated in one direction, shoulder to shoulder, and you squirmed through, pressing through the sweat-coffee-toothpaste-cologne miasma until you claimed a spot on a train.

The people packed around you. Your back pressed to another, much broader, much firmer back, and you were quietly thankful for the stability it afforded you. As the train moved, and you wobbled, crying out, you felt the back stiffen and move with you, as if to anchor you. You were, again, grateful, and had to be so without words, corseted by societal expectation.

The train clatter-clattered through the twisting wormholes of the underground, dipping in and out of orange lights. You had just begun to relax, chilly from the morning snow, warmed by the back against yours.

The train screeched to a halt, halfway through a tunnel. The bodies around you cried out as one, shunting forwards with inertia. You heard a grunt of surprise from the back against yours, rumbling through you, a brick wall as you fell against him with a squeak. The cries died out. A few solitary noises of complaint...until the lights went out.

Plunged into darkness, you felt the collective heartrates rise, slow and mumbling, while yours rose exponentially with your breaths. You felt a chilly sweat down your spine, trapped in the dark in a tin can with nobody and no-one and you only barely heard the tannoy announcement apologising for a fault on the line and you'd be moving in a few minutes but it was a few minutes too long and--

"Hey. You're okay. Take my hand."

The back pressed to yours rumbled; it was the only thing that told you you hadn't imagined the voice. The voice. That voice. Other voices around you began to chat, too, societal norm sidetracked by shared peril.

"Just take a deep breath. With me. Take my hand."

Long fingers in the dark. A broad, warm hand clasping yours. You clung, reaching your other hand back to clasp his other hand, too. You stood like this, back to back, both hands plaited, while you gasped, hyperventilating.

"It won't be long. We'll get moving again. You're safe. You're safe."

You couldn't catch the tears before they fell, tumbling down your cheeks as you hiccuped, and apologised.

"--God I'm-- so stupid I-- I'm so sorry-- thank you--"

"You're not, I...I feel it too. It's alright. It's alright."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, absolutely certain to your very core that this man must be the very same man you listened to every evening. The secret voice. The man of mystery. You felt yourself calm, dreamlike as you spoke, stroking a thumb against his palm. You respected his choice for anonymity.

"...are you okay?"

A pause. You felt his back stiffen against yours.

"I'll...be fine. I avoid the subway, usually, but work necessitates it today. I have no logical reason to hate it. There's no reason I should be scared."

You smiled, soft. "A phobia isn't logical. You can't reason your way out of it." You bowed your head, eyes closed in the dark, your heart bounding, unable to pretend you weren't hopelessly, ruinously in love with this man, now you held his hands in your own in some bizarre twist of fate. "And...thank you."

"No. No...thank you." He paused, tapping his fingers against your hand, jittery with his own restrained terror. His words tumbled, unbidden. "Shit, I hate it down here."

"Trauma from an alternate universe or something, huh?" You joked, gentle as you held him, now. "Just...think of it as night-time. In your bed. Calm, and dark, and warm."

"...not usually this many people in my bed--"

"--oh really? There are in mine--"

He laughed hard, kindling a blush in your cheeks, and you rested your head back against his shoulder, glad he couldn't see you. He spoke again, his voice smiling.

"Well if you keep picking up strangers in trains..."

"You call it 'picking up strangers in trains'. I call it 'Tuesday'."

The theatre masks flipped, comedy overtaking tragedy, your worlds reduced to just each other, in the dark. You talked, and talked, all easy banter and comfort. You raised his hand in yours, and he felt a tug in his gut as you accidentally wiped the tears from your cheeks with his plaited finger instead of yours.

"Using strangers as handkerchiefs now?"

"I haven't had my coffee yet, hush."

"What's your usual order?"

"I like a vanilla latte. Why?"

"So I know what to get you."

He felt a matchstrike of success as you squirmed against his back, pressing your plaited hands to your forehead. He let his eyes drift shut, sick of being lonely, maybe ready to let a stranger into his odd, isolated little world--

"...I'd love that. Thank you. And...your voice. I--"

The train rattled to life through the pitchcast tunnel, and he grunted, bracing himself as you fell against him again. He felt a spark of happiness, a lurching joy that you'd mentioned his voice, perhaps knowing who he was all this time but treating him like any other person and shit we can go out for coffee but is it too soon no no she'll respect the secret I've got a feeling she will--

The train lurched again, in the dark, and he heard you squeak as you fell away from him, the startled thump-thump and cries of strangers shuffling in this tin can. A white-orange light appeared at the end of the tunnel, the train rushing towards it, but his hands were empty.

You scrambled to get up from the floor, nobody's hands reaching down for you like his had. As the train bathed in light, you were hidden, masked by legs and bags, and you couldn't see each other, not that you'd know who you were looking for. You rummaged frantically, to get up, get up, come on you silly bitch, and you couldn't, and the train stopped, the doors opening with a tiny announcement.

You opened your mouth to call his name-- and clamped it shut, immediately, face twisted in conflict.

You managed to stand, and turn just enough to see a sea of black hair with pink tips and brown hair with ombre highlights and honey-blond undercut hair neatly parted and a head above the rest and no hair all shaved off and--

The teeming crowd pushed you off the train. You left your heart behind with a man who could not pick you from the crowd, despite his frantic eyes hunting, and hunting and hunting.

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Nanami Kento's stomach ached with lost potential. Sat in his chair at the recording studio, the staff there sworn by non-disclosure agreements, Kento read the same line over, and over, and over.

No amount of practice could inject it with enthusiasm, and he snapped, growling his way through the line and pressing his forehead into one broad palm. His agent piped up.

"Oh! That one was good. Stick with that--"

"No, no..." Kento rumbled, miserable. "Not like that. It doesn't suit the character, I just...I'm not in the best frame of mind today."

Kento felt dirty even admitting it aloud, a consummate professional who laid aside his true feelings for those he needed to portray in recording. His agent's eyebrows flicked up, and he sat beside Kento, nervous.

"That's...not like you, Nanami." Ijichi eked out, hesitant. "What's wrong?"

Kento slopped his script onto the side, hands plaited in his lap. He knew before knowing that the only way he would be able to find you, was exercising his own influence over the media world. If Nanami Kento was looking for someone, the whole of Japan would stop to help him find them. And, yet, it was risky. And dirty. And risked scaring you away.

There was no way you could know each other on the quiet Tokyo subway system, unless he decided to go completely gung-ho and stand at a station with a sign looking for The Woman In The Dark Who Held My Hands On The Train And Made Me Laugh which is fucking mental frankly but not mad if it works and it's worth the risk I think I want to know her want to know--

"Ijichi." Kento's agent perked up, his tired face pinched in servitude. "I have a favour to ask. A big one."

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After that morning, listening to Nanami Kento's recordings simultaneously fell flat and elated you, all at once. While their power spun gold through you, with the backdrop of real life connection with him, that peak then crashed, falling into the despondency and despair of knowing you would never have that intimacy with him again.

You couldn't approach him, in any form. Even his agency was a closely guarded secret, and anyone who did find out was swiftly dealt with, you were sure. Hordes of fans fawned over him. You were thrown into obscurity by the sheer volume of the clamouring masses.

The darker, self-loathing part of you seeded the doubt that he'd even want to hear from you. You swung between certain misery that you had imagined such intimate chemistry, and elation over the significance of the moment you had shared.

Weeks passed. You looked at every stranger on the train, sometimes trying to catch their eye, as if that gold thread would connect between your pupils. Any man could be him. All you knew was his voice, the touch of his skin, and the feel of his hands in yours.

One morning, alone and queuing for coffee, it all changed. Your jaw dropped to see the news splashed across a Tokyo billboard, its newscaster silently helped along by subtitles.

The voice of Japan, Nanami Kento, searches for mystery woman!

You froze, your whole body blooming into fine botanicals, brought to life like a greenhouse in summer.

You abandoned your place in the queue, stumbling out of the coffee shop doorway with a little dingaling from the bell above you. Wide-eyed, your shoulder bag dropped to the floor, and you stood, famous in anonymity, caressed by the eyes of millions and none all at once.

**Are you Nanami Kento's mystery woman?**

**Hundreds have already come forward, claiming to be the one!**

**The search begins!**

You grabbed your phone, clamouring to access the same newscast on your screen, shoving your headphones in with trembling fingers. The voice of the anchorwoman fed into you.

"...have already come forward, and Nanami Kento is yet to find his mystery woman!

When the subway train he was travelling on was plunged into darkness, Nanami-san reports talking to a woman who was separated from him when the train began moving again.

Now, unable to stop thinking about her, he has recorded her this message:"

You clenched within, clutching at your chest to hear Nanami Kento, speaking to you again, and your eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill over in one great hiccup.

"I'm not sure how to begin this. To...the woman who held my hands on the train. I'm not ready to leave it there. We had more to say to each other, and I know that you knew who I was the whole time. Knowing that you put that aside, to treat me with kindness, as a stranger...is more important to me than you know. I know you'll be able to answer questions that no other woman can."

His voice paused, and you pressed your fingers to your lips, now weeping in silence in the bustling Tokyo street. He spoke just once more.

"I owe you a coffee. Please...come forward."

As the recording ended, you gasped, a great breath of relief leaving your lungs. Your throat burned with having held your breath throughout his whole message to you. A helpline number rolled across your screen, and you spoke it aloud to yourself, still sniffling, shaking fingers punching it into your screen, until you looked up, and froze at your own reflection in the window.

You felt a familiar pang of disgust with spotting yourself reflected back at you. Your face was puffy, tearstained and mascara-smudged. You drank down every flaw, feeding it into the same positive feedback-mechanism that had fed your own self-loathing for years. Your finger stopped, hovering over the call button.

Nanami Kento was sure to be disappointed. Your hand slumped, your phone resting against your thigh, a number uncalled. Your heart squeezed so tightly, your chest hurt. You deleted the number off your screen. You abandoned your coffee. You walked to work, unable to face another subway journey, knowing for certain he wouldn't be there.

You were sure another woman would come forwards, able to convince him that she was the woman he was searching for.

Between recordings, Kento hurried back to the phone, set up exclusively for him in the studio. He answered call, after call, after call, coolly rejecting woman, after woman, after woman.

You were inimitable. Kento waited. Your call remained uncalled.

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Another week passed. Kento's lines went unrecorded as he worked his way through thousands of calls, each one a fake, a phoney, desperately trying to fit their foot into a glass slipper not made for them.

Pulling at his hair, shrunken by despair, Kento slumped with his face in his hands. He felt a coffee nudged in front of him. Ijichi sat beside him, always with a baseline air of nervousness.

"Have you considered," Ijichi began, considerate, "that she's worried about how she looks?"

Kento lifted his face out of his hands, staring into the silent recording booth, fingertips steepled against his chin. His voice dragged, heavy with the effort of another conversation he didn't want to be having.

"I have." Kento responded, thoughtful. "I just...hoped it wasn't that. I'm also aware that...perhaps she doesn't want to meet me, like I want to meet her." Kento paused again, the silence gravid between he and Ijichi, Ijichi's eyes downcast as he listened in concern.

"I should think that's unlikely." Ijichi replied, following Kento's gaze into the recording booth. "If what you've told me is accurate, and I'm sure it is, you two shared an irreplaceable moment. There's no way she could have missed the news, it's the talk of Japan. You felt no ring on her finger, so she's probably neither engaged, nor married. She hadn't finished speaking to you, before you were interrupted."

Kento listened, eyes sinking closed, jaded and exhausted. His hope rotted with rejection, his efforts rust-nibbled and tainted with the embarrassment of pouring himself into the open, vulnerable as he had never been before-- except, with you.

Kento was forced to face that, for whatever reason, you did not want to find him. Despondent, his belly full of rocks, he eyed the connecting cable at the back of the phone.

"I don't think I can handle another woman pretending to be her, Ijichi. I think...I think I'm done. She deserves peace and quiet. I think it's time to call it a day."

Ijichi made the briefest noise of despair, moving to stop Kento as Kento grabbed the cord in the back of the phone, ready to cut it off.

The phone rang.

Ijichi's eyes flicked to Kento, eyebrows rising up to his hairline.

"...just one more?"

"...I don't know, Ijichi. I'm tired of the disappointment. This has been a fool's errand, some horrible wild goose-chase. I'm supposed to be a professional, and I'm so behind on my recordings, and--"

"They can wait. Just one more."

Kento sighed. The phone continued to ring, and with one huge hand, Kento silenced it by picking up the receiver.

You held your breath, sheltered from a storm in a phone booth, chilly with the wet and anticipation. Closing your eyes in the Tokyo nightlights, you could almost be in the tunnel again. You clapped a hand over your mouth to hear his voice, weary and hesitant, but him.

"...hello?"

You gasped, a single great sob bursting forth. Silence on the other end of the line, as you babbled, sniffling, almost drowned out by the slamming of the rain against the glass.

"I-its me, it-it's me. I'm...I'm the woman from the train."

Silence again. A deep, uncertain rumble.

"If I buy you a coffee...what would your order be?"

"A vanilla latte."

Silence again, an ember of hope. "I called it 'picking up strangers on trains'. You called it--"

"'Tuesday'." You laughed, bubbling through your tears.

Kento clasped a hand over his mouth, his face crumpling, his eyes welling up as roses bloomed in his mind. He took one deep shuddering breath, blowing out before his chest could burst with the anticipation.

"Instead of a handkerchief, you used..."

You laughed, and Kento's face finally cracked, laughing himself as a couple of tears crept down his sharp cheekbones.

"...your hand. I used your hand. Rudely."

"Oh, god. Oh my god. It's you."

[keeksandgigz]

more 18+ smutty thots (minors dni)

I don't know what came over me I was supposed to write an essay and this came out. disgustingly fluffy smut under the cut.

ok so while the idea of being fingered with rings on is really hot, I personally think it's really painful, you just get repeatedly punched in the pussy by like chunky metal. not very hot.

so picture this, Eddie always fingers you with his right hand because it's easier to take off one ring than three, big, chunky ones. He usually puts it down somewhere, maybe on his dresser or his desk, just so he knows he won't lose it.

And he's kneeling on the floor between your legs, getting ready to give you the biggest and sloppiest and the best head of your life. His hair is tied up and his other hand is keeping your thighs spread- now, the bite of those rings on your thigh you don't mind. They're cold and your flesh gets stuck in the gap between the ring and his finger, giving your inner thigh a delicious pinch.

But he's shirtless and he's famished and you notice that he still has that ring on. And he's circling your entrance with his ring and middle finger and as much as you'd love for him to keep going, because he's making you feel so good you have to stop him.

He emerges from in between your thighs, alarmed.

"What's wrong sweetheart? Need to stop?" his eyebrows are curled in a concerned manner, he's worried you weren't enjoying it. Ever the people pleaser.

"No no no, not at all" you huff, there is not enough oxygen in your brain for you to think right now. You stare at the ceiling, hoping that miraculously the words will come to you.

"What is it then?" he urges, giving your thigh a soft squeeze.

"Your um- your ring" you whisper softly, tilting your head towards his slick soaked fingers. He takes a moment to register, looking at his right hand, seeing the small little silver ring on his ring finger.

"Oh shit, sorry sweetheart" he goes to clean his fingers on the duvet of his bed, which makes you wince a bit. He probably won't was those sheets anytime soon.

He takes his ring off, but a malicious grin adorns his face as he plays with it a little, looking at you, still spread open and naked on the bed for him.

"Why don't you hold on to it for me?" he asks, as he reaches for your left hand, placing the slightly loose ring on your fourth finger. Your ring finger.

The thought makes you gasp as he wastes no time diving back into eating you out. His thick fingers spreading you open for him, as the gesture, though small, makes a wave of arousal mixed with utter love and devotion wash over you.

Your moans get louder with the possessive nature of the gesture, he wanted you to be his.

"Yeah? Y'wanna be my little wife?" he says in between licks and sucks at your core as his fingers make quick work of brushing that soft spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. His words only top the whole thing off.

"Oh- sh-yes, Eddie!" and you're not even sure what you're saying yes to. Everything feels too good, from the way his ringed hand is gripping your thigh, to the way his too- big ring burns its way into your skin. His. His little wife.

Your right hand digs at his hair, grabbing and pawing at the soft curls, urging him to fulfill you, a carnal need for more of him. A need for him to have you in any way he can.

His fingers picked up the pace, compensating for your mouth separating from you, chin and nose covered in slick.

"Who would've guessed a ring was all you needed. I put this little piece of tin on your finger and you go insane? Trust me baby, I'll give you the real thing. I'll give you everything you want" he mumbles against the skin of your tummy, mouthing soft praises.

"So good for me, aren't you. Gonna be mine so soon" and the promises of such a certain future make your head reel. His fingers curling inside of you as you cry out, the feeling of him being everywhere on you. Inside and out.

His hair fanning on your tummy as he continues his trail of hisses to the hinge of your knee, your calf, your ankle. The arch of your foot.

Then his hand is on you, brushing stray hair out of your face, cupping your cheek as your moans become lighter, airier.

"You close, baby? My little wife wants to cum for me?" he asks, his mouth against the seam of your thigh, licking and sucking bruises in his wake.

And you can't really speak aside from soft hn! noises and the occasional cry of his name, a prayer above as your walls begin to tighten around him.

"'mclose" you deliver curtly and he smiles, watching the way your cheeks flush, your eyes can't stop rolling to the back of your head.

"C'mon, baby, cum for me" he says, and like a spell has been cast on you, you follow his order, tightening around his fingers that don't seem to be stopping as you ride out your orgasm.

You have to push his hand away, an overwhelmed whine coming out of your mouth as you lay there.

"No more, no more" you chant, laying back as he sits on his bed, laying your head on his lap, caressing your matted and sweaty hear, brushing them away from your forehead as you catch your breath, playing with the new addition to your finger to steady yourself.

"You can keep that if you want. Gonna get you a chain, wear it around your neck" he says, smiling down at you.

"But it's yours, Ed" you squeak out, tired in a post orgasmic glow.

"Consider this an advance. For when I get to put a ring on that pretty finger" he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

And you feel safe, secure. Happy.