#SCRUFFY GOLDING??????????

[t-nd-rfoot]

WAIT WAIT SHUT UP

YOU’RE TELLING ME

WE GET GOLDING AND CAVILL IN ONE MOVIE?????????????? 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

via Henry Golding’s Instagram

[quartzitess]

Doodle page! Woohoooo !!

Two appearing in the short gave me life. I love my strange British number.

[kringelorde]

your honour: he was made for me

[talldecafcappuccino]

I also rewatched the last bit on the plane with the flash forwards and everything and...I'm fine with it?? Ted looks genuinely happy when Henry runs out the door and his smile at the very end is a little muted for my liking, but it's not bad by any means.

[eupheme]

— sugar, sugar

[part ii] | [part iii] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 6.5k

tags: asshole friend!wade, (sorta soft) roommate!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, flirting, mutual yearning, immature humor, a reference to while you were sleeping, wingman!wade and the worse way to meet someone, light angst, oral sex, swallowing, fingering, v. light ass play, unprotected PiV, appearance of The Claws, what’s a refractory period, sorta audible voyeurism (brief/humorous)

a/n: includes spoilers for deadpool & wolverine (which omg I loved - what was your fave cameo?)

Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

“You gonna introduce me?”

You’ve cornered Wade in the apartment’s laundry room - the door to the front-loading washer hanging open as he holds a bundle of red fabric up to his chest.

“You think this will wash out?” 

The suit in question looks like it had been run over by a truck and then set on fire, with the rips criss-crossed in the leather and the numerous charred holes scattered across the chest.

“Definitely.” Your eyes flicker down, and then back up, “So, will you?”

He bundles the suit up - flinging into the back of the washer, the laundry basket still tucked under an arm.

“Really? Not even ‘hello, Wade’? ‘Looking good, Wade’?” His voice pitches up, imitating yours, “Does our friendship really mean nothing to you?”

You wouldn’t necessarily call Wade Wilson a friend.

In fact, he’s honestly the worst neighbor you’ve ever had. 

Loud, obnoxious. Persuasive - the first night you met you had been banging on his door at three in the morning, yelling at him to shut up as music and a caterwauling voice blared through the shared wall.

Ten minutes later you were playing the drums on his late night session of Rock Band, using a banana and a wooden spoon in place of sticks. Only for Althea to stomp out of her room and shut everything down, scaring both of you out of your skins.  

But sometimes, you think - remembering the times he came through for you, a shoulder to cry on, helping him this slump he’s been digging himself out of - he might just be the best, as well.

And maybe that was friendship, after all. 

You sigh, leaning against the row of washers. Eyes flicking over him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You do look good, Wade,” There’s a tilt of your head, the smile widening, “Glad you lost the toupee, that really wasn’t your color.”

“Ah, ah. Repurposed,” He chides, cupping his crotch, “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed-”

“Ew, stop.” Your face scrunches, a hand covering your eyes as you shield your vision, “Will you please just answer my question?”

He throws a handful of shirts in the washer, “Which was...?”

Your head shakes - a hand on his arm as you reach for a glint of gold in the pile of clothes. Cringing as a handgun appears, held gingerly between thumb and forefinger as you set it on the side table.

“Good call,” He nods, “Dry clean only.”

You can't help a laugh then, even as your hands brace on your hips, “I want to meet your roommate.”

He frowns, “You’ve met Blind Al.”

“Jesus, Wade. Not Al." A hand waves, " I mean Mister Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”

You’ve seen the stranger in the hallways a few times in the month since he’s moved in. Scruffy and scowling the first time, a silent shadow behind Wade’s endless chatter. 

But in the weeks following, that look had softened. You’d stopped by twice with cookies to welcome him, but every time you’ve just gotten Al.

Not that you dislike Al, that’s not it at all. She’s sweet enough to you when it’s not 3 a.m. or if Wade doesn’t have her annoyed half to death.

But you certainly weren’t harboring a crush on her. Maybe even secretly hoping that maybe the new neighbor will get a little lost and end up at your door, instead of his new place.  

“Ooh,” The syllables draw out - detergent flung in, before he’s leaning against the washer too, facing you. “Yeah, Logan. He's great, got a mean ‘Hugh Jackman’ vibe, just without the singing. You’d like him.”

Something like hope flutters in your belly, but then he’s raising a finger - wiggling it at you, “Just one question though. What’s in it for me?”

That has you scowling, “What do you mean? You owe me. I covered for you when you had that barqueue in the stairwell.”

“God, that was great sausage.” Wade groans, thinking back, “Mmm, but I think Peter covered for me.”

“Who do you think got Peter?”

“Well, I don’t remember seeing you.” He shrugs.

“I was right-,” You pinch the bridge of your nose between thumb and forefinger, a sharp exhale of breath, “Fine. If you do this for me, I’ll do that thing you keep asking me to do.”

Wade gasps gleefully, “You mean you’ll make the triple decker-”

“-chocolate caramel cheesecake chimichangas. Yes.” You finish with him, arms crossing over your chest, “You’re lucky you heal fast because that should put you right into a food coma.”

“Right. Lucky me,” He smirks. A second as he thinks, before he snaps his fingers, “I’m having a little get-together tonight! You should come. Was gonna invite you anyway.”

The pounding in your head ratchets up at the thought that all this could’ve been avoided.

“Logan sleeps on the couch, though,” He adds, sagely, “So just letting you know that if the two of you decide to get your fuck on in my bed, according to the state of New York I am legally allowed to join you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” You grimace - even if you’re certain that cannot possibly be true, “But I do have my own apartment.”

“Oh, right.” There’s the faintest edge of disappointment in his tone, paired with a sigh.

You give him a sideways look, then.

“I saw Vanessa leaving yesterday. Things getting better?”

He sobers at that, eyes moving towards the sliver of a window. The glimpse of the street outside.

“Yeah.” Wade manages, “Yeah, I think so.”

There had once been a flicker of something. In-between your annoyance and exasperation, there were tendrils of tenderness. Long snuffed out, when you had seen just how banged up his heart was. How it’s always belonged to another. 

You had gotten over it. Gotten to a place where seeing him now, like this, makes you smile.

“I’m really glad to hear that.” 

He smiles, then.

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Hey, hold on.” Wade darts in front of his roommate, a leg kicked up high to block the doorway, “Where are you going? You can’t go out.”

Logan scowls, an arm already shoved into his leather jacket, “Sure I can.”

The blow against his shoulder might move a lesser man, but Wade’s fingers just grip the frame even tighter, “But I promised-, I got a friend that wants to meet you. There is some really important shit at stake here. I can’t let you go.”

An eyebrow cocks, “Can’t? I think we both know how that would go if you tried to stop me.”

It would be easy to get into this right here and now, but his suit is still in the dryer and he’s not about to spend another hour cleaning up blood.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He throws a hand up, “Aren’t you listening to me? A girl wants to meet you. She’s hot, she has a job, and she has an apartment. You’re only one outta three there. Can’t you see what a good opportunity this is? This is totally in your favor!”

Logan scoffs, his tongue tucking against his teeth. Hesitating for just a second, but it's enough that Wade knows he’s got him.

“I’ve met your friends,” He eventually acknowledges, “They’re good folk and all, but there isn’t anyone there I’d like to ‘get to know better’, yeah?”

“You haven’t met this one. She lives next door.”

The pause stretches longer this time. Dark eyes dart out into the hallway, and Wade can practically hear those rusted gears turning.

“Apartment 16 or 18?” Logan finally rasps, his arms crossing. 

Oh, he’s definitely got him. Just call him Wade Wilson, New York’s own personal Cupid. New life goal - get his friends laid. 

He nocks a mental arrow - aiming, and then firing with his answer. 

“18.” 

Another beat passes, and then a sigh. 

“Alright.” The leather sleeve slips from his arm, drooping in his fist.

“Five minutes. That’s all I’m staying.”

Wade’s fist pumps. 

Bullseye, motherfucker. 

The apartment is packed and it’s been well past the allotted five minutes. Logan’s been nursing a beer for the last fifteen, eyes flicking over the people he’s grown to know well.

Offering a tight, half-smile when the big man claps him on the back, followed by Opposites Attract. Almost tempted to find that damn dog, just to have something to do. 

Or maybe, just bail all-together.

Starting to think this was all an elaborate prank. Some fucked up aspect of this Earth, unknown to him until now.

He’s too old for this shit. If he heads for the bedroom now, he might make it out the fire escape before anyone notices.

Logan is still entertaining this new thread of thought until he hears his name - called out over whatever fuck-face bullshit boy-band music Wade’s been playing. 

Ambiance, his ass.

The muscles of his crossed arms flex. Catching the way his roommate hauls a girl across the floor - the look of panic on her face as she tosses a container onto the nearest surface.

Wade hadn’t been lying, after all. It was Apartment 18 - that was about as much as he knew about you.

Other than the color of your eyes. The smell of your perfume in the hall. Your hair, your schedule - waking in the mornings to hear your door opening at 5 a.m., five days a week.

A baker. A damn good one, from the bits of cookie he’s snuck when no one was home. 

Had never thought to introduce himself, because he’s been through all this before. Knows better than to reach out in the first place - still nursing the old wound of heartache, one that still flares to life in his chest.

Better not to hope, or even think, at all. 

You stumble when he lets go, and Logan’s hands only curl tighter. Afraid to touch, now that you’re so close. 

A pretty young thing compared to him. This was a fucking stupid idea, his eyes darting away as Wade claps, his hands spreading wide. 

“Logan,” Wade’s tone is cordial, as if discussing the weather, “This is our neighbor, Sugar. She bakes a mean penis cake and likes emotionally unavailable men.”

A dejected sigh as he regards you, “Which is why it’s never worked out between us. I am just too available.”

Penis cake?

Logan shoots you a sideways look, an eyebrow cocked. Caught off guard by this unexpected intro, and it seems you are the same - gauging by the way your mouth drops open. 

Your face swimming with regret, as you hiss, “Oh my god. Wade. It was one time. Why do you have to put it like that?”

Wade’s smile widens, his tone still innocent, “Just skipping over the ‘getting-to-know-you’s, so you can know if you’re compatible.”

Already pivoting to face Logan with a little wink, his own scowl already deepening. Something like nerves flickering to life - as he wonders if this will all be over before it ever begins.

“And this is Logan. He’s from another Earth, is two-hundred years old, and has a metal dong.”

Jesus Christ. 

Logan’s teeth grit, before he snarls, “It’s not made of metal-”

Out of the corner of his eye, catches the curious dip of your gaze. Past the folded twist of his arms, the flannel, down to his thick belt buckle.

A knock rings out then, interrupting him from any further clarification.

“Ooh! Door,” Wade thumbs over his shoulder, “Go on now, we’ve got some good energy going here. Sugar and spice, I love it.”

A spin on his heel, and he’s leaving them alone. Silence a lingering companion for a long moment, before Logan turns.

“Nice to meet you.” He seethes, jaw working as he shoots daggers at Wade’s back. A hand extended - he’d manage that much at least.

Waiting for you to make an excuse and run, but all you do is fit your hand into his. Soft and strong and a near perfect fit.

Logan doesn’t touch people much anymore unless it’s a hand around a throat, or claws buried deep into a chest. Had almost forgotten what it was like, even if this meeting is close to his own personal version of hell.

“Nice to finally meet you, too.” Your smile is wry. Hands still clasped a moment longer, until he’s withdrawing. 

Your hands shove into your back pockets. The tilt of a head as you regard him, and he lets his eyes meet yours. 

They’re pretty, like the rest of you. Captivating even, if he could use such a word, and Wade’s words ring out in his head. 

She wants to meet you.

He’s wondering if that’s still true. Maybe you’re wondering the same, with the way you look at him. 

“So,” You begin, awkwardly - another unconscious flick of your eyes,“How does-”

“Uh-uh.” Logan’s head shakes. He’s picked up a couple things living with Wade. Never used to be a bargaining man, but he has to admit it has its uses. 

“If you wanna know, you gotta go first.” 

He hates you.

He must, with the way he’s scowling. Thighs spread wide as he sits on the couch you had gestured to, fingers in a vice grip around the bottle. No doubt plotting a dozen ways to ditch you the second he can.

Who wouldn’t, with a meeting like this? You could kill Wade, cheeks burning as you sink into the worn cushions next to him.

That is, until your knee knocks against his. The muscles in his thigh flexing - but Logan lets it rest, instead of pulling away. 

“You gonna-?” His voice is gruff, a low rasp that makes goosebumps raise across your skin. 

“Uh, sure.” Your fingers twist, “Which part did you want to hear about?”

His eyebrows lift. Those dark eyes beneath, almost a hint of amusement in them.

“Right,” The little laugh that bubbles from you is self-conscious, “Well, I don’t really like emotionally unavailable men, they just have a habit of finding me.”

His voice is low, “How would Wade know that?”

“Mm, how would he know about your-?” Your eyes flicker down for the third time, and he shifts. 

“You first.”

“Alright.” You huff, but you’re smiling now. Some of your discomfort easing. 

Logan is even more handsome than you had thought. You like the way his eyes dart away, only to come back and linger. 

It’s starting to make you think that maybe it’s not dislike that has so much of him hidden away. Maybe it’s just been a long time since someone tried to peel any of him back. 

Maybe he’s as nervous as you are.

“Well, he’s had to scare an ex or two away.” You shrug, “He only knows because I told him. And the cake, oh-, that was him, too.”

You turn then, to face him. A shoulder brushing the arm he has thrown across the back of the couch, a flicker in his eyes as you get comfortable beside him.

“Well, Wade had gotten ripped in half a couple years ago,” You nose wrinkles, a wave of your hand, “And it all like, has to grow back, right? It’s so creepy.”

Logan grimaces at your explanation, and you wonder if he understands. You think he must - you had thought he was like Wade, in some ways. 

Different. Special.

“Well, he uh, finished growing everything in,” You make a sweeping gesture over your lower half, “And the next year to celebrate his dickiversary, he ordered a penis cake from my shop.”

“His… dickiversary.” Logan repeats slowly.

The heat is back in your cheeks, but you nod, “Yeah, because it like, it came back and all. And he paid in cash, I couldn’t say no.”

There’s the smallest twitch of Logan’s lips, and it feels like a victory.

“Right. What flavor was it?”

Your smile widens with relief, “Strawberries and cream. It was so good. I’ll have to make it for you sometime.”

A second before you cringe, adding, “I mean, a normal one. Not…”

He hums then, close to a laugh.  

“Sure. You do that.”

You smile, letting your shoulder bump his, “And with that… I think it’s your turn.”

The bit of humor in his expression flattens. A searching look thrown your way, before he inhales a breath.

Setting it free. 

“I’m a mutant.”

Logan waits there, as if expecting something. You only nod, thinking of the ones you know. Colossus, Ellie, Yukio, Domino. Wade. 

“Wade said you were similar to him. I had assumed-” You encourage, waiting.

“Right,” He seems relieved, some of the tension ebbing, “My powers are regenerative, like his. But unlike him, I have these-”

There’s the jerk of his wrist, and three sharp metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. Your gasp is caught in your throat as you cling to his flannel shirt - the surprise bleeding into worry. 

They glint in the light, as his fingers flex. 

“Adamantium instead of bones. All of me is like this.”

The claws sheath themselves inside him again. His wounds smoothing over seconds later, as he scrubs his knuckles across his jeans, wiping away blood. 

Offering out his hand, after. Letting your grip unwind from his shirt, and press against his skin instead. Feeling the tendons in his hand, his wrist. The skeleton beneath utterly unyielding, a weight to his limb that is so unlike your own.

“Metal…” You trail off, as pieces click into place, “I get it now. So does Wade really think there’s like, an actual bone-?”

Logan huffs again, “Guess so.”

You laugh then. A thought sobering you after, as a fingertip drifts up to the dip between his fingers. 

“But doesn’t that hurt?” 

It makes you wince to even think about it. Much less how casually they sprung from him, no different than breathing. 

He shrugs, and it’s heartbreaking.

“Doesn’t even phase me anymore.”

“And, the two hundred years,” Another facet you put together out loud, “You’re still alive because you keep healing? Will it be that way forever?”

His hand flexes in your grip.

“Not forever. Apparently my powers will run out, at some point.” His eyes meet yours, “The Logan in this world is dead. Wade pulled me from another.”

Your brow furrows - always trying to keep up with the snippets that Wade has told you across the years - stories about time-traveling and mutants and even how he came to be. But this seems too deep. Surely Logan must be joking.

“Another world, huh?” You ask, head tilting - trying your best to roll with it, “Won’t they miss you in yours?”

Only now does his face falter. That sharp mask cracking, as his hand pulls from yours. Resting again on the back edge of the couch - his answer low and rough. 

“No. I don’t think so.”

Another jolt racks through your heart. You don’t know him know him yet, but you already can’t believe that could possibly be true. Your fingers fan out, hovering - before it folds into a fist.

“Well then, I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t reply. 

The room is darker now, dim with the setting of the sun. Street lights outside pouring in a golden beam that cuts across his face. 

His eyes are hazel, you can see that now. A fading rim of green spilling into the brown, beneath the near-permanent furrow of his eyebrows. 

Yours caught in the glow of the flamingo string lights that curl out from the kitchen, stapled to the walls.

He breaks the silence, the words coming slowly. 

“Let me ask you one more thing.” 

“Sure. You know some of my worst secrets already.” You smile, a shoulder lifting.

His hand twitches, where it rests near your shoulder. The tip of a finger ghosting against skin.

Just the slightest brush but it feels like it radiates out, lingering after.

“Why’d you tell Wade you wanted to meet me?” 

His voice is still low, rough. But it’s lost that sharp edge. The combination has your stomach tied up in knots, suddenly more nervous that you’ve been the whole night.

Surely he must know? 

“Well…” You hedge. It’s your turn to look away, but then there’s the brush of his fingers again.

“Because I did want to meet you.” You admit, “You, you seemed like someone I wanted to get to know. In whatever capacity you’d like.”

“Is that right, Sugar?” Logan husks, and the nickname sounds even sweeter on his tongue, stealing your breath.

All you can do is nod, as his eyes darken. 

Voices rise behind you, ripping you out of this little bubble you’ve found yourself in. Nearly forgetting just how many people are here, how many eyes have been glancing your way since you’ve arrived.

“Not strip poker Wade, please.” The rough rumbling plea of Colossus’s voice rings out above the others, “You never wear anything under the suit-”

You didn’t even realize when he had changed, but he had - patches of bare skin on his ass showing through the holes. Your nose scrunches, before you turn back to realize that Logan’s eyes are still on you.

Dropping when your tongue peeks out to wet your lips - your words coming out in a soft hush. 

“You want to get out of here?”

You want him. You can only hope that he might just want you, too.

The corner of his lip twitches.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

It’s strange to have someone like Logan in your space. You can remember the last time you’ve wanted someone here.

His fingers still entwined with yours, from where you had reached back for him. Leading him through the dim corners of the room.

Thinking you had made it, only for the rousing cheers to rise when you had cracked the door open to slip through.

His grip tightening when you made to tug your hand free, in an urge to press it against burning cheeks. Letting you fumble with one hand, to open the lock next door.

It’s quieter here. A low echo of the music next door, as the darkness wraps around you again.

Here, his fingers move, but it’s only to skim up your wrist. To tug you between him and the front door, until your back presses against it. 

His nose brushes yours as he steps into your space, your lips already parting. Holding himself there for a moment, inhaling the scent of you as his arm braces above your head.

Leaving you to be the one that closes the gap. The tilt of your head and the press of your lips against his.

A rough hum when your arms wrap around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. His hand gripping at your waist, pulling your hips against his.

Tugging and pushing. A messy path from the front door through the small living room - a mirror-image of the apartment next door.

Through to the bedroom, wandering hands and the brush of his tongue against yours as he deepens the needy kiss. Until his knees are hitting the edge of your bed, and he’s letting you nudge him back onto the mattress.

He brings you with him - your hips cradling his as you settle yourself astride him. Hands flatten against his chest as you rock down - drawing a rough, mumbled “fuck”.

Grinding yourself down where he’s hard, the curve of his cock straining against his jeans. Letting your hands follow, as his own cup your ass. Squeezing, before slipping to press the heel of his hand against the seam at your clit.

You moan into his mouth, as your fingers curl around him. Eyes blown wide when you pull back, scooting your hips down. 

It’s here that he comes back to himself. 

Going tense as you fit yourself between his thighs, fingers at this belt as the other still cups him.

“You shouldn’t want this.” He rasps, those eyes glinting in the dark, “A man like me. You know that, right?”

Propping himself up on an elbow, so he can see your expression. So you can see the way his jaw grits, nostrils flaring. 

It’s a warning, wrapped up in silk. A last ditch effort to scare you away - knowing that once he has you, he won’t want to stop.

Your fingers slow - his zipper half-undone, baring skin and a dark shadow of hair beneath. 

The other pulling away, “You want me to stop?” 

He catches your wrist, jerking your hand back. His hips bucking into your palm, grinding himself into your touch. 

“The last thing I want to fucking do is stop.” It’s almost a growl, “But on my Earth, I-”

You sigh then, impatient, “Logan, this Earth isn’t all that great either. I lost five years of my life to the blip.”

He frowns, not understanding - but your head shakes as you continue, “I’m tired of being too scared to take chances. I’ve been trying to live each day to the fullest, and I’d like to end this one with you.”

And out of everyone - Logan knows a little something about second chances.

“Yeah,” He manages - the grip of his fist leaves you, “Yeah, okay.”

"Thank you,” You answer primly, just as you finish yanking the zipper down. 

His hand beats you in the race to ease himself out, fingers curling around the base. You can’t help it - you inhale a breath at the sight of him.

Heavy, with the way the flushed tip bobs in his grip. Thick enough that you’re already wondering if you’re going to be able to take him. 

The huff he makes turns into a groan as you start small - engulfing the leaking head with your lips. The first inch turns into another as his hips lift, feeding his cock into your waiting mouth. 

Only when he’s halfway inside you, bumping against your throat, does his hand drop. Letting you replace it with your own - squeezing, as drool slicks up his shaft. Your head bobbing in time with the twist of your fist.

That brief hesitance is quickly forgotten. Fingers brush at your cheek, curling around the base of your head as he guides you.

Leaving you eager for more. Another hissed groan when your mouth leaves him, your hand loosening as you strip your clothes away.

“Oh fuck yes,” He coaxes, when he realizes what you’re doing, “Let me see you, baby.” 

Your shirt and pants left to pool on the floor. A second of boldness as you unclasp your bra next, leaving you in your panties as you focus on his cock again. 

A bitten-back moan when your tongue slips across his swollen shaft - an low throb between your thighs as you rub them together, clenching around nothing. Resisting the urge to slip your hand beneath the hem to ease the ache. 

Instead, your keep your hands on him. Goosebumps raising as your nails scratch against the deep v of muscle at his hips. The others working him into your mouth, as he slowly comes more undone. 

His hips flex with each bob of your head, lips parted as he pants. The words a rough mumble, becoming almost desperate. 

“That’s it sweetheart.”

Another moan when you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, “Oh fuck, gonna fill that pretty mouth.”

His hand cups your jaw, holding you steady as he bucks into your mouth. Those dark eyes fixed on you in wonder, all that pretty skin bared for him to touch, to taste. He’s mesmerizing like this - the weight of gaze. Jaw slack with pleasure, eyes aflame.

You did this to him. 

It sends something warm flooding through you, as his eyelashes flutter. The tipping back of his head, muscles ticking in his cheek as his teeth ground down. 

A sound still slips between them, as he floods your mouth with the next flex of his hips. Pulsing between your lips as you swallow him down, a choked sound ripping from his chest when you cup his sack to gently squeeze out every last drop. 

Logan melts into the mattress after, an arm thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath. His gaze focusing on you when he feels you squirm - dark, and hungry.

A lithe stretch of muscles as he moves - legs easing from beneath you. 

“Hands and knees,” He commands, head tipping towards the bed next to him, as he rolls off. Kicking off his jeans as you listen, watching over a shoulder as the flannel and white tank underneath joins your clothes on the floor.

Your eyes widen at how toned he is - muscles rippling, the bed dipping as he fits himself behind you.

His broad hand at the small of your back, pushing your torso down against the mattress. A pleased hum then, fingers trailing just along the elastic edge of your underwear.

“Could smell how much she needed this.” The tips of two press against the damp fabric between your thighs, making you gasp, “Even next door. You want it that bad?”

It should be embarrassing that he could tell how much you desired him, but at the moment all you can think about is him touching you more.

“Yes,” You agree, “Please, Logan.”

“So fuckin’ polite,” The fingers withdraw; but only so his nose can replace them. A ragged inhale, just before his tongue drags against your clothed slit.

A groan against your skin as you cry out, before a finger hooks around the fabric, baring you for him to taste.

The heat of his tongue flattens against you - lapping at where you drip with need, a rough rumble in his chest. 

“Sweet, too.” Another flick of his tongue, “Your name. ‘s fitting.”

You can’t manage words. Only his name, muffled against the sheets as your fists twist in them. Back arched as you resist the urge to grind yourself against his tongue, as it flicks against your clit.

It’s messy, how he eats you. You don’t think you’ve even had someone take you like this. Hungry, desperate even, as he devours you. The rumble of a groan against your cunt as his tongue delves inside you, stretching you open. Letting your slick smear into his beard, with how close he presses his mouth.

That need inside you thrumming. Winding tighter as he yanks your panties down your thighs. His palm flattening against your ass, holding you open as he licks you from clit to hole, then higher. Humming as you squeak, when his tongue flattens against your tight rim. 

A thick finger nudging against you then, as his tongue dips back to your clit. There’s no resistance as it slips deeper, into slick walls that clamp down around him.  It’s what you needed - that little bit more.

Unable to help rocking into the crook of his finger now. Whining when a second joins it, spearing deep and curling. Dragging against your walls, loud and wet and filthy with each plunge. 

Your whimpers only grow louder. Needier, as his lips wrap around your clit. Fingers pounding deep, stretching you out. Leaving you babbling, your words slipping together. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” Tears prick at your eyes, each breath a rattling gasp, “Oh my god you’re gonna make me come-”

He has you gushing, with the next flick of his tongue. A pleased groan as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, hearing the wail that is muffled into your pillows. That sharp pace slowing, his thumb replacing his tongue to draw your orgasm out until your legs are shaking. 

His fingers sticky when they pull from you, only to slip between his lips - tongue curling around his knuckles, sucking them clean.

It leaves you floating above yourself. You can’t remember ever coming this hard, even by yourself. Only the tintest thread of disappointment as you drift, and it’s only that you won’t get the pleasure of his cock filling you tonight.

You would’ve liked to see what he can do with the rest of him. 

Perhaps you can convince him to stay until morning.

But he moves behind you, instead. His knee pressing against yours, spreading your legs further. The rhythmic shuffle of skin against skin, as his hand slips from between his lips to fist around his cock. 

“Tell me I can fuck you.” It’s not a plea, not with the harsh rasp of his voice. But it’s as close as you’ve heard, as he swipes the tip against your leaking pussy.

Smearing your slick on him, teasing at your waiting hole.

You don’t know how he’s hard again, but at the moment you really don’t care. Not sure if you’ve ever felt a need like this, your back arching further as you present yourself to him. 

A twist of your neck, so your eyes can meet his. 

“Fuck me, Logan.” 

He groans, broad hands squeezing at your ass. Slipping up to sink his fingers into the flesh at your hips. Holding you steady as he lines himself up. 

Your breath held, when you feel his cock start to breach you - muscles stringing tight.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He grits out, though not unkindly, “You can take it.”

Trying to hold himself back from filling you with a single thrust, with the way you’re already gripping him.

Easing himself into your heat. Two inches forward and then one back, and with each one you think you’ll feel the press of his thighs against yours. A low whine as your cunt makes room for him, that sharp stretch as it feels like he’s reaching into your belly.

Feeling full when he finally is flush, the weight of his sack kissing against your clit. His shoulders following the curve of your back, as a hand slips up to plant next to your head.

“Feels fucking incredible,” It’s mumbled against your skin, almost as if it hadn’t meant to say it. 

“Mm,” You grin, your face tipping up to his, “Should’ve met you weeks ago.”

He smirks, a low sound in his throat as his mouth presses to yours. Starting a slow rhythm that drags his cock against your walls. Slipping until he’s halfway out, only to sheath himself again. Pushing the air from your lungs as he flattens himself, knees digging into the bed as your thigh spread wider - forcing him deeper.

It’s almost too much. 

You hand shoots out, reaching. Wrapping around his wrist, nails biting against his skin. 

It feels like he’s surrounding you. Each thrust a heavy weight that presses you into the bed. Splitting you open, until all you can do is squirm beneath him.

That pressure in your belly building again, as his hips pound. His breath, hot and panting in your ear as he chases his own end.

“Fuck, Logan.” You sob, “Harder-”

His tendons flex under your grip. Knuckles pressing flat against the sheets as he makes a rough sound in his throat. 

Those claws unsheathing with his next thrust. Punching down into your mattress. Anchoring as he loses himself to the feel of you beneath him.

How tight and wet and warm you are, your arousal still sweet on his tongue. Fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your throat, as everything tightens up inside him.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, rasped out. 

“Come in me,” You whine, “Wanna feel you.”

He does growl then, at the thought of filling you to the brim, until he's leaking out of your pretty little pussy. Hips snapping faster, pinning you to the bed as he ruts into you. Each squeak of the bed paired with the sharp rip of fabric as his claws dig in. 

Feeling how your body strings tight beneath him, how you clench down in anticipation. Wanting to feel you once more, before he gives in to his own desires.

“Come on, baby,” It’s hushed, murmured against your skin, “Fuckin’ give it to me-”

The sharp point of a canine scraping against your skin, his groan rough and throaty in your ear. 

Your fingers work down to wedge themselves between your thighs. The tips brushing where you’re speared open, before circling your clit like his tongue had.

He has you mindless. Fucked out - that soft glow from your earlier orgasm shining bright as he tips you towards a second.

Burning at that tightly wound thread inside you, until the ends fray, and then snap. 

It has you coming with his next thrust. A wail ripped from you as he buries himself deep, feeling the way your pussy clenches down around him. 

Fingers still swirling, drawing out the deep pulses that fan out from your core as your toes curl, vision going hazy.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He rasps, those sharp thrust slowing to a sloppy grind, “Make a fucking mess for me, there you go-”

Panting, as he groans. Another roll of his hips before he’s coming with you - teeth bruising skin as they sink into your shoulder. The sound he makes is broken as he spills into you, muscles clenching with each pulse that paints your walls.  

Marking you thoroughly with teeth and come, the saw of his hips slowing until you both finally go still. A breath finally caught. 

Blissed out, when he rolls you both to the side. His thighs still mapping yours, cock still notched deep. A thick arm thrown across your waist, his breath ragged in your ear as he catches his breath.

Your fingers drift, as you bask in your afterglow. Dipping into the rips in your mattress, knuckle deep.

There’s a grunt as you wiggle, the words low in your ear, “I’ll get you another, sweetheart. Just lost control for a moment.”

The thought doesn’t bother you as much as you’d think. In fact, you wouldn’t mind if happened again.

Only as your imagination runs wild, do you hear the muffled moan from the brick wall behind you.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Dramatic and drawn out, paired with faint rhythmic noise. 

A beat - before you hear mumbled protesting. The voice of someone talking with their mouth full, “No. Back the fuck off Peter, I’m not going to share.” 

Eating. The fucker was eating his end of the bargain, ear pressed to the wall.

The next louder, “Alright, pay up everyone, Operation ‘Get Sugar Some Sugar’ was a success!”

You grimace, eyes rolling. Logan grunts behind you, the words mumbled out sleepily.

“Wish I could sew that goddamn mouth shut.”

There’s a faint “they already tried that!” before Logan’s fist bangs on the wall, shutting him up.

But you can’t help the smile. Your fingers fitting between the ones that rest just below your breasts, squeezing.

“He’s not so bad,” You admit, “Wade, I mean.”

Logan groans, “Don’t say his name while I’m fucking you.”

“You’re-” You start - but then you can feel him.

Still hard - as his hips cant slowly against yours. Your joined hands slip up to cup a breast - as his lips press against your neck, stubble scraping you skin.

“Again?” You breathe, disbelieving that he’d be up for a third time - your hips rocking back to meet his. The sound lewd with how he drips from you - but it only has him grinding himself deeper, “You sure you’re two hundred?”

“Regenerative powers, sweetheart.” Logan husks, the flash of teeth with a knowing smirk.

“Can’t say it doesn’t come with perks.”

I used to have the biggest fucking crush on wolverine, haha - so fun to watch a new movie with him!! 👀💕 thank you so much for reading! And please me know if you'd like to read any more for him! (like more one-shots,etc!)

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ mad with need ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ you want him so bad that you feel like you’re going crazy so he indulges you┊3.0k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: smut!! dom logan & sub reader┊x wade wilson too, age gap, dirty fantasies from a horny reader (who is actually insecure about herself), size difference, no prep we’re dying like nicepool, riding & unprotected piv, breeding/creampie, a bit rushed i need this out my wips

➤ author's note: okay so this is actually the very first logan fic i started, but i have no idea why it took me so long to finish it? it’s a bit all over the place, but i hope some people enjoy anyway!

has he realized you were there and simply testing your self-control, or is he just being so effortlessly sexy again that you aren’t sure if you’re in love or jealous? was there any other reason for him to be laid out on the beat-up couch like something to feast on when he was simply holding a bottle of liquor in one hand to sip on and flipping through the channels of a barely-working box television with a remote in the other? why else would he be so delectable around a known pervert(s, wade is just as bad as you are, just more focused on the possible destruction of his home rather than the pansexual panic between you and logan plaguing him) if not to tempt you?

you’re constantly fawning over the sight of him and letting out dreamy sighs which have become more common lately than you would like to admit, swearing that you could gaze upon him for every second of the day and not tire of it. they say “god gives his most difficult battles to his strongest soldiers”, yet the battle assigned to you is restraining yourself from pouncing on him at the very moment and begging to suck his cock. you know that you’re horny most hours of the day and also kinda a brazen whore, but the way he makes you wet in record time should be worthy of a gold olympic medal.

every time his lips wrap around the rim of the glass bottle, you can’t help but imagine them somewhere else. the image of his handsome face between your legs and scruffy facial hair coated in your slick while he ravishes you haunts your mind whenever you try to sleep, yet the phantom sensation of his tongue on you while his nose stimulates your clit helps you rest in the end. you bet that he would be great at eating pussy too, with his sharp tongue and arrogant attitude— god. 

he’s also so jacked that even when he’s resting, his muscles still seem to bulge with prominent veins like a nurse’s wet dream and it has you downright drooling. now that the sleeves of his suit were gone, you could see how beefy his arms were, and seeing any inch of his skin had you acting up like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time. he could probably crush your skull like an egg if you ever found yourself head-locked in them (you’ve seen him do it to wade out of irritation, and you’ve never been so jealous).

and not to mention how peggable his shapely ass is, there’s really no limit to all the things you want to try with him if you were given the chance—

“are you finished staring?” his gruff voice brought you back to reality, refocusing your vision as he made a slight gesture to his body with one of his rare smirks, “like what you see?” it’s a rhetorical question, he knows how good he looks despite his age and you have already made your attraction towards him well-established. 

you don’t need to say anything, he can tell what you’re thinking as clearly as day, so you don’t bother making any dirty remarks like usual and just walk out the room. you paced around the house for a minute or two to calm yourself down until you eventually ran into wade. “oh my god,” you cupped your face with your hands, eyes becoming big and round as if you were going to cry, “i want him so bad, i feel like i’m gonna lose my mind if i don’t fuck him!”

“well, why haven’t you? i know for a fact that my presence isn’t enough to stop you from climbing him like a tree, so spill it!”

“uhhhh,” you pointed your fingers together to exaggerate self-consciousness, “what if… what if he doesn’t like me and just sees me as some annoying, excessively horny kid?”

“can you believe this bitch?” he scoffed, looking at the invisible audience that was always watching before grabbing your shoulders and violently shaking you, “listen here missy, he definitely likes you— i have yet to see that man smile at anything else that isn’t your face and comments that rival jjk twitter fans in vulgarity! why are you suddenly getting cold feet now when you’re such a player? you’re suddenly screaming, crying, and throwing up over peanut whom you’ve been hitting on non-stop since we found him?!”

“i don’t know! it’s different, he’s my hero, and— i know it’s hard for you to believe, but he’s not even half the asshole my previous flings were. besides, he so fucking hot—”

“yeah, but he’s also so fucking old— his dick is probably all shriveled up—” the sound of the said man clearing his throat made him jump out of his skin, slowly turning his head to look at the older man before giggling nervously and waving his hands around in some form of awkward greeting. even if he can regenerate and wounds are more like papercuts, the last thing he wanted was to get stabbed in the balls by his adamantium claws again for making such a comment. “ahaha, how much did you hear…?”

“enough,” he grunted, turning his attention to you, “and you’re coming with me.”

“huh—?” there was hardly a moment for you to properly react before he suddenly bent down to grab you by the waist and toss you over his shoulder, “you’re not even gonna ask me to dinner first?!” you must have looked like a fish out of the water with how your mouth was agape with surprise, and you heard him genuinely chuckle in amusement. both from the fact that you didn’t see this coming after all you’ve been saying to him as well as the fact that he could pick you up and throw you around like you weighed nothing.

“well, you didn’t exactly greet me with a ‘hello’ before shamelessly undressing me with your eyes when we first met, now did you?” you couldn’t see if he was smiling or not considering that you were upside-down. the current angle only gave you a close-up view of his perfect ass (not that you were complaining, you need to know his squat routine), unsure if the heat on your face was from the embarrassment of him calling you out or simply from the blood rushing to your head.

“what about me? are you lovebirds really going to leave me all by myself, lonely and yearning for the companionship of another while you two fuck like rabbits?”

“ahh, go fuck yourself.” the grin on his face dissipated the moment he opened his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to ruin his mood as he carried you away to the closest bedroom available, quickly flinging you on the bed without a bother to be careful when handling you since he knew that you could and have taken worse as deadpool’s sidekick. “why are you so nervous? think i don’t want you as much as you want me?”

“wait, actually?” your usually confident facade of the overly forward flirt was faltering more and more by the second.

“you’re so busy ogling my body that you haven’t even noticed the way i look at you, huh?” it’s obvious logan was an absolute beast of a man, but when he cages you with his arms between his bulky frame and the mattress, you feel like a little field mouse against a lion. the way your pupils dilate as you look up at him with adorned excitement has him so fucking feral, heat stirring in his stomach and blood rushing to his cock. he traced over your outfit, admiring how the skin-tight leather hugged your curved. “wearing such a slutty little things that leaves nothing to the imagination, and you expected me not to think about pinning you down and fucking you until you pass out?”

you shivered at his words, arousal pooling in your underwear and warmth spreading throughout your body under your skin. this cheeky son of a bitch can smell it too, the sweet smell of desire, sensing how needy you are for his touch and how your pussy is just begging for his attention. 

as much as he wanted to rip your clothing off and pound into you like there was no tomorrow, he wanted to take his time to properly treasure the cute sidekick who has been reminding him how it feels to be a man again, young and unafraid to pursue the woman of his dreams and treat her right the way that countless of others failed to do. (you’re going to laugh hysterically at him later on down the line when you hear him say that, never thinking you could be the object of anyone’s affection past a one-night stand, but the look in his eyes makes you realize he’s telling the truth and you’ll get all flustered over it.) 

you can taste the alcohol from earlier when he kisses you and moan into it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, all teeth, tongue, and animalistic want. he ran a hand down your torso to reach the zipper of your suit, undoing it in one swift motion, exposing your bare chest to his eager eyes.

“no bra?”

“i don’t need it when the suit— ah!” 

he cut you off, not caring about the intricacies of how the costume supported everything when he would only get distracted, moving his lips to take one of your perk nipples in his mouth and sucking like it was going to give him milk or something while pinching the other one in between his fingers. he’s like a kid on christmas playing with his new toy: palming at your breasts, cupping and squishing them together, and realizing that his large hands could practically cover them entirely.

“fuckk, you’re so pretty, doll,” he drawled, letting go of your teat with a ‘pop’ and kissing your neck before making you gasp by sinking his teeth into your skin. you gasped at the sudden sensation, deep enough to leave a lasting indent but not deep enough to draw blood, as he soothed the fresh wound by licking it with his tongue. everyone was going to know that you were his, especially that motherfucker he knows is listening in on the other side of the door with his cock in his hands.

 “logan…” you rasp, voice barely above a whisper.

“what is it, princess?” it was a nickname he has used plenty of times, yet it felt completely different in such a sexually charged situation, so much more intimate in a way that you feel your heart racing even faster than before and a rush of energy within. 

“need you…” you murmured.

“come on, a little louder, you need to use your words.” 

“fucking hell,” you covered your face with your hands, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burned, “i need you, logan! i’m gonna go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now!”

“hm, is that so?” he had been resting on his side up until now, laying on his back and lifting you up with both hands under your arms. you found yourself sitting pretty in his lap, straddling him, legs on either side of his waist. “why don’t you work for it then? work for what you wanted so badly this entire time?”

you inhaled sharply, looking down at this fine specimen of a mutant under you made of pure muscle and adamantium with a noticeable tent in his pants, a cocky grin gracing his features daring you to continue. only a fool wouldn’t take up his challenge. biting the inside of your mouth, you began to fully strip yourself of all clothing, kicking it off to the side to be forgotten and showing off your beautiful bare body that logan has been dreaming about since the moment he met you. “take your clothes off too,” you huffed, “it’s not fair for me to be the only one naked.”

he hummed in agreement, taking off the upper half of his yellow and blue-detailed suit, revealing his rippling abs and pecs— age has yet to make a dent in his physique, he doesn’t even look real. he’s not going to remove the bottom half though, both because you’re already on top of him and because you still need to “work for it.” 

experimentally, you rolled your hips on his bulge, feeling a twinge of amusement when he visibly had to clench his jaw to prevent a moan from slipping out. he’s just as pent-up as you are, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it right now. you fiddled with the metal of his zipper for a moment before pulling it down, motions fidgety with nerves yet still determined to see this through. 

your eyes widen at the sight of his fully erect cock, noting instantly that he’s bigger than any other guy you’ve been with, yet still feeling your mouth water at the size and the vein trailing its underbelly. “is it even going to fit?” you manage to breathe out, reaching out to run a finger over the leaking tip and hearing him hiss.

“only one way to find out, but i think you can take it.” 

placing your hands on his shoulders for balance, you put his theory to the test and raised your body to sink yourself onto him, whimpering at the pleasurable stretch when you manage to make it past the tip. you’re so fucking soaked from your own thoughts and the few minutes of foreplay earlier that you didn’t even need his fingers to prep you, just using your slick as a form of natural lube and feeling him slip into you inch by inch.

“that’s it, doll, just like that,” he praised, the words going right to your head, really enjoying the show of you struggling to take all of him.

“mmhh, lo—” his name came out in a more whiny voice than expected with your eyes rolling back and nails raking into his skin. your thighs were aching with the constant repetitive motion of working yourself up and down his cock, taking one step back for two steps forward, more than halfway there yet unsure if you could handle it all when you felt so impossibly full already.

“shhh, i know, i know, sweetheart— just take your time, i’m not going anywhere.” his words are so sweet despite being a complete asshole by laying back and letting you do all the hard work, hands behind his head and everything while watching his cock slowly disappearing between your folds.

you look at him through glossy half-lidded eyes, brain turned to absolute mush, not even realizing that you had finally taken him to the base and was comfortably nestled on his cock. it took a few moments to adjust to his girth, breathing heavily with the swelling feeling of satisfaction developing within you. you have barely even started, and yet it was already so much better than anything else— he was so much better than anyone else. 

“you okay?” he waits for you to blink to process his words before nodding slightly, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ before your eyes went wide when he suddenly grabbed your waist and positioned you under him once again. you didn’t notice because you went dumb with dick (to put it bluntly), but he had been restraining himself from flipping you over to be on top or trying to buck his hips into you before you were ready. 

he then started thrusting into you at a relentless pace, your hands flying up to his biceps and clinging on for dear life to find purchase. there was no frame to go with this mattress you were resting on, but you were sure it would be banging against the wall until it broke if it was there. your eyes were screwed shut with your head thrown back into the pillow, letting out pathetic pitched moans along with stutters of his name as the orgasm in your stomach builds.

“aah, lo-logan!”

“don’t worry, i got you,” he lazily circled your clit with his thumb, feeling you clench even more tightly at the action, “just let yourself go, relax— cum for me, doll.”

you cried out as your climax washed over you, gushing all over his cock and the pants of his suit that neither of you bothered to take off earlier. it’s a shame that you ruined his clothing so soon when he just got this costume, but honestly, he likes it a lot better when the yellow is stained with the evidence of how good he made you feel.

the way your walls spasmed around him made him quickly follow suit, shooting ribbons of his seed into you and painting your insides white. perhaps he would have been able to hold on for a bit longer when he was younger, but he can’t find himself caring in the least when you were looking up at him like he was everything right now.

he leaned down to kiss you, slowly pulling out of you, being careful not to rest on top of you and crush you under his weight, generally being uncharacteristically sweet towards you in stark comparison to how he was rocking your world like you were the last two souls on earth just a minute ago.

“so… do you like me?” it was the tone he grew accustomed to when you and wade were teasing him, feeling you wrap your arms around him with a sigh and snuggling into his chest.

“yeah… i like you a lot more than you think…”

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A digital illustration of a scene from episode 25 of The Magnus Protocol featuring Colin, Sam, and Alice. Colin is a thin white man with light brown hair half in a ponytail, with the other half being very short on top. He also has a scruffy beard and mustache and body hair. He is wearing glasses with yellow lenses, a yellow t-shirt, a white button-up, and blue jeans. Sam is a shorter, fat South Asian man with brown skin and short, curly dark hair and a mustache. He is wearing a cream undershirt with a dark brown cardigan, dark red trousers, and brown and gold shoes. Alice is a lanky white trans woman with freckles, shaggy brown hair, and piercings. She is wearing a pink flannel, patchwork flannel skirt, bracelets, and pink cat-eye glasses and nail polish. The entire image is tilted and lit with dark red shadows and pale blue highlights.

The image is from the POV of a computer. A desk with a keyboard mouse, and OIAR mousepad are visible in the foreground. Colin stands with a sledgehammer held over his head ready to swing, tears flying out of his eyes as he stares at the viewer with fury. Sam is attempting to tackle him, shoving himself into Colin's torso. Alice is sitting at the desk, leaning out of the way and holding a hand out as if to keep Colin back, her other arm over the desk, having knocked the computer mouse into the air. She looks like she's yelling out at him. end ID]

~~~~

hi <3 i want to draw this scene one billion times <3 so i went a lil crazy with this one <3

also closeups

[ID: Closeups of the above image. The first image is of Colin and Sam, the second is of Alice. end ID]

[allurilove]

Yan! Prince x Siren you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: Gore, murder, death, cannibalism?, physical violence, non-consensual touching, implied sexual exploitation, fem reader, and decapitation.

*This is just a fun short story I wrote for the class I am taking, and I just decided to upload it here! Some parts are influenced by the yandere fic I already made lol! This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: All you have known is peace, all until you get captured by a group of men that unlocks a different side to you. You then meet a prince, a prince driven with a bloodlust for power, and he gives you a proposition.

Men. All they do is bother you.

Your heart beats fast.

Your vision blurs as the familiar blues turn into browns, and your eyes fixate on the woodwork and rustic charm of what is considered to be a ship. The rope burns onto your skin, and your body contorts into an unnatural state as she is hoisted onto the boat.

Your tail thrashes and you try to bite your way out of the trap—teeth gnashing and chewing—and you cry out as youre is hit with a paddle. Your head starts to ring, and your eyes widen as you see the group of men in front of you.

Their garments are quite different from yours; in fact, they are fully dressed from head to toe. Their clothes are all dark, and their blouses have ruffles at the top. They wear boots, have swords at their sides, trench coats, and carry a heavy musk of sweat and battle.

With a sharp and intimidating blade, one of the men cuts through the net. Multiple hands grab for you, and your world comes to a pause as you panic. You feel like you can't breathe and your lungs are about to collapse. You scratch and attempt to plead with your captors, your nails digging into their forearms, drawing long red streaks.

But they do not listen.

“Mighty thang we got ‘ere!” one of the men says, his hair darkened by the rain peltering their bodies. He has a rough scar running down his face– a deep incision that caused his skin to never heal.

You can see a prominent and yellow snaggletooth whenever he speaks. He has an air of authority surrounding him, and his hat has gold embellishments compared to the regular silver everyone else has. That one particular man holds a predatory gaze, his eyes set ablaze with a whirlwind of mischief. “Tie her up, we could use a beaut like her on top of the mantle.” 

Laughter fills your ears as the group of men start to agree, and you feel a chill run down your spine as they touch your smooth cheek, their fingers trailing down to your jawline, and moving lower to your collarbones.

Each touch feels intrusive as they pet your silk-like hair condescendingly. “We could send her to the owner at The Pearl of the Eye; I know they are lookin’ for new girls to show off,” another says, his arms crossed as he leaned against the post.

“Aye, tha’ a popular place.” The man with the highest regard starts to pet his scruffy beard in thought. He then catches your withering glare, and a flash of amusement crosses his face. “Feisty one, aren’t ya? I know men who would pay a pretty coin for that temperament.”

“Keep it up, trollop.” he snickers, his finger moving to boop your nose. “You’ll make me thousands of gold in no time.”

Your pupils turn to slits as you bite down onto the man's finger, a metallic taste bursting into your mouth, satisfaction lingering on your tongue. His blood becomes sweet nectar, and with renewed strength and clarity, you unhinge your jaw and attempt to swallow the human whole.

Your hunger becomes endless, and a gnawing angry feeling grows into an insatiable appetite for flesh. For skin to be peeled off meat. For meat to be taken from bone, and their vocal chords to be a part of yours. Your body adjusts to the change, your throat expanding to the men’s silhouette as they traveled down your gullet. Their screams were words of encouragement, egging you to continue.

Humans, and men in particular, tasted different from the fish you were used to. They were heavier, harrier, bloodier, and infested with nasty ambition of lust and pride. You revel in the taste of their guilt, their fear, and the past memories of their wickedness. 

No matter how hard the group of men tried to band up and defeat the siren, their swords were no match for your unwavering hatred. You waste zero time to snap multiple necks, your teeth digging into any area that you could rip into shreds, and your stomach becomes full off of their disgustingly filthy urine soaked bodies.

One last man is standing, his eyes wide as saucers and his tears roll down his pale cheeks. He looks young and his uniform doesn't fit him properly. Your nails help your body to crawl towards the shaking figure, he can't even defend himself, and the weapon in his hand shakes. The wind continues to whip around them, the clouds darken as a loud cry comes from the sky, and an array of purple and dark blue strikes down on the earth. The boy yelps when you have an iron grip on his ankle. 

Unbeknownst to the siren, a smaller vessel has pulled up to the larger ship.

“I wouldn't touch him, if I were you.” The voice is cutthroat, a harsh demand that sends chills down the spine of the scariest and deadliest creature. You wince as you feel a sharp pain on your scalp, and your hair is now wrapped around a stranger's hand as they yank you back. You crash into a barrel filled with treasures as you are thrown across the ship, and a bunch of diamonds and pearls spill onto the floor. 

A tall and proud man stands in front of you, he has pitch black hair that flows in the wind, and his blue eyes shine like bright lights. The unknown man's presence is regal-like, his back straight like an arrow, and his face is trained with unusual niceties. Then the little boy ran into his embrace, and his arms wrapped around him tightly… all before the man pulls out a dagger from his sheath.

Without a single thought, a clean cut to the throat separated the head from the body, and the man’s lips stretched into a wide eerie smile. He isn't phased by the limp body falling to his feet and the blood spilling onto his perfect shoes.

“You… you are exactly what I need.” The man’s eyes are glued to yours and he stares down at you. “My name is Prince....” 

The prince that stands before you is practically last in line for the throne. That is what you could surmise from his little rant. He is sadly and disappointingly the second youngest, and he isn't close to the crown and title, at all.

He paced around, one hand on his heart, and the other continued to grip onto the hair of the decapitated head. “I need to be king. I am the only one fit to rule the land. It is like the gods have forsaken me, and they decided to punish me for no apparent reason.”  

The man huffs, his eyes narrowing. The waves crash against the sides of the boat, but he stands his ground. “Six siblings ahead of me, and one measly brother behind me– does that seem fair to you? That this kingdom will fall into the hands of dumb and dumber, and eventually to the offspring of the said dumb and dumber?!” His voice is so loud it even rivals the onslaught of thunder, and you can hear a hint of distraught on his otherwise clear and steady tone.

“This is where you come in.” He stops right in front of you. “I can keep you fed, and I can give you all the riches you could ever want. Marry me, carry my children and lineage, and get rid of all of my siblings.” The prince throws the head at your tail, and with a tilt of the ship, it slowly rolls towards you.

The boy's jaw is slack, a tooth chipped from the impact of the fall, and his blue eyes are wide open in fear. He has similar tiny freckles around his nose like the prince, the same facial structure with the high cheekbones, and a tall nose.  

“Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” 

[nopaintjustpain]

An illustration of Jon’s… progression throughout the series :3

I’m so obsessed with this podcast. Sobbing screaming frowing up, I love him Jonathan ‘Jon’ Sims AKA The Archivist SO. MUCH.

CLOSEUPS!!! AND HEADCANONS!!!

Maybe I’m being unrealistic & OOC but I think back when he was a normal (semi-)functioning person, he was sort of quiet and stylish in an effeminate Corp Goth way. Like dressing up his old punk style from his uni days.

He stops taking as much care of himself as the paranoia takes hold, & the self-consciousness of his scars reduces his confidence in his appearance. The stress starts to age him more & more. He doesn’t like jewelry that dangles after the worm incident, so he goes w/ simple, easy-to-wear jewelry.

(The green cat eye studs were a surprisingly considerate gift from Elias, to congratulate him on his promotion. They’re comfortable gold flat-backs, so he just puts them in one day when he’s in a rush to get out the door & never changes them out. It gives Elias a convenient means to spy on his little Archivist 👀)

Season 3 is self-explanatory. His upper cartilage earring and his nose ring get ripped out while he’s tussling with various avatars. He spends enough time being hunted like an animal that self-care frankly doesn’t occur to him. Scruffy scruffy wet cat of a man.

Season 4, well… no one bothered cutting his hair during the coma. Martin told him once while he was comatose that he likes it long, & even though Jon doesn’t remember, he refuses to cut it all the same. He would Know what Martin had said if it occurred to him, but it never does. He just never thinks about why he likes his hair long now even though he never did before.

He dresses more comfortably than stylishly now, in too much constant but minor sensory overload to bother with blazers or turtlenecks or slacks.

The hospital staff removed his piercings while he was comatose. Most healed over. Only his lobes stayed open enough to put jewelry in. Elias recovered the cat eye studs he gave Jon and re-gifted them back to him after he woke up from the coma. Jon feels like he should throw them away, but they’ve been with him through so much. So few of his possessions survived after he lost his place in S3 and then again in S4. He’s basically lost everything, and it’s not like the jewelry are symbolically evil just because Elias happened to give them to him. They’re just objects. He’s allowed to be emotionally attached to them. …Right?

Hehehe ANYWAY. I have plans to draw a full spooky portrait of Season 5 Jon. So much to draw, so little time!!

[dooberific]

❝ 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘴 ❞

lighter lorenz x afab!reader

genre: slice of life

summary: your most consistent “customer” always ends up crawling back to you

wc: 2k

“I should charge you extra for this, Lorenz,” you drawled, popping the screen door open with your hip as you walked back out onto the porch, a pair of scissors twirling on your finger. With practiced ease you snapped them into your hand, pointing the sharp tip in his direction.

“I don’t take well to traitors.”

You could see his eyebrows raise behind his sunglasses, a low whistle passing his lips.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time, boss.”

“You better, I’m not one to give chances freely.” You teased before nodding your head towards the steps of your porch.

“Now take a seat, scruffy, we’ll see if we can’t make a Champion out of you yet.”

You grinned as he plopped dutifully down on your porch steps, long legs stretching out comfortably as he leaned back on his elbows. His head lolled back in your direction, vibrant shades of teal green twinkling over the gold rim of his glasses as he grinned in the same boyish, lopsided fashion you had grown to expect of him.

“That’s a big claim to make, saying you can make someone a champion with a pair of scissors.”

Your eyes rolled as you sat criss crossed behind him, plucking the sunglasses off his face before sliding them onto your head, watching the sharp recoil of his features when the burning orange glow of the setting sun assaulted his uncovered eyes. You pinched his bangs between your fingers, spreading the strands between the pads of your thumb and index before allowing them to feather back against his forehead.

“Well it’s certainly easier to win when you can actually see.”

He righted his head with a conceding sigh. “You’ve got me there.”

Your hands carded through his hair, thick waves of dark green-teal sliding between your fingers. It made you a bit angry that he had achieved an envious degree of volume and softness that a woman would kill for knowing that he was probably still using some 14-in-1 product that could strip grease off a floor, wash dishes, and his hair with the same bottle. Perhaps it was your sign that genetics could flourish under any circumstances, and that Lighter was simply god’s favorite delinquent.

“A barber with a waitlist, huh?” You mused, drawing a strand of his hair taunt between two fingers. The scissor blades shined like gold in the dying light, severing any split ends as you trimmed a few millimeters off.

“The city sure is a unique place.”

He hummed. “It’s not all bad, I guess.”

Part of you was inclined to disagree with him. You weren’t particularly fond of the city in any regard except for the variety in products offered. It was too noisy, too busy, too much stress over even the simplest of things.

It was a far cry from where you sat now, the evening sun warming your skin as the desert air of the Outer Ring carried the dry scents of sage and willow to your lungs, the landscape doused in a golden glow that stained the earthy reds of the stone in vibrant hues. The whistles of distant warblers and the rumble of engines zipping down the highways, the rustling of the tumbleweeds rolling over the packed earth, the gentle snipping of the scissors in your hands as stray hairs broke loose under the sharpened blades.

A melody of a deserted land that seemed so foreign and rogue to most evoked nothing but an easy sense of homely comfort. One that bathed the simplicity of your task in a halo of nostalgia, the texture of the porch under your legs, your chipped nail polish undercut with rich hues of raven green, the comfortable silence that filled the air reserved for close relationships.

Your nails tickled, featherlight touches brushing over the shell of his ear. He shuddered, goosebumps rising harshly on his skin under his jacket.

You dusted the stray hairs off his shoulders as you stood with a small groan, the grooves of the porch tattooing your legs with the texture of the worn wood. “Alright, I’m done.”

You pocketed your scissors, jerking a thumb towards the screen door. “Come in and wash up, can’t have you itching on the ride home.”

You held the door, propped against it as you watched him shed his jacket, shamelessly enjoying the tight planes of his muscles shifting under his t-shirt as he tossed his jacket over the porch rail, chased by the vibrant red of his scarf.

“You should be careful making offers like that,” He said as he sauntered past you, plucking his glasses off the top of your head. “You never know what kind of unsavory folks could wander out of the desert.”

You raised a brow in playful disbelief. “Maybe you should be careful accepting invitations to shower at strange women’s houses,” you countered as the door slammed loudly in its casing, though if it was the sound or the sharp way your hand connected with his ass that made him jump you weren’t fully sure.

You shot him a wink as he whipped around. “You never know what kind of unsavory things they could want in exchange~”

To say you enjoyed any chance to tease the legendary red scarf of the Sons of Calydon would be a massive understatement. It had always been that way, even from the first time Big Daddy showed up on your doorstep with him and asked you to whip him into shape.

He was thinner, hair shaggy and skin littered in bruises that stained it shades of red, purple and yellow. He didn’t talk at all then, shoulders hunched forward as you trimmed away months of disrepair, gave him a proper shave and shower and sent him off after a warm meal. It was purely transactional if not somewhat born from the pity that stirred in your gut at the hollow, glazed look in his eyes that lingered for months on end.

He would come back every few months for the same thing until his head stood a little taller, shoulders prouder, a healthy tan kissing his skin alongside the occasional bump or bruise brought on by one of his scrapes as new champion for the Sons of Calydon.

Conversation flowed a little more freely and lightly, the atmosphere of your simple home a backdrop for peaceful evenings even when your scissors weren’t needed, one of warm blankets draped over your bare legs as you sat on the porch swing, hot tea warming a ceramic glass between your chilled fingers as the cries of coyotes mingled with the deep purple sky, nothing but the stars as their witness.

Lighter still dutifully sat on the top step, boots thumping against the wood in tune with the crackle of the radio that whispered in from your kitchen where you left it running. You’d tease him about the girls in Blazewood or whatever pretty little number you had witnessed walk up to him on the street until his ears would stain with a hearty red flush, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he refuted your words and attempted to redirect the conversation.

If he really hated the teasing talks as much as he claimed you were confident he wouldn’t keep showing up with a case of Nitrofuel asking if you were free for the evening.

You placed a couple bowls on the table, the heat off the contents curling pleasantly under the yellowed bulb of the dining room light as you heard the shower shut off.

“Feeling like a new man yet?” You called through the door as you dropped some silverware in the bowls.

“It’s hard to beat a fresh cut.” He replied as the door to the bathroom swung open, his hair falling limply over his forehead still damp from the shower. Give it another few minutes to air dry and it would surely begin to curl and bounce back to life.

“I’d like to see one of those fancy city barbers have better customer service!” You stated matter of factly, waltzing up to lean on the doorframe, the light dancing over the apples of your cheeks as the floral scent of your Carlishe shampoo met your nose. The girls would give him a fit over it later to be sure.

He’s smiling at your small talk, a hand rubbing the line of his jaw thoughtfully as he squinted at his reflection in the mirror.

“You still keep those extra razors?”

You snorted. “Of course, how else can I service all the scruffy vagrants that wander through my door?”

You vanished from the doorway for a moment, and he could hear your feet thumping across the hardwood floor as you came and went, your face mischievous as you shouldered into the little bathroom with him and hopped up on the sink counter.

You brandished the single bladed razor with smug pride, a finger rising to crook in his direction as your lips curled invitingly. “Come here, Mr. Lorenz, and let me finish you off in a proper fashion.”

He was like putty in your hands and he stepped closer, hands braced on the sink at your side as your own hand came up to trace the curve of his jaw. It felt like old times, you mused to yourself, painting a thin layer of shaving cream against his skin. You used to do it all the time, though it was a bit more challenging when his skin was tender from the bruises that blossomed beneath the surface.

He didn’t hold eye contact with you then like he does now, vibrant hues of green smoldering under thick lashes trained on the curve of your lips, the delicate way your teeth teased the lower in concentration as you glided the blade across his skin with a skilled hand.

The scent of the spice in the shaving cream tickling your nose as it mingled with the florals of the shampoo, his breath warm as it fanned over your cheeks.

“If you keep staring like that,” you tapped the razor off in the sink, running the blade under the water as you turned back and met his gaze head on.

“I might think you like me a little more than just as your barber.”

“And what if I said I did?”

It came out in a breath, and you weren’t sure for a moment if it was accidental or intentional, some form of truth rolling in seas of green that you would never claim to be able to read. You stared at him for a long, silent moment, a challenge brewing on the tip of your tongue.

“You won’t.”

It was flat and to-the-point, a truth spoon fed by force down his throat like a bitter medicine to an unruly child. You placed the razor neatly on the side of the sink.

“You’re not brazen enough to jump into something without hesitation,” you elaborated, a hand rising to brush loose hairs behind your ear as you met his gaze once more. “And I think you value me too much as a friend to act carelessly.”

He huffed, fingers tapping on the countertop. “You say that like you’re confident that you know me or something.”

Your shoulders shrugged. “Not like you’ve been much of a stranger in the past.”

He couldn’t challenge you there if he tried, his very presence in your home right now a glaring reminder that the two of you had never been fully unfamiliar, always toeing some invisible line between friends and something a little past that. Maybe it did give him pause to think of upsetting the delicate balance of the game you seemed perpetually locked in.

You slipped off the counter, sliding past him without a word. You were like sand filtering between his fingers, there one moment and gone just as quickly if his grip relinquished even for a moment.

“I don’t mind waiting, I consider myself a rather patient person.” You spoke, your back turned to him as you plucked one of the bowls off the table. You spooned a helping into your mouth, humming thoughtfully as you turned, waggling your empty utensil at him.

“Jus’ be a good boy and don’t go cheating on me with another barber in the meantime.”

His grin was as crooked as ever.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Rey 2025

[wolfsclothing6]

"Critical Change"

(If you guys have good pictures for the tf send them in and I'll pit them in and tag whos in them :p)

Matt was the kind of guy who didn’t get caught up in nerdy stuff. Tall, lean, and more focused on hitting the gym than hitting the books, he barely knew the difference between Dungeons & Dragons and Call of Duty. So, when his friend dragged him into a local gaming shop, he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Come on, man,” his buddy Ryan said, pulling him toward a shelf stacked with game books, dice, and all sorts of nerdy shit. “I just need to grab a couple of things for the campaign this weekend.”

Matt sighed, glancing around the store at the rows of miniatures and colorful dice sets. His eyes landed on a display of D20s, sparkling under the fluorescent lights. He picked one up, an oversized, red die with gold numbers etched on it.

“Dude, what do you even do with this junk?” Matt asked, holding the die up to Ryan, who chuckled.

“You roll them. It’s like the cornerstone of every game. You know, a D20 is supposed to decide your fate.”

Matt snorted. “Yeah, sure. It’s just a die.”

He rolled it casually on the counter, watching as it landed on a natural 20. Ryan whistled. “That’s some serious luck, man. Too bad you’re not into this stuff.”

Matt shrugged and slipped the D20 into his pocket, figuring he’d keep it as a joke or maybe even toss it on his desk at home. As he followed Ryan around the shop, something strange began to stir in the back of his mind, but he brushed it off.

On the way out, he spotted a cheesy graphic tee hanging by the door—bright red with pixelated lettering that read “Roll for Initiative!” He scoffed, but for some reason, his hand reached out to touch the fabric.

“Classic nerd shirt,” he muttered to himself, but the moment his fingers brushed the cotton, a weird tingle ran up his arm. He shook it off and left the store with Ryan, unaware of the subtle changes already starting.

That night, Matt was sprawled out on his couch, scrolling through his phone when he absentmindedly reached into his pocket and pulled out the red D20. He rolled it on the coffee table again, watching it spin before landing on another 20.

“Lucky again,” he muttered, but something felt… off. His skin felt itchy, especially around his arms and chest. He rubbed at it, realizing with mild alarm that there was more hair there than he remembered. Shrugging it off as stress or a weird hormonal thing, Matt got up to check his fridge.

He grabbed a soda, but when he popped it open, the taste was all wrong. It wasn’t refreshing like usual—he craved something sweeter, heavier. He dug around in the back of his fridge and found a bottle of cheap, sugary cola he didn’t even remember buying. Before he could think about it, he downed half of it in one gulp, the sweetness spreading through him like fire.

“Man, I never drink this crap,” Matt muttered, but he kept chugging.

Later, as he sat back down, he felt heavier somehow—like his body was softer. His T-shirt felt a little snug, especially around his stomach. Frowning, Matt lifted the hem and blinked in surprise. His once-flat stomach was pushing out slightly, not huge but noticeable. His abs were disappearing under a small layer of fat.

“Must’ve been all that junk food last week,” he rationalized, but even as he said it, the memory felt… hazy. Had he been snacking more recently? He shook his head, dismissing the thought.

Over the next few days, the changes came faster. His once short, neat hair grew thicker and redder, especially around his beard. He wasn’t sure when the red streaks had started, but they were quickly overtaking his natural color. His face, too, was rounding out, his jawline softening beneath the scruffy beard that seemed to sprout overnight.

Matt’s clothes became tighter and tighter until he gave in and ordered a bunch of new shirts online. Oddly, he didn’t think twice about ordering them in a size two steps up from his usual. The designs were also different—nothing he’d normally wear. Instead of basic tees, they were all gamer crap, covered in pixel art and cheesy phrases like “Don’t hate the player, hate the game” or “Game Over!”

And it wasn’t just his clothes. His room was changing too, in subtle but strange ways. His sleek, minimalist desk was now cluttered with gaming consoles, controllers, and random dice. Posters of popular video game characters lined the walls, replacing the clean artwork he swore had been there before.

Matt was spending more and more time gaming, sinking into his chair with bags of chips and soda cans piling up around him. His body continued to change, his belly growing softer and rounder, love handles creeping in as he slouched deeper in his chair. His arms and chest were now covered in a thick pelt of red hair, matching the wild beard that framed his round face.

But the strangest part was how right it all felt. Every time Matt glanced at his reflection, he recognized the changes, but they didn’t bother him like they should. His old memories of being a fit gym bro started to fade, replaced with scenes of long gaming marathons, late-night pizza runs, and chatting with his online guild.

One evening, as Matt settled into his gaming chair with a satisfied grunt, he picked up the D20 again. He rolled it, and this time, it landed on a natural 1. He laughed—deep, hearty, and full of life. His once-lean body was now heavy and comfortable, his stomach stretching the fabric of his favorite shirt, the “Roll for Initiative!” graphic snug against his gut.

Matt couldn’t even remember the last time he’d set foot in a gym. Why would he? He had all the entertainment he needed right here, in his gaming setup. His friends were waiting for him to join the next campaign online, and he had a stash of snacks to last him the night.

As the game booted up, Matt adjusted himself in his chair, his thick thighs spreading wide, the sound of fabric shifting over hairy skin filling the room. His old life was gone—forgotten in the haze of dice rolls and endless gaming sessions. He wasn’t the old Matt anymore.

(@chubbycarebear for the pictures)

[venusmage]

“The tadpole seizes behind your eyes. An old memory of yours, forgotten in the passage of time and skepticism of adulthood. Your vision is eclipsed by the image of a young boy. Drops of gold hang from his hair, his smile seeming to command the sun despite being shrouded in shadow. Wyll’s feelings meld with your own. You look down at yourself - scruffy and covered in dirt - but the boy holds nothing but excitement in his heart. He’s found today’s newest friend.”

Currently losing it at the idea of urchin!Tav meeting Wyll when they were kids…

[ruh--roh-raggy]

Home Sweet Home (William Afton x Wife! Reader) - Pt. 1

Hello hello! So, I'm fully insane about this man rn. I can't help it. The brain rot has taken over my life and here we are lol. I wanted to write something that really focuses on the domestic fluff side of Reader's life with William, of course there will be some smut thrown in there too because I simply can't help myself 😂😂 Reader and William have just bought their first house together. This story follows their week long escapade of unpacking, making their home perfect, and going down memory lane. Lots of super cute stuff, chapters containing smut will be updated with proper warnings. If you enjoy this story and would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know!

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MDNI, 18+ CONTENT AHEAD, smut marked with divider, age gap (reader in 30's William in 40's/50's), some swearing, face sitting, cockwarming, size kink, a singular (1) spank to readers ass, slightly dom! William, praise, Will just wants to give his wife some tender TLC after a long day of lugging boxes around (if I missed any please let me know!

You can find my Masterlist here!

Word Count: 3,538

Part 2

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“I want to paint the living room green, I think it would look nice with our couch.” William drove down the road, a soft smile on his face as he listened to you ramble on about all of your plans for their new house. Business at the pizzeria had skyrocketed, which meant that he could finally give his pretty little wife the front porch, white picket fence house of her dreams. You should be pulling in about a half hour before the moving truck is scheduled to arrive, allowing the two of you time to empty out his trunk. You stood at his side with a giddy smile on your face, William thumbing through his key ring to find the new shiny gold addition to his collection. He slides the key into the lock, chuckling at your excited squeals as he pushes the door open. He grabs you by the wrist, stopping you from running inside ahead of him.

“Isn’t there some old wives tale about carrying your wife over the threshold of a house?” He mumbles out the vague details he could remember. You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck with a giggle.

“It’s for good luck. Why? Do you want to carry me inside?” You smile coyly up at him.

“Well I’m not going to be the one bringing bad luck into our house.” He proclaims proudly, jabbing a finger into his chest. You let out a shriek as he scoops you up in his strong arms. You press a kiss to his scruffy cheek as you pass through the door. “Well, Mrs. Afton, welcome home.” He smiles down at you.

You spun around the empty living room floor, broom in hand as you did a quick sweep before the furniture got brought in. “Oh, Will, I'm so happy. Our own house.” You beam up at him. Your husband breathes out a chuckle, sweeping you up in his arms as he places a kiss to your forehead. Both of your attention was drawn to the windows as the moving truck rumbled into the driveway.

“Don't lift anything too heavy.” He orders with a firm point of his finger. “I hired movers so you don't have to struggle, if I see you doing too much you're going to be in big trouble later bunny.” You roll your eyes, wrapping your arms around him as you place a kiss to his chest.

“I promise I won't work too hard.” You fidget with the hem of his shirt. “I just want everything to be perfect.” You sigh with a slight shrug of your shoulders.

“I promise it will be, we have the whole week to get everything exactly how you want it.” He smiles, his thumb rubbing languidly across your waist. You excitedly threw open the front door, directing the movers inside before clamoring out to the truck yourself. William trailed after you, keeping a close eye on your excited figure. Your husband loved how passionate you were about everything you did, but you also had a tendency to overwork yourself. He sighs as he sees you struggling with a box, gently taking it from your hands and propping it against his hip. He glances around the trailer. “Here.” He nudges a box with his foot, one he had made a subtle marking on to signify it was one he packed light enough for you to easily carry. “Take that one, we’ll go put these in the bedroom.” He hops down from the back of the truck, taking your box from you and wrapping his hands around your waist to lower you safely to the ground. You practically skipped up the porch steps, scooting past the movers as you raced up to the master bedroom. Your mattress sat in the middle of the room. The white, sheetless bed was a stark contrast to the nearly black hardwood.

“We’ll need to go get a bed frame.” You sigh, setting down the box before collapsing on the mattress. William groans as he lays down by your side.

“I’m sure we’re going to have to get a lot of things.” He chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to him. “We’ll take care of everything, doll, don’t worry.” You spent the rest of the afternoon sliding furniture around downstairs while the movers brought in the rest of the boxes. The sun had already set by the time everything was brought in. You collapsed onto the couch with a tired groan, finally kicking your shoes off as you sank into the worn leather of the cushions. William sits beside you, lifting your feet only to drop them back in his lap. You let out a pleased hum as you feel his strong hands knead into your aching muscles. “Day one is officially over.” The two of you exchange a sleepy high five. A soft smile spreads across your lips as you take a moment to look at your husband. His gold, wire framed aviators sitting low on his nose, his large calloused hands massaging your feet with the utmost care and delicacy. You were William’s entire world.

“Honey,” he perks up at your soft voice, calling out to him, “how about I throw something together for dinner so we can get to bed.”

“I don’t think we have any groceries bunny.” He rebuttals with a chuckle. “Are you up for a drive? We could go pick up some pizza.”

“But it’s so cold.” You pout.

“I’ll go grab you one of my coats, sweet girl.” He cups your cheek, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he passes by you. You let out a soft hum as you buried your face into the soft fabric of your husband's coat, the comforting smell of his spicy, musky cologne, machine oil, and cigarettes filling your nose. He had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, allowing you to cuddle into his side as he drove up twisting back roads. The radio crackled softly, whatever song was playing was barely audible over the car's loud blower. You rested your hand on his thigh, William glancing down quickly, the sight of your wedding ring glinting in the soft light bringing a smile to his lips. He loved the fact that you were all his, his pretty wife, his little bunny. He loved how sweet and delicate you were. He had been hardened by years of working in his workshop and other strenuous jobs he had throughout his life, he barely registered this evening was brisk let alone cold. But he definitely wouldn't complain about you cuddling into his side for warmth, how your cheeks and the tip of your nose dusted pink from the chilly night air, how your fingers trembled as you tucked them under his thigh. He shuddered softly as you pressed your lips to his neck, the buzzing, yellow light from the pizza shop's sign illuminating the cab as you and your husband exchanged a look filled with need.

“Hurry back.” You shoot him a coy smile as he stumbles from the car.

The smell of warm crust and greasy pepperoni filled the car, the pizza nicely heating your lap. William’s arm draped over your shoulder, you allowed the rumbling car ride to rock you into his side. Your eyelids grow heavy as you try to keep yourself awake, a sleepy smile crawling across your features as you pull into the driveway. You sighed as you looked around at the mess of moving boxes, your dining table tucked away into a corner that would be too much work to get to. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch doll, I’ll be right back.” William’s hand quickly slips into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze as he passes by. You flop back into the cushions, letting the pizza box rest next to you. Even with the short amount of time you’ve spent in the house you could tell how different it was from your old apartment. You and William had moved to the middle of the woods in Hurricane, your nearest neighbor at least ten minutes down the road. There were no sounds of your neighbors talking quietly through the walls, no footsteps of the dog that lived upstairs. The house was completely silent, outside completely pitch black. You jumped as William’s feet started to thud down the stairs. He pushes into the living room with a groan, dragging your mattress behind him. He drops the bed in the middle of the floor with a dull thump, twisting side to side in order to stretch out his back. “I’ll go grab some pillows and blankets.” He smiles at you.

“It’s just like our honeymoon.” You laugh as he pulls you up from the couch. He tilts your chin up with his finger, capturing your lips with his.

“Oh, trust me,” he starts in a sultry tone, “I wish I could spend this entire week in bed with you.” You dropped down onto the mattress, a soft sigh falling from your lips as he massages your shoulders. You smile at him as you watch him disappear upstairs, returning a few minutes later with a box full of your bedding and some pillows. Deciding you weren’t up for the challenge you left the sheets in the box. You piled your comforter and a few throw blankets onto the bed, you crawled in before your husband joined you with the pizza. You two sit side by side, your head falling to rest against his shoulder.

“It’s no Freddy’s.” You grumble at your lackluster pizza. William chuckles in response to your pouting.

“How about we swing by and see Henry tomorrow, I’m sure I can sneak you a piece.” He winks with a lopsided grin.

“That sounds perfect.” The two of you chat quietly as you eat your dinner. Your new house feels too big for just the two of you. You laid on your back, staring at the exposed wood ceiling, you blinked a few times to adjust to the all consuming darkness after William had turned off the light. You felt the blankets shift as he crawled into bed next to you. His silhouette outlined by the soft, pale light of the moon that streamed through the window.

“We should get a dog.” He suddenly whispers, making you giggle. “I don’t want you to get scared all by yourself.” He teases.

“Maybe that’ll get you out of that workshop earlier.” He playfully rolls his eyes as he wraps an arm around your waist.

“You know, there’s nothing stopping you from coming to visit me.” He argues with a slight shrug.

“Except that everytime I do I end up sprawled naked on your workbench.” You smirk at him, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the soft material of his tshirt.

“Occupational hazard.” He responds quickly. You both laugh as you cuddle into his chest. He cards his fingers through your hair, his lingering gaze studying your features. “You’re so beautiful, bunny.” Your eyes flutter shut as his lips brush over yours.

His hand paws at your thigh, dragging your leg over his waist as he crushes you against him. You cup his face, deepening the kiss, his beard tickling your palm as you melt into him. Your legs lock around his waist as he rolls on top of you. His large, calloused hands wrap around your sides, pushing your hoodie up and over your head in one swift motion before his lips connect with yours again. You shivered slightly as the cold night air hit your naked body. He practically purrs at the sight of you, his lips hovering over your neck. Your fingers slid into his hair, a small squeal escaping your lips as he bit down hard on your sensitive skin. You bite your lip, letting out a soft hum as he pushes his hips into you, his already growing bulge noticeable through your thin shorts. “You couldn’t keep your eyes off me today, could you rabbit?” He smirks against your skin. You practically drooled over the sight earlier. William had a box resting on each shoulder, his skin glowing with a thin sheen of sweat. He paused as he caught sight of you leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest as your eyes raked over him. He smirked, knowing that playful glint in your eye. He smiled as he noticed your cheeks reddening from your position laying below him. He hooks his fingers into the band of your shorts, placing featherlike kisses down your stomach as he eases them down your legs. You moan softly as you feel him nip at the skin of the inside of your thighs. Your back arches off the bed as he brushes his thumb over your sensitive clit, a broken moan leaving your lips. With how busy you had both been due to the move it had been a while since the two of you had been intimate. Your skin was already on fire from the small touch alone, William smirked as he watched your reaction closely. Your hands fisted in the blankets as he tossed your legs over his shoulders, his hot breath bouncing off your already soaked core. His arms slip around your hips, holding you firmly in place as he dove into hungrily lap at your folds. You moan out his name, already attempting to squirm away from his assault. He growls, dragging you closer to him. His fingers dig into your thighs with a bruising force, sure to leave marks behind. Your fingers tangle in his hair as his tongue swirls around your clit through your lace panties. He ate you out like a man starved, your soft gasps and quiet moans echoing in the empty room. You whined, tugging on his hair. “What’s the matter bunny?” He pushes your panties out of the way with his fingers, his skin growing slick with your arousal.

“I need you.” You whined, looking down at him with pleading, teary eyes. William gives in immediately with a soft chuckle, never one to deny you what you wanted. He tugs down your panties, placing soft kisses to your legs as he removes your final article of clothing at an agonizingly slow pace. He slides an arm under your back, pulling you on top of him as he collapses into the mattress. Your hands landed on either side of his head as you lost your balance, you blushed as you realized you were sitting on his broad, strong chest. He brushes your hair behind your ear before both of his hands wrap around your thighs.

“Come sit, bunny.” He coos, your face burning at his casual command. William absolutely loved whenever you sat on his face. However, he was well aware he would have to warm you up to the idea whenever he suggested it. You were always worried you were too heavy, you hadn't shaved, or you hadn't showered, and your husband always reassured you that none of those things were going to pose any problems for him. His beard tickled the inside of your thighs as you hovered over his eager mouth. His hands squeezed at your hips, groaning as your soft skin squished between his fingers. You cry out as he pushes you down onto him, his tongue lapping at your clit before he shoves his way in between your folds.

“Oh, fuck! Will!” You moan, your hips moving on their own. You let out a soft sob everytime his nose bumps against your clit. He growls, pressing hard into your hips as you try to wiggle away, his assault on your already sensitive cunt threatening to push you over the edge mere minutes after he starts. “Baby, it's too much.” Your voice shook as you tried to plead with him, years slipping from your damp eyes onto your cheeks as the coil of pleasure in your core wound tighter. William’s eyes were hazy as they met yours, his face smothered in your thighs as he greedily sucked your clit into his mouth. You tug his hair, making you groan against him. “I'm gonna cum.” It was all too much for you to handle, your body losing its rhythm as your climax threatened to rip through you. William let out an affirmative hum below you, knowing you were close by the slowing of your movements. He decides it's time for him to take over, determined to make you cum on his tongue. His fingers dig into the curve of your ass as he gradually increases the pace of your hips. You yelped as one of his hands suddenly connects with your skin, the mixture of pleasure and slight pain causing your soaked cunt to throb. Broken moans and whines rumbled effortlessly from your mouth, the fine tuned roaming of his hands paired with his expert tongue knowing just how you wanted to be touched to fall apart in his hands. William never got tired of making you finish. The way you would fall absolutely silent and still for a moment, mouth hanging open as no sound dared escape, your body taking time to catch up to the immense pleasure you were feeling. Now was no different. William felt his cock twitch at the sight of your eyes rolling back in your head, that brief moment of absolute silence making his ears ring before you screamed his name. He forced your hips to keep moving, never allowing your pace to slow as he felt your thighs shaking against his cheeks. You practically collapsed as he finally pulled his mouth off of you, a firm hand on your lower back keeping you upright as you shakily moved yourself back onto his chest. William reaches up to caress your cheek, wiping away tears that streaked down your skin. Your eyes felt heavy, you struggled to keep them open and on your husband as you came down from your high.

“Do you want to lay down?” He asks in a soft tone. You nod, collapsing into the mattress with a happy sigh. You hear the soft shuffling of William getting undressed before he gets under the blankets with a groan. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he moved closer, his fingers ghosting over your waist before your pulled back against him. You can't help but giggle slightly as you feel his erection pressed firmly against your back.

“You want some help with that?” You press yourself into him, his breath catching in his throat at the contact as he tries to stifle a growl.

“You can't even keep your eyes open bunny.” He chuckles, you smile as you feel it rumble in his chest. You let out a dismissive sound, giving him a slight shrug. “How about we compromise?” You glance over your shoulder at him, curiously raising an eyebrow. Your eyes slide shut, letting out a soft hum as you feel his rough hands roaming over your skin. His fingers dip in between your thighs, gently coaxing them apart. You gasp as you feel his member prod at your entrance. “I could always fill you up before we go to bed.” He offers with a smirk, your face instantly flushing at the thought of cuddling up with your husband, trying not to squirm too much as he impaled you on his thick cock. You give him a nervous yet excited nod, the sight of you looking at him so sweetly as you chewed on your lip making it hard for him to not flip you over and pound you into the mattress. William assisted you holding your legs open, one massive paw wrapped around your thigh to allow him room to attempt to fit inside of you. You gripped tightly onto the sheets as he slowly began to push inside, the stretch from making it barely past his tip intense due to the lack of prep. “That's it sweetheart, just relax.” He purrs in your ear, pressing his lips to your shoulder. Another roll of his hips makes you whimper, feeling him slip slightly deeper into your fluttering cunt.

“Fuck, ‘s too big, ‘s not going to fit.” Your words slut as you tried to focus enough to speak. His pace was agonizing, you could feel every inch of him and every thick vein sliding over your velvety walls. You let out a shuddering breath as he finally bottoms out in you, the tip of his cock pressed snugly against your cervix. You felt like you would break in half at the smallest wrong move, even your slight shifting as you cuddled up with William had the edges of your vision going fuzzy.

“Such a good bunny, taking all of me so well.” His lips trail over your neck, you feel him smirk as you clench around him, repeatedly kissing and teasing what he knew was a rather sensitive spot of skin.

Your fingers intertwined with his, his strong arms wrapped protectively around as you're held flush to his chest.

“I love you.” You say quietly, feeling sleep trying it's hardest to pull you under. He gives your hand a soft squeeze.

“And I love you, sweet girl.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Tag List: @yellowbunnydreams @zoey5252 @redflowery @loudchaosking (I think that's everyone, if I missed you or you would like to be added please let me know!)

[sonjalikestodraw]

"Gender is a type of soup! Eat the rich!" - Contrarian, probably Design notes:

As a part of Slayer's psyche, represents Fun and, well, being contrarian.

Based on a cockatoo: chatty and mischievious parrots whose head crest looks like a punk mohawk.

Inspiration: medieval jesters (naturally), 80's punks (mohawk, scruffy beard) and fashion dolls (big poofy skirt and huge statement earrings)

A genderfuckery nonconforming girlie who uses any pronouns and is whatever gender is funniest in the moment.

Always in opposition to Narrator, she wears black on white to signify initial alliance with Slayer, while deep down sympathizing with the Princess in her home route.

Crest is felled up by default, as Contra is excited and looking for fun. It folds down when sad or in grave situations, like in Stranger's Heart.

Wears earrings of a silver checkmark and a cross, being a creature of big decisions with the tendency to flipflop. Their placement and whether they're two crosses (Contra angy!) or two checkmarks (Contra likey!) change with her mood. But if you ask, she'll insist they've always been like that.

In Apotheosis, he's interested in fleeing ("a third option nobody likes!"), seeking the truth, or getting back at the Princess. Meaning he wears no black/grey/white to signify alliance, but instead wears green (like the absolute reality) and red (like the blood from her eye).

Her Apotheosis earrings are now an axe for  ✔ and a sword for X, for needing the knife. All metal matches the pale gold sword in her sister Voice Paranoid's route.

In Wild, they're antsy and curious. Their jingling bells are replaced with soothing poppies and their light layers are green for truth-seeking.

In Fury, her surface alliance with Slayer (black) is quickly noped out of, not picking a side (mid-grey). The earrings are cartoon bones to look both gnarly and goofy, not taking Fury or Stubborn seriously. Trousers are red for the kill a successful Fury!Contrarian enables.

[jennaispunk]

It's Only Make Believe

Summary: What began as a publicity stunt turns into much more than you expected.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!actress!reader

Rating: T

Word Count: ~7k

Tags and Warnings: fluff, allusions to smut, kissing, drug use, Dieter is a goofball but so sweet, anxiety, allusions to body shaming/bullying (reader receiving, not from Dieter), fake dating, unspoken feelings, longing, reader has a nickname but no physical description of reader is mentioned. If I forgot anything, please let me know.

A/N: This is for Kate's @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Challenge (I got fake dating as my trope). I'm sorry this is so late. Moodboard by @notjustjavierpena (Thank you Siggy!! The moodboard is gorgeous and fits the vibe perfectly 💜) Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Thank you @clawdee for beta reading. A special shout to my discord peeps who sprinted with me and offered their encouragement and advice. There are too many of you to list individually, but I think you know who you are. This is my first go at Dieter, so I hope I made the Dieter girlies (gn) proud.

 This dress costs more than my first car...

You stare at yourself in the full-length mirror. The floor-length blue gown sparkles, even in the inadequate lighting of your tiny apartment. It hugs all your curves perfectly and even you’re impressed with how sexy you look. 

This is your first award show since coming to Hollywood, and your first public appearance with Dieter. You swallow hard as your hands smooth your dress. He’s going to be here any minute, and you’re so nervous you could vomit. This isn’t like all the other times, far away setups where people can only guess what the looks between you mean, can only guess what you’re saying to one another. This is the real deal; you have to sell this.

A knock on your door snaps you from your thoughts and he enters the room. Your breath is almost stolen from your lungs as you gaze at him. This is a far cry from the baggy t-shirts and lounge pants you’re used to seeing him in; he cleans up nicely. Sure, he’s still got the same messy mop of hair and scruffy beard, but he looks good. He’s actually wearing real pants…and a jacket, and you stifle a giggle. Somehow you knew that he would refuse to wear a tie and the top two buttons of his crisp, white dress shirt were left undone, giving a peak of his smooth chest. Even the gold hoop in this left ear stood out to you tonight.

“Whoa,” he muttered under his breath.

He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t look away.  You looked stunning in that shade of blue. His eyes locked onto the smooth skin of your thigh playing peek-a-boo with him through the slit in your dress and he swallows hard.

“Cat got your tongue, Bravo?” you tease. “I’ve never known you to be at a loss for words.”

“Huh?”

His hand shoots up to his earring and he tugs it. A sheepish smile creeps across his plump lips.

“Oh, uh, you look nice,” he stammers.

Real smooth, he thinks as he drinks in your beauty. You look more than nice but he couldn’t get the words out. He’s never been so tongue-tied in front of a woman before. He’s charmed the panties off supermodels, for fuck’s sake. Jesus Christ, how can this woman turn him into such a blubbering idiot?

Your brow furrows for the briefest moment before smiling weakly. That wasn’t the reaction you were hoping for, but you quickly swallow your disappointment. It was foolish of you to expect any other response.

“We should get going. I don’t want to be late.”

The limo slows to a stop. You can barely make out the lights and sounds through the tinted glass window, but the buzz is undeniable. Nothing could have prepared you for what you were about to experience as the limo door opened and Dieter helped you step out and onto the red carpet. 

Flashing cameras and lights surrounded you. Voices yelling, calling for Dieter's attention, trying to catch the perfect photo or get a quick interview. Security guards hold back fans desperate for attention from their favorite stars and people hurrying back and forth across the carpet trying to keep things moving. 

Suddenly, it was hard to breathe. Your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes squint, almost blinded by the never-ending flashes of light. You don’t know if you can do this. Broadway premiers were way more low-key.  How can you subject yourself to the scrutiny knowing that one misstep or odd look on your face could be dissected and discussed like you’re not even a real person?

Dieter glances your way and his heart drops a little. You’re smiling, looking like a goddess under the lights, but your back is almost too straight, and your hands lay glued to the sides of your thighs. Someone who didn’t know you wouldn’t think twice about it, but he knew you were struggling. The tension was radiating off you in waves. He knew that feeling all too well and immediately grabbed your hand, gently tugging you closer. 

Your eyes snap to meet his as he laces his fingers with yours. He gives your hand a quick but firm squeeze and that silly, lopsided grin is on his face. Your muscles slowly begin to relax, and the world starts to slow down. That stupid little smile was exactly what you needed, grounding you in a way you never expected. 

He moves even closer to you, the tip of his nose barely brushing the shell of your ear. Instinctively, your body angles toward him as his warm breath ghosts your cheek. 

“Relax, cupcake,” he whispers in your ear. “You’re going to be fine. Just think of something that makes you happy.”

Your soft gasp was swallowed by the din. Dieter was giving you advice, giving you good advice. Maybe you had underestimated him. 

All you could think about was this moment right here, the way the two of you were pressed together like two lovers sharing an intimate secret, and you smile. It’s only make-believe, you remind yourself. Just another performance, another role to play; but it’s starting to feel all too real. 

You knock on his door with your heart pounding. It feels a little hard to breathe. No one had prepared you for this. Your weight shifts from foot to foot as you wait for him to answer.

“Come on, come on, come on.”

Maybe he isn’t even here. It’s not like you even gave him a heads-up that you were coming. What if he has someone here? You suddenly feel sick to your stomach at the thought. If he opens the door with a naked girl behind him, you’ll die of embarrassment right on the spot.

You take a step back, turning to go when the door flies open, and Dieter is staring back at you with his shirt splotched with paint. You breathe a little easier when you realize he’s fully clothed and it appears that he’s alone.

“What’s up?”

He can’t hide the look of surprise on his face at seeing you at his door. You’re the last person he expected to show up unannounced, but he can’t deny he’s happy to see you.

“Sorry to bother you,” you answer softly. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

His face falls as he realizes something’s up with you. You’re normally pretty stoic, careful to not let your emotions show. He can feel the tension rolling off you in waves.

“It’s fine, cupcake,” he responds with a little smirk. “Come in.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname as he steps aside to let you enter. You’re not sure exactly when that nickname became something that didn’t annoy you, but you’ve come to like it. The last three weeks have shown you a different side of Dieter, one that you like and want to see more often.

Your eyes immediately scan his apartment. It’s not what you thought it would be at all. You expected chaos and mess but it’s tidy and very well decorated. The art on the walls is a little abstract for your taste but it matches Dieter’s vibe. You can’t help but wonder if he had decorated the apartment himself or just chosen the art.

“Do you want to tell me what brought you here or should I guess?”

He’s smirking at you, and you're torn between smacking him and kissing him. Why does he have to be so adorable when he does that? You take a deep breath and wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans.

You feel so silly now that you’re here. What are you supposed to say? You’re here because your feelings got hurt?

You silently pull out your phone and hand it to him. You have the webpage already open, and you watch him as he reads.

He reads it over without saying a word. He’s been here before and he knows just how cruel people can be. His heart hurts for you and he hands you back your phone.

“Ouch.”

He says nothing more and you just stare at him. Your blood starts to boil at his lack of words.

“That’s all you have to say?” you ask, your voice rising in pitch. “Did you even read what they said about me?”

Those were some of the most vile, hateful words you’d ever read. All from people who’d never met you, who knew next to nothing about you. You had never experienced vitriol like this before.

“I read it.”

He sighed and dragged his hand through his messy hair. He had to think of a way to talk you down without making you more upset.

“You know you’ve made it to the big time when people talk about you like that.”

Your teeth clench so hard your jaw aches. What are you supposed to do?  You can’t just ignore it. You want to clap back at all these people. Who the hell do they think they are, talking about you like that? Don’t they realize you have feelings too?

He can see you spiraling. You’re heading down a dangerous path, and he knows firsthand how destructive it can be.

“Hey.”

He gently grabs you by the shoulders forcing you to look at him.

“Don’t feed into that shit, okay? That’s what they do. They want you to get so worked up that you pull some Britney Spears type stunt and then they’ll talk about you even more. You’re better than that.”

You sigh softly as you look at him. You know he’s right, but you can’t help how much it’s hurting your feelings.

“How do you ignore it?” You ask quietly. “How do you block all these idiots?”

He gives you his trademark crooked smirk, the one that simultaneously makes you weak in the knees and slightly annoyed.

“That’s easy.”

He wiggles his brows and holds up a small bag of what looks like gummy bears and gives the bag a little shake. Those gummy bears are not the kind you buy at 7-11 and you can’t help but playfully scoff.

“Wanna try?”

You bite your lip as you think about it. You were never into substances, even during your brief rebellious stage as a teenager. One bad experience made you shy away from them and stick to alcohol instead. You don’t even know what’s in that little gummy bear, and the last thing you need is to not be in control of yourself.

“It’s nothing too crazy,” he says, answering your unspoken question. “I’m done with the hard stuff, you know that. These are an indica strain, for relaxation and anxiety.”

He holds the bag out to you, and you swallow hard. He had told you about rehab and how hard he worked to give up coke and the harder drugs.

“Trust me?”

His voice is so soft, matching the look in his eyes. If there’s one thing you know about Dieter, it’s that he doesn’t lie, at least not to you anyway. He’s honest, almost to a fault.

You slowly reach in and take a red gummy bear from the bag. He takes it from you and cuts it in half and hands it to you. Your eyes meet his as you hold it in between your thumb and index finger. What the hell, you think to yourself. Maybe this would be good for you, he’s always telling you that you need to loosen up. A soft exhale leaves your lips.

“Yeah, I trust you.”

His signature crooked smile adorns his face once again. There’s almost a sense of pride behind that smile. He’s not used to being trusted.

He takes his half of the gummy and pops it into his mouth.

“You’ll like it, I promise.”

You giggle softly as he chomps on the bear and talks at the same time. His childlike qualities can sometimes be aggravating, but cute.

He watches you as you eat your gummy. It tastes just like a regular gummy bear, and you can’t help but wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“There’s one other thing I do to block out all the noise. Come on, I’ll show you.”

He grabs your hands and leads you further into his apartment. Your stomach flutters as you stop at a closed door at the end of the hall. You have no idea what awaits you and you can only imagine what you're about to see.

He opens the door to reveal an art studio. Paints and canvases are strewn about the room, some with no more than a few haphazard strokes on them. Your jaw hits the floor. This is not what you expected at all. He had talked about his art before, but you had no idea he was this serious about it or this talented.

You step into the room and marvel at the display before you. His work is beautiful, a bit abstract, but stunning, nonetheless. This is the type of art you’d see staged at a gallery and you wonder why he’s never showcased his work.

He quickly moves to throw a sheet over a canvas, hiding it from your view. He almost stumbles in his haste to keep you from seeing what he’s painted.

You’re sure you catch a glimpse of a woman, but you can’t be sure. You open your mouth to ask him why he covered the painting then quickly close it. There’s a reason that he doesn’t want you to see it. It would be rude to ask why.

His sigh is audible when he realizes you aren’t going to ask any questions. He didn’t want you to know that he was painting you, not yet anyway. His heart thudded in his chest, he wasn’t ready for you to know how much you’ve consumed his thoughts, how much you help to quiet his mind.

Your eyes are drawn to another piece, and you move closer to get a better look. You can see what you think is a woman’s face with her mouth open, but the entire piece is blurred, shading and lines obscure the image. Sadness washes over you as you study the canvas. You identify with that woman, although you can’t explain why.

He wipes his palms down his pants as you take it all in. This is his safe space, his private sanctuary where he can be himself and not what everyone else wants or expects him to be. This place wasn’t shared with just anyone. He could count the number of people that have been in this room on one hand and still have fingers left over.   

“Do you like it?”

You jump a foot as his soft voice hits your ears. You were so engrossed in the painting that you never heard him come up behind you.

“Dee, this is…beautiful.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. You don’t even know why you’re whispering; it just feels like the right thing to do.

You look over your shoulder and Dieter is smiling like you’ve never seen him smile before.

“Eh, it’s alright. Not my best work.”

You can feel his pride beaming off him but he’s trying to play it off as it’s no big deal.

“You want to watch the master at work?” he teased.

You roll your eyes and scoff. You want to watch him paint. Maybe it would help you understand him better. Maybe it would help you understand yourself, why you’re so inexplicably drawn to him, and find yourself more attracted to him with every moment you spend together.

He didn’t let anyone watch him paint. It was too personal, too intimate to allow anyone into that sanctuary. But he didn’t mind you watching him. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He hoped that this was the way to get you to let your guard down.

He winks at you, then turns to his canvas. He carefully studies it for a moment, and you can almost see the wheels turning in his head. His brow furrows and his lips purse ever so slightly. This is a side of him you’ve never seen before; the carefree, chaotic mess is gone. Before you stands a man who is calm, thoughtful and relaxed.

You watch in awe as the first brush stroke hits the canvas. His movements are purposeful, he knows exactly what he’s doing. The colors swirl and blend together, oranges and reds evoking heat. That’s when you realize the edible has taken effect. Warmth slowly spreads through your body, radiating out like lazy, creeping vines down your arms and legs into your fingers and toes. It’s peaceful, like curling up in your favorite blanket on a chilly night. You’re drawn into this beautiful world as you feel the tension and worry leaving your body, keenly aware of how his paintbrush caresses the canvas. It stirs something within you. Would he touch you with that kind of reverence? Would his fingers glide that easily across your skin?

“Everything alright, cupcake?”

His voice cuts through your daydream and your eyes snap to meet his.

“Hmm?”

Your cheeks start to burn as he stares at you, the paintbrush still in his hand. All you can think about is how you shouldn’t be having these thoughts right now.

“Where’d you go?”

His lips curl into a lopsided smirk. You’re embarrassed and he knows it. He chuckles softly and wonders what he would find if he got into that pretty little head of yours. Are you thinking the same thing he is? Are you thinking about what it would be like if your body was his canvas?

You laugh a little too loudly and tuck your hair behind your ear. Get it together.

“Nowhere…” you say softly. “Just admiring your work. You’re really talented, Dee.”

He scoffs at you and waves his hand at you. His cheeks lightly flush and he looks away. His heart flutters in his chest at your praise. Most people don’t understand his work or just dismiss it altogether. It feels good to have someone show genuine interest.

“Anyone can do it.”  

“No, they can’t.” you protest, “This takes talent.”

You can’t believe that he’s brushing off your compliment like this. Doesn’t he realize how brilliant he is?

His eyes light up. “I’ll prove it to you.”

He quickly runs out of the room leaving you speechless and confused. He returns with an old t-shirt covered in paint splatters. He holds it out to you, and can only assume that it’s his, and your cheeks flush at the thought of wearing his clothes.

You take it from him and in an uncharacteristic fit of boldness, you pull your t-shirt over your head and put on the one he gave you. It’s big, nearly hanging down to your knees, hiding the curves he just got a peek at.

He almost choked as you changed your shirt. It was unexpected, and he shifted uncomfortably, feeling his cock harden in his pants. What he wouldn’t give to get a closer look at you that way again.

He clears his throat, trying to clear the dirty thoughts in his head. He didn’t want to mess this up, not when he’d finally gotten you comfortable enough to come to his apartment without prompting. Now was the time to play it cool, unfortunately playing it cool wasn’t something he was good at when it came to you.

“So, uh…wanna give it a shot?” He raises a brow at you, offering a challenge.

You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. He sounded so hopeful, almost childlike. It made you wonder how many people had ever been given the privilege of seeing him like this, relaxed and happy. He was truly in his element here and you would treat this moment with the respect it deserves.

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” you answer softly.

You weren’t the artistic type. You’d never been good at drawing or painting. Maybe it was because you’d always worried so much that it wouldn’t be perfect, that someone would point out a mistake- no matter how small- and it would be ruined.

His face fell for a split second before that crooked smirk came back. He didn’t believe for a second that you couldn’t paint. You just needed to relax. He shoves a paintbrush into your hand.

“Just humor me,” he says quietly.

You sigh softly and turn to the canvas. Your eyes flutter closed. You can do this…all you have to do is try, right?

Selecting your first color, a deep blue, you touch the brush to the canvas. You use broad strokes, feeling a bit like Bob Ross as you gain confidence.

Dieter watches with amusement, seeing the tip of your pink tongue peek out past your plush lips and your brow furrowed in concentration. You look cute like this.

You hold the end of your paintbrush between your teeth as you contemplate your next move. The next paint color is chosen, and you begin to apply it with the same heavy strokes as before. You want this to look like the sunsets you used to see as a kid on summer vacations with your family.

He knows he shouldn’t interrupt. The last thing he wants to do is make you feel bad, but he can’t help himself. He steps up behind you, close enough to smell your strawberry shampoo.

“Can I give you a bit of advice?”

Your body jerks involuntarily at the sound of his voice. You were in the zone and forgot he was even here.

“Um, sure.”

Your teeth catch your bottom lip as he moves closer. The grip you have on the paintbrush makes your knuckles blanche. You let out a shaky breath, willing yourself to relax.

The urge to bury his nose into your hair and drink you in is so strong it almost hurts. God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to touch you for real, not that fake shit the two of you do for the cameras, genuinely touch you like he’s wanted to for so long.

“Relax your arm a bit,” he says softly. “Just let the brush glide along the canvas. You don’t have to force it.”

You inhale sharply as his large hand molds over yours and he glides the brush over the canvas. Having him this close is more unnerving than you’d like to admit. His warm breath tickles your ear as he guides your hand.

He lets go of your hand and you draw the brush across the canvas from left to right once again, trying to blend the colors the way he taught you. You're painfully aware that he didn’t move away from you, he’s still standing right behind you, his belly lightly brushing against your back.

“Perfect,” he says softly. “You’re a natural.”

You beam at his praise, smiling brightly as you turn your head to look at him.

“You really think so?”

“Yep.”

Something shifts between the two of you in that moment. He’s studying your face intently, almost as if he’s trying to memorize every little detail. You set the paintbrush down, unknowingly collecting some paint on your index finger.

All this feels like you're careening toward something you can’t take back. This is dangerous territory, and you know it will only lead to heartbreak.

You clear your throat and create a little space between you, giving you time to collect your thoughts.

“Stop teasing me.”

You laugh softly, trying to hide your feelings at him being so close to you.

“I swear I’m not teasing you, Cupcake. Painting isn’t about perfection…it’s about putting something out there that makes you feel something.”

You turn to face him, unsure of what to say. His words seem genuine and your heart flutters in your chest. How does he do this to you, time after time?

His fist clenches at his side. He wants to reach out to you, but he doesn’t want to push his luck. He doesn’t want to break the trust he’s worked so hard to build.  

His lips curl into a lopsided smirk and he collects a bit of paint on his index finger.

“You need to loosen up.”

He dots the end of your nose with the paint. A smirk is plastered across his face, awaiting your response.

Your eyes go wide as he pulls his hand away from your face. Mischief dances in your eyes as you contemplate how to exact payback.

Your brow raises as you collect some paint on your fingers. If he wants a paint war, he’s got one.

You wordlessly lift your fingers and slowly drag them down the side of his face. Your eyes challenge him, daring him to fight back.

He chuckles softly and grabs the paintbrush, dotting your cheeks. His eyes narrow playfully, waiting for you to strike back.

You reach for a brush of your own, soaking it in the paint. This is about to get messy, but you can’t even begin to care. You’ve never had so much fun making a mess in your life.

“Careful…” he warns. “I fight dirty.”

He grabs your wrist before you even have a chance to respond, and you drop the brush. His other hand assaults your side, and you dissolve into a fit of giggles.

The paintbrush smacks against him, smattering bright blue pigment across his shirt before landing on the floor. You try to wiggle away, but he’s surprisingly strong and he pulls you closer.

Your laughter fills the room as you tussle. He could listen to that sound forever and it makes his heart sing.

“Dee…” you squeal. “Dee….can’t breathe…..”

Your protest only makes him double down, he’s more than determined to make you laugh until you cry.

“If you can talk, you can breathe.”

The joy he’s feeling in this moment can’t be quantified. You’re the only one he’s ever done this with. Sure, he’s done some crazy things in the past, but he’s never been this silly with anyone before. This connection between you is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. It’s honest and real.

The tears begin to leak from your eyes as you wiggle in his grasp. You cackle and gasp for air, having the time of your life. You’ve never let your guard down like this before. It’s amazing.

His fingers slow as he realizes just how much your face is flushed. He’s accomplished his mission, and he reaches up to brush your hair away from your eyes.

Your giggles slowly subside, and you work to catch your breath. Your eyes slowly open to find him staring at you, almost mesmerized.

His hand slides down to your cheek and his face inches toward yours almost in slow motion.

He gently brushes his lips against yours. It’s a surprisingly intimate touch from him. When you don’t pull away, he presses his lips to yours more firmly, his tongue traces the seam of your lips begging for entrance.

Your lips part for him and he fully seizes the opportunity to take this further. His soft tongue dives into the cavern of your mouth exploring hungrily.

Your left hand shoots out, landing flat against the wet paint on the canvas and sliding down. You don’t even notice; you are so consumed with the feel of his mouth on yours.

Desire begins to cloud your mind as you return his kiss with equal fervor. The world has been reduced to this moment alone.

Your paint-covered hand comes to rest on his shirt as you moan softly into his mouth. His arms pull you impossibly close, there isn’t a single part of your body that isn’t touching.

He grunts softly, almost a whimper, as your body is pressed tightly against his. God, this feels so good, and he aches to take this further, to pull you down to the floor and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.

His hand fumbles for the hem of your shirt. Fingers snaking under the fabric, searching for bare skin. The heat of his palm finds the lace of your bra, gently kneading the flesh underneath. Your nipples harden and your knees go weak as his thumb brushes over the sensitive bud.

The blaring sound of his ringtone snaps you both from your lust-filled haze, pulling you apart like teenagers being caught by your parents.

He clears his throat and steps further away from you to answer the call. It’s only then that the reality of what just happened hits you. You just came so close to crossing a line you couldn’t uncross. It’s only make believe, you tell yourself. That’s what you always say when your feelings become all too real and threaten to spill from your lips.

Your eyes dart to the canvas. You look at the firm handprint and the streaks your fingers left. Doubt begins to swirl within you. You need to get out of here before you say or do something you can’t take back.

“Everything okay, cupcake?”

Your head snaps around to see him standing there, shoulders slumped and eyes soft.

You bite your lip.

“I ruined your canvas,” you say softly.

What a dumb thing to say, but it was your first thought. It was inconsequential, it’s not like he was going to be upset about it, but it somehow felt like an omen.

“It’s not ruined,” he says quietly. “I can make something of that, don’t worry about it.”

His heart squeezes in his chest. He wants so badly to pull you back in, to pick up where you left off but the moment’s gone. He’s left with the reality that he’s not quite the man you need yet. You need someone a little more stable. He’s not quite there yet but he’s so close. It’s better to hold back these feelings until he’s sure that he can make this work between you.

You breathe deeply, trying to not let your feelings show. All you have to do is keep it together just a little longer.

“I…I should go.” You smile but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I have an early call at the studio tomorrow.”

He knows that’s probably true but that doesn’t stop his disappointment. He looks down at the floor and then back up to you.  He nods, knowing there’s nothing else to say.

“Thanks for the painting lesson, Dee.”

You quickly brush your lips against his scruffy cheek and walk out without looking back. You don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes.

The next few weeks are filled with an uneasy tension between you. You make a good show during your scheduled “appearances”, but when the cameras aren’t around you could cut the tension between you with a knife. Neither one of you has brought up the kiss. The two of you dance around the subject doing anything to avoid the elephant in the room.

The night of your movie premiere rolls around. Your makeup and hair team bustle around the hotel room while your stylist is busy selecting your accessories. Again, another dress you couldn’t afford even though you’ve made it. How were you going to pretend everything was okay with Dieter tonight? It was getting harder and harder to pretend that what the two of you were doing wasn’t real, that it was only make believe. You had genuine feelings for him, and you couldn’t deny it anymore.

Dieter appears in your doorway as your stylist finishes clasping the necklace you were going to wear. The dress is Valentino…the jewelry is Cartier…

This was the mantra that you had repeated to yourself over and over as you got ready. You had to remember those names, just in case you were asked about them. You couldn’t afford to forget who you were wearing in case you were asked, the last thing you want to do was offend the designers.

Your head jerks up as Dieter clears his throat, snapping you from your revelry. It never failed to amaze you how handsome he looked all cleaned up but somehow it made you long for the lounge pants, baggy T-shirt and crocs that made up his everyday attire.

“Ready to go, Cupcake?” he asked with a smirk. The same one that drove you crazy in both good and bad ways.

Dieter extends his hand to help you from the limo as you’re blinded by the flashbulbs of the press. You take a deep breath and plaster on your best smile, the same one that Dieter reminded you to use during your very first red carpet appearance. You can make it through this next ten minutes.

Dieter squeezes your hand, just like he did that first time. It grounds you and helps calm you. How was it that you were the only one who got to see this side of him?

Dieter steals glances at you as you pose for photos together before entering the theater. You are absolutely radiant, even though he can see the nervous energy shooting out of you. He’s wanted to tell you so many times how he felt but it just never seems to be the right time. He’s been putting in the work, trying to be the man you need, the man you deserve. Maybe tonight is the night. He feels like he’ll burst if he has to hold back much longer.

The movie goes by in a blur. You barely remember watching your scenes on the screen, all you can think about is the way Dieter’s hand feels in yours.

Dieter shifts in his seat as he gently rubs his thumb across the back of your hand. Things have been so tense between you these past few weeks. The kiss you shared has completely overtaken his mind. He wants you. He knows that on paper it seems crazy, but he is sure the two of you are meant to be. You quiet his mind in a way that no one else can. You see past all his bullshit to the broken man who just wants to be loved.

The after-party is hopping. It’s a cacophony of voices, laughter, and glasses clinking. This is the part of Hollywood you dislike most- being with a bunch of people who don’t give two shits about you but pretend they do. These people would sooner stab you in the back rather than help you out. Your head begins to ache, and you wander outside with your glass of champagne.

The sprawling estate is the perfect backdrop for the party. The landscaping is beautiful, with trees and lush gardens full of beautiful flowers. The thing that attracts your attention is the large fountain at the center of the courtyard. The design is delicately ornate with statues of water nymphs and mermaids. It’s large enough to walk right into. You find yourself mesmerized by the sound of the water as you lean over the balcony railing.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You damn near drop your glass and your free hand flies to your chest. He’d snuck up on you without you even noticing.

“You scared the shit out of me, Dee.”

You playfully nudge him with your shoulder. His presence has a way of riling you up and calming you simultaneously.

His trademark smirk flashes across his face.

“You’re missing a hell of a party.”

You don’t miss the hint of sarcasm laced in his words. He’d told you before that he never really liked these parties.

“I know,” you answer softly. “Just needed some fresh air.”

Anyone else may have missed it, but he could feel how overwhelmed you were feeling. He couldn’t let you flounder, he needed to get you to relax. Grabbing your hand, he pulls you toward the courtyard.

He laces his fingers with yours as you silently walk through the garden. In the few months you’ve spent together, he’s learned when to push and when to stay silent.

You round the corner and come to a stop in front of the fountain. The whoosh of the water seems to drown out the rest of the world. You feel your shoulders go slack as the mist of the fountain tickles your bare forearms.

Unable to resist the opportunity, Dieter moves closer. His breath ghosts against your ear as he speaks.

“You look so beautiful when you're relaxed.”

You hum softly at his words.

“You’re the one who’s always telling me to loosen up.”

You set your glass down on a nearby bench and a wicked smile forms on your lips.

Without another word, you pull Dieter into the fountain. A little squeal leaves your throat as the cool water hits your skin. You dance in the water, splashing him and laughing like a little girl. You’ve never felt more free. There is something so liberating about splashing around in the water. You don’t even care that you might be ruining your designer dress.

Your heart soars as Dieter joins in, laughing and splashing you back. The fact that you’re going to attract attention to yourself is the last thing on your mind as he grabs you by the waist and spins you around.

He sets you down on your feet and pushes the damp locks off your forehead. You both just stare at each other, panting and drenched but unable to pull yourselves apart.

“When you let loose, you really go all out.”

He chuckles softly and pulls you even closer. He wants to tell you exactly how he feels about you, but the words stick in his throat. He’s not sure if any words would even suffice. Instead, he does the only thing he can think of to express himself.

He gently presses his lips to yours. His large hand grips your chin and tilts your head slightly, Your lips part for his tongue and you moan softly. This kiss is slow and tender, filled with the affection he longs to show you. He knows he can be the man you need if you’ll only give him a chance. No one knows him like you do. You’re the best thing that ever happened to him and he’s determined to make you happy.

Your world is tilted on its axis as he kisses you. This kiss was even better than the one you shared weeks ago. It was slow, unhurried. Your arms wrap around his waist, holding him close. A myriad of emotions flowed through you as your tongues danced like you had all the time in the world. Everything else faded away, all that existed was this moment and the two of you. The only sound you could hear was the thrumming of your heart in your ears.

The need for oxygen was the only thing that caused you to separate. You slowly open your eyes, your lips parted and swollen. Your eyes shimmer with the unspoken question that lies between you. What does this mean?

His lips curl into his trademark half smirk. His palms cup your face, thumbs brushing gently against the apples of your cheeks.

“What do you say we make this fake relationship real?”

His voice is so soft, barely audible over the rushing waters of the fountain. His eyes shine with hope. Hope that you will take this chance with him, hope that you give him the opportunity to show you how good he could be for you.

Your brows furrow as you stare back at him. Your head is still spinning a bit from that kiss. This is real, this is happening. The thing that you’ve wanted for weeks is finally staring you in the face and suddenly you’re afraid to reach out and grab it.

The slight breeze causes you to shiver slightly. You swallow the lump in your throat as the reality of the situation fully hits you.

“You sure about this?”

His words ring in your ears. You need him to confirm it one more time; to be sure this isn’t some fever dream.

“Surer than I’ve ever been.”

He rests his forehead against yours, willing you to read his thoughts.

“You’re the only one who can quiet my mind, Cupcake.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest. Those words feel so believable. You knew it was true. He was different with you than he was with anyone else. When it really mattered, you saw the real him just like he saw the real you. As unlikely a pair as you seemed on paper, the two of you just worked. You balanced each other out so well. You keep him from going off the deep end and he keeps you from getting too much in your own head.

A slow smile forms on your lips as you look at him. This was really happening.  Standing in the middle of a fountain at a party full of Hollywood stars, a new chapter of your lives was starting. 

“Let’s give it a try.”

Your words are cut off by commotion on the balcony. Someone has spotted the two of you and you knew you were moments from being the talk of the town.

Your laughter rings out over the din of the water. There’s something so freeing about not giving a fuck what anyone thought. That was all thanks to Dieter.

You quickly peck his lips one more time unable to contain your smile. No one back home would ever believe what just happened tonight.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Neither one of you can stop laughing as you drop into the back of your limo, still damp from your impromptu romp in the water.

“Thank you for the best night of my life,” you murmur as you rest your head on his shoulder.

He pulls you closer as your teeth lightly chatter, his hand rubbing up and down your arm.

“This is just the beginning, babe.”

He rests his chin on the top of your head. This was the scariest thing he’d ever done but he knew that he had to take this chance. He couldn’t imagine his life without you in it.

“Just the beginning…”

You quietly echo his words. This is going to be quite the adventure.

[saintzweig]

patrick zweig x younger socialite girlfriend! reader

– based on this moodboard

– to make up for my incessant posting, here's an apology from me (in the form of a rlly short patrick fluff/domesticity). also thank you for 300!!! yay i appreciate all of you

drunken giggles echoed through the empty apartment as you stumbled in, with your heels in your hands and patrick's lips attached to your neck as he followed from behind you. kicking his foot back to shut the door before smoothly grabbing you by the waist and pinning you against the wall.

he smiled fondly at you, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours. "the hicks are the most annoying people on earth, why do i let you drag me to these?"

"they're shareholders" you giggle, bringing your hands up to unbutton his crisp, white shirt. "we need to keep up appearances so they don't pull out before any important events, you know how sensitive they are."

he hums, reaching up to take your hand in his before putting it up to his mouth, biting lightly. "you're lucky i love you"

"do you love me enough to come with me to brunch tomorrow?" to which he groans, throwing his head back. he leads you to sofa, pulling you down on his lap. "do i really have to?"

you hum, shifting on his lap to place one arm over his shoulder. "marianne has been asking for you, she finally broke up with her idiot gold digging boyfriend thanks to your advice"

you feel him place his hand on your knee, slowly inching its way up as you speak. "if anything it's your fault, you're just too good at being an ally" you laugh softly.

he dips his head, connecting his lips to your skin once more as he placed a gentle kiss on your bare shoulder. his hand now resting under your dress, fingers feeling the lacy material of your panties. "let me guess, black?"

"nope, pink" you shake your head with a small smile adorning your glossy pink lips, "with the little bows"

"can't you just tell her i got more important things to do?" he grumbles against your skin, tilting his head up to your neck, making you giggle as you feel his scruffy beard tickle you.

"alright but you're not getting out of dinner next week with your parents." you say. he groans, pulling away to rest his head on the back of the sofa.

"they're your parents, pat! isn't it weird that i'm having dinner with them without you?" you playfully slap his chest, "it's like sending your girlfriend to war without any armor"

"they like you better than their own son" he mutters before sitting back up properly. "i'd rather sit through your girl brunch than have dinner with my parents."

you smile widely, bringing a hand up to push his hair back. "hey, you chose this." you point out, a teasing tone in your voice.

"mm" he hums, "i chose you" he places a kiss on the corner of your mouth, subtly hooking his finger on the waistband of your underwear. "if i eat you out well, would you let me miss brunch and dinner?"

he flips you over, placing you on your back with him hovering above you. his thin silver chain dangling just above your lips, "i'll have to see how well you do it first"