#MOMENTARILY GOES INSANE

[slicksquid]

more in my sudden dragon’s dogma addiction: just did the “arousing suspicion” quest and WHAT THE FUCK

[loverboybrightsideghost]

no actually now that i remember more and more about the story of macbeth i'm becoming increasingly RERAGGFGSG !!! RASAGSGSGS!!!!!! that i can't see david tennant playing him because WREEEAAAHHHHHH THATS PROBABLY SO COOL HES PROBABLY SO GOODDDD HGGGAGSG

[sgtgarricks]

begging kyle to do it raw :(

saw this tweet and thought to myself: how do i make this about kyle garrick? (afab!reader)

cw: nsfw, breeding kink!!!!, fingering, vaginal sex, uhh kyle garrick is a warning

reblogs are appreciated ♡

Kyle was, by a huge margin, the sweetest guy you have ever dated. He would always make time to text you a 'good morning' or 'good night' even when he was busy, had scheduled flower deliveries if he was going to be away for a while, and make sure you were always taken care of financially.

However, you found out recently he could have a little bit of a mean streak in bed.

His lips travel slowly from the column of your neck to your chest before finding your nipple. He licks tentatively while his hand travels south to your navel. You moan when his finger reaches your pussy, moving back and forth making squelching noises from how wet you are.

"Kyle, please.." You moan out, unable to take his teasing. Your fingers grip his strong arms as he breathes out.

"Mmm.. be patient, sweetheart. Let me play with this pretty little pussy first." He comes back up to pull you into a slow kiss, his tongue meeting yours. The way he kisses drives you insane, his tongue skillfully exploring your mouth. He groans when you try to kiss him rougher and slips a finger easily into your walls.

"Ah, fuck.." Your back arches as he slips his finger deeper into you, momentarily breaking the kiss as your eyes close. The moment you do, you feel a bite on the side of your neck and your eyes open in surprise.

"Don't look away from me. Look at me when I make a mess out of you." He leans back, giving you a perfect view to his finger that's thrusting in and out of your slick pussy as his other hand plays with your clit.

You feel your breath get heavier, eyes hazy, and mind cloudy from the immense pleasure you feel. You can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move like hawk as his cock begins to twitch.

His hand begins to move faster and you can hear the sound of your slickness as he fingers you. One of your hand goes to your nipple, fingers pinching and rubbing lightly. With your other, you grasp Kyle's leaky cock in your hand, squeezing him lightly as you begin to stroke him.

"Fuck, you're doing so well for me," His praise shoots straight to your core as you start squirming in bed. "You wanna cum, baby?" He doesn't falter in his pace, inserting another digit as your walls begin to clench on his fingers.

"Y-yeah, wanna cum so bad Kyle.."

"Mmm.. that right? You wanna cum on my fingers?" You nod, unable to speak. You feel pressure build as your heart begins to beat faster, you were so, so, close.

And then he stops.

You whine out in protest and stare at him in confusion. You feel the pressure subside as Kyle grins at you, stroking himself.

"The only thing you're cumming on is my cock, baby." You couldn't even protest, legs spreading immediately to accommodate him. He hums at your submission and strokes your thigh. You hear a plastic rip and you see him about to put a condom on. Using protection was a normal part of your sex life, but today, something in you didn't want the latex barrier between you and Kyle.

You sit up and grab the condom on his hand as he looks at you questioningly. One of his eyebrow raises and you feel heat rise to your cheeks.

"Can we.. not use the condom?" You ask shyly. He was motionless for a second, before his face morphs into a cocky grin.

"Yeah? You want me to fuck you raw?" He inches his face closer to you, lips a breath away from touching. Nodding, you slowly take the condom away from his hand and throw it on the floor.

"Say it." He goads as he slowly pushes you back. "Say what you want me to do to you." He taps his cock on your clit a few times, dragging it over your slick folds and positioning it at your hole. You stay silent, hand over your face in embarrassment. He leans over you and pulls your hand away.

"I'm not gonna fuck you until you say it." He threatens. You huff out, pouting as you stare up at him.

"Kyle.." He only raises an eyebrow, continuing to thrust shallowly, the tip almost slipping in. The head of his cock rubs on your clit teasingly and you feel lightheaded. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you to fuck me raw, want to feel all of you in me. Need you to feel you cum inside me." You plead, hand going to his neck and dragging his mouth down to you as his cock slips in your walls. He groans into your lips and begins rocking forwards, inching more of himself into you.

"So fucking good for me, telling me what you want." He's fully in you now, hips moving to pull out halfway before slamming in fully.

"Don't worry baby, I'll give you what you want. I'll fill you up nicely, keep all of me inside you until it takes, yeah?" He whispers breathily. Your legs cross between his back, pulling him closer every time he bottoms out.

"Y-yeah.. fill me up Kyle, want it so bad, want you so bad." You whimper when his tip hits the gooey spot inside you. With the way your bodies are pressed together, you feel every clench of his abdomen as he thrusts his leaky cock in you, the raw feel of him causing tingles up and down your spine.

"You're so fucking tight, how long have you wanted this huh?" His hand grabs both your cheeks as you can feel yourself start to drool a little. Tears fill your eyes at the immense pleasure Kyle is giving you.

Your walls clench to his rhythm, hips colliding against one another as he grunts with every thrust. The combined mess of your juices are spilling out of your hole, causing a wet mess on the bed.

You can only grunt out 'ah, ah, ah's as Kyle fucks you absolutely stupid. His dick is overwhelmingly thick, filling you like never before and the heat of him causes more pleasure to shoot through your body.

"You're gonna let me fuck you raw from now on, aren't you? Let me fill your sweet little pussy?" The logical part of your brain knows you should think about it more, but with every snap of his hips and the tip of his cock hitting your cervix you know you could never go back.

"Yeah, yeah. Gonna let you fuck me raw whenever you want," You nod, tears fully flowing from your face from the sheer pleasure. "Want you to cum inside me," Whining, you stick your tongue out, searching for his desperately.

He coos at you and relents, giving you what you want. Your tongue continues to explore his mouth when you feel his finger rub at your clit again.

"You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?." He whispers, moving his finger in circles as your body begins to twitch.

"S-so close, Kyle. Please, let me cum." You beg, legs dangling uselessly behind him as he's basically folding you in half now.

"Been so good to me, go on. Cum for me." Instantly, you feel your core clench hard on his cock as your back arches. Your entire body tightens as your mouth opens despite no sound coming out. Your orgasm washes over you in pulses, legs still twitching as you come down from your high.

Kyle continues fucking you slowly through it, eyes staring at you in wonder. He wipes the tears from your cheeks and presses kisses to your face.

"Beautiful." He whispers on your skin, fucking you slowly but deeply still. You were still slowly coming down from your high, not knowing how long Kyle stays moving inside you. The wetness from your cum helps him move even easier now as he starts moving faster again. Putting your mouth to his ear, you begin to whisper in his ear.

"Cum in me Kyle, want to feel you dripping out of me," He groans at your words as his rhythm starts to become frantic and you know he's close.

"Oh fuck," He grinds deeply into you, moaning. You feel the hot spurts of his cum coat the inside of your walls, branding you from the inside as his.

You moan out at the feeling and pull him closer to your chest as his cock continues to twitch out every last drop of his cum. He huffs, breathing heavily for a few minutes.

When he starts to pull out, you feel globs of his cum begin to leak out of you when he grabs your hips and tilts them upwards, preventing anymore from leaking out. He flops down, using both his arms to prevent his full weight from crushing you.

You were running your hand through his hair slowly, feeling yourself start to drift off when Kyle speaks.

"Hope you know I was serious about fucking you raw from now on."

notes: blushing and losing consciousness as i finish writing this goodbye i am going to go on ao3 and scour kyle garrick tags

[ghost-proofbaby]

foolishness and all

summary: your boyfriend puts your love to the test when his heart is set on a certain unsightly purchase.

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader

warnings: jar jar binks. not edited, i was laughing too hard.

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: this is the product of a very insane conversation that occurred in the middle of the night last night with @emmaisgonnacry, @lokis-army-77, and @emma-munson. forever sad we can't get the jar jar watch </3 (but at least emma got the darth maul one!) ((thank you for making me laugh until i cried last night, friends.))

“If you buy that thing, I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am.” 

“I’m getting the watch.” 

“And I’m getting a new boyfriend.”

You glare at your boyfriend for several beats of tense silence, narrowing your eyes as if it’ll do anything to change his mind. His heart is already set – there’s no stopping what’s about to happen. 

“Edward Munson,” you stress, hand shooting out to hold his wrist, but he’s already whipping it out of your reach, “That thing is hideous. We’re shopping for a nice watch for Steve’s wedding, not that.” 

“This thing has a name, sweetheart,” Eddie smiles toothily, tilting his head tauntingly at you, “And I think it fits the theme perfectly.” 

“In what fucking world?”

You're whispering harshly now, trying to keep from causing a commotion in the middle of the store and garnering any more unwanted attention. The workers had given you strange enough looks when Eddie had first laid eyes on his prize, his little yelp of excitement seemingly startling them. 

The less people who witnessed the atrocity on Eddie’s wrist currently, the better. 

Eddie goes against that wish entirely, holding his wrist high in the air for the entire mall to see at this point, “In my world. He did say it was meant to be open for interpretation-”

“Not like this.”

“And my interpretation is buying this absolutely priceless Jar-Jar Binks watch.” 

The thing looks down at you, almost as if it’s laughing at you just as Eddie was right now. 

Part of you wonders if it’s all a bit – something Eddie noticed set you off, and he’s now making it into an entire catastrophic situation solely for his own enjoyment at your irritation. But part of you also knows that even if it is a bit, Eddie Munson will commit wholeheartedly to it. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke or not. He’ll be leaving this store as the owner of that watch, and the thought mortifies you. 

“Please,” you finally resort to begging, feeling a bit childish as you give a pitiful hop to reach his wrist. It’s useless. He only stretches higher, shirt riding up to expose that strip of pale skin beneath the fabric. Your eyes catch on it momentarily, but you force yourself to not get distracted, “Eddie, baby-”

“Nuh uh,” he’s quick to shake his head, taking a full step back from you, “Nope. That baby shit isn’t working on me this time. I’m buying it. End of discussion.” 

Fine. The sweet talk route didn’t work. That’s fine. 

You had more than one weapon in the arsenal. 

Before he can even think to step any further away, you reach out and hook your finger through one of his belt loops, giving a tug that further exposes the band of his boxers all while forcing him closer to you. 

You’re back on your tip-toes, no longer reaching for the watch, but to let your lips barely graze over his as your whispers, “What if I ask you not to very, very nicely?” 

That has him faltering. Complete hesitation as he takes a deep breath and visible gulp, arm beginning to drop ever so slightly. 

“I would… I’d…” he trails off, clearly losing focus as your lips stay hovering just out of touch, “I’d probably… I-”

“Probably not buy it – right, handsome?” 

And just as quickly as he’d fallen victim to the game you’d started playing, he’s pulled from it. 

He leans back as far as he can with your finger still clinging to his pants, scrunching up his nose, “I see what you’re doing. Not fucking fair. It’s only thirteen dollars, anyway. I bet if Steve was here right now, he’d tell me to get it.” 

“He wouldn’t!” you whisper-yell, giving up and pulling back as well, “It’s his wedding, Eddie. He told us to get something nice to fit in with the black tie dress code,” you can see him ready the argument of interpretation once more, and nip it in the bud, “No amount of interpretation can ever qualify the head of Jar-Jar Binks turned into a watch as something that fits into black tie attire.”

He’s not convinced. Not of the point you’re trying to make – no, you know he agrees with you and is just being a little shit at this point – but of not buying the watch. 

“What if I just bought it?” he barters, “Maybe I don’t wear it to the weddin-”

“There’s no maybes about it. You can’t wear it to the wedding. You’re one of the groomsmen.”

He lifts his other hand just as the one adorning the eyesore finally drops to be eye level once more, “Fine! Fine. I won’t wear it to the wedding, but I’m still getting it.” 

It’s a compromise. Or as close to a compromise as you and Eddie were going to get to right now. 

With his wrist finally lowered, you can finally get a proper look at the thing. It’s Jar-Jar’s head with a band to mimic his skin, no clock in sight until it’s flipped open. The inside might be even worse though. Vivid font curling to spell out Jar-Jar, a light orange background with darker swirls, and the world’s smallest sliver of a screen to display the digital time. 

It absolutely blows your mind that anyone thought it was a good marketing idea. But then again, people like your boyfriend exist. He was the intended audience, not you. 

“It’s not even that cool,” you weakly still try to fight the losing battle, gingerly grabbing for the wrist this time with your free hand. Your finger hasn’t left Eddie’s belt loop, now resting comfortably in it, just growing fond of the closeness rather than weaponizing it against him. 

And maybe as a way of keeping him from running up to the counter to complete the purchase. Maybe. 

“It’s the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he proudly proclaims, right there in the middle of the Radio Shack, never having looked more satisfied with himself, “It can just be a conversational piece. I promise, I won’t break out the secretly evil little shit-”

“What?”

“Unless the occasion actually calls for it.” 

“I’m sorry, can we go back to where you just called Jar-Jar secretly evil?” you ask, more perplexed than concerned at this point.

He was getting it. You were hating it. You had bigger wars to win with the man before you at a later date, surely. 

His grin makes you regret asking, “Oh, you haven’t heard the theory about Jar-Jar being a Sith lord, have you?” 

Your finger slips from his jeans, and your eyes nearly roll out of your head. 

“Go buy that thing. I’m waiting in the car.” 

“Wait, babe, no!” 

“Nope. I’m not listening to this.” 

You turn from Eddie to walk away, making sure he can’t see the corners of your mouth twitching with a smile you’re so desperately fighting, but it’s no use when he grabs onto your elbow to spin you back around. 

“Eddie, I’m not-”

You’re interrupted with his lips on yours, an unexpectedly genuine kiss ensuing. The kind that reminds you why you’d ever deal with someone who wants a Jar-Jar Binks watch, the kind that reminds you why the occasional embarrassment Eddie purposefully puts you through in public is all worth it. 

All the butterflies, all the sweetness, all the tenderness. The way his thumb traces over your skin as his hand stays wrapped around your elbow, the way his other hand comes up to cradle your cheek. You can still taste whatever sour candy he’d bought moments before walking into the store all over his tongue and lips, hiding his last cigarette from hours ago. 

It’s a good enough kiss to forget the entire interaction that had just occurred. 

When he pulls away, you’re a little breathless, all fluttering eyes glazed over as you look up at him, “What was that for?” 

His smile could melt your entire existence. Turn you right into a puddle of all the love you struggle to contain, just for him. 

“Just because,” he shrugs, but then he continues on, “And for putting up with me. Thank you for that.” 

“I don’t put up with you,” you say immediately, and mean it.

Even when he’s being insufferable. Even when he’s still wearing the goddamn Jar-Jar Binks watch. You don’t put up with him – you love him. Foolishness and all. 

Your finger returns to his belt loop, and this time, you tug him in for another kiss. Something short and sweet, something just because. 

“You know,” he mumbles against your lips, arm wrapping around you so you can’t leave him just yet, “They have a Darth Maul one, too…” 

Your hand comes up between the two of you, only a slight struggle, just for you to smack him in the center of his chest, “You can only have one, Munson.”

“We could match!”

“I am not wearing that thing.” 

He throws his head back and cackles, a certain glee only born of being with the one you feel safest with flooding his features. All those wrinkles in the corners of his crinkled eyes, the stretch of his lips that bring on the appearance of dimples you could bury yourself in if given the chance. A boy made up of stardust and felicity. Your boy made up of every good thing that could have ever existed in this lifetime. 

You’d rather bicker over the useless things with him a hundred times over than ever live a life without him. 

“It’s fine,” he finally sighs dramatically, “I’ll just wear the Jar-Jar Binks watch to our wedding one day.”

Our wedding one day. 

Your heart just about explodes, and the only thing you can do to not choke up is smack him even harder. 

Our wedding. 

It has a nice ring to it. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” you tell him instead.

There’ll be plenty of other moments to talk about that. Now, when he still wears the ugliest watch you’ve ever laid eyes on, is not the time. 

“Gotta catch me first,” he teases as he slowly backs away, a twinkle in his eyes that makes you question if he knows how you’d secretly felt about that joke. That makes you question if he and Steve Harrington had really only been shopping for Steve’s rings for the last year. 

He doesn’t even run to the counter, knowing that you won’t be chasing him. You’re content to stay back and wait. You’ll always wait on him, really.

Even if it meant waiting for the day he wore that goddamn watch on your wedding day, because at the end of it all, you’d probably let him. You’d even wear the Darth Maul watch to match if he insisted. 

You’d let him wear whatever he wants, and you’d wear whatever he insists upon, because at the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter – it’d be enough to simply marry the dork that just tripped on his way up on the counter while giggling over a watch on his wrist, and know that he’s yours, forever.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo @findmeincorneliastreet

join my taglist!

[jesuistrestriste]

nsfw (18+) cw : switch(sub leaning)!art donaldson, switch!fem!reader, art is a sensitive softie, dry humping, cumming in pants, mutual orgasms, fluff, porn with some plot

wc : 3.3 k

"Did you have fun?"

Art's words sound out softly against the background hum of his car's engine. You rub your hands together between your thighs, trying (and failing) to properly warm them up after being in an ice rink for over an hour. You look to him from the passenger seat and smile at his slightly eager-to-please tone, your cheeks burning from the cold. You should have worn a scarf.

"Yeah," you hum, "I did.. I haven't been ice skating in forever, it's been years.."

He laughs softly and nods, almost sheepishly, "yeah, same.."

-

It's the end of November, nearing the start of December, and tennis season is well over. Art still goes to the indoor courts pretty consistently, but he's decided to shift all of his focus to you now that he has the free time to spare.

The two of you met about a month and a half ago; he'd been rushing to meet Patrick at some restaurant near campus, and he had slammed right into you when he'd been looking down at his phone to text Pat back. Wide blue eyes met yours and his tender hands had come up instantly to steady you on your feet as he stuttered out at least five 'im so sorry's. Somewhere in between those apologies, he'd gotten ridiculously lost in your features. The way your lashes batted up at him, the soft smile on your lips, the way you chuckled at his idiotic carelessness.

And you had forgiven him pretty quickly, so that helped.

The whole thing was incredibly cliche; the both of you could see that now.

He'd gotten your number that day only because he had practically begged to get you a coffee sometime to make up for the whole ordeal. His wind-swept blonde curls and furrowed brow made him look just like a dumb little puppy, pleading with you to keep him and collar him, so it wasn't hard for you to rationalize giving him your digits then and there. He seemed genuinely sweet, unlike so many other guys at Stanford. You'd give it a shot.

Seven dates later, and you two were officially toeing the line between "what are we?" and "let's move in together". Art, in particular, was completely infatuated. He would always look at you like you were the only reason he was breathing and moving. It was a little bit insane how hard and fast he fell for you.

And so he resisted the urges.

The ones that would coil in his lower stomach when he held your hand, and the ones that would throb in his veins when he pressed his lips to yours. All of them. He'd move at your pace. He wasn't one to push.

-

You nod and smile, before you pull your clasped hands from your lap and attempt to blow hot air in between them. Art's car was taking longer to warm up than normal.

He watches you for a moment before he shakes his head and tugs his hands out of his coat pockets.

"I told you to bring gloves," he jokes lightly, reaching over to envelop your hands in his warm palms, his calloused fingers curling over yours.

Your face heats slightly, and you chuckle as you look down to his grasp on you. After a long beat, your eyes raise to look up to his again, and he swallows thickly before his left thumb strokes over one of your knuckles. The little touch, the gesture, is so him. Always wanting to provide and comfort, but never wanting to risk shaking the foundation.

He’s never made the first move, it was always you.

"Thanks," you breathe out, your gaze darting just momentarily down to his pink lips.

It's hard for you to ignore the way he quickly wets them while the tense silence hangs in the air.

Art's feeling a steady thrum of tightness in his chest. How is it that he still gets nervous around you? He's kissed you lots of times before now.

And yet, here he was: still shy, still tense, still nervous.

"No problem," he whispers, hearing his heartbeat pound in his ears, "is.. is this better..?"

A gentle nod from you is all he perceives before he feels the warmth of your lips press against his own, and the tension that’s been brewing all evening finally reaches its boiling point.

He melts into it instantly, into you; leaning in to breathe into your open mouth when you pull back for just a moment to tilt your head the other way. His hands leave their position around yours, and move to clutch your waist as he pivots in the driver's seat to face you more. He's never felt so on-edge in his entire life, the sensation of a familiar sort of hunger starting to ignite in his belly.

Your touch moves to the back of his head, pulling off his thick beanie and tossing it to the back of the vehicle as you kiss him with rapidly increasing passion. You feel his tongue slip out to lick over your bottom lip, and you slack your jaw to let him taste you better. He laves his soft tongue over yours, moaning into your mouth. You swallow that noise down, and the next one that comes right after; just like you always do.

He tastes faintly like sweet peppermint gum, which he had been anxiously chewing earlier on this particular date in order to self-soothe. You had just looked so pretty with the cold first nipping at your skin when he came to pick you up; it scrambled his brain on the spot.

"Ahh," he whines shakily as he feels you tug his head back, your left hand tenderly fisting his curls, "hngh.."

You hum and smirk before you lean in to lick over his neck. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop any more needy sounds from spilling out, and his hands pull at the sides of your coat. Shit, he can feel himself swelling in his jeans. For a second he thinks the zipper might pop.

Once your tongue finds his weak-spot, right below his ear, he's jerking forward in his seat and letting out a choked moan. His hips rise desperately, trying to seek out some sort of friction, but all he can feel is his cock rubbing against the inside of his briefs — not nearly enough to put out the fire in his gut.

"You okay?" you breathe out lowly between kisses to his pulse, "this okay?

He nods feverishly. A reflexive buck of his pelvis follows suit.

"Can we... I dont know-" you whisper against his skin, and Art thinks he might die. He's so keyed up right now, he'd do anything to get to feel you under all of the layers.

"Please."

And there it is. He couldn't even stop himself before the word was already out and drifting into the minimal space left in between your bodies. You pause your lips and pull back to look to his eyes.

A hand moves from his hair to his cool cheek. "I- I'm ready to do more... If you are too, I mean.."

He's nodding before you even finish; and his pupils dilate into big, black, iris-eclipsing saucers as his brows pinch up and he whispers back to you.

"I want to touch you," he trembles, "I really, really, really wanna touch you..."

You feel a sticky heat cling to the inside of your panties.

Ugh, he's always good at making you feel this way, even if in the past it was relatively unintentional. Sometimes he's been too innocent for his own good.

"Can I?" he whispers, breaking apart your thoughts, like the very syllables have been beaten out of the depths of his desires.

You let out soft sigh through parted lips, taking in the look on his face before you're crawling over the center console and into his lap. Your body settles comfortably over his thighs, and then your head bumps up against the roof of the car. You make a slight noise of surprise, ducking down with a soft giggle, and Art's right hand instinctively raises to protectively cup the spot on your head that had hit the interior. He looks up at you, letting out a breath of a laugh before lifting his brows to wordlessly ask if you're alright.

You kiss him again instead.

He gasps and swallows as he feels you further straddle him, and his hands move to start unzipping your puffer as he kisses you back. It's easier said than done when his hands are shaking, but he manages and then helps you shrug off the coat before it gets tossed into the oblivion to meet his hat from earlier.

A string of spit connects your mouth to his as you pull back, and he drinks in the sight of you above him; your thermal long-sleeve clinging to your skin so tight that he can see the outline of your bra underneath.

You lean in once more and kiss his jaw twice before letting your hands wander down to help him take off his own jacket. Once it's off and on the car floor with the other pieces of discarded clothing, your palms move up under his shirt to caress his bare skin. You feel his abdomen shudder as your nails graze the pale flesh there.

"Where do you want me?" he asks breathlessly, his eyes already glazed over with arousal and a wish to please you.

"Anywhere.."

".. Here..?"

His hands reach up to palm your breasts over your top, and he relishes in the soft moan it elicits from you. The sound of it rings out in his head and then he can't help but whimper as he leans into your body, his cheek to your jaw. Art's hands slither hastily under your shirt and then to your back before he fumbles with the clasp of your bra. You smirk softly and fondly as you feel him struggle, and you decide to maneuver your touch up to the back of his neck. Your fingertips tease the back of his hair. Teasing turns to stroking, and suddenly you're petting him to ease his nerves. If he had a tail, it'd definitely be wagging; you can feel him buzzing with eager energy all over.

Once the bra is popped open, he gently pulls back to look up to your eyes and then he's huskily whispering up at you, "can I take this off of you?"

"Yeah, take it off-"

He doesn't waste a second once he sees you raising your arms, nearly tearing the top in the process of getting it up and over your head. The bra comes off quick right after; he doesn't even notice that it's red (his favorite color). With how much is going through his head, it's a miracle he can even manage to undress you without losing it...

The moment that you're bare in front of him from the belly-button up, he sags back in his seat and takes you in. His lips parted in a gentle 'O'. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he moans lowly, his palms pressing to your lower stomach before they slide up and cover your soft tits, "you're so beautiful, oh my god.."

You moan when you feel him start to knead your breasts under his tender touch, nipples pebbling in response, and you roll your head back with pleasure.

"You're.. s-so sweet," you groan.

He squeezes your chest again before he leans in and presses a kiss to the right side, and a kiss to the left (it's only fair). He looks up to you through heavy lids before he surges forward with a renewed sense of passion and attaches his lips to one of your nipples.

"Shit-!" you gasp, and your hands tighten in his blonde locks, "ugh, don't stop, Art.. that feels nice.."

He moans around your squishy flesh and then his eyes flutter shut as he flicks his tongue over your bud and suckles. His mouth is warm and wet and perfect. His teeth brisk your sensitive skin.

A sharp moan slips from your lips in response, and then your hips jerk over his quickly. Just once; just enough. It's denim on denim, thick fabric dulling the sensations, but god- the pleasure bites perfectly at the both of you.

Art can barely process how good it feels before he's drooling around you over his tongue and rolling his own body up, trying to meet yours again. Wordlessly begging you to keep going.

Please, please, please do it again.

You breathe heavily and then rock down over his lap again, chasing the stream of electricity that it sends up your spine from your cunt. There's a mess of slick seeping from you as you push your clothed clit against Art's bulge, humping him like some sort of depraved teenager, but it's going to get you there.

Hell, it's getting you there quicker than you thought.

"Ooh, fuck," he hiccups out against your skin, releasing your breast from his mouth as his eyes fly open and then promptly roll back into his head, "ohh god, oh g-god.."

You rock a bit faster over him, a little moan escaping with each needy motion, and you move your hands to hold his shoulders for leverage. You feel him wrap his toned arms around your middle.

"Sh-Should I move too?" he gasps.

You can feel his thighs quivering.

If you really focus, you can even feel his dick throbbing in the confines of his pants.

"Yeah, ohh, yeah.. yeah, move, move.”

In an instant, Art's hips are grinding up to meet yours while his hands move urgently to hold your waist. He buries his face into your neck and tries to bounce you on his lap in his grasp. Up, down, up, down, over and over and over. Like he’s fucking you; buried deep inside your oozing pussy.

"you feel so good," he breathes out, hardly taking enough air into his lungs to get the words out, "this feels... f-feels so good.. ohhh-"

A few stuttered whines slip from your mouth and then you're working harder to press yourself further down over his erection, trying your best to relieve the scorching heat building in your core. More, more, more, you just need more.

"fuck me..!"

It tumbles from you unexpectedly, and the young man under you chokes on a guttural groan that's already halfway out. His nose crinkles with pleasure, and he swivels his hips harder to rub his boner against your crotch. He tries to speak, he really does, but all of the words get swept away on broken, strung-out whimpers that clog his throat.

You two are fogging up all four windows in his car, and anyone who's looking on from the outside will know exactly what's going on just from the shaking alone.

"Shit, you're gonna make me—“

Art cries out as he digs his heels down into the mat below the pedals; his toes curling as he registers the rapid feeling of boiling tension brewing in his balls, seeping out and pulling his limbs taut against yours. He's so close.

"—you're gonna- 'm gonna come—“

He tries to warn you, shuddering when he hears you squeal in response, and he has to force his eyes open and crane his neck back so that he can savor the sight of you falling apart on top of him when he tips over. A small part of him wishes he was being hugged by your tight, gummy walls; but this was perfect for now. It was what you wanted, so it was what he wanted too.

"Fuck, Art! I'm almost—!"

The sound of his name coming out of you like that sends him spiraling, his cock pulsing in his boxers with want.

"Me too, me too, oh god, pleasepleaseplease-"

You two are rutting and thrashing against each other like a couple of animals, breathing heavy and moaning as you both try to maintain eye contact in those split few seconds before everything fades away.

"Can I come?" he trembles, and you can see wetness glistening over his lash line, threatening to spill. He can’t say it now, but he's barely holding it all in.

For you, he'd wait.

Even if it felt impossible.

You speed up your humping, the seam of your jeans slotting perfectly against your swollen clit as the warmth of his cock sends you hurtling towards the finish line. You nod down at him, moving your hands from his shoulders to his flushed face, "yes, god, please come with me!"

It only takes three more snaps of his pelvis against yours before the both of you are gasping and crying out simultaneously as the hot coils burst loose; Art's back arching up from the seat as you curl over his chest and yelp. He's moaning, voice cracks and all, as his legs shudder under your seat over them. His hands fly up to hold you close, almost like he's scared you'll somehow slip away.

"fuckyesfuckyesfuckyes, please, god, i'm coming so hard..!”

He whimpers helpessly, feeling sticky heat bloom against his kicking length as each wave of his orgasm floods his system. It's wholly all-consuming, his vision whiting out around the edges before he has to squeeze his eyes shut and give up the sight of your face as you climax. He thinks he might legitimately pass out.

You're left wheezing over his lap, groaning pitifully as you feel a wave of slick and wetness drench your underwear while the height of your own peak ebbs, and you finish yourself off fully against his thigh as you come down. One of your hands reaches down to rub yourself over the soaked fabric, and you twitch before falling forward into his frame.

You both jolt a bit while the aftershocks keep you feeling pleasantly numb, but it's blissful.

It's completely and utterly blissful; it just feels right.

Him being so close to you, you being so close to him. Sharing something so deeply intimate and yet feeling so comfortable and so safe— it was like something clicked into place.

One of Art's hands reaches to your upper back, rubbing it comfortingly as he tries to steady his breathing.

".. Woah," he whispers in awe, fingertips tracing soothing patterns on your skin, "that was.. really.. haah.."

A little shiver passes through him and he then decides to cut himself off before he lets slip something dumb and ruins everything.

You gain some semblance of consciousness back and lift your head upright slowly, gazing down to him. His hair’s a mess, his blue eyes shining with low lids, and his bottom lip looks freshly bitten.

"That was really good," you chuckle breathily, finishing his sentiment for him. You were good at that- helping him feel whole.

He just nods and you get to watch his cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.

"I... I was thinking.." he starts, only to shy away from your gaze by looking down.

"Yeah..?"

You stroke his hair, pushing it back from his sweaty forehead.

"Well, I just, we've been, like, 'seeing each other' or whatever," his eyes reluctantly raise again to look up into yours, "and, I just thought that.. we might..."

"We might...?" you smile as you urge him to speak up for himself.

He can only muster a soft, shy chuckle at first.

"I just thought that we might be.. together.."

Your breathing catches, only for a moment, as the word—and the weight of it—sits heavily in the dense air being kept trapped in by the car's doors. Art swallows thickly.

"You wanna be together?" you whisper, barely audible.

He seems hesitant to answer that.

But he does anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

A soft smile creeps onto your face, and then you lean in to brush your lips against his. He closes his eyes in preparation for a kiss, but it doesn't quite come. They flutter back open, and his fingers twitch idly on your lower back.

Please say something, he thinks. He's holding his breath.

You murmur against his mouth, delicate and earnest, with a shrug almost gracing your shoulders as you speak to him. You want to let him know that he doesn't have to be scared to tell you what he wants.

That it's okay.

That you want the same thing.

"Okay.. then let's be 'together'.."

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧.

— pairing; vil schoenheit x ramshackle! reader

— summary; vil's signature spell is hot, and you end up telling him that

— notes; this is. very self indulgent. I CANNOT HELP IT IF I FIND HIS SIGNATURE SPELL HOT, DO NOT JUDGE ME. also please donate to my kofi if you like my work. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ The first time Vil tells you about his signature spell, it’s in an almost offhand manner, like he’s listing his numerous accomplishments or talking about the weather. He’s used to people responding with awe — or fear — because of how powerful and dangerous the spell is, and surely your reaction will be something similar.

❋ “That’s hot.”

❋ Did you just say that out loud?

❋ Yup.

❋ You should technically know better, it’s just . . . The idea of him wielding that much control and imposing his will with just a touch is . . . Well, insanely attractive.

❋ There goes your first brain cell.

❋ Vil blinks, momentarily caught off guard by your reaction. He’s used to seeing admiration, yes, but he certainly didn’t expect this. The way you bite your lip, how your eyes sparkle with fascination, seemingly unfazed. A hint of pink dusts his cheeks as he processes your reaction — after all, it isn’t every day that someone looks at him with such pure, unabashed admiration. And because of the dark side of his magic, no less.

❋ “Would you like a demonstration, darling?” He asks in that velvety tone of his, leaning closer, his eyes locking onto yours. His fingers reach out to brush against your cheek, and he murmurs, “Just one touch and I would have you begging for mercy.”

❋ And there goes your last braincell.

❋ The look on your face at this very moment must be a good one; Vil’s shifting closer, and his hands are lingering on your face — not cursing you, just cupping the curve of your cheek, and drinking in your ardent attention.

❋ He’s looking at you as though he wants to kiss you, and well, you aren’t about to stop him anytime soon if he does.

❋ Normally, Vil isn’t one for indulging in impulsive decisions, but it’s the way you’re looking up at him — much too unguarded, much too trusting, almost as though you want to be stained with his darkness — breaks through the veneer of his carefully crafted restraint.

❋ Your breath catches in your throat, and all your focus is solely on Vil: the intense heat in his gaze, the warmth of his hands, and the intoxicating sense of danger that somehow makes him even more irresistible.

❋ His lips mould against yours with the kind of effortless elegance only Vil can manage. There’s a subtle possessiveness in the kiss, like he wants to mark you. Not with a curse, but something darker, sweeter, a taste that lingers on your lips like a delicate poison.

[nanamincreampie]

Omgomgomg hiiiii 🥹🥹🥹🩷🩷🌷🌷🌷🌷 can I request an instance where Sukuna’s pregnant wife visits him at his job and he’s the CEO.

Context:

So like no one in the office knows what his wife looks like. He’s insanely private about his life. (Also cause he’s involved in shady stuff and doesn’t want anyone to know the identity of his wife. He meets with a lot of crooked business men on and off the clock.)

But yea the office only know he’s married because of the ring he wears.

So when his gorgeous, thick and very pregnant wife goes to the reception saying “Hi, is Ryomen busy? I’m his wife. I brought muffins for everyone I ate a couple I hope that’s okay.” in the sweetest voice with the biggest smile, the entire floor is in shock. (They know she’s not lying because of the ginormous light pink rock of a wedding ring that’s on her finger. It’s identical to his hair obvi hehe)

But like yeah! She comes to the office for the first time and all the workers just fall in love with how sweet she is. So they scramble to help her and hold her bag and offer her food from the break room and tell her how pretty she is and maybe Sukuna’s personal assistant even gets pulled away and that’s when he notices that everybody’s nearly gone and he finally finds her surrounded by everyone in the break room and maybe he takes her to his office and his mind is reeling thinking something’s wrong with the baby but it just ended up her being like “I’m sorry I know I could have called but look! The baby’s kicking!” And he falls in love with her all over again.

I think it’d be so cute 😭🩷 he seems like the type of hubby to call his wife “flower” or “petal”. Smut is totally up to you I won’t be opposed to it. But eeee!!! I thought it’d be a cute fluffy little fic

One Sukuna fic with a side of Sunshine and a Pregnant Wife coming right up!!! <3

Sukuna x Black pregnant reader

The bustling office of Sukuna Enterprises was alive with its usual energy phones ringing, keyboards clicking, and hushed conversations about deadlines. Ryomen Sukuna, the enigmatic and ruthlessly efficient CEO, was in the middle of one of his intense back-to-back meetings. His presence cast a long shadow over the entire floor. Everyone knew to tread carefully; Sukuna tolerated no mistakes.

The only personal detail anyone knew about him was that he was married, courtesy of the massive, rose-pink diamond ring he wore on his left hand. But beyond that? Nothing. Sukuna was intensely private, and no one had dared to ask for more. Speculation abounded, but without any concrete details, his wife remained a mystery.

Until today.

The receptionist was the first to spot her: a stunning woman in a flowing maternity dress that hugged her very pregnant belly. Her curls framed her glowing face, and she carried a basket of muffins in one hand and a slightly overstuffed purse in the other.

“Hi there!” she greeted with a bright smile, her voice warm and melodic. “Is Mr. Sukuna in? I’d like to see him, please.”

The receptionist blinked, momentarily thrown off by the casual tone. "Do you have an appointment?" she asked, her professional instincts kicking in.

“Oh, no, no appointment,” the woman replied with a light laugh. “But I’m sure he won’t mind.”

The receptionist hesitated. No one—no one—saw Sukuna without an appointment. “And you are?”

“Oh, just a friend,” the woman said coyly, her warm smile never faltering. “I brought muffins for everyone, too! I… might have eaten a couple on the way. They smelled so good.”

Her charm was effortless, but the receptionist wasn’t entirely convinced. As she considered what to do, a curious junior associate walked past and froze at the sight of the woman. His gaze flicked between her and the receptionist.

“Who’s she?” he whispered, not quite quietly enough.

“I don’t know,” the receptionist whispered back.

Within minutes, whispers began to spread. A stunning, heavily pregnant woman had walked into Sukuna Enterprises asking for their untouchable boss. No one knew who she was, but the expensive jewelry on her hand, especially the light pink diamond, caught more than a few eyes. The resemblance to Sukuna’s wedding ring sparked theories.

Could it be… her?

The whispers grew louder as more employees found excuses to pass by the reception area, stealing glances at the mysterious woman.

Despite the growing attention, she remained perfectly at ease. When someone offered to carry her purse, she laughed softly and accepted, the basket of muffins still in her other hand.

“Oh, thank you so much! It’s a bit heavier than I thought,” she said, her tone dripping with gratitude.

Soon, the break room became her destination. Chairs were pulled out for her, snacks and drinks were offered, and she was surrounded by employees eager to accommodate her. Her gentle laughter filled the space as she chatted with everyone, thanking them for their kindness and answering their curious but polite questions in a way that revealed little.

Meanwhile, in his corner office, Sukuna noticed something strange. The usual buzz of activity on the floor had dwindled to near silence. His crimson eyes narrowed. Something was off.

Stepping out of his office, Sukuna’s gaze swept over the nearly deserted floor. His jaw tightened. “What the hell is going on?” he muttered under his breath, following the faint sound of laughter.

When he reached the break room, the scene before him made his steps falter.

Her.

His wife.

The woman no one in his office had ever seen, the woman he kept carefully hidden from the chaos of his professional life, sat there, glowing with happiness, her round belly resting comfortably as she laughed with his staff.

“What is going on here?” Sukuna’s deep, commanding voice sliced through the air.

The room went silent instantly. Employees scrambled to make space for him, their faces pale as they realized they’d been caught slacking.

Her head turned, and her smile brightened at the sight of him.

“Ryo!” she said warmly, completely unfazed by his intimidating presence. She gestured for him to come closer. “Come here!”

He crossed the room in two long strides, his crimson eyes scanning her from head to toe. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice quieter but edged with concern. “Is something wrong?”

Her expression softened as she reached for his hand and placed it on her belly. “Nope! I just missed you. And look the baby’s kicking!”

For a moment, Sukuna’s icy demeanor cracked. His sharp features softened as he felt the gentle thump beneath his palm.

“You could’ve called, Petal,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something uncharacteristically tender.

“Where’s the fun in that?” she teased, her eyes sparkling.

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but then his sharp gaze flicked to the stunned employees still lingering near the door. “Get back to work. Now.”

They scattered like leaves in the wind, murmuring apologies as they fled the room.

Turning back to his wife, Sukuna wrapped a protective arm around her and guided her toward his office. Once inside, he helped her settle onto the plush couch, his eyes never leaving her.

“You’re going to cause chaos every time you visit, Flower,” he said, a rare hint of amusement in his voice.

“Maybe,” she replied with a cheeky grin. “But I brought muffins to make up for it.”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as he sat beside her. Despite the whirlwind she’d caused, Sukuna found himself staring at her, utterly captivated. She always had a way of turning his world upside down in the best possible way.

And the chaos? Oh, it didn’t end there.

For the rest of the week, the entire office buzzed with stories about her surprise visit. Who could’ve imagined that the stoic, intimidating Ryomen Sukuna was married to such a sweet, cheerful woman? The way she smiled, the way she treated everyone with kindness, the way she looked the staff couldn’t stop talking about her.

Rumors swirled, theories were formed, and every detail was analyzed. But one thing was certain: Mrs. Sukuna had left an impression that no one would forget anytime soon.

Divider by : @bernardsbendystraws

[0310s]

take a picture, it'll last longer! (leehan) ᯓ★ 

members: leehan x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

wc: 1.2k

summary: a photobooth, too many options to choose from, and a naughty lover (spoiler: it’s not you).

a/n: once again... thank you to @dollvrse for implanting this idea in my head... you literally have the best ideas. i went utterly insane imagining this scenario, so i had to churn out this fic for the sake of my mental health. enjoy!

 𓉞⋆｡˚☁︎｡⋆

“Leehan, Leehan, a photobooth!” you gasp and nudge your boyfriend of one month. The singular photobooth is tucked in a cozy corner of the street, right beside a homey cafe. A peek under the curtain shows it’s unoccupied—lucky! “Hurry up, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” You tug at Leehan with your intertwined hands without waiting for a response; your lovely partner seems happy to be dragged along, either way. 

Sliding the curtain open, you quickly usher Leehan into the photobooth. As expected, the interior is compact, just enough for a pair to squeeze in and take photos. It’s honestly been quite some time since you’ve entered a phootbooth; you’ve never had a particular interest in these sorts of gimmicks. But now, you have something to commemorate and you want to be reminded of through photographic means—so here you are. 

Still, this is no time to peruse the photobooth interior. The last time you visited one, all you needed to do was to take your pictures and the machine would churn out everything else for you. Now, there are a plethora of options to choose from—too many, in fact, that you end up feeling momentarily paralyzed. “Okay, what are we feeling today? Two poses? Four poses? Eight poses? And there are… uhh… ten layouts we can choose from? There are way too many options... I’m getting confused!”

“We can probably just go with the regular four-photo strip.” Leehan’s voice is low and melodious as he answers you. “And pick the ocean design. The fish look cute there.” You nod and go with it, not wanting to waste any more time on deciding. As you pull out your wallet to feed the machine a couple of bills, Leehan beats you to it and fishes the photobooth some of his own money. Before you can even protest, Leehan sends you a little smile. “My treat.” How could you ever be mad at him with that smile of his?

You’re cut off from your daydreaming about how wonderful everything about Leehan is when the screen sounds, indicating you should get into position. “Okay, first pose!” You come up with many poses, but none of them seem right. Leehan proves to be unhelpful because all he’s doing is gazing at you with a fond smile on his face. “Leehan, maybe stop looking at me and help me out?” 

“I can’t help it. You’re just too beautiful,” Leehan tells you, “my eyes go wherever you are.” At this, your face burns with embarrassment. You’re about to tell Leehan to stop joking around when the photobooth shutter goes off with a loud sound.

At this, both of you turn to the screen, watching as the timer ticks down for the second photo. “Leehan, you just ruined our first photo!�� you complain, but your boyfriend remains smiling. “Listen, buddy, this is a collaborative effort. Let’s think of a pose for the second photo. Come on, please?”

Leehan laughs to himself at how cute you are for taking this so seriously. “Okay, fine, fine,” he finally gives in to your pleading. “Come here.” Bringing you closer, he wraps an arm around you. His hand on your waist is a warm brand against your skin, and you ignore the shiver that goes through you. But when he tightens his hold, you instinctively giggle. 

“Leehan, not this pose, I’m ticklish there.” You try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he just pulls you in closer until his body is pressed right against yours. He’s facing straight at the camera, but you can see the corner of his lips curling up. You suddenly have an foreboding feeling that he’s up to no good—then he gives your waist another squeeze, right where you’re most ticklish.

“Ahh!” You squeal, thrashing in his grip. Leehan, devil that he is, laughs at your plight and starts to purposely tickle your sides to get a reaction out of you. He’s too strong—you’re subjected to practically the worst (and most evil!!!) tickle attack you’ve ever experienced in your life. As you wriggle around in an attempt to escape, the shutter goes off once again: two shots gone down the drain, two more to go. “Kim Leehan, if you don’t stop teasing me-” you begin to warn him, but you lose all train of thought when you notice the position you’ve ended up in.

Leehan’s got both arms wrapped around your waist. You can literally count the number of lashes your boyfriend’s got—it’s unfair how he’s got these pretty, long doll lashes that ghost his cheekbones every time he has his eyes shut. You’re so close that you can feel his breath on your lips as he looks down at you with an unreadable expression on his face. Your eyes trail down his gorgeous doe eyes, to the slope of his straight nose, to his plush, kissable lips—wait, what?

Your thoughts are all but interrupted as Leehan leans in and steals your breath with a tender kiss. One hand shifts from your waist to your cheek, gently cradling your face in his palm. His other hand remains on your waist, drawing you nearer, and you practically melt into his strong arms. Trailing your hands over his back, you sigh into the kiss as your pliant lips move against his. You’re so absorbed in the kiss that you don’t hear the camera go off another time. You feel so safe in his arms, and kissing him makes you feel lightheaded with happiness—happiness that you’re this close to him, someone you care dearly for, and that you’re able to share this intimate moment with him.

When you finally pull apart, you’re panting for air. Leehan is staring at you with a similarly dazed expression, eyes glazed over. You’re looking into each other’s eyes for a quiet moment, sharing equally shy glances. Leehan’s got that expression where he’s suppressing a wide grin, his dimples peeking out. That’s when the final shutter goes off, and you’re snapped out of your stupor—then you suddenly realize what you actually came here for. “Leehan, the pictures!”

“Oh. Right.” Leehan looks positively unapologetic. “I forgot." You clearly both did. A whirring sound comes from the machine, and you both turn around to see the finished prints drop out. When you step over and hold up the photo strips, you gasp with shame. 

“Oh my god!” The first photo is you fuming at Leehan while he looks at you longingly. The second photo is a blur of arms, but you can distinguish both your bright smiles as you flail around—yours out of ticklishness, and Leehan’s out of pleasure at your misfortune. 

The third photo is one that makes your cheeks flush a fiery red. Leehan and you are wrapped up in a kiss—nothing R-Rated, but still utterly humiliating to have been captured in a phootbooth no less. You look down to the fourth and last one, and here, you’re both gazing at each other with bashful smiles on your faces. The most embarrassing thing about it all is how because of the design Leehan's chosen, it looks like you're making out in a sea of poor marine creatures who most likely did not consent to watching a private show.

As cute as this is, you probably can’t display this in your room. “Jesus, these are ruined. We should take them again,” you exhale, already regretting the amount of money you’re spending on some silly, unimportant photos. But Leehan stops you, taking the photo strips from you and surveying them carefully. 

“What do you mean? I think they came out great.” Leehan pauses, considering his next words, carefully monitoring your reaction. Then what he says next stuns you: “... We look like we’re in love.”

Your heart clenches at this. It’s true—you and Leehan look like you’re in your own little world. “We do,” you concede. “Okay. Let’s keep this.”

[vaguely-concerned]

how much have the crows actually been sanitized outside of the very narrow view you get of them both in place and in time in veilguard, and how much is caterina deliberately putting her most presentable and pr friendly foot forward because she needs HELP with both the grandson and the antaam situations and is already playing from a weakened overwhelmed position. is she going to show off all the dirty laundry the crows undeniably have in front of the people she's courting for an alliance? is rook going to be looking a gift crow in the beak too closely when help is offered, go digging through that laundry basket on their own initiative on principle, knowing what you might find further down in it isn't pretty and might still be sharp, while the world is burning? is it entirely coincidental that the people caterina picks to interact with you most is teia -- the youngest, most charismatic and notably most weirdly idealistic of the talons -- and viago -- who is perhaps none of these things naturally but is dependable and logical and sharp and also down so cataclysmically bad for teia that when she runs in shouting 'TEIA YES!!! >:D' he sighs with longsuffering resignation and goes '...viago also yes. I suppose. under duress, let the record note' and follows.

surely parts of how each house functions would be left largely up to the individual talons, right? as long as they produce crows capable of doing the job and keeping up with the competition, I doubt the first talon micromanages how they get there (...for good or ill. lots of dead fledglings buried under that laissez faire policy, probably). they're very far away from a monolithic structure, they're constantly competing merchant houses/families striving to gain the upper hand held in check by little except 'if enough of the other houses shake hands and gang up on us for pushing our luck we're fucked, so don't push it too far'. like I believe lucanis says at one point, even calling them an organization is stretching the definition to a breaking point in some ways lol this is fully herding cats territory. all this to say that in this game we spend most of our time in teia's house. andarateia cantori, of the firm genuine conviction recognized as mildly unhinged by all the other talons that the crows truly are her family, who loves them with her whole unstoppable foolhardy thinks-she-will-die-young-and-live-eternally-in-song-and-story heart for it. teia, who won't leave the cantori diamond even to go home to sleep because she doesn't want the fledglings to have to see the place empty. do I think the way teia cantori would run her house is indicative of the average experience of being trained as and living as a crow? no. obviously. why are people seeming to assume that so immediately? sometimes I do wonder if I'm going insane.

between that and the antaam situation -- which turns the romanticized image antiva already is eager to reach for with the crows (the same way european literary tradition through the ages sure LOVES a knight, no matter what knights were actually like when you had one kicking around in real life) into an effective and recognizable symbol of resistance from an outside force (at least these awful little guys are home grown in a way we're kind of proud of despite it all and also they are deeply inescapably cool)... perhaps indeed a symbol of resistance and freedom that momentarily covers for a multitude of sins. I don't think we need to draw definitive conclusions about what the crows are like universially, historically or in different contexts from what we see in veilguard. sort of like the british in the pop cultural understanding being 'the good guys' when we think about WW2, and the sheer ludicrousness of that characterization of the british empire seen in any other context or angle lmao. I DO think there are some genuine writerly '*handwaves established ugliness aside aggressively* just uuuuuh don't worry about it! not important right now! you can feel at least ok hanging out with the cool theater kids but with murder they're like. comparatively chill in this context it's fine and they're fun' going on too. and you know what. they are fun. invenci is unfortunately objectively right, but the crows are sooo much more fun. and in fiction land that trumps all. absolutely baffling writing choice when you read through to the political/ideological conclusion that's reached from it of course (sort of accidentally? I think???), but would it really be a bioware game without a few of those. it's how you know you're home (derogatory and affectionate)

in short there are writing problems by god are there real problems here. obviously. and it'd take smarter and more knowledgeable people than me to properly untangle all of that. glorifying organized crime is a time honoured tradition in fiction that perhaps... shouldn't be quite so much and is uh risky, you're always playing with fire there. but I frankly don't think the 'de-edgeifying' for lack of a better term is that much of an inescapable one or that it erases what we knew of the crows before, we're just getting the angle on them in one very specific time and place in history and with specific individuals involved setting the tone. eight little talons killing off most of the established leadership beforehand so it's mostly only teia and viago who get to keep their full power base (even caterina and the dellamortes takes some losses in the apparent death of lucanis before the start of the game) probably figures into that somewhere too lol

[thief-of-eggs]

Headcanon that Kon finally works up the nerve to confess his love to Tim- except he messes up and confesses on April Fools day, so after a long pause where Tim’s heart nearly leaves his chest, he just laughs and says “good one”

And while Kon is momentarily confused (and a little crushed), he quickly is reminded of the date by a less than favorable prank pulled by Bart- and instead of explaining things to Tim, he decides to roll with it

It becomes an inside joke between them both. Kon starts saying “love ya” before every mission- and he means it. But Tim just takes it as a joke, and he pretends it doesn’t make his cheeks flush, pretends it doesn’t make his heart race.

The longer it goes on without Tim confessing back, the bolder Kon grows. He is pretty sure Tim likes him back, given he can hear how Tim’s heart races each time he flirts- but he’s still waiting for the proper confession. And what better way to draw it out than by getting flirtier and flirtier?

“Have a good meeting, baby, I hope they don’t keep you from me for too long”

“Hey there hot stuff, is that a batarang in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“Have I ever told you how beautiful your eyes look Tim? Because they really are. Brighter than the whole night sky alight with stars.”

Tim goes insane. He can’t show how much the phrases are affecting him, can’t let Kon know it isn’t a joke to him- so he flirts back. Because why on earth would he be normal and just talk about it?

He starts small, and works his way up to bolder statements. Speaking his heart, veiling the words as bits of their joke.

“Hey pretty boy, you gonna join us on this mission or is your head still in the clouds?”

“Calm down Kon, this is a sparring ring, not our bedroom”

“Can I get a kiss for luck babe? You know I always perform better when I’m around you.”

It’s like a game. Of wits, of wills. Everyone watches from a far with their eyebrows raised, watching the gayest friendship they’ve ever seen as the boys both flirt and flirt, a sort of game of chicken that neither seems to know the rules to.

It takes months for things to escalate so much till they’re essentially just dating. Tim doesn’t realize it until they’re sitting curled up on the couch together after a mission, his head on Kon’s shoulder, their legs intertwined under the blanket.

“We’re dating… aren’t we?”

Kon kisses the top of his head. “Took you a while, Mr detective.”

Tim’s face flushes as he rethinks every phrase Kon ever said to him, before winding back to that first fateful confession.

His heart skips a beat as the meaning dawns on him.

“You love me,” he says, less a question more a statement.

“I do,” Kon replies, fighting off a smile.

Tim’s heart races a mile a minute. He pushes away from Kon to look him in his eyes, his ribs feeling too small to contain his growing heart.

“I love you too,” he says, breathless with the confession.

“I know,” Kon answers, his eyes twinkling. Tim wants to punch him- but then Kon is kissing him, and Tim forgets every hostile feeling.

He pushes their combined idiocracy aside and grabs Kon by his shirt, and pulls the super into him.

[jobean12-blog]

Perfect Kind of Trouble

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 4,566

Summary: You’re new to the neighborhood and you’ve landed a great job bartending at one of the local spots. So far it’s been a good change and things are going smoothly, that is, until Bucky Barnes, the neighborhood’s most eligible bachelor, walks into your bar and sets his sights on you. 

Author’s Note: I love the idea of Bucky chasing after a girl who gives him a run for his money! Hope you enjoy! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰

Warnings: Lots of fluff, flirting, tension, Bucky might be a bit possessive but in a good way and he definitely goes for what he wants and that’s you, some sass in there, Bucky is protective too :) and Nat is the best wingman ever! 

“Oh my god, he’s here.”

You stop drying the glass in your hand and go stiff, side eyeing your friend Nat.

“Who Nat?”

She doesn’t answer and instead slides closer to you, leaning her head toward your ear.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Who?” you ask again, starting to crane your neck to look.

“Don’t!” she snaps then instantly softens her tone. “Just meet me in the back in two minutes and don’t make it look suspicious.”

You give her a tiny nod and go back to your work on the glasses but you can feel the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end. You can feel his stare.

“Ok. What the hell is up with you?” you ask when you shut the door to the back room.

She’s pacing back and forth and it’s making you nervous but when she meets your eyes you relax slightly at the smile on her face.

“Bucky Barnes,” she repeats.

“Yeah? And? I have no idea who that is!”

“Of course you don’t!” she muses. “You wouldn’t know because you only moved here a few weeks ago.”

“Righttt…so, who is he?”

“Just the perfect man.”

“How do you know?”

“Everyone knows.”

You quirk your brow and cross your arms over your chest.

“Well, everyone who lives in the neighborhood,” she laughs.

“If he’s so perfect I’m sure he’s married with two point five kids, a dog and a house with a white picket fence.”

“There are no white picket fences in Brooklyn babe,” she says. “And you’d think that but he’s been a bachelor for as long as we know him.”

“Then he’s probably a player and an asshole!” you state.

“I mean sure, all the women, and men, talk about how hot he is and how much they want a shot and boy do they try but as far as I know he doesn’t date.”

“I don’t get it,” you say.

“Me neither!” she agrees. “But he hasn’t been at this bar in forever…”

“Maybe he wanted a change of scenery?” you say with a shrug.

“OR MAYBEEEEEEEE,” she starts, her grin growing. “He heard there’s a new girl in town and he’s here to see you!”

“You’re insane! And he sounds like a player to me.” you huff. “I’m going back to work. Come on, you have to point him out to me. I at least want a look.”

“I won’t need to. You’ll know who he is…”

At her wistful tone you roll your eyes, pushing open the door and walking out with determined steps.

When you hit the bar you discreetly scan the seats. You don’t see anyone that stands out, mostly just the usual crew that shows up on a Saturday night for four-dollar drafts.

A customer calls you over and you head in his direction with a smile. You’re just greeting him and taking his order when you feel that familiar heat at your back, your skin tingling.

Once you’ve got the drink order you turn toward the bar only to lock eyes with the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. It momentarily stops you in your tracks and if it weren’t for Nat lightly bumping your shoulder and whispering, “told ya so,” you would stay rooted to the spot to stare.

Instead you blink several times and look away, trying to remember what drink you’re supposed to make.

When you’ve finished making it you deliver it to the customer and try to take another peek down the bar.

“I’m not taking his drink order,” Nat singsongs when she comes to stand beside you. “That’s all you.”

Your mouth falls open and you give her a glare with narrowed eyes. She just smiles brightly and sashays to the other end of the bar to take another order.

With a huff of annoyance you square your shoulders and turn toward Bucky. As you approach him his eyes light up with his smile.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

He returns your greeting and sticks his hand out.

“I’m James Barnes but you can call me Bucky.”

You wipe your hand on the towel at your side and shake his. The shock of electricity at his touch doesn’t seem to be one sided when you feel the slight squeeze from his hand. You introduce yourself, hoping you don’t come off as confused at his direct attention.

“Apparently you’re rather popular around here?”

It comes out as a question and he chuckles.

“Don’t believe anything you’ve heard,” he says with a wink.

“So what about a drink?” you ask, focusing on doing your job.

He orders and before he can say more you rush off to fix his drink. You drop it off with nothing more than a smile and move toward the next person who calls for your help.

As you’re making your next few drinks you notice Nat chatting with Bucky and you can’t help but wonder what they’re saying.

You move back and forth behind the bar, trying to ignore the feel of Bucky’s eyes, but he finally catches your attention and waves you down.

“Another?” you ask.

“Sure doll, thanks.”

While you’re pouring his drink he tries to keep you engaged.

“So Nat told me you’re new to town?”

“Yeah, moved here at the end of last month.”

“Do you like bartending better here in the city?” he asks.

You look down at the bar and scold with a single name.

“Nat.”

Bucky leans in. “Don’t be mad. She’s just trying to help me out.”

You lean in too, elbows on the bar and your head tilted his way.

“You usually need help? From what I’ve heard you can have your pick of anyone.”

At the slight scrunch of your nose he can tell you’re not saying it with a positive tone.

“Not my style. I’m pickier and right now, I need all the help I can get because I think I’m in real danger of striking out.”

His eyes drop to your lips and when they turn up every so slightly he relaxes.

“What is your type?” you ask. “Maybe I can help you out too.”

He scans you slowly and the proceeds to describe you perfectly, the tension building in the inches between you with his every word.

You steel yourself and lift your chin. “Does that usually work?”

“It’s not a line. Meant every word doll face.”

“Do you use these endearments on all the girls? I bet they love it.”

“Nuh uh,” he answers adamantly.

You nod, looking completely unconvinced.

Nat reappears at your side. “You have no idea how much I hate to interrupt this, but I need three long island iced teas at table four or they’re gonna have a hissy fit.”

You straighten yourself. “Oh sorry! Of course. I’m on it.”

You’re busy for the next forty-five minutes but Bucky never leaves his spot and every time you meet his eyes they are heavy with intention as they follow your every move. You can feel them, the heat singing every inch of your skin.

At least two women have approached him at the bar but they both walked away after a few minutes of mundane conversation and lack of interest on his part.

As much as you hate to admit it you can’t help but steal glances at him too, though you try to keep them quick and subtle.

He’s broad shouldered in the tight tee shirt he’s wearing, his biceps on full display under the stretch of the fabric and his dark hair is loose at his shoulders. His full lips are framed by a dark scruff that also covers his cheeks and is peppered with patches of gray.

Your fingers mindlessly caress the glass you’re holding before you catch yourself and look away.

You drop off another glass of whiskey with a smile and he nurses it, shooting you a cocky half smirk when he catches you staring at him. It’s like the intense silence is some sort of foreplay.

Feeling his gaze along your skin, drinking you in and driving you wild, you do your best to keep up with orders.

When things start to slow down and customers go home, you finally make your way back toward Bucky, drawn to him, despite your best efforts.

“Couldn’t avoid me anymore?”

“I wasn’t really…”

The words taper off at the sharp lift of his eyebrow.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

“Apology accepted,” he smirks. “So, do you have plans when you get off?”

You don’t answer, instead fiddling with his now empty glass. He lays his hand on the bar, his fingers just an inch form yours.

“Are you really gonna ignore my question doll?” he chuckles.

His fingers slide closer and he brushes his thumb over your knuckles, gauging your reaction. You giggle at his second question and his eyes drop to your mouth as he licks his own lips.

You’re almost lost in the bubble but then the world outside comes roaring back into focus when you hear Nat yell “last call.”

“Work…I still have to work.”

His lips part on an exhale but he let’s you go.

You rush around the bar first, clearing glasses and debris before heading over to one of the tables where three guys sit in conversation.

Distracted, you lean over the table, trying not to interrupt them. But the blonde closest to you runs the back of his hand up your arm.

It makes you cringe.

“Hi there,” he says.

“Hey,” you answer coolly, shifting away from him.

One of the blonde’s friend gives you an apologetic look, scolding Rob before he hands you one of the empty glasses that’s far out of reach. You reach for it and as soon as your fingers wrap around it, Rob grabs your hips and yanks you into his lap.

You drop the glass to the floor and it shatters before you push against his chest, loudly yelling, “what the hell?”

Rob starts to speak but you’re suddenly lifted in the air and whirled around then planted gently on your feet behind Bucky’s broad back.

Bucky now has Rob’s tee shirt fisted in one hand as he gets in his face.

The bar goes silent and the next thing you hear is the low growl of Bucky’s order. “Don’t touch.”

Bucky slowly lowers Rob’s feet to the floor, keeping a careful eye on him. His eyes narrow a split second before Rob bellows, “motherfucker!”

The asshole rears back and punches Bucky clean in the jaw.

You gaps in horrified shock, but Bucky grins, his tongue peeking out to test his lip and you can’t help how your eyes linger there.

“You threw the first punch shithead,” Bucky says before winding back and punching Rob in the gut.

All the guys now rush toward their friend, muttering curses at him as they drag him to his feet and eye Bucky warily.

The owner of the bar, and your boss, Barry, comes over and gets in their faces. “Get out and don’t come back!”

They drag their belligerent friend out as quickly as they can, apologizing to you, or maybe Bucky, the whole way.

“What just happened?” you ask, your voice quiet.

Bucky steps close to you, his knuckles brushing over your cheek, light as a feather.

“Are you okay?”

His eyes are filled with emotions. Worry, fury, fear, and tenderness.

“I think so. That was just…crazy.”

Nat wraps her arm around your shoulders comfortingly. “Let’s go get Bucky some ice, ok?”

You glance down at Bucky’s hand, puffy and red.

“Oh no,” you say, gently taking his hand in yours.

He smiles. “It’s fine. Been there, done that.”

You watch him go back and sit at the bar, most of the other customers now cleared out. When you come back out with the ice and ointment your gentle, “you okay?” pulls him from his musings.

“Yeah, no big deal. As long as you’re okay?”

You sit next to him, resting his hand on your thigh and carefully pressing the ice to his knuckles. He stares at his hand on your skin.

“I don’t know if okay is how I would describe how I’m feeling right now…that was…”

Your words trail off when you can’t find a suitable label for the last ten minutes.

“Sexy?” he suggests, deadpan.

Your jaw drops open in offense.

“What? NO!”

He breaks and his lips spread wide in a grin.

You deflate and bump his shoulder, not trying to hide your own smile.

“Seriously though,” you say, shaking your head. “You didn’t have to…why did you do that?”

He looks at you evenly, his voice soft. “Look I’m not some crazy guy who goes around lookin’ to beat people up doll face. But you shouldn’t have to put up with shit like that. I’m sure that wasn’t the first time that piece of shit has pulled a stunt like that, but hopefully next time, he’ll have some decency and sense before laying hands on a woman without an explicit invitation.”

“Well in that case…that’s pretty nice.”

He scoffs with a lopsided smile and his eyes drop to your lips; his hand still pressed to your thigh. His head tilts and he leans in slightly, watching your lips part. He curls his fingers around your thigh but winces at the pull on his knuckles.

You see it and pull back, looking down at his hand.

“Let me get you fixed up.”

Once you have him bandaged up he whispers, “thanks,” still staring at his hand held in yours.

“You ready to go, or do you need to close up first?”

His question is light.

“Go where?”

“Out with me. Ice cream? A walk? Anything you want.”

“It’s the middle of the night. I’m not going anywhere but home.”

“Or we could go to the twenty-four-hour deli on the corner and get ice cream sandwiches then I’ll take you to the roof of my building and we can watch the sunrise.”

Your light touch traces along the calluses on his fingertips.

“Are you usually this friendly to everyone who is new to the neighborhood?” you ask behind a sly smile.

“Not at all doll. Only for you. You’re special.”

Your jaw goes rigid and your eyes narrow. “You can stop whatever game you’re playing.”

You pull back, releasing his hand and starting to put the first aid kit back together.

“What just happened? I’m not playing games,” he says, keeping his voice steady. “But I’m sorry if I said something wrong.”

“It’s fine. I need to go help Nat close up.”

You stand and walk to the door, your head held high. He’s not going to fool you with his sweet words.

The next evening is slow so you spend most of it helping Nat stock the bar and clean. The hours pass by and nothing exciting happens letting your thoughts wander to Bucky. Then, as if on cue, the door opens, and you automatically look over to see who the latest customer is.

Bucky fills the doorway.

Your breath hitches and you can’t look away. He’s more dressed up tonight. A dark button down opened at the collar and dark jeans that are tight across his thick thighs.

You can’t help but think he’s here to meet someone for a date. The jealousy that surges through you is surprising and infuriating. That is, until he walks up to the bar and sits down. Right in front of you.

“Hey, doll.”

“Hey, Bucky.”

“What can I get you?” you start. “Or are you waiting for someone?”

“Yep,” he says, popping the p. “What time’s your break?”

“Oh,” you breath out. “Um…I don’t really get a long one…”

You start to wipe down the bar aimlessly, remaining quiet while you wait. You can feel him watching you, his eyes tracking your every movement.

He calls over Nat and asks, “can I get two of the special for tonight, please?”

He’s speaking to Nat but looking at you, daring you to disagree.

When you stay quiet, the corners of his mouth lift ever so slightly, victory lighting up his eyes.

“If you want to take it to-go for later, that’s fine. But I thought it’d be nice to have dinner together and figured ya wouldn’t want to go out with me after I fucked up last night.”

“So dinner while I’m supposed to be working is a better option?” you shoot back.

He cringes, despite the lack of heat in your accusation then sighs defeatedly.

“I’m trying here. I want to get to know you better. I promise my intentions are good.”

You stare, getting lost in his beautiful eyes before you scan the rest of his face. He seems more vulnerable now and you want to believe him.

Nat comes back with two plates of steaming food and sets them down.

You give in and unwrap the silverware, digging into a bite of baked potato.

“Mmm,” you moan around the taste.

He freezes with his own bite halfway to his mouth, and mutters under his breath. “Are you trying to kill me?”

You fall into easy conversation about what he does for work, how you like living in the city and everything in between.

After you explain why you moved, spilling the truth between bites, he replies with, “I’m glad you picked Brooklyn.”

His fingers slide over yours and the touch is full of heat. His eyes follow the movement and his jaw tightens. He threads his fingers through yours, holding your hand across the bar.

When he meets your eyes, his are hooded and dark. “How about that ice cream tonight with a roof top view doll?”

The ‘yes’ is on the tip of your tongue as your body leans over the bar, but then you remember that you want more than just a fling and even though he said his intentions are good you can’t help but wonder why a guy like him is still single. You’re not looking for a fling.

You untangle your fingers from his, pulling back.

“Thank you, Bucky. Really. But…”

He nods, not letting you finish before he reaches into his back pocket and sets down some cash to cover the dinners.

“See ya soon doll.”

The bar is closed on Mondays but Tuesday has you running beers up and down the bar for game night. Bucky’s back. Same time, same seat.

“You need a break doll? Something to eat?” Bucky asks before he takes a sip of beer.

He sets it down as he waits for your answer, studying you intently.

You grab a French fry from his plate and wave it around before bringing it to your lips. He grins wolfishly, catching your wrist in his hand and before you know what’s happening, he’s snagged the fry from between your fingers with his teeth. His tongue snakes out to the lick the salt from your fingertips, then he chews with a self-satisfied smile.

“I’ll let you have the rest,” he says, holding one up to your lips.

You tentatively lean forward, watching him warily in case he tries to pull it away, then chomp down.

“Just let me know when you want more,” he croons.

You continue to work, constantly aware of Bucky and the way he never takes his eyes off you. You check on him regularly, engaging in some deep conversation even with the little time you have.

As your shift nears its end he calls you over.

“Ice cream and rooftop tonight?” he asks, setting money down on the bar to pay for his food and drinks.

“I can’t tonight.”

He smiles. “No worries doll face. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next night comes quickly, your tired feet aching from marching back and forth between the bar and the pool tables since it’s half price games tonight.

It’s getting late, and despite your best efforts, you can’t help but wonder where Bucky is. Maybe the last time you turned him down was the final straw. You feel a deep twinge of disappointment at the idea.

The door opens, and you look over, your eyes filled with hope, but it’s just some random couple.

You’re stomach grumbles and you realize you’ve had dinner with Bucky the last few nights and now that it’s late and he hasn’t shown you haven’t eaten.

Checking that everyone has full glasses you wipe your hands and head for the kitchen, hoping to snag something to eat.

The chef, Suzanne, greets you warmly. You ask her for a bowl of the soup and she hums in agreement, yelling out for Charlie.

A guy you’ve never seen before pops around the corner.

“Hey, I’m Charlie, the sometimes kitchen help,” he explains holding out his hand.

“Nice to meet you Charlie.”

You give him your name and tell him you’re the new bartender.

His face changes instantly, eyes going wide and his brows shooting up to his hairline. He pulls his hand back quickly.

He’s still smiling but he seems guarded all of a sudden.

“You forgot to mention the most important part…Bucky’s girl.”

“What?” you say incredulously. “I’m not Bucky’s girl! We’re just friends. He just stops by for dinner and a drink!”

You know it’s more than that. Charlie nods like he knows it’s more than that.

“Sure, whatever you say. But no offense, I’m gonna take his word for it. I’ve never seen him do anything like this before. It has the whole neighborhood talkin’.”

With that he disappears, only reappearing a few moments later with your soup, then he runs off again.

You inhale the soup, not wanting to leave Nat alone and rush back to the bar to check the drink orders.

Nat slides up next to you. “Those drinks for table six?”

You don’t answer her, instead filling her in on what happened in the kitchen.

“Charlie said I’m ‘Bucky’s girl.’ I’m not his girl. What does that even mean?”

“Aw that’s sweet! He’s never said anything like that before and I would know. Been living here my whole life.”

“No it’s not!”

“I think it’s sorta romantic,” she says wistfully. “He’s all in, claiming you far and wide when you haven’t even realized what’s right in front of your face!”

She punctuates the last words of her sentence as she stares you down.

“What’s right in front of my face?” you ask, unwilling to concede that it might be the tiniest bit sweet…in a cave man sort of way.

“He’s here,” Nat whispers, but it’s more of squeal.

You turn toward the door, your whole face lighting up even though you’re still mad at the claim he made. The door is closed, Bucky no where in sight.

Nat’s finger is suddenly in your face. “That! You want to see him. You like him coming here to see you too. Shit, when was the last time someone made this much of an effort for a date!”

She throws her hands up! “Just go out with the man!”

“You mean have sex with him?” you bite out, not forgetting about her earlier warnings.

“Either or, maybe both! What could it hurt?”

“Me!” you say defensively.

Nat’s expression softens. “I think maybe I gave you the wrong idea about him…” she fumbles. “What I really mean is I think maybe we all had the wrong idea about him.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs with a heavy sigh. “Bucky is man. A hot as fuck man,” she teases. “And he does have a reputation…but only because everyone wishes they could get a piece of him. I really don’t remember the last girl he went out with. So either he’s really quiet about it, but if you haven’t noticed in this neighborhood everyone is up everyone else’s ass, or he hasn’t really dated.”

Nat eyes you carefully, curiously.

“Oh shit,” you mumble, laying your face in your hands. “I do want to go out with him, but I’m scared…have you seen him?”

Nat grins. “Oh yes. I have and…”

“He’s gorgeous. Like drop dead gorgeous,” you finish for her.

“Exactly,” she agrees happily, a dreamy look on her face.

You swat at her shoulder, getting her attention and gesturing to yourself.

“What? You look amazing!” she says. “It’s not like he hasn’t seen you at work before.”

“You don’t think is just a thing because I’m the new girl in the neighborhood?”

“Do people do things like that where you’re from?” she asks. “And no!” she finishes, shaking her head.

Just as her words sink in your heart sinks with them.

“Doesn’t matter anyway. I blew it, he’s not here tonight.”

“Yes he is.”

The door opens and when you look over, it’s him.

Finally!

The air charges across the space between you and you know something has changed and when his eyes meet yours it’s almost as if he knows it too. He nods toward the door, silently asking if you’re ready for that date.

“Hey Nat, you think if I ask Barry to let me off early…”

“I swear if he says no I’ll kick him in the balls myself,” Nat screeches.

You rush back to the office and find Barry sitting behind his desk. Your question rushes out and he holds up a hand to stop you before you even finish.

“Go,” is all he says, but the smile he gives you reaches his eyes.

You cross the room to Bucky, his eyes wandering over you with possessive heat and unguarded want.

When you’re standing right in front of him, your toes touching, he asks, “you ready?”

Your lips lift ever so slightly and when his large hand cups your cheek your eyelashes flutter closed. His motions are slow, teasingly so, but he’s giving you time to stop him. He bends down, letting his intentions be quite clear.

He kisses the corner of your mouth then brushes his lips over yours, so lightly, you can feel his breath. You sigh into him and his hands slide over your curves and down to your waist, his grip tightening.

Nat let’s out a cheer, effectively interrupting the moment but you can’t help but smile at her excitement.

Bucky doesn’t let go of you, his hand sliding into yours as he pulls you out the door and onto the street.

“Hey,” he says soothingly.

“Hi,” you say, tucking your chin.

His fingers press under and he lifts your eyes. “You good?”

He waits patiently for you to formulate a reply.

“I just…I’m not sure…what you expect.”

“Anything, doll. I want to know you, spend time with you.”

Dropping his voice lower and bringing his lips to the shell of your ear, he whispers, “kiss you again…for real this time.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Okay,” he agrees, his voice heavy with intention as he takes you in his arms again and drags you into his chest.

Your lips meet, tender and soft at first but as your fingers dance up his arms and grip his biceps, he growls and takes it deeper.

You moan into his mouth, working your hands higher into the hair that brushes his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groans when he feels you give his hair a little tug.

He pulls back and you chase him for one last kiss which he happily obliges in.

“I promised you ice cream and a roof top sunrise,” he murmurs. “And I keep my promises doll.”

@book-dragon-13  @sebstanwhore @late-to-the-party-81 @goldylions @laineyreads @randomfandompenguin @lookiamtrying @beccablogsthings @justkinsey @hallecarey1 @blackwidownat2814 @flordeamatista @buckysdollforlife​

[seancekitsch]

Falling Hard, Failing Fast: A Hughie Campbell x Reader fic!

You get dosed with... a mystery drug made by Vought. Hughie is a good friend and stays with you while you monitor the side effects.

Warnings: sloppy sex pollen trope usage, dubcon turned just normal con, drugging, friends to lovers under upsetting circumstances, foreplay, sappy missionary, not my best work tbh

“What did they get her with?” Butcher asks, his voice near a yell through the receiver. 

Hughie traps his phone between his ear and his shoulder and waves his fingers in front of your face, struggling to get you to focus your eyes. Everything blurs around the edges, the same way blood rushes against your ear drums. All you can focus on though is heat, heat in your knees buckling, heat in Hughie’s other arm around your torso to keep you upright, heat in your head that plunges down your front and settles under your pants. 

All you can offer is a weak shake of your head to no one in particular. You don’t know. All you know is heat, and that you’re fading fast. 

“I think it’s bad, it was all over her,” Hughie says. He had watched a guard pull something that looked like pepper spray into your face, and he ran into the mist of it to pull you away and back up the stairs, begging you to stay upright the whole time. 

“I can’t—“ you mumble, your head falling back against Hughie’s shoulder. Relief, like a cool drink of water, trickles into you at the contact. You need more, you need—

You sober up, almost, as fear cools the fire under your skin momentarily. Your head snaps up, and Hughie immediately goes on the alert.

“Get away from me!” your voice shakes, but it's the most clear you’ve sounded since Hughie grabbed you. 

“What? No—,” he stops himself, confused, “No, we have to get you somewhere safe.”

He hangs up the phone in a panic as you try to pull away from him, throwing yourself towards the cold brick wall. He recaptures you, steadying you as you keep trying to lurch away. His bare hand against your arm feels like a white hot poker, feels like he's burning you, but you want it. You want to feel what those burning hands feel like moving across your skin, want to feel the pain they'll leave in their wake; part of you imagines they'd leave a trail of destruction like a forest fire, marks of Hughie all over your skin.

Another wave of heat hits you, this time forcing an embarrassing moan from your lips as you double over, stumbling down the hallway with Hughie still painfully attached to you. There's a basement apartment being used as a safe house up ahead, and if you can just get to a bed, or a couch, or even the floor to sweat this out you’ll be fine and maybe survive with your dignity.

You hear Hughie curse as you try to pick up speed, your sweaty hands clawing at his grasp on you. You don’t care if you seem insane in this moment, you just need to barricade yourself in…. alone. 

Hughie helps you in, punching in the door code on the lockbox and fumbling with the key once it’s free, while you lean into the door frame, sweat starting to gather at your hairline. Once the door is open, you practically throw yourself in. The safe house is scarce; a simple kitchen with a can of corn on the counter, a navy futon, a radio, a folding chair, a bathroom. Dread pools in your stomach, settling right above the heat churning, as you realize: Hughie is not going to leave you alone in a place like this. 

You shrug him off, dropping yourself to lay flat on the floor, your face to the ceiling. You screw your eyes shut, the muscles of your face hurting from how hard you’re trying to hide yourself from this. You must look like a fucking mess to Hughie, you realize, with sweat starting to coat your skin and your chest heaving as you struggle not to writhe on the floor in pain. 

He rushes to the sink in the sad excuse for a kitchen, running the tap with water. Hughie mumbles to himself while he searches the cupboards for a cup or a mug. 

You stare up at the off white ceiling- one of those sloppy paint jobs a slumlord does to turn a profit. It probably covers mold.

You pray silently that Hughie brings you water and leaves you the fuck alone before you embarass yourself any more than you already have. At some point the heat has to subside, right? At some point the painful desire in your gut has to fade away, right?

You close your eyes again, trying to block out the sensations you feel to no avail, the hopeless idea that if you hide from the situation it will go away. 

But then Hughie’s sneakers are shuffling across the cheap thin carpet towards you, and he sits down on the floor next to you instead of taking a seat on the futon. You put your hands on your face to try and further hide from him, and realize how big a mistake you just made. 

A low moan escapes your throat, relief from the heat not found, instead the same burning Hughie’s hands had on you in the hallway. Pleasure, embarrassing and wanton, shoots through you seemingly from the palms of your hands.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, and you can hear the dull thud of the mug he chose being placed on the ground. 

“Leave,” you pant out, your voice wavering and airy.

“Not gonna happen,” he immediately responds, a breath of a chuckle exhaled through his nose. It's silent for a minute, maybe more, time feels weird and far away right now. The world has stopped and you feel like you're melting.

And then that stabbing, burning, sublime pleasure erupts on your skin again. 

A strangled cry whines itself out between your closed lips as Hughie takes your hands in his own; a movement too tender and intimate for what you are.

“You’re so… hot,” Hughie whispers, concern laced in the edges of his voice. His touch sends shockwaves through you. You whimper pitifully as you finally open your eyes, just a crack. Worry is painted all over Hughie’s handsome face, his brows furrowed and eyes wide, his lips falling open. In this moment he looks like he would do anything for you, and you can't ask him to do this. You squeeze your eyes shut again, so tight you fear you may start tearing up. Hughie squeezes your hand in his, and you whimper again, your chest heaving and your body betraying you.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, no. Hurt isn’t exactly the word you’d use. Your limbs feel heavy, your head feels heavy, and Hughie’s touch feels like heaven, featherlight and fresh. 

You want him to keep squeezing your hand, you want him to squeeze other things, to grab you, those long fingers curling around your flesh. Another moan escapes your lips at the thought and Hughie freezes up. His hand drops yours, unfortunately. The heat rages again.

“Oh,” Hughie says, voice small. He searches your face, and as hard as you try to shy away from him, he still finds you.

“Is it touch?” he asks, “Something to do with me touching you?”

You nod, embarrassment flushing your features. 

“More? Less?” He presses, and it's so fucking sweet how much he wants to help you. It hurts how nice he’s being about this. You ache between your legs, and wish he would stop being so nice about this.

“More,” you plead, arching your back in discomfort. Hughie’s hands are back on you in an instant, pulling you up to sit so he can massage your shoulders. Your forehead falls onto his shoulder, and you move closer to him, your hands moving across his ribs. He leans into the embrace, his large hands guiding you to lean yourself onto him as he rubs circles into your skin, ripples of pleasure radiating out from each spot he touches. He switches from massaging you to just rubbing your back, his hands moving over your tee shirt and roaming the expanse of space.

His fingers trace your spine, stoking the fire and bringing you relief, if only slightly. You move similarly, hands feeling completely right as you try to follow the same patterns he traces along your back onto his.

“I need…” you beg him again, desperate and shameless. You’re gasping for breath as you continue to move against him, your hands moving up under his shirt, his back feeling almost cold under the heat of your hands. You dont miss the way Hughie shivers at your touch. He keeps rubbing your back, adding more pressure to his touch. You squirm against him and moan, and then Hughie stops.

He pulls you back by the shoulders. 

“Holy shit. Are you?” he asks, bewildered, but then something else crosses his features. Something you can't exactly read. 

“I think so,” you mumble, again trying to look away, trying to hide from him, “That’s why I wanted you to get away from me.”

Hughie seems to ponder this for a moment, his eyes searching your face, and then they dip lower. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you never thought of Hughie that way. 

“I can help? If- only if you want…” he trails off, unsure. You can’t agree to that, no matter how much you want to. It would feel amazing, his hands on you, roaming and groping and taking, his mouth on you. You shiver, not a chill.

“Help?” you echo, and that look you can't read crosses his features again.

“Like I could,” he pauses, finds the word, “Try to give you a hand?”

If you werent already burning up and soaking wet, you would be. How does Hughie sound so effortlessly arousing in a situation like this? Maybe its just the literal drug you were dosed with, though. Either way, it doesnt matter. You cling to him, nails starting to dig into his skin. 

“I- I couldn't ask you to-”

“But you’re not,” he interrupts, “I’m offering.”

He is offering. Offering to get you off as if thats a normal thing to offer one of your friends on a Wednesday afternoon. Like he’s offering to help you move or put together a book shelf. 

You pull yourself in closer to him again, resting your forehead back on his shoulder. It’s less embarrassing this way.

“Let’s try it,” you mumble into his chest. This way, you dont have to face him, you can hide from it and maybe keep a shred of your dignity.

He moves his hands lower, sliding them down to your hips. Hughie guides you back down, laying you out on the ground. He takes away your ability to hide from him. Now hovering over you, he smiles slightly as he takes you in. He steadily raises a hand, moves it down between the two of you, stopping over the button of your jeans.

“Can I?”

You only nod, no turning back now.

He undoes your jeans slowly, as if he’s the one with something to be nervous or shy about. His fingers are warm against the cool metal of you zipper, the sound as he drags it down mixing with the sound of you gasping for breath, a cacophony of desperation and nervous lust. 

Hughie leans back on the heels of his converse, his fingers hooking themselves under the hem of your jeans and pulling them down gently, care in every step. You whimper as you lift yourself up slightly, letting him pull the jeans over your thighs. He stops at your knees, your legs trapped in place by denim. 

“Okay?” he asks, and “okay,” you also confirm. So Hughie takes it a step further, his hand coming to the waistband of your underwear, a black mesh thong that really looks like you were asking to be dosed with sex mist, but ultimately the case of the fact that you had yet to do laundry this week and all of your comfortable briefs were sitting in the laundry bag ready to be carried down the steps of your walk-up.

His fingers dip below the fabric,and when his middle finger brushes the top of your slit your body contorts beyond your control, a strangled cry leaving your lips. 

“Shh, I’ll take care of you,” he reassures you, leaning down further as his hand travels further, his middle finger leading the charge and stroking you. Each movement is like a breath of fresh air, Hughie’s hand a lifeline to calm the fires within you. His lips part as he reaches your clit, fingertip to pearl. 

Hughie’s eyes bore into yours, lust of his own growing in them. You don't feel as embarrassed anymore, instead, something dreadful that mixes with your hunger. It's going to be hard to stop after this, it's going to be hard to be in the same room after this, knowing that look in his eyes. 

“Touch me, please,” you whisper, the words leaving your lips and sealing some kind of unspoken pact.

He nods his head, obeying you as his hand dips lower. Hughie teases, but not really. Every slow movement is deliberate, testing the waters, gaging comfort and mapping it out for himself as well. It’s careful, calculated, and generous. Just like the kind of friend Hughie always is. 

But all thoughts go quiet as his middle finger slides into you with no resistance, and finally it feels as if there is an end in sight to your predicament. His finger feels… divine. Feels like it belongs there, feels like your salvation, and he your savior.

He slides his finger in you to the knuckle, curls it gently, and then slides it almost completely out again.

“You're so… wet,” he comments, and then a blush radiates up from his neck to his cheeks, as if embarrassed that thought did not stay in his head. You lean into his touch, nails raking into the cheap carpet to cement yourself in place. Your eyes don't miss how his free hand moves to his thigh, his own fingers gripping at the material of his jeans.

He starts again, pushing all the way into you, then almost completely out, then all the way in again. Then Hughie picks up his pace, steady and sure as he begins to thrust his middle finger in and out of you, starts to earnestly fuck you with it. The sounds that come out of your mouth are pathetic at best, whining moans and pants and unintelligible begging for more, all of which he obliges enthusiastically. 

You arch your back into his motion, chasing the rhythm of his fingers, the wet sounds between your legs now filling the air and adding to the sound of your already labored breathing. Hughie is short of breath as well, laser focused on you and all too reactive to your body. He meets every movement with one to match, like physics, actions and reactions. He watches your face for any changes, watches you hungrily, his lips parted and eyes dark. 

It doesn't take much, especially when Hughie adds another finger, and both start moving within you. He curls them along the most sensitive part of you, doesn't hold back as he pulls keening moans from your lips and whispers words of encouragement the whole time. 

You come quieter than either of you expect, with a few shuddering breaths and tears that Hughie wipes away, with your teeth buried in your bottom lip and his hand stilled against you. He lets you ride it out as gracefully as you can, not daring to move his fingers from inside you while his other hand continues to smooth down your hair and wipe away tears. 

It’s only when you still, relief and calm finally replacing the heat, that Hughie slowly pulls his fingers from you. Your breath hitches, your body still sensitive to his touch, to his long fingers. He pulls his hand out of your underwear, and leans back onto his heels again, the comforting warmth that came from him leaving you. Finally, you feel cool, normal. A fever breaking. 

“Was that? Was it good?” Hughie asks, sounding nervous. Was it good? It was exactly how you thought Hughie would pleasure a woman. Lovely, thoughtful, with your care in mind. You want it again, just not under these circumstances. You would like to imagine a date, maybe dinner or drinks, maybe a movie, and then a lovely trip back to either of your apartments and a taxi ride because you're too eager to deal with the subway. 

But yes, it was good. 

And as soon as the relief flows through you, it seeps away, a bucket with a hole in the bottom. The heat returns. You shake your head desperately; No, it did not help, not enough. Tears well in your eyes. 

“I still feel-” you cut yourself off. 

“It was good!” you explain hastily, desperately, panicked, “It was good. But I’m still…”

You don’t exactly have the words for it.

“You need more,” he finishes, not asking, but telling you. You press your lips into a thin line, shame at the thought of what Hughie just did not being enough for you. You look away from him, not wanting to say the words. Once again, you think about asking him to leave, asking him to go and let this pass and then maybe one day it could be a funny story. 

But then you see movement from the corner of  your eye. 

It looks like Hughie was just rubbing his nose, but then his tongue darts out from between his lips and to the side of his middle finger. From that hand, the one that was just between your legs. He puts his hand down quickly, too quickly for it to be a natural movement.

The fire within you floods down the front of you, back with the debilitating vengeance from before. If you were standing, it would have knocked you to the floor. 

“Hughie, did you?” you ask, unsure if you should truly accuse him, your voice shaking the entire time.

“Can I say I was just curious?” he asks, a sheepish smile on his face.

You narrow your eyes at him again, trying to hide any of the discomfort that might be returning to your features. You don't believe that. And luckily, Hughie caves quickly under this kind of scrutiny. 

“Okay, I was curious! I was,” Hughie admits, the blush across his cheeks darkening. You don't even want to ask what conclusions he came to, this horny-embarrassed-nervous-hungry combination doing a number on your thought process. 

You only nod at him, slightly skeptical.

“And you… you need more? So I could-,” he pauses, recollects himself so he doesnt ramble.

“I could do more? I could help more?”

You're taken aback by this, pushing your elbows under you to lean up towards him, ignoring the fact that you're still exposed to him. More? How could you ask him for more? Even though this time and the first time he offered, how could you accept?

“I couldn't… I can't ask you to do that, Hughie,” you cringe as the words come out of your mouth, your head betraying what your body wants, but it's the right thing to do, right?

“Well, you wouldn't have to do much asking,” Hughie sighs, his eyes darting from his own lap to the lightswitch on the wall, away from you. 

Your eyes follow where his fell and… oh. 

From what you can tell, he’s rock hard, the zipper of his jeans bulging as it holds him in place. Hughie liked that just as much as you did. If things were not already complicated, they are now. 

Again, he’s offering. 

“It's a big step,” you say, trying to give him an out. You can't ask him to do this, it's not fair. You're not in your right mind, despite how willing he is. 

“Ah, yeah, you're right,” he admits, then, “this isn't how I wanted it to go-”

“Wanted it to go?” you interrupt him. 

“Like if we ever, you know,” he’s getting truly flustered now, his hands gesticulating to try and explain what his mouth can't. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, and then his shoulders sag.

“Let me help you.”

The air, everything in the room shifts between the two of you, something new and heavy. He doesn’t tear his gaze from you, and you don’t dare break eye contact. Instead, you nod slowly; giving him full permission, giving yourself full permission. 

Within a second, he's positioning himself over you again, this time with his knee between your thighs. The heat radiating off of him somehow stokes and calms yours, his proximity its own salve after he’s already made you come once.

He leans down to kiss you, his lips fully covering yours. His lips are wet, his stubble coarse against your skin. He’s sure to rub off the makeup around your mouth and leave you with beard burn on your chin and cheeks, but that's the least of your worries. He kisses hungrily, passionately, fierce unlike the normally level headed and more meek member of the team he usually is. His lips seem to pull moans from yours, your tongues and teeth clattering and tangling together.

His hands move across your skin, his thumbs rubbing circles down your sides, reaching further and further down. He stops and pauses almost awkwardly, the first time in this entire encounter that Hughie has shown any of his awkward tendencies. He pushes himself off his hands and knees just enough to get a good grip on your jeans and yank them down. Hughie only pauses when you kick off your shoes, both of you working together to free you of the confines of pants. 

You spread your legs for him gladly when he crawls his way back on top of you, settling himself firmly between your legs. His hips rut and bump against the wet patch of your thong, and briefly it fills you with an odd sense of pride that it may leave a stain on his jeans, that he may carry a physical trophy of this moment.

Hughie’s lips are back on yours quickly, his hands careful and gently as they guide themselves around your body. His fingers dip into your collarbones, palms full of the swell of your chest, ghost over your ribs in a tickle. 

Your hips buck, needy and desperate against him, and he pins you down with his own. Fucking hot, in a way you didnt expect from Hughie Campbell. 

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, and he nods, practically swallowing your words. 

“Wait I have a,” he cuts himself off, and pulls his wallet from his back pocket, producing a beaten up looking trojan condom ribbed for ‘her pleasure’. He holds it up to you between two fingers with a smile.

“Why do you carry that?” you ask, honestly taken aback at his forethought. 

“Well after Herogasm anything is possible, so I figure it's better safe than sorry,” Hughie jokes, and for a brief moment it makes you wonder what other odd shit he might store in his pockets or wallet.

You roll your hips again, and he gets the message. You need him now. 

Hughie tosses the condom down near your shoulder, and untangles himself from you. You take the opportunity to pull the rest of your clothes off, as he sheds his just as hastily. All of your clothes get thrown into a messy pile, to the side, neither of you care.

Hughie practically throws himself down on top of you the moment he's bare, rolling the condom down his shaft quickly before he's rubbing himself along your entrance. He wants this just as badly as you do, and you feel guilty for doubting him earlier.

“Ready?” he asks, already breathless. You grant him a nod, a nervous smile on your face, and that's all he needs. 

He pushes into you slowly, filling you. You're surprised at the way your breath gets caught in your throat, knocking the wind out of you. You did not get a good look at what Hughie is working with before, and you’re very much wishing you did. He bottoms out inside you, his hips flush against you.

He nods, as if asking if this is okay, and you push your head up and rub the tip of your nose against his. Hughie laughs, and the tension of the moment breaks. 

You lift your legs, coming up to wrap them around his hips as he settles himself.

“You're so tight,” he breathes, a lazy smile on his face as he rolls his hips, testing the waters the same way he did when his fingers were inside you. He’s checking on you, making sure your comfort is first. He pulls himself almost completely out, and then back in, and then repeats the whole process. The head of his cock drags within you, rubs against the same spots that had you seeing stars earlier. You're not uncomfortable, not too sensitive, and Hughie seems to sense that. 

Hughie wastes no time speeding up his pace, pressing himself deeper and deeper, never fully pulling out of you between thrusts. He fucks into you not like a friend doing another friend a favor, but like a lover, he fucks into you like he wants to wake up next to you. Hughie presses kisses to your face, hips lips all over you, his stubble scratching you just like you knew it would.

"You feel amazing," he whispers against your skin, "So fucking perfect."

Your moans are like a staccato, punctuated and cut short with each thrust, as Hughie fills you to the hilt you lose all ability to use your voice. He pushes your bodies flush together, connecting completely. Hughie moves against you like he can't get close enough, like he wants you both to fuse together. The friction between your bodies as he moves, the way each thrust drags along the most sensitive parts of you, its all so much. Whatever's going on with you or not, this may just be the best sex of your life. Hughie leaves no part of you untouched and no part of you unsatisfied. You can feel your edge approaching fast, too fast, and you wish you could make this moment last longer. 

Its no use, however, as Hughie pulls your leg from his hip to the side, granting himself access to your clit, where he rubs harsh circles against you. 

“Come on, give me one,” he pants against your jawline, and how could you deny him?

He presses his hand a little harder, speeds up the thrusting of his hips, that friction and closeness never being sacrificed for his speed, and something within you breaks. 

You cry out, a high pitched call of his name, before shaking sobs wrack your frame, your back arching your chest into his, Hughie never slowing down as he pushes you through this. 

This orgasm feels like a jump into the ocean, refreshing and cooling to the fire inside you. 

Hughie works you through your orgasm, your bodies rocking together as you come down from your high. He pulls himself out only when you come back to him, when your breathing starts to regulate, when your muscles start to relax. 

Hughie moves desperately himself, rutting against the apex of your thigh, spilling into his condom only moments after, your hands tangled in the short curls of his hair. 

He moves away from you, the loss of contact genuinely having you feel cold, only to pull off and tie off the condom. Hughie comes back to you quickly, his arms immediately coming around your as your limbs tangle once more.

“Don't worry,” Hughie comforts you, pulling your chest against his tightly. His sweat mixed with his cologne smells almost sweet, decadent. One of his hands comes up to smooth down your hair, sweaty and messed up from the friction of the carpet, his other hand grabs your hip. The heat subsiding temporarily again, this time, it feels less painful, less all consuming. Its getting weaker. 

“We’ll be at this as long as it takes, I’ll help.”

You believe him, and nod, your cheek against his shoulder. He presses a kiss to your hairline.

“Afterwards maybe a shower and I can buy you a coffee? I mean, I think this place has hot water,” he asks, nervousness in his voice. A shower would be nice, but you doubt this place has even one towel.

“A coffee?” you echo. 

“You know,” he explains himself, “so I can say I took you on a date, so that we can be… you know… normal about this.”

“You want to take me on a date?” you lift your head, and that unreadable expression is back in his gaze.

“That wasn't obvious by now?”

[blueicequeen19]

Red Flag

Warnings: unprotected forbidden sex with Rafe, oral, choking

My back hits the bed and I momentarily try to remember how we got here. Again. I’m stripped bare and he’s still fully clothed as he comes down on top of me. His lips claim mine in a searing kiss that has me clinging to him like a lifeline, desire flooding my veins. I know I’m drenched between my thighs and he hasn’t even ventured down there yet. That’s just the effect he has on me.

“You drive me insane.” He pants against my lips, securing my wrists with one of his large hands while he begins his worship over my flushed skin. His lips, tongue, and teeth find my neck, my throat, my chest, between my breasts but never my nipples. I arch into him and he chuckles darkly, looking up to flash me that wicked smile of his.

“Patience.” I don’t tell him I don’t have any patience left because the fear of getting caught with him again is strumming through my veins. Especially after everything that’s happened. My brother would never forgive me.

My mind is zapped back to the present when his skilled mouth finally closes around my hardened nipple and I fight the hold he has on my wrists, squirming beneath him.

“T-this is wrong.” I rasp, his dark blue eyes snapping up to find mine even with my flesh in his mouth. “We shouldn’t do this.” My words end on a mewl when his free hand dips between my legs to cup me.

“But it feels so good when we do.” I forget all the reasons why we shouldn’t when his skilled fingers circle my clit, driving me delirious with need. He doesn’t dip inside and I know he’s doing it on purpose, making me chase the high instead of answers.

“Always so goddamn wet for me. You were made for me.” My insides heat with his words as he releases my wrists to move down my body, leaving kisses and marks as he goes. His large shoulders take up the space between my knees as he gets settled. I open my mouth for another protest when he gives me a warning shake of his head before leaning down to lick from my opening to my clit without breaking eye contact.

“Rafe..” I sob, my back arching off his bed.

“That’s right, baby, say my name.” Another expert stroke of his tongue. “Who’s eating this sweet pussy?” He applies suction and I swear I see stars.

I don’t realize he’s waiting for a response until he stops and I’m struggling to catch my breath.

“Answer me. Who owns you and this cunt?”

“You do.” I breathe, sucking in a breath as he quickly devours my soul through my pussy. Why was he so good at that? Who was he practicing on before me?

“Fuck, you taste good. This is all mine.” Rafe yanks me closer with a firm grip on my hips, my legs now over his shoulders. My thighs start to tremble as he rotates between sucking on my clit and plunging his tongue inside me.

Why did he have to say such things? Things made me crave him even more. He knows we can’t be together. Even if he hadn’t got my brother arrested.

“Rafe!” I cry, my body threatening to explode as I fist his hair but he’s quicker, withdrawing his mouth and crawling back up my body to fuse our mouths together. I taste myself on his tongue as I shamelessly grind on the erection in his pants. Nothing else seems to matter but the climax I’m chasing.

“I love it when you use me for your pleasure. You’d get off just like this, wouldn’t you? You don’t even need my cock.”

“No, please, I need it. Rafe, please.” I fist his shirt, feeling him smirk against my lips as he grabs a handful of my ass.

“I love it when you beg.” His voice is lower now, laced with desire and promise to give me what I need. I feel his hands freeing his cock from his pants, then the smooth, velvety length of him is pressing against my thigh, smearing his precum on my skin. I don’t bother to ask about a condom. I know he doesn’t wear them.

“Put me inside you, pretty girl. Take what you need.” His lips are on mine again as I reach between us to wrap my hand around his thick girth. I stoke him a few times but I’m too desperate to torture him the way he has me. I guide him where I’m aching to be filled and he groans when he meets my wet heat.

“Oh, baby, I think I’m in love with you and this pussy.” Rafe moans loudly as he finally sinks inside me, the wind knocked from my lungs as he reaches too deep and I almost miss what he said.

“Wait, what?” I wheeze, my nails biting into his biceps as he starts to move. God, why did he have to feel so good?

“I said I think I’m in love with you.” Rafe rasps in that deep, sex filled voice of his. My legs widen on their own, needing him as close as possible as he starts to pound into me, his balls slapping against me.

“You can’t.. this is not..” I’m trying to clear the fog he’s put me in but I can’t. It was one thing to write this off as sex but how could I play it off when he was declaring love? JJ was going to disown me then kill me.

“I can’t what? I can’t help how I feel about you. I know you feel it too. Well.. you feel something right now. It could be love.” He flashes me that cocky grin just as he angles his hips to reach deeper.

“No.. this isn’t..” I push at his chest but he quickly scoops my legs over his arms, driving into me harder and faster. My eye lids flutter as heat spreads between my legs.

“Cum for me. I know you need it.” His fingers find my clit and I go off like a bomb, his lips silencing my cries as to not disturb his family downstairs. I’m shaking as I come down, the fog starting to clear but not enough. I’m suddenly flipped onto my stomach and he drapes himself over my back, discarding his clothes as he enters me from behind. I moan loudly into the pillow, his lips on my neck as he fucks me into the mattress. I grab the headboard and he wraps his fingers around my throat.

“Your brother is the only reason you’re fighting me.” Rafe growls in my ear, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the room. I was so wet I could feel myself dripping between my thighs.

“You’re a w-walking red flag.” I gasp, turning my head when he tries to kiss me. He chuckles, turning my mouth back towards his as he slams into me harder.

“Good thing red is your favorite color.”

[prisoner-of-sin]

A writing war has now been declared!! Prepare yourself for some of the most degenerate smut to be sent your way. Considering you sent me a Rahu thirst (which I was requesting, thank you) I think it's only fair I send you one back.

Putting a collar around Rahu's neck and tugging at the leash connected to it, and making her go absolutely insane with lust. She's on the brink of losing her self control, the only thing keeping her from doing so is trying to be your obedient dog.

The second you let her between your legs, she's lapping away at your pretty cunt like it's her life line. She's clutching at your thighs, tugging you closer and closer to her as she tries to delve her tongue farther into you. She's going visibly mad with need for you that she's shaking as she holds back from pining you beneath her and fucking wildly into you.

When you teasingly press your foot down onto her visible, aching bulge in her pants, she's whining and going still momentarily as she tries to hold back from cumming in her pants right then and there. Seeing her holding back so well, you can't keep denying her what she wants, so with a tug of the leash you pull her on top of you.

The second Rahu has permission to do what she wants to you, she's gonna be rutting her cock so deep inside you that your sure she's gonna unintentionally break you apart. She's holding onto you so tightly, biting onto your shoulder till she draws blood to hold herself back somewhat from losing complete control.

She's licking at the bite mark soon after, trying to soothe the pain while she fucks her cock in and out. You'll tug on the leash multiple times when your close or you were want her to kiss you, and Rahu so obediently presses her lips against yours in a sloppy kiss and moves faster into you to get you over the edge.

Finally, when Rahu reaches her climax, she's burying her cock so deep inside you, filling you up with a cry. She has her arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you up slightly as her hips stutter into you with each rope of cum she releases, before dropping you onto the bed and collapsing on top of you, breathing heavily and nuzzling against your neck as you recover from your highs.

MnddjskmMskamaa OMMMMGGGG Fuckin’ hells, Sin 👀💦 This is making my simp for Rahu EVEN WORSE 😭

I hope you enjoy 👀 🏃‍♂️💨

Warnings: NSFW under the cut! Sub! Rahu, Female! Reader

There are times where Rahu will completely be obedient, staying between your legs and lapping at your pussy. It's your speed and firmness, what you say goes. She won't ever touch herself until she has permission, even if she's shaking. She feels her body heating up with each second ticking by. You can tease her and tell her not to cum. She's behaved so well that she hasn't even bit you once!

She'll whine but still feverishly eat you out. Her whole life depends on it. Her tongue expertly explores you entirely, it dips into your weeping hole and she moves to suck your clit. She doesn't close her eyes during this, she looks you in the eyes! Hers are glowing the silver as she loses herself more and more into you.

She's being so good this time! There wasn't a need for the collar. Your hair is tangled in her silky locks as you bite your lower lip, grinding into her mouth.

“Such a good puppy..” You'd purr, pressing her face closer to you as a reward. She cries into you, sending the vibrations throughout your body. You've lost count of how many orgasms ripped through your body. You told her not to waste a single drop of your slick, warning her of the punishment if she did.

If she listens to your every word, giving her submission to you completely; you'll have to ease her onto you. Every touch you do to her aching and angry cock, she'll groan and wait for you to tell her to take you. Expect to be taken until she is fully satisfied! It might be an all night endeavor until she's a panting, oozing mess on top of you.

[heliads]

lorenzo berkshire x reader? where it is just fluffy and both of them are hopeless romantics and the slytherin gang is getting annoyed with how much they are pining?

BTW LOVE YOUR WORKS!! SERIOUSLY YOU WORK SO INCREDILY HARD YOU DESERVE A LOT MORE THAN HEARTS ❤️❤️

'like nobody else' - lorenzo berkshire

masterlist

To be a Slytherin is to simultaneously want for everything and give up nothing. You wish for the top grades of your classes, but skive off studying to hang out with your friends. You desire glory, but ignore the burden of playing by everyone else’s rules. And, most pressingly of all, you want Lorenzo Berkshire to love you, but never want to say a word to him about it. 

It is the wanting, you think, that will finally do you in. You want Lorenzo more than you’ve wanted anything before. Every conquest before this, every clutch at a legacy, all fades to grey in the face of a boy like that. And what a face indeed– you’ve seen it smile at you, wink across a crowded room, whisper your name under a caught breath, and you never want to stop looking at it, at him. You have known Enzo since you were small. If all goes well, you’ll be with him until you’re old and grey, too.

The problem with Lorenzo is that he’s your friend. It would be easier if you had never known him at all, you think. If he was a stranger, you might never have fallen for him in the first place. You could have seen him walking down the street, admired him momentarily, and then been able to move on with your life. Once you met him, though, you couldn’t help but love him. You were trapped from the day he introduced himself.

If he was a stranger, even if you did love him at first sight, you wouldn’t have been afraid to lose him. You could have offered up a pickup line like Pansy or Astoria on any boy they thought halfway decent, knowing that the price of rejection would only be a lost opportunity with someone they didn’t care about. Your friends can laugh in the face of boys they would normally ignore, but you can’t pretend you don’t think about Lorenzo. That would be even more impossible than being able to give him up.

This, in the end, is what stops you from confessing your feelings. If Enzo liked you back, he would just smile at you like he does when you get a perfect score on a project you did together for school, or when you choose to walk next to him instead of anyone else in your emerald friend group. He would love you, and you would know it, and for once in your life, the thought of Enzo hooked on a girl wouldn’t cut you to the core because that lucky girl would be you.

If, however, Enzo didn’t feel the same, that would change everything, and make what had once been glorious a terrible thing indeed. Everyone says that you can ‘just be friends’ with someone even if a schoolgirl crush is one-sided, but they’re lying through their teeth. Lorenzo would slowly but surely drift away from you, and instead of running to him on bad days and long nights, your only comfort would be the ghost of the time when he used to trust you unconditionally.

Telling Enzo you loved him could destroy you. Lorenzo is your best friend, your favorite. He knows you better than anyone here, holds more of your secrets locked away in his chest than even the girls in your dorm. All of your secrets, that is, except one, the worst of them all:  even when Enzo offered you the best friendship in your life, you only ever wanted more. Call it a Slytherin’s fatal flaw, call it greed or ego or anything you please, but in the end, no amount of self reflection will save you from the fact that you have finally craved more than you could ever have.

Enzo may not know, but your friends apparently caught on a long time ago. They say it’s insane how he hasn’t picked up on it yet, then pause and look at you with these know-it-all stares. You’re aware that you’re rather hopeless, as Blaise put it one day after getting sick of you daydreaming about the boy you’ll never have instead of working on the Transfiguration essay the two of you were supposed to be completing together, but if you could cut off your feelings, you’d do it in a flash.

The only problem, of course, is that it’s impossible to get your heart unstuck from Enzo. He’s ridiculously charming, always offering you his coat or scarf whenever there’s even the slightest hint of snow, or just so happening to take you by the hand whenever he needs to show you something. He’s flirtatious, but never insufferable. Confident, but never cocky. He walks the fine line of being larger than life and coming off as far too much, and he does so perfectly. You’ve never met a boy like Lorenzo Berkshire before, and at this point, you doubt you ever will.

This does, unfortunately, tend to mess with your head more than a little. It’s one thing to dream of floppy dark hair pushed back to reveal a brilliant smile, or deep brown eyes that always search the crowd for you, but it’s another thing entirely to have to deal with all of his charm turned towards someone else. You’re not completely unrealistic, you know all too well that Lorenzo is perfectly capable of falling in love with any other girl at this school, you just can’t seem to convince yourself that such a thing would be okay.

For instance, just this morning at breakfast, you walked into the Great Hall with your friends to find Enzo already there, avidly talking up a girl from one of your classes. His eyes were alight with enthusiasm, and when she made him laugh with what was no doubt a terrible joke, your entire body felt consumed with desperate jealousy.

You must have lost track of what you were saying, because Pansy had followed your line of sight to see Enzo still locked in conversation with the girl. She had sighed dramatically, and turned to you with an exasperated expression that is slowly becoming quite familiar the more you vex her with your inability to get over your feelings. “Don’t tell me you’re lovesick again. Are you physically capable of going more than five minutes without thinking about Enzo?”

You feel your face heat up and swat her on the shoulder. “Feel free to say that any louder, maybe he’ll hear you.”

“Good,” Pansy mutters, “Maybe then the two of you could finally talk to each other about this.”

Theo swings by, grinning. “Are we making fun of Y/N for her crush on Enzo again? Good, let’s do it some more.”

You turn to him, eyes wide with surprise. “Theo, you insufferable git–”

Theo leans away when you try to swat him, too. “Don’t shoot the messenger! I’m just trying to help you two, I swear it.”

“You’re doing a right awful job of it,” you tell him, pushing closer to him so you can exact your vengeance.

“Hey, hey,” Theo complains, “Don’t hit me too hard now, your loverboy is looking.”

You whip back around to see that Theo is right, Enzo has gotten up from where he was sitting to walk over to your group. This time, though, he looks distinctly annoyed, and whatever good mood he was in while he was talking to the other girl has evaporated from his face. His eyes keep cutting between you and Theo in quick, curt movements, and his hands are tight at his sides.

You move away from Theo unconsciously, like you’ve been pulled into Enzo’s orbit. Lorenzo manages a weak smile to you, then allows Draco and Blaise to coax him into a discussion of the upcoming Slytherin Quidditch game. You’re left to stumble back to the Slytherin table with your friends, constantly glancing over your shoulder in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he might look back at you even one more time.

Pansy and Theo take seats on either side of you, exchanging hopeless glances over your head. “At this rate, I don’t think they’re ever going to make it,” Theo says gloomily.

Pansy snorts. “Have some faith, Theo. A miracle might happen.”

A miracle would be lovely indeed. Forget turning water into wine or getting all of your end-of-term exams cancelled, you think your brightest hope for a miracle would be Enzo actually feeling even half as strongly about you as you do about him.

You end up floating through that day much as you do any other, zoning out in lecture to think about the boy seated just next to you. Although your little group of Slytherins tends to sprawl across the back rows of any classroom, Enzo always seems to pick the desk right next to you, no matter who he walked in with or what conversation he’s in the middle of entertaining. It’s like all thoughts of sports or other friends go right out of his head the second he gets the chance to sit by your side.

By the time the last class of the day rolls around, you feel just about ready to give in. Whoever scheduled History of Magic in the late afternoon was absolutely insane. In the dark room, lights dim and windows half shuttered, the overwhelming urge to sleep presses in on you, unavoidable and all too compelling. You try to pay attention, really you do, but the material is so dry and Binns is so boring that closing your eyes even just for a few seconds is far too tempting.

The only thing keeping you from passing out is the uncomfortable desk in front of you. You’d think that decades of students falling asleep in this class would have worn down the surface at least a little bit, but the hard edges of the desk keep poking into you, keeping you from relaxing completely.

Enzo laughs quietly after you rearrange yourself for what feels like the hundredth time that class period. “Trouble falling asleep? I thought Binns would have knocked you out half an hour ago.”

“I’m almost asleep, I just can’t get comfortable,” you complain. “This desk is harder than a rock.”

He grins, then shuffles closer to you. Both of you share one long table meant for two students, so Enzo isn’t barred off from you by individual desks. Sitting together on one bench as you are, Enzo can reach out and pull you against his side. “You can fall asleep on me,” he says, “I’d like to think I’m much more comfortable than a desk.”

You giggle faintly. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” he tells you. “One of us should be able to get some rest, at least. I’ll wake you when it’s over, don’t worry.”

“Never,” you assure him, but already sleep is coming to claim you. Leaning against him, your head tucked against his shoulder, the last barriers to your slumber have been removed. You can just sense his arm curling around your waist, keeping you close, and then you’re asleep at last.

It feels as if no time at all has passed before Enzo is gently shaking you awake at the end of class. “Sleep well?” He asks, grinning.

You sit up slowly, absentmindedly rubbing one hand against the side of your tired face. “Very.”

Enzo smiles, then adjusts your tie, which has become slightly lopsided during your slumber. “You still look tired. It’s cute,” he tells you, then freezes slightly, as if he hadn’t meant to give that little detail away.

You arch a brow. “You think I’m cute, Enzo?”

“Very,” he admits. “Cuter still when you’re cuddled up beside me. You’ll have to do it again soon, I’m afraid.”

You laugh. “I think I can arrange that. Only if you call me cute again, though.”

Enzo’s smile broadens. “Sweetheart, I’ll tell you’re pretty and gorgeous and anything else you want to hear. It’s all true, anyway. Oh, and to answer your question, I feel the same way.”

You frown as you reach down to grab your bag, ready to leave this class at last for something a bit more exhilarating. “Huh? What question did I ask?”

Enzo winks as he helps you pick up your books. “You might want to be a little more careful what you whisper when you sleep. And if I wasn’t totally clear, I like you too.”

You stand stock-still. Of all the things to admit when you’re asleep on Enzo’s shoulder– but from the way he’s still smiling at you, you realize at last that he doesn’t mind it, not at all. In fact, judging by his little confession just moments ago, Enzo actually likes you back. It’s not something you had allowed yourself to fully contemplate before, but maybe you should reconsider. After all, the two of you have kept your feelings secret for long enough. You certainly have a lot of missed opportunities to catch up on now.

harry potter tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @frenchgirlinlondon, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[ericscroptop]

Video Games

✧ pairing: bf! juyeon x gf! reader

✦ genre: fluff (THIS IS SO SILLY IM SORRY)

✧ warnings: cursing, death (in the video game) teasing, pet names, kissing, insinuation of a praise kink, suggestive, brief mention of reader and juyeon’s memories of sexy time, might be a tiny bit cringe LOL

✦ word count: 2.1k words

✧ synopsis: headcannon of you and juyeon playing dti together because he would soooo play with you

✦ note: this is specifically about the dti halloween update lana quest so if you don’t play dti i am so sorry but i wanted to write this so bad bc in my mind, juyeon plays dti with me <3

⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹

“Mama, a nurse Julie behind you.” you joked to your boyfriend, eyes focused on your own monitor while you located the remaining maps. You two were lying on your stomach over his bed while playing on your own laptops.

Though, a couple seconds after saying that, as if on cue, the sound of the nurse shrieking comes from Juyeon’s laptop. Meaning she was indeed behind him, and killed him.

“Damn it! I can’t even get upstairs without her coming for me.” Juyeon groans. You couldn’t resist laughing at him dying, making his lips form into a pout from your teasing.

“I told you I’d do all the work. Just stay put now for your own sake.” you voiced, shaky as you stifled more laughter that threatened to break.

He pouted at your teasing and words, sighing hard. Luckily, you yourself have already completed all three chapters of the Lana Lore quest. But you wanted to share and introduce the challenge to Juyeon. It’s amusing seeing him navigate the game and teaching him how to play.

Especially when he cursed and became deeply frustrated. It was very reminiscent of how insanely pissed you got during your numerous attempts— specifically during chapter two.

Though, you’d consider yourself a pro now. So being on that side of the spectrum had you kekeing in watching him be such an amateur.

“It’s not funny.” contrary to his statement, his voice trembles with choked back laughter of his own. Ah, but it seems like it is, huh?

A hand of yours maneuvers to his back, running it up and down empathetically.

“Stop pouting you big baby. We’re almost done anyways.”

Juyeon sighs, listening to your words and staying put. Usually his demeanor was surprisingly calm while playing games, but for some reason, this was testing his patience more than it should.

His head leans towards your space, now bearing the weight of his head on your shoulder. He momentarily abandons his laptop to watch you move towards the location of the last map piece.

“I thought this was supposed to be a fashion game. All this for some clothes?” he huffs out.

“And to get Lana back! Lore for a fashion game is insane but you have to admit, it’s lowkey fun.” you casually picked up the last map, grinning now that you can access the Medical Wing. Juyeon moves his head, returning his attention back to his own screen.

“Okay, so this is the part where we have to run away from the nurse. This literally took me forever to complete at first but you can hold down the shift key to sprint. Just follow the red smoke and don’t bump into stuff.” you advise your boyfriend, a bit anxious inside that he might not complete it during his first attempt.

“I’m toast.” he shakes his head with defeat, baffled that there’s still more left in this chapter. He honestly wanted to return to the regular server and play dress up as a duo. Intense games were fun, but this was getting ridiculous.

“Dude, you got this! This is arguably the hardest part but I believe in you.” a hand goes to his shoulder, giving him a shake of encouragement to lock the fuck in. His head is faced down within his hands, pretending to be dramatic and avoid your gaze out of protest.

“Juyo… I’ll kiss you if you beat it.” you sing-song, and of course, that gets him to perk up. Your words get those cutesy lip corners of his curving more prominently, accompanied with a blushing of his cheeks at the bribe. He could never decline any invitation of affection from you. Man was a lover boy.

“You better.” he turns to you, giving you a look that suggests you better keep your word— or else.

“Promise. Now, you ready?”

“Let’s do it, baby.” his response has you all giddy inside. Simply playing a game with Juyeon was so wholesome and cute. It’s adorable seeing him play or participate in things you were interested in, even if it’s a “girly” fashion game with unexpected lore.

“Let’s fucking go!” you hyped both of you guys up as you opened the door.

It’s comical the way you both straightened your shoulders as the game music got intense, assuming position to fully concentrate. When it’s time to start moving, each of you stay focused, not bothering to even glance at the other person or their screen.

However, there wasn’t complete silence during this period.

The air was thick and taut, filled with suspense. You were both equally invested, even if this was your nth time doing this.

While running and sprinting, you threw out dramatic yelps when you’d accidentally run into an object. You recovered just in time, but the pressure was high no matter how many times you completed this, especially with a newbie player by your side.

Juyeon practically held his breath in while he navigated the path, your outbursts and minor cursing not bothering him one bit. You had a tendency to be a bit loud during games; He had grown used to it.

You and Juyeon happened to be the only ones playing in this server. You allowed your vision to dart just for a second towards the side every now and then to make sure he was still alive.

The screams of the nurse were repetitive and occasionally close, but you reached the finish line of the door first, snapping your fingers enthusiastically since you passed.

Juyeon was still in the middle of being chased, so you switched your focus to his screen. You didn’t dare make another peep, practically on edge to see if he succeeds.

But when the door is in sight, you absolutely have to say something out of excitement.

“You’re almost there!” you pepped up, mouth gaping in wonderment once he ended up finishing alongside you.

He lets out a sigh of relief, eyes crinkling at his achievement.

“Holy shit, you did it! I’m so proud of you!” you sit yourself up and put both your hands up in front. Juyeon follows suit, giving you a double hi-five and then clasping your fingers within his, shaking them eagerly with his tongue out in between his teeth.

“It literally took me a couple tries to run from her. That’s so unfair.” you sulked and tried to pull your hands away to continue on, but Juyeon kept a tight hold, refusing to do so.

“You’re what of me? Hm?” he decides to tease you, not letting what you said before that go unnoticed, attempting to get you to commend him again aloud for completing a silly game task. It was so precious seeing and hearing you so thrilled out over his victory.

“Praise kink alert!” you blurted out, laughing and casually teasing him back.

Your hands are still within Juyeon’s grasp, and he gives them a gentle squeeze, feigning offense and lets out a scoff.

“Oh, baby, let’s not even get into that discussion. We all know you’re the expert on that.” with that, he’s got a grin on his face like a cheshire cat. You walked yourself right into that one.

His counter has your mind immediately replaying the breathy, salacious things he’d say during the deed and other similar activities. You’ve been together for quite some time now that he knows what you like. The way your body responded to sweet praises and compliments was engraved into his mind.

You can’t deny that you loved being complimented and flattered by your one true love.

“Whatever.” you whined mixed with laughter, not even going to bother defending yourself because it would be a quick loss.

Juyeon smirks, always getting a kick out of flustering you.

“So where’s my reward?” Juyeon says, changing the subject once he remembers your promise.

“We still have one more chapter to complete. You don’t get Lana and the stuff until we finish all three.”

Hearing something completely different than what he was referring to has him giving you a look of impatience, allowing a chuckle to slip through. It’s even more comical because he could tell you genuinely forgot.

“I don’t mean that! I mean…” he pauses for a moment, dropping those hands of yours to move his dominant hand up towards your face.

His orbs appear playful, eyeing your features with curiosity and attachment to you.

“Where’s the kiss that you promised me?” his eyes don’t break away from your face, gleaming gaze drawing you in, unable to look away.

More so when he starts to thumb faintly at your cheek.

By each second that passes, your demeanor is becoming softer in a way where you’re growing meek and bashful. He patiently waits for a proper answer, eyes concentrated all over your face, connection towards you practically magnetic.

His charms make it ridiculously difficult to ignore and refuse his efforts of giving him what he wants. Truthfully, you could never deny a kiss from Juyo. You’d be a fool to do so.

As weak as he makes you, your tongue comes out strong to respond to him.

“Come and claim your prize then.” you bite your bottom lip, not helping the smile that presents itself from allowing yourself to say that flirtatious line, face heating up like blazes.

Juyeon immediately matches your smile in hearing that, still thumbing your cheek as he leans forward to attach his lips to yours.

They encounter one another with tenderness and bliss. Each of your smiles are felt pressed together, slowly fading to kiss properly.

A beautiful blend of appreciation and attraction is behind the kiss. It’s languid and gentle, time taken to truly spread the larger than life feelings of romantic, emotional connection.

This moment feels safe. You always felt warm and comfortable within his presence.

One of his hands holds dearly onto your chin, thumb still lazily stroking that full cheek of yours. Your own hands roam over your thighs as you begin to feel dreamy in love, trying to remind yourself that this scene is oh so real.

It was all innocent and sweet. He’d allow his lips to stay put against yours, smiling like a goofball when your lips remained stilled together. Then, he’d pull back just a small amount, you two exchanging looks of utter content before leaping in for perky pecks. Kissing Juyeon is always fun and left you eager for more.

Though unfortunately, it’s impossible to remain glued to his lips forever. Albeit, you’d argue kissing him is like oxygen for you, needed to carry on with life.

He nips at your lower lip teasingly before deciding to separate. Pure, visible radiance is reciprocated through one another’s features, paired with tinted pink cheeks.

You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, trying to calm down your heart and brain that’s malfunctioning and whirling due to the kiss.

While he smirks at you, you notice your screens have gone black, enough time passing of inactivity for the devices to do so. That reminds you of the joined mission that is yet to be completed for Juyeon, momentarily distracted by the mini celebration you just shared.

You reach down over to drag your fingers to the touchpad of your laptop, screen waking up, displaying the catacombs of the third chapter.

“Okay, let’s get back to work.” you grinned through your words, attempting to dial down the playfulness between you two to get back on track.

His eyes follow yours towards your screen, then back to you returning to your position from earlier.

“There’s more?” he’s wide-eyed while you give him a look that screams: “Are you kidding me?!!?”

“Yes! I literally told you earlier. We finish off with a maze and short battle.”

Juyeon begins to copy your current pose, laying on his stomach next to you. The only difference is that he folds and crosses his arms in front of him, creating a makeshift pillow to rest his head over.

A grumbling noise comes out of him, similar to a cat purring. He’s ready to move onto something else, wanting to just lay with you and focus on nothing other than you. He loved playing different kinds of games with you, but frankly, that kiss turned his attention to now wanting more of you in a relaxed manner.

You sigh heavily, really wanting him to finish this challenge for your entertainment. A hand travels to his head, raking through his soft strands. His head stays put, enjoying your peaceful physical touch.

Guess you oughta bribe him once more.

“Come on, baby. More kisses and cuddles are waiting for you when we finish.” your fingers playing with his hair don’t stop as you use the cutesy voice (reserved only for him) that you’d pull out when necessary.

And without fail, it succeeds. His head lifts up, immediately fighting a smile after hearing some of his favorite words. Nonetheless, it ultimately turns up.

“Promise?” he can’t help but use his own gentle, cutesy voice in return, eyes kittenish.

You could practically melt.

“I promise, Juyo.”

⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹ ⊹︶୨୧︶⊹