#and this will be the first one with proper meaning so lets ignore that

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 29

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Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 8.8k+

Note: Lol i went back and the first chapter of this series is only 1.3k words... how times have changed

also i lied about no update today, turns out when you work 10 days straight of 13h+ days, you sleep. who wouldve known!

xxx

I'll pick you up at seven is frustratingly vague when it comes to dressing for the occasion. I’ve been texting Will relentlessly, trying to squeeze any more information out of him about what I should wear. After a couple of hours of vague replies, he finally says, "I'm wearing a green sweater, my nicest jeans, and my cap is probably staying on."

Okay, cool. Thank you. Casual.

So, I slip on the jacket I always wear with a nice top and jeans. Simple. Done.

But as I pace back and forth, the reality of the situation settles in. Will is always cryptic with his plans. What does "casual" even mean in his world? His sense of ‘dressing up’ involves a cap. Great.

I hear the buzz of my garage. "Oi Oi" he says, over the intercom. And then I press the button to let him in. Then I wait. And then a knock at the door, and my heart jumps. He’s here. I take a deep breath and swing it open.

He’s standing there, holding a bunch of pink roses from the supermarket. Not the kind of grand bouquet you'd expect, but there’s something sweet about the simplicity of it. He walks into my kitchen, finds my kitchen shears and carefully cuts the bottoms of the stems, searching for my vase under the sink and pops the little flower food packet in like he’s done it a thousand times. It’s small and thoughtless, yet oddly… perfect.

I try not to dwell on how easy it is to talk to him. We fall into a rhythm, chatting as if we’ve only been apart for a few days. The rhythm feels comfortable, natural—like this is the easiest thing in the world. But in the back of my mind, that knot of uncertainty continues to tighten, and I push it away for the evening. I can deal with that tomorrow.

"So," I say, raising an eyebrow, "Where are we going?"

"Ah, so..." He plucks a dead petal off one of the flowers, examining it as if it held all the answers. "That, is for me to know, and you to find out."

I roll my eyes at him, but he grabs my hand and tugs me toward the lifts to head down to the garage. My stomach flips slightly, and I try to ignore it. I don’t want to think about the last time he was here, the last time he made a decision to retreat. Not tonight. Tonight, we just exist in the here and now.

We get in his car, the drive through the city quiet for the most part, except for the hum of the radio and the distant chatter of the world outside. He doesn’t place his hand on my thigh, and I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed. I guess this is a proper first date — no sudden moves. Just the feeling of the car doors closing, of the city lights flashing by.

He parks on the street, and gets out to feed the meter. He turns the engine off, but there’s a brief moment of silence, before he finally turns and says, "Oh my god, I forgot to say how beautiful you look."

I laugh, shaking my head. "What?"

"Were on a date," he says, catching my eyes. "I bought you flowers, and I picked you up and I forgot to compliment you. I love your top, and you makeup looks lovely."

I glance at my reflection in the side mirror. Barely any makeup. My top’s simple, a loose fit, nothing fancy. Definitely not lovely. "Well… thanks for remembering." I pause, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I like your hair. It looks better a little longer."

His eyes brighten, and his lips curl into that closed-mouth smile I’ve missed. "Yeah, me too," he says, ruffling it a little before finishing up with the meter. He checks his phone, glancing up at me, but not before another little smile escapes him. "It should be... this way."

He nods towards the end of the street, and my hand is suddenly enveloped in his. For a moment, it's like the world outside has faded. He checks his phone again, then his emails, scrolling for something. I can’t help but smile at how he’s always half in the moment, half distracted.

We walk through the night, our footsteps synchronized on the cobbled streets, the air crisp against my skin. The little pockets of people blur in the background—like we’re in our own little world. It’s almost easy to forget we’re not alone.

We arrive at our destination, and it's nothing like I expected. The building's nondescript, tucked away between two other buildings. From the outside, it looks like nothing more than a small studio. But when the door swings open, the smell hits me first: garlic, herbs, something warm, comforting. A few people laugh, some shout in excitement. It’s alive inside, full of chatter and laughter, the sound of a hundred hands chopping ingredients.

We step inside, and I can feel the hum of warmth from the kitchen. The space is bright and clean, but there��s an unmistakable feeling of comfort. The two long kitchen benches are set up with stove tops, their surfaces dotted with bowls and glasses and random utensils. At least ten other couples are scattered around, each one in their own little world. And then there’s someone wearing a chef hat that looks like it belongs in a kids’ birthday party.

I can’t help but laugh a little under my breath. "Late night cooking class?" I say, a little incredulously.

He laughs, a bit nervous, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was that or pub trivia, and we’ve spent so much time in pubs." he shows his email to someone who approaches him. And were shown to our stools. Were clearly the last to arrive, were placed on the end. "Is it what you expected?" he asks. He's smirking already, he knows the answer.

I smile. "Not really, no. I thought you might take me to a bar."

"Aye, we finish here at 10, there's still time."

xxx

I think Will has forgotten that I cook a giant vat of pesto pasta once a week. Or he doesn’t know that. I don’t really remember if I told him much about The Van. If he knows that Ruth and I are the Pesto Queens, I’m not sure. But it’s a point of pride for me, the way we whip up pesto like it’s a sacred art. I don’t know why, but that’s how I feel about it. The fresh basil, the zing of garlic, the hint of Parmesan—pure magic. I might not be a chef, but I’ve got that down.

The dish we're being guided through is a Chorizo pasta, but still, I know how to make pasta. I watch the instructor’s hands move fluidly as she throws the ingredients together. Garlic sizzling, sausage crisping. It smells good, of course, but there’s no magic in it like pesto. Although I think the magic is in The Van rather than the pasta sauce.

Will, on the other hand, has just revealed to me that he’s only cooked three meals from scratch in the last year. I can feel my eyes widen just a little. Three meals? In a whole year? I try not to make it too obvious, but it’s hard to believe. He doesn’t exactly strike me as the takeout king, but... well, there it is.

"I get a meal prep service!" he says, shrugging with a mock-innocent grin on his face. "It’s not like I’ve had only takeaways."

I chuckle, a little surprised. “Meal prep, huh? Really leaning into the ‘adulting’ thing, I see.”

Will laughs back, and I watch him scrub the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I know, I know. It’s too organized. But hey, saves me time. I don’t want to end up like a guy who eats cold pizza for breakfast and calls it ‘fine dining’.”

I shoot him a teasing grin. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” I joke, but I can tell he’s a little self-conscious about it.

That’s when he catches my gaze and gives me that familiar grin, the one that always makes me wonder if he knows exactly what he’s doing. “What about you then, eh? I bet you’re the kind of person who can whip up a five-star meal with one hand tied behind your back, right?”

“Something like that,” I say, trying not to be too smug about it. But there’s something about Will’s playful energy that makes me want to play along. “I've been getting into the baking thing. After you ghosted me, I figured, why not? If I can’t make a relationship rise, I’ll at least make a cake do it." He laughs, a warm, loud sound that makes the people around us glance over.

Will and I are all over each other. In that subtle way that you really notice when you’re first getting to know someone. It’s like everything is new, and yet familiar all at once. It feels so silly, almost like we’re playing some kind of game. I know him already—I know he scratches the back of his neck when he's nervous and I know he likes to be kissed right under his earlobes. But the way his hands linger over mine, fingertips brushing, or when he touches my shoulder to nudge me aside while looking for something the instructor told us to grab—there’s this tension that builds in the air.

Each touch feels like an electricity I wasn’t prepared for. There’s nothing overt about it, but it feels like we’re both noticing these little moments. The way he moves slightly closer when he speaks to me, like we’ve forgotten about the rest of the room. It’s silly, but it’s also something deeper, something I can't quite shake off.

Of course, Will, chatty as ever, has already made fast friends with the couple next to us. The older gentleman, who's wearing a button-down shirt with an apron on over it, gives Will a friendly smile as he stirs his pasta sauce.

“You guys a couple?” he asks, clearly interested. It’s a question that seems innocent, but there’s an almost unspoken assumption that we must be. Probably because we’re both leaning in toward each other with those comfortable smiles only shared between people who’ve known each other for a while. The fact that it’s our first date is a little lost on him, I think. Will picks up on it instantly, though.

Without skipping a beat, he flashes his cheekiest smile. “Oh no, not yet. First date, actually!”

The older woman with him nearly chokes on her water, a laugh escaping as she glances between us, clearly trying to do the mental math. “Well, I must say, you two do look comfortable,” she comments, glancing at me with a knowing look. “You must be good friends first, then, right?”

I blink, a little thrown by how quickly they’ve come to this conclusion. Will beams, practically radiating with amusement. “Exactly! We’ve known each other a long time. So, we're starting slow, you know?”

I nearly roll my eyes, but catch myself at the last second, biting back the sarcastic remark brewing on my tongue. “Yep, just taking it one step at a time,” I say with a grin, playing along.

They both look satisfied with that answer and continue chatting away. I’m distracted for a second by the way Will is leaning in, fully engaged with the couple now, dropping his voice low to make them laugh. He's a talker, that’s for sure. A few minutes later, he even begins talking about his favourite food trucks, mentioning Ruth's and mine (I don’t even know how he knows Ruth's, or if I ever told him mine) and then listing all the best ones. The older man laughs and gives him an exaggerated “You’ve got to take me to these places sometime!” before they continue talking about meal prepping and food delivery services.

I don’t even know how Will does it—he’s so effortlessly likable, it’s both impressive and slightly exasperating. Like he’s a magnet for conversation, drawing people in with the slightest of smiles. Even now, the older couple next to us seems more than happy to include him in their conversation. And me? Well, I’m just here for the ride. And I’m sort of grateful for that.

Will’s smile widens, but there's a glint of something almost... nervous? My thoughts are interrupted as the instructor tells us to toss our pasta into the pan, and we get back to work. Will gives me an exaggerated wink as he moves, his movements awkward, trying to mimic what the instructor said in a very “Will” sort of way. I shake my head, the hint of laughter bubbling inside me.

It's time for me to focus on peeling oranges for garnishes for our cocktails, and the sounds of clattering spoons and sizzling food fill the air. But my focus drifts as I see Will glance up at the older man again when he thinks I’m distracted, his voice dropping lower as he leans in a little closer.

“Hey,” Will says quietly, so low I have to strain to hear, “I’m trying to get her back. Trying not to mess it up this time.”

The older man pauses in his stirring, looking at Will with an appraising eye. “Ahh,” he says slowly, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I had to do the same, you know. Get down on my hands and knees for her. Begging her for forgiveness. And now we’ve been married nearly—what, forty years? It’s the best decision I ever made.” He pats Will on the back lightly.

Will, who clearly wasn’t expecting such honesty, straightens up a little. “Seriously? Forty years?”

“Forty-two,” the man replies with a wink, as if the number was one of his great achievements. “And let me tell you, it wasn’t always easy. But if you really want it, you make it happen. It’s worth it in the end, lad.” He taps the side of Will's arm knowingly. “Trust me. You’ve got to be patient with her. But when you do it right, you’ve got a lifetime of good.” the gentleman looks over to his wife, also peeling oranges.

Will nods, a mix of gratitude and relief washing over him. “Yeah. I know, I know.”

I glance over, trying to not be obvious I can hear all of it. Will looks like he’s absorbing the man’s words, and for once, he doesn’t crack a joke. His gaze flickers back to me as I finish setting my dish aside, the chorizo pasta sizzling in the pan.

The older gentleman pats Will again, his expression softening with a sense of understanding that only comes with age. "We’ve all been there, son. You mess up, you apologize, and you make it right. That’s all you can do."

The words hang in the air between us, weighted and true. Will doesn’t say anything for a moment, but I can see the tension leaving his shoulders as he takes a deep breath, clearly reassured.

“You’re right,” he finally says, a more thoughtful expression replacing his usual playful grin. “Thanks.”

The older man smiles and returns to his cooking, clearly pleased with himself. Will, still processing, glances over at me again, but this time, there's a new layer to his gaze—one that feels like a quiet promise.

I don’t say anything, but something shifts in the air between us. It’s subtle, almost indiscernible, but it feels different. Less tentative. Like maybe we’re both here, in this kitchen, in this moment, because we’re both willing to try.

Its… nice.

xxx

We get to eat our chorizo pasta at little tiny tables, the kind that seem designed for someone half our size. Will, being the giant that he is, looks a bit like a folded deck chair—his legs barely fitting under the table, and his back hunched slightly as he tries to maneuver around the limited space. His elbows are dangerously close to tipping over the cocktail glass in front of him, and his broad shoulders are pressed uncomfortably against the sides of the table as he leans in, trying to avoid knocking over the candle in the center.

It’s an awkward dance, his height and limbs too long for the tiny space, and I can’t help but smile at the sight. The candle flickers, even though the overhead lights are on. It's casting a slight shadow  on his face, making him look like he's in a constant state of contorting himself to fit into this miniature setup. Despite the awkwardness, there’s something endearing about the way he tries to make it work, like he’s determined not to let the space get the better of him.

"God, these cocktails are good," he says, clearly proud of himself since he mixed ours. "Shame the oranges are peeled like shit."

I look at him, feigning shock, hands dramatically placed on my chest. "At least I know what it means to cut something in a half-moon shape."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly trying not to laugh. "Oh, come on, it’s not that bad." But his smirk says otherwise.

"Of course, not," I reply, taking a sip of my drink. "It’s just that, unlike you, I know the difference between a wedge and a crescent."

We sit like this, in a physically uncomfortable, but strangely comfortable silence, munching on the chorizo pasta we made together. Despite the lack of legroom, it feels easy—familiar, even. Almost like we’ve been doing this for years, even though we haven’t.

Will, however, seems to have a bit of an internal debate about how to sit properly without knocking things over. He shifts again, his knees nearly colliding with mine, and we both laugh quietly.

We’ve decided that he definitely booked us some kind of marriage counselling special, judging by the way the host kept stressing the importance of communication in a partnership. And also How to delegate without being a twat. That wasnt the was the actual phrasing, of course. It’s hard not to chuckle at how serious the host looks while talking about ‘delegation’ as if this was some kind of intense therapy session.

At one point, the instructor came over to our table, just as I made a light-hearted joke about Will's square head. The instructor was clearly not impressed, launching into a three-minute spiel about how essential it is to lift each other up, especially in moments of weakness. I tried to hide my smirk, but when Will attempted to step in to defend me, explaining that that’s just our personal love language, the instructor was having none of it. I could practically see his judgmental eyebrow raise.

“So,” I say, taking a slow sip of my cocktail, pretending to be innocent. “Being mean to each other is our love language, huh?”

He gives me that look—the one that’s somewhere between amused and exasperated. “I reckon,” he replies, fiddling with the orange peel in his drink. “Remember our first month of knowing each other? All we did was text each other insults.”

I grin at the memory, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. “That’s because you genuinely got on my nerves,” I retort. The memory of those late-night back-and-forth roasts, the ones that kept me up until 4 AM even though I had work the next day, comes rushing back. I couldn’t stand him in those early days. He was relentless.

“Nah,” he says, smiling a little too smugly. “I genuinely got under your skin. There’s a difference.”

I raise an eyebrow, taking another sip from my drink. He’s probably right. If I’d truly hated him, I wouldn’t have kept replying, or gone to such lengths to keep the insults coming. "I guess you did,” I admit, giving him a sideways glance. “But you don’t just hate someone and end up in bed with them, do you?"

His grin widens, and there's that glint in his eyes I’ve come to recognize. "Nah. But I do remember the night we crossed that line. You whispered 'I still hate you' and then proceeded to dance on me like I needed to find out if you had a secret career before programming."

The words hit me like a flashback, and I can’t help but laugh despite myself. I can't believe I did that, how I had genuinely thought that getting that close to him—whispering that I hated him—was the perfect cover-up for whatever the hell was happening between us. But then I ended up on top of him, grinding away like I was trying to burn off all my frustration with him. He hadn’t been the only one with pent-up tension.

“God, I was such an idiot,” I say, shaking my head, a little embarrassed. “But you were just as bad. You let me do it.”

Will chuckles low and easy, his voice rich with amusement, but there's something softer behind it, something I don’t quite understand yet. “You weren’t the only one with a secret, you know,” he says, and his eyes flicker with something more serious, almost vulnerable. “I never told you this, but I liked you the whole time.”

“No way,” I murmur, half in disbelief, half with a quiet thrill blooming in my chest.

He nods slowly, as if confirming some quiet truth. “The second I met you, I thought you were stunning. I asked George if you were together, remember?” I nod, the memory vivid. “And then, an hour later, I try to convince you to watch a Formula One race and you tell me you’re allergic to high-speed sports.” He smirks. “That’s when I realized I liked you.”

I raise an eyebrow, “Why… why did we spend three months hating each other?”

“If it meant I was talking to you, then I wasn’t gonna stop it, was I?” Will’s gaze softens as he looks at me, almost searching. It’s a quiet vulnerability I don’t often see, and it makes my stomach flip a little. “I didn’t mind the insults. I just wanted to be near you, even if it meant pretending I didn’t like you.”

He looks at me, searching my face. I'm trying not to betray the fact that I really did not like him for a bit. Probably never actually hated him, but I did think he was annoying and a little bit full of himself. "I'm glad you decided to not hate me, in the end."

"And when did I decide that?" I joke with him. Trying to lighten the mood.

He looks at me, like he wants to say something real.

I know the answer, the real answer.  It was when I had fallen asleep and woken up to a bunch of youtubers talking in my living room. When he first slid into my room, and said You’re not invisible to me. Because I believed him. I really did. And then he kissed me soft and slow, giving me the chance to change my mind.

He smirks, his eyes glinting with that familiar teasing light, but there’s something deeper there now. “Today, I hope,” he says, spearing a piece of chorizo with his fork.

xxx

He's driving me home now.

The silence in the car is comfortable, but there's an undercurrent of something else, something we both feel but don’t quite know how to express. I can’t help but glance at him occasionally, the glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows over his face. His hands grip the steering wheel in that steady, methodical way that makes me feel like he’s the kind of person who’s always got everything figured out, even when I know that’s not true. There’s a gentleness in the way he drives, as if he’s aware of the space between us, how much room we need without ever asking for it.

We visited a bar, just like we joked we would, staying for just one drink, as if we both knew there was more to be said but didn’t want to rush anything. Will didn’t even have a drink himself—a perfect gentleman—but I couldn’t ignore the way his eyes lingered on me, glinting with curiosity as if he was trying to figure out what was going on in my head.

Our knees brushed gently the entire time, and neither of us made the first move to close the distance, but the connection between us was undeniable. No hands on thighs, no grand gestures—just that subtle electric pulse when our legs met again, like we were savoring the simplicity of the touch, letting it linger in that space between tension and comfort.

The bar itself was light and breezy, the air faintly smelling of citrus and laughter, with just enough ambient noise to keep it alive without being overwhelming. The moment felt like something from a first date—a sweet, tentative exchange, both of us making excuses to stay a little longer, not wanting it to end. I found myself stretching out the time, unsure if it was because I feared what would happen when it was over or if I simply didn’t want to face the distance between us without understanding what this was.

Our conversation flowed effortlessly, the words falling into place with a rhythm that felt almost too easy. He told me about Whitley Bay, about growing up near the coast. There’s something wistful in his voice, a quiet longing for something simple, something real. I listen intently, nodding along.

I tell him about Manchester—my life there, the friends I’d made, the chaos of being so far from home, and away from George. I tell him about the flat I rented, the nights out that were more about surviving than thriving, and the conversations that went nowhere but somehow still felt deeply philosophical at 3 AM, probably because we were all slightly drunk.

He walks me up to my flat, stopping just outside my door. Of course he makes fun of my doormat. I invite him in for a cup of tea, the kind of end-of-date offer I know he can’t resist. But, of course, this one time he resists.

"I'm a gentleman," he says, the words practically dripping with smugness, "I can’t come into your gaff on the first date."

I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow. "You came in when you picked me up," I point out, grinning at him, already knowing I’ve got him. God I've missed this—missed him—more than I want to admit. "Just one cup of tea. It’ll be like a cozy little tea party."

He smirks, catching his tongue between his teeth like he's just won a prize. "When you look at me like that, you and I both know there's no tea." He gives me that look, the one that makes my stomach do weird things. "And I," he says with a flourish, going for an over-the-top half-bow manoeuvre, "Am a gentleman."

I roll my eyes so hard they might get stuck in the back of my head, but I can’t help laughing. Of course, he’s doing that thing again—acting like he’s the most charming person to ever exist.

He doesn’t even kiss me. Not even a cheek kiss, which honestly feels like some kind of personal violation at this point. Instead, he just pulls me into a hug, and whispers, "Goodnight," near my ear like he's auditioning for a role as the world’s softest human. Then, just to really seal the deal, he rests his chin on top of my head, like he’s some kind of oversized, cuddly dog.

“Really?” I mutter, half-laughing, half-rolling my eyes. I feel like I’ve just been hugged by a cloud that’s too polite to kiss me. But for some reason, I let it happen. Because he’s... well, he’s Will.

xxx

The kitchen is warm, the faint smell of soup and bread filling the air as we sort through blankets. Ruth and I are crouched on the floor, tossing folded donations into neat piles, the chaos of the last few hours finally calming. It’s been a busy morning, but now it’s just us, the quiet buzz of the space, and the comfort of each other’s presence.

I flick a glance at Ruth as I fold another thick woollen blanket. She’s unusually quiet today, not her usual chatty self. I can tell something’s been weighing on her, but for now, I keep my focus on the task at hand. We’ve had plenty of these quiet moments, where words feel unnecessary, but I can feel the need to talk bubbling up.

“You’re still seeing Arthur, right?” I ask, glancing up at her. She doesn’t meet my eyes right away, but I can tell she’s thinking about her answer carefully. I’ve known Ruth long enough to know when she’s hesitant, when she’s holding something back.

“Yeah," she replies, her voice softer than usual. "But it’s... complicated.”

I raise an eyebrow, knowing exactly what she means. "Complicated how?"

She runs a hand through her hair, the way she always does when she’s unsure. "It’s just... I dunno, I feel strange about how close he is with George. I just, don't want it to be weird. And now he’s going on tour soon, and, well...” She lets the sentence hang in the air, looking over at me for a second, searching my face for understanding.

I lean against the counter, folding another blanket slowly, as I digest her words. "You’re worried about how far you’re going with him?"

Ruth lets out a breath, eyes fixed on the stack of blankets, her voice low. "Yeah. I mean, I thought about it for more than one minute and I can’t just pop up to see him at a gig, right? Not unless I’m ready to... you know, make it serious. And I’m not sure I’m there yet."

I nod, knowing how much Ruth values her space, her independence. The idea of rushing into something because of distance or time always feels too much for her. It's touching how much she values me, too. The way she's still hesitant about the George situation, even after all of my reassurances. I do get it, where she's coming from.

But I also think she really, really deserves to be happy.

"But I really want to," Ruth says, her voice taking on a slightly dreamy tone. "Show up at a gig, I mean. He would lose it. Imagine him spotting me in the crowd or in the wings. It’d be like the greatest thing to ever happen to him." She pauses, her fingers playing with a loose thread on one of the blankets as she imagines.

A mischievous grin forms on her face, "I’d totally wear homemade merch of his face. Like, a huge I ❤️ Arthur Hill shirt, but with his face front and center, of course. Maybe a hat, too—like a full-on fan experience." She smirks to herself, imagining it all too clearly. "Maybe I’d even have a sign with his face on it, yelling, 'I’m Arthur’s #1 fan!' I swear, I would be such a good groupie. And he’d think I was so cool."

We both dissolve into laughter, imagining the scene in vivid detail—Arthur’s reaction when Ruth shows up in her full-on fan getup. I can almost hear him gasp, mouth open in surprise, as Ruth waves her sign with that grin of hers. “Honestly, I think if I made the hat a cowboy hat, that would just top it off,” I chuckle, picturing it even more vividly. "And, of course, the shirt has to be cropped, for extra spice." We laugh harder at the thought of it.

The laughter slowly dies down, and for a brief moment, I feel that familiar lull of quiet between us. The kind that only best friends share—the comfortable silence before one of us inevitably changes the subject.

“It's funny,” I say, breaking the silence, “I went on a date with Will last night.”

Ruth glances at me, her interest piqued, and I can’t help the slight grin that pulls at the corner of my mouth. “Well, don’t keep me hanging—what happened?”

I bite my lip, memories of the night still fresh. "It felt... different. Like, all the shit in my head just melted away when I was with him. The kind of easy that comes with years of knowing someone, but also, like, new? It wasn’t rushed or messy. We just... talked. And laughed. It was like a weird calm came over me, you know?"

Ruth watches me carefully, folding her own pile of blankets, but there’s a thoughtful expression on her face. "You know, that sounds great," she says after a beat. "But... you and Will? You’ve got more than just the calm and easy. You’ve got history, unfinished history."

I shift, uncomfortable under her gaze. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

She gives me a pointed look. "It means, you two havent spoken about your time apart, have you? Like he ghosted you. And you had another kind of-relationship since. You can’t just jump back in like nothing happened. I mean, you can, but you won’t know what it means until you deal with all the messy stuff first."

I chew on that for a moment, my fingers stilling as I fold a blanket in half. "We’re not exactly jumping in. It’s... slow. We’re taking it slow."

Ruth’s voice softens. "Are you though? You’re not just picking up where you left off?" She pauses, letting the weight of her words sink in. "I know I’m not the one who had to go through all of that with him, but I don’t want you to get stuck in a place where you’re not really moving forward."

I let her words hang in the air for a while, the weight of them settling inside me. "I guess I never really thought about it that way," I admit quietly.

Ruth glances at me, her expression softening. "I’m not saying you shouldn’t go for it with Will. But I think you need to decide what you really want from him... and from yourself. You don’t owe him an easy answer. And you don’t owe anyone else an explanation, either."

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. "Thanks, Ruth," I whisper, feeling the warmth of her words wrap around me like one of the blankets we’ve been folding.

“Anytime,” she says, her tone lightening. "Now, are we actually going to finish this pile of blankets or what?"

I laugh softly, the tension lifting for the moment, and nod. "Yeah, let’s get this done."

I watch Ruth as she neatly folds another blanket, the sound of fabric rustling filling the quiet space between us. I feel the weight of her words settling in, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of clarity creeping in. Sometimes, you don’t realize how much you need the hard truths until someone you trust throws them at you, no matter how uncomfortable. That’s what best friends are for, I suppose. To tell you what you need to hear, even when it’s the last thing you want to listen to. And maybe, just maybe, that's what makes it feel so right—because even when you don't want to hear it, you know they’re telling you out of love, out of a place that’s never going to steer you wrong.

Ruth catches my eye then, and I see that familiar softness in her gaze, the unspoken reassurance that, no matter what, she’s got my back. And I know, in that moment, that she’s right. I might not have all the answers yet, but at least I’m not alone in figuring it out.

xxx

Drinks after work?

The text is so simple, and so achingly familiar. Like a message plucked from some gentler, easier past.

How could I say no?

If you can stomach seeing me in my work clothes.

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. It’s been a day — the kind that makes your chest feel too tight and your spine coil with frustration. Nothing I do is good enough for my supervisor, who speaks exclusively in sighs and red-pen corrections. And somehow the bumbling intern — the one who left an actual backdoor in his code — got the full-time offer.

I was fed up. Tired in a way that coffee won’t fix.

But Will always had a way of making things feel lighter — even when I didn’t want him to. Especially then.

So I said yes.

The warmth of the pub barely cuts through the tension between us.

It’s packed tonight. The air hums with conversation and clinking glasses, the low roar of a football match flickering silently on a wall-mounted TV. A group of mates bursts into laughter by the dartboard, and someone walks past trailing the scent of cologne and stale ale.

It should be comforting. Familiar. It used to be.

But right now, none of it touches us.

We're in a booth by the window, surrounded by noise but wrapped in our own quiet storm. The table between us is sticky with old spills and ring marks, but neither of us comments. The distance isn’t physical — it’s the unsaid things. The words still coiled in our throats.

Will’s sitting across from me like theres nothing strange about this situation. He’s smiling at me like he always does — like nothing happened. Like we’re just two people picking things back up, easy as breathing.

He flashes that same easy smile — the one that used to make my stomach flip. It still does, but Ruth’s words are ringing in my ears.

“So…” I trace the rim of my glass, eyes on the soft bubbles. “Can I ask you something?”

Will raises a brow. “Dangerous start to a sentence. But go on.”

“Why did you ghost me?” I say it plain. Not angry. Just real. “After helping me move, after… all of it. You just disappeared.”

He shifts, eyes flicking to the worn wooden table, like there’s an answer carved into the grain.

“I didn’t want to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I just thought— Look, it was complicated. George was—” He cuts himself off.

My stomach twists. “George was what, Will?”

He finally looks at me. “He made it clear it wasn’t a good idea.”

“So instead of asking me how I felt, you let George decide what was best for me?”

His jaw tightens. “It wasn’t like that.”

“You stopped talking to me. That’s exactly what it was like.”

He runs a hand over his face like he’s trying to wipe the conversation away. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“For who?”

The noise of the pub fills the space he doesn’t.

I sit back, heart hammering, the pressure in my chest blooming wider. “You don’t get to pretend this is something easy, Will. You can’t just show up, crack a few jokes, and expect me to forget you dropped me when George told you to.”

His voice drops, rough now. “And what do you want me to do? Apologise for trying not to fuck everything up worse?”

“I want you to take accountability,” I bite out. “Stop hiding behind George, or your own guilt, or whatever this thing is. If you’re here now, be here. And if you’re not—don’t string me along again.”

He huffs out a laugh that’s not quite bitter, eyebrows raised like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You think this has been easy for me?”

“Oh, sorry,” I say, voice sharp. “Did I ruin your vibe by having feelings?”

Will leans forward, elbows on the table. The light above us throws shadows across his jaw. “You weren’t the only one confused, YN. You think I didn’t want to stick around? I was already in too deep and I didn’t know what the fuck you wanted, and George—”

“Stop saying his name like he’s your moral compass,” I hiss, leaning in too now, low enough that only he can hear. “Why didn’t you tell George to fuck off?”

That lands. He blinks, startled.

“I—” He stammers, caught somewhere between shame and defence. “Because I thought he was right.”

My stomach lurches. “Right about what? That I’m too fragile? Too messy? That I’d break if you touched me again?”

Will shakes his head, jaw tight. “That if I got close, I’d hurt you worse.”

“But you did, Will.” The words come soft but sharp. “You hurt me anyway. And you didn’t even give me the dignity of knowing why.”

He looks away.

Then, suddenly: “That kiss at the club — was that real?”

“What?”

“You kissed me right after you saw George kissing someone else,” he says. “You looked straight at him across the floor, and then you grabbed me like it was a fucking performance.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“You expect me to believe it wasn’t about him?”

We sit in that for a beat — the air between us tense and heavy. Fuck.

A couple nearby glance over, sensing something sharp in our quiet voices. I feel my pulse in my throat.

Will sighs hard, drumming his fingers once against the table like he needs to bleed off the frustration. “We’re in a pub.”

“Yeah. I noticed,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself like I can hold the heat in, or hold the ache back. “I wasn’t using you,” I say, firmly. “That kiss was messy, yeah, but it wasn’t fake. I liked you. I wanted you.”

His eyes search my face like he’s trying to find the truth between my words.

He exhales, bitter. “George basically told me he might be in love with you. And then I’m watching you freeze up when he walks past. Watching you clam up every time his name comes up. I thought… maybe I was in the way.”

My chest aches. “And instead of asking me, you just assumed we were meant to ride off into the sunset?”

“What was I supposed to do?” he mutters. “Push in between that? Screw over my mate? Watch you look at him the way I wish you looked at me?”

I sit back, stunned. “You should’ve talked to me.”

He looks exasperated. Someone else across the pub starts singing happy birthday.

“I mean…” He hesitates. “You’re not great at communicating either.”

There’s a beat. We both know he’s not wrong.

“You thought Becky and I were dating,” he adds. “Because of a photo that some random showed you on Instagram.”

I wince. “It’s not quite the same though, is it.”

“You thought I was cheating on someone with you, and believed it no questions asked.”

I sigh. “Okay, neither of us are saints.”

The tension crackles between us, sharp and bright. It’s then the server arrives, placing down a bowl of hot chips between us. The smell of salt and vinegar rises with the steam.

Neither of us reaches for one.

“Jesus,” Will mutters, shaking his head. “I’ve apologised, haven’t I?”

I blink. “When?”

“What do you mean when? In your old room last weekend. And I took you to dinner. Bought you coffee and flowers. I showed up tonight, too, didn’t I?”

“That’s not an apology,” I say flatly. I don’t mention it, but in my old room he said he would’ve told me sorry.

“Yes, it is!” His voice rises — not loud, but enough for a few heads to glance over from the bar. “I got on my knees for you, for fuck’s sake.”

I let out a single laugh. Bitter. “Yeah, that wasn’t you apologising. That was you trying to beg your guilt away.”

I can sense the couple from before staring at us again. Burning a hole in the side of my head.

But we are silent again. The thick, suffocating kind. Someone’s dog barks near the door and the jukebox skips to another song.

“You haven’t said, ‘I’m sorry for ghosting you and leaving without a trace.’ That sentence. Say it.”

He looks at me like I’ve just asked him to jump off a roof.

“I didn’t think I needed to spell it out.”

“You do,” I whisper. “Because otherwise it just feels like you got what you wanted and bailed before your friendships got messy.”

He exhales slowly. Then, quieter: “You froze up. That night. We were in your room, and then you heard George’s voice and you just—”

My breath catches.

“You stiffened, YN. Like I was hurting you. Like I was some kind of mistake you didn’t want to admit to.”

“That’s not fair,” I snap. But my voice shakes. Just say you’re sorry, Will.

“Isn’t it?” he says. “You were kissing me and thinking about him. You think that didn’t mess with my head?”

“I wasn’t thinking about him,” I say, quieter now. “I just… couldn’t breathe. It was like the room shrank.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“Because you left, Will. You never gave me a chance to.”

He goes quiet. The noise around us carries on — clinks of cutlery, someone’s pint being refilled at the bar.

“You can talk all you want about how complicated it was, how George had opinions, how I froze. But none of that changes the fact that you disappeared. You made me feel like I did something wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah,” I cut him off. “You keep saying that. But you still haven’t said you’re sorry.”

His eyes are on mine now. Serious. Steady.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Quiet. But solid. “I’m sorry for ghosting you. For leaving without a trace. I should’ve said something. I should’ve explained. I should’ve stayed.”

It lands like a weight in my chest. Not relief. Not forgiveness. But something unblocking, finally.

I breathe. “Why didn’t you just talk to me, Will?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” he says simply. “And because I thought if I said it out loud, I’d fuck it all up.”

“You did fuck it all up,” I murmur.

“I know.”

Another long beat. The tension slowly drains, leaving something raw behind.

“This is exhausting,” I mutter, rubbing my temple.

He nods, no sarcasm this time. “It is. Because we’re terrible at this.”

“At what?”

“Talking. Being honest. Existing around each other without stepping on a landmine.”

I let out a short, humourless laugh. “Yeah. That.”

He leans forward, voice softer now. “I don’t want this to be a game, YN. I’m so unbelievably sorry that I left. That I hurt you. And that because of that, George hurt you.”

I shift in my seat. The sound of his name still stings.

“But I’m here now. I want to put in the work. But I think you need to put in the work too.”

“I know.” I pick up a chip absently, let it cool in my fingers. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I should’ve done differently.”

I should’ve talked to Will about what we were before it was too late. I should’ve talked to George, about why he was acting so weird. I shouldn’t have given George so much power in a relationship that wasn’t his.

There was a lot that I did wrong, too.

I pause. “But I need more than a promise. I need you to show up. Not just physically. Emotionally. And I need to know I can tell you when I’m overwhelmed, or scared, or angry — without worrying you’ll disappear again.”

He meets my eyes, steady. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I echo, cautious.

He nods. “We try. We talk. We don’t pretend this is chill if it’s not. We don’t lie by omission. We get better at the hard bits.”

“And you won’t let George decide for you again?”

He smirks, just slightly. “George can fuck off.”

It makes me laugh. Just once. But it’s real.

Will smiles too, softer now. Like something unclenched in him.

“We’re gonna be weird about this for a while, aren’t we?” I say, picking up another chip.

“yeah,” Will says, raising his glass to clink against mine. “But weird’s better than silence.”

We sit like that for a moment, eating our chips, the greasy warmth from the fryer still clinging to each piece. The salt lingers on my lips, and I can’t help but catch Will's eye, his grin a little sheepish, a little more vulnerable than usual. The air between us feels lighter, not quite as heavy, and I find myself slipping into the comfort of it.

Under the table, I can feel the faintest pressure against my ankle. Just a brush of his foot against mine, a quiet invitation that makes me hesitate for a moment — like maybe I’m not supposed to let this in, not supposed to feel this easy. But my foot shifts in response, sliding gently to meet his. It’s nothing overt, nothing charged, but it’s there — a soft connection, a reminder that we’ve always had this unspoken thing between us, even when everything else was a mess.

This is something. It’s not love. Not yet. But it’s connection.

It’s the kind of connection that sneaks up on you when you least expect it, when you’ve been too busy with your own doubts and messes to notice it unfolding in front of you. We’ve got a long way to go, I know that. There’s still all the history between us — the ghosting, the miscommunication, the stupid mistakes we both made. But in this moment, none of that feels as big. It feels... small, almost laughable, in the face of this — whatever this is.

He picks up a chip, his fingers grazing mine as he passes it across, and I realise how ridiculous this is — how simple, how human it all feels. A few moments ago, the space between us felt like a chasm — each of us locked in our own versions of hurt and frustration. Now, here we are, sitting in the midst of it, sharing something almost silly, and yet more real than all the words we’ve said so far.

The clink of glasses and the low murmur of voices in the pub fade, becoming background noise. Everything falls into place — no more walls between us, no more shouting or stony silences, just the ease of shared space, a shared understanding. The tension that had been so thick in the air, so palpable between us, melts right off like the ice in my drink.

For a second, everything is quiet. The world outside of this booth, outside of this moment, doesn’t matter.

His foot brushes mine again, just lightly enough to make me smile without thinking about it. There’s something fragile in the way we’re both playing this — careful, soft, tentative — but I’m not as afraid of it as I thought I’d be. Will hasn’t said much, hasn’t done anything grand, but it’s enough. We’re here. We’re still in the same room, still tangled in this space. And maybe that’s the start of something better — something real.

We eat in silence for a while, dipping chips into ketchup or aioli, stealing little glances, the quiet almost comfortable. There’s something in that small touch of foot against foot, in the way we don’t rush into words or apologies now. Casual kindness, casual softness sneaking in like it’s always been here, only waiting for the right moment to make itself known.

It’s the simplest thing, really. But in this moment, it feels like everything.

He breaks the silence, his voice low but steady. "Can I take you out to dinner on Friday?" he says, almost shy. "A do-over?"

The words hang in the air for a moment, and I feel my shoulders slouch, the tension that’s been hanging on my frame for too long finally melting away. The question isn’t a promise. It isn’t some grand gesture. It’s just... him asking, softly.

"Yeah, I’d like that," I say, the words coming out easier than I expected.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and I see something flicker in his eyes — relief, maybe. Or hope. It’s hard to tell. But in that moment, I’m sure of one thing: whatever comes next, it feels like we’re starting to get it right.

We go back to eating, to chatting. The tension gone, but something new between us — something quiet, something real. And for the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid to let it be enough.

TagList: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz @luvnarthur @capnjosh @ellouisa17

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

Hi, here's a prompt: the first time Aaron meets Seb again (your choice whether robron are back together at that point)

He and John are in the shop when he sees him. His husband is deliberating over what kind of toothpaste to buy, as if they didn't all do the same job.

"Right, you can pick one bag of sweets, ok?" He hears Robert say and he presumes he's with Harry and he turns back to John to see if he's made any kind of decision. He loves the man but no one should spend this much time on toothpaste.

"Can we go to the swings Daddy? Harry told me the slide is awesome." He's sure his heart skips more than one beat at the high pitched voice.

Daddy.

Seb.

He turns round so fast he knocks the basket out of John's hand and he hurriedly starts picking up what's fallen out, eyes not moving from the little boy. Now he's looking he can see he's taller than Harry, the once reddish tinged hair now all blonde. He looks just like Robert in the photos that cover Vic's walls.

"Once you've picked your sweets yes. Just for a bit. Auntie Vic is cooking and your old Dad's not brave enough to be late for that."

He needs to get out of here. It's not as if he's not wondered if Seb would come back to the village, but it's been months so he'd assumed Robert hadn't wanted to uproot him after everything he'd been through.

"Aaron? Are you listening to me? I said are you ready?"

"Yeah." He drags his eyes away from the pair of them, both concentrating on the selection of sweets on the other side of the shop.

He tells John he's going for a pint, knows he won't join him, one of his medical things is on telly and Aaron can't stand them so he waves him off with a kiss. He's almost halfway up the hill when he hears the shout and he turns to see Seb hurtling up the road completely ignoring the car that's heading towards him.

He doesn't think, just runs and grabs him, pulling him towards the safety of Nicola and Jimmy's garden, heart beating out of his chest, and the next thing he hears is running footsteps.

"Seb!"

"He's fine." He puts the little boy down, watches as he runs to Robert and hugs him, obviously scared. Whether that's from the car or the strange person grabbing him he's not sure. "Robert, he's fine."

"You can't do that mate. You have to watch for cars, ok? Your Dad's too young for a heart attack yeah?" Robert just keeps holding him close, and Aaron should go, he knows he should, but he can't move.

"Sorry Daddy."

"Aaron...thank you." Robert sounds shaken and he's as white as a sheet when he lets himself look up. Seb's still clinging to him. "Hey mate, you go to aunty Vic's ok? We'll go to the playground tomorrow instead ok?" Seb nods and wanders up the road, the pair of them not taking their eyes off him until he's safely in her front door.

"I, er, I didn't know he was with you."

"I wasn't sure, thought he'd been through enough upheaval, but Vic kept on at me to visit. As soon as I saw him...he just ran to me Aaron. I thought he'd forget."

"Don't be daft. You're his Dad."

"Even so...what have I got to offer him? I live with my sister, barely got a job and just out of prison."

"You love him Robert. That's all he needs. You and I both know that's the most important thing. The rest can be sorted out." He looks over at the pub. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, he just scared me." He hesitates, looking past him for a second. "You know, he still remembers you. I mean I don't think he recognises you but he still remembers Aaron who used to read him stories."

"I..." He doesn't know what to say, because he was never anything proper to Seb, not really, however much Robert tried,, he'd had no hold over him and he'd been ripped away just like everything else. He'd had to bury it, the love he'd had for the cheeky little boy. "I should go."

"Aaron...if you want to see him...I know John probably won't like it, but if you do, then all you have to do is say so."

"I don't know Robert. I mean it's Seb and he's no doubt brilliant, but it hurt, and we've all moved on now. Maybe it's best to not confuse him."

"Well, the offers there..."

"Yeah. I'll see you then." He goes before he gives in and all but runs into Vic's.

He doesn't know what's stopping him though. Robert's right, John wouldn't like it, but then he doesn't seem to like much at all lately. It's not like he hasn't thought about it, going back to Robert, some days it's all he thinks about. The thing is he's scared. Scared that it'll alll disappear again and he knows he won't survive it a second time. A part of him has been waiting for Robert to leave. But now, Seb is here and Robert obviously wants to get settled back into the village

So the question is, what's stopping him from ending things with John. Now Robert's back he sees just how much he's settling with him. He hadn't seen it before, had been happy to be settled and normal for a change, but lately it's been like there's something missing.

He needs a drink, and then he needs to talk to his husband.

[modern-day-classic]

One thing no one ever tells you about getting a shit tonne of small tattoos is placement decisions become a fucking bitch.

I'm meant to be going to get my new tattoo on Sunday but I still have NO CLUE on placement.... I'd love it to be on my wrist, but I already have 4 across my two wrists. Then I thought biceps but I have some there too and don't want to look like I's starting patchwork sleeves.

Next I thought ankle, but I have some there already too.... ribs are out cause I have ones across there too and on my back....

My next thought was down one of my hips, but then no one would ever see it!

Guyssss I need suggestions! Do I just embrace the mess of having 7 tattoos across my arms, add another to the ankles or go with the hip?

[berrryparfait]

take my cock, milady ! ˖𓂃 .⚜ ݁˖

♥︎ ︎ featuring: servant! caleb, sylus, zayne, rafayel, xavier x countess! fem-afab!reader

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: you are the beloved countess of a prosperous noble family, cherished for your innocence and grace. but no one is perfect, for in a secluded room at tonight’s social ball, something rather ungraceful is unfolding…

❝ but—we're not allowed! it's improper—! ❞

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: [nsfw] pure smut, regency au, piv, creampie, indecent / semi-public exposure, dubcon, classist / sexist sentiments, forbidden attraction

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: wildest dreams (from bridgerton s1)

✧ a/n: inspired by the lewd royal manhwas they don't allow on the naver webtoon app (and bridgerton, ofc) <3

It’s social season again.

You…dislike it. The wide, blinding smiles with little behind them, the stuffy ball gowns with far too many frills, the uncanny conversations about the weather you’re forced to endure… It’s all so tiring.

Here you are, in your poufy designer skirts, growing more anxious by the second. Your pink lace corset is squeezing the life out of your lungs. It wouldn’t be the most admirable display of manners, but you could really use some time alone right now.

You enter one of the empty study rooms down the busy hallway, suffocated and overwhelmed all at once. But what you don’t expect is your freshly-hired servant to follow you in…

“Are you quite alright, Milady?” You startle, surprised to hear another voice in the room with you. Male. Oh no. “Yes, yes, I’m just fine. Thank you, Caleb.” You politely request some peace and quiet, waving him away with delicate, gloved fingers. Let’s just say, it would be less than ideal if someone were to catch you alone in here with a man. A playful grin plays at his lips, and you freeze. How have you not noticed his ravishing good looks all this time? “It seems to me that you’re in need of a little release. A beautiful maiden like you must be…frustrated.” You pretend to misunderstand him, though you know perfectly well what he means. He’s right—being cooped up in the manor all day has left you dry, in every sense of the word. Heat pools in your core, though you try your best to ignore it. After all, it isn’t proper for a noblewoman to be consulting her servant on intimate matters like these.

His breath warms your cheek as he steps infinitely closer, and the throbbing between your legs intensifies. “Let me handle you, Milady…” he whispers, soft and alluring. Your body leans into his, even as your mind screams at you to shove him straight to the heavens.. His hands are on your hips, bunching up the fabric of your skirt— “This is improper— We can’t—” But instead of pulling away, you let yourself succumb to his ministrations, lost in the wonderful feeling of his searing touch on your skin. He’s planting wet kisses on your neck now, gently pushing you up against the wall as you sigh and wonder if anyone outside can hear you. “You’re wet for me, Princess,” he muses as he reaches a skilled hand between your legs, his thumb brushing against your nub of nerves. A small squeal leaves your lips. “Shh shh shh, they’ll hear us…” He pushes your skirt all the way up to your waist before freeing his large, erect cock, angling it so that the tip rests just between your folds. Your mouth hangs open as he pushes his length all the way into your sex—the first long, delicious glide of his dick along your walls like releasing a breath of relief. You fail to suppress a tortured moan, and he chuckles against the curve of your neck.

His thrusts are slow at first, unhurried. But then his grip on your waist tightens and your pussy clenches in response, the blinding pleasure overwhelming you. Distantly, you remember this man is your servant—a man without status or recognition—yet here he is, fucking you into oblivion at a ball with your back against a priceless, likely stained painting. He groans into your ear and your whimpers come out louder, prompting him to press a hand to your mouth and muffle your cries. “You’re going to go back out there…and act like nothing happened… You hear me?” he grits out between pants, holding your thigh up to pound into your cunt with unforgiving force. You come undone. Hot, sticky cum fills you to the brim while you shake and spasm like a hummingbird, the most euphoric sensation washing over you.

By the time he’s pulled out and gathered his composure, you’ve only just smoothed down your unruly mess of hair, your legs still trembling as you attempt to straighten your skirt. “Alert me whenever you’re in need of a little fun, Milady. I’ll make sure you never forget how it feels to be wanted again.” He winks at you, and your heart stills. His cum is still dripping down your legs when you return to the ballroom.

“Well, you look awfully pale, Milady.” You bristle at the deep, husky voice, unaware someone had followed you in. “Relax. It’s only me. I came in to check on you,” he pauses, examining the sleeves of his uniform. “Am I right to say that you’re a little…wound up right now?” He says it with concern, though a teasing lilt punctuates his words. “Sylus, we can’t be seen here together.” You say, panic rising in your throat. What will people think? What will your family say? Rumors spread like wildfire in high society—it won’t be long before your reputation is irreversibly tarnished. He merely snickers at your urgency, low and ominous. The smirk on his face is telling, though you don’t want to know what it is he’s trying to tell you. He steps closer to you, towering over your ribboned head with an un-servant-like ease.

Sparks ignite in your belly, a strange, filthy feeling that leaves you wanting more. His gloved hand brushes the side of your face as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I happen to know all the ways to satisfy a lady…” Your eyes flutter as he loosens your corset, every inch of your body responding to his touch. “The pleasure I’m capable of providing… Aren’t you tempted, Kitten?” And even though you know it's wrong, and you know it’s unbecoming, and that you’ll probably regret this the second it’s over, you breathe, “Yes…” He hums in response, trailing soft licks and kisses down the side of your neck as he wrenches your corset apart. Your plump breasts spill out, and his pupils dilate, his gaze fixated on your bare chest like an animal watching its prey. Hickeys bloom across your shoulder as his fingers twist your nipples, eliciting squeaks of surprise from you that only fuel his desire. “I’m going to bend you over, and you’re going to stay quiet. You hear me?” he orders, and you nod pathetically. As much as you hate the thought of submitting to your servant right now, the growing arousal between your legs is too much to bear.

You get on all fours on the carpeted ground, hoping to god no one walks in. The door doesn’t have a lock—it’s entirely possible for someone to stumble upon you like this. Impatient, he rolls your skirt up to expose your rear, and you shudder as he pulls your knickers down to your knees. “Wait— What if someone walks in—” But your protests are silenced by his rock-hard cock sliding into your pussy, the feeling of his girth stretching you from the inside sending waves of suffocating pleasure to your head. It’s obscene, the squelching noises echoing through the room as he plunges into you so fast and hard you see stars on the ceiling. With every thrust, his balls slap against your clit, and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. “Sylus— Slow down— I’m going to—” You moan into your elbow as he slams into you from behind, grunting and swearing under his breath as his cock swells.

Warm cum bursts from his engorged tip, the thick, viscous fluid leaking out of your pussy like syrup funneled from a tree. You collapse onto the floor, utterly spent. You were wrong—you don’t regret this one bit. “You’re free to take my cock whenever you’d like, Milady. After all, I do live to serve you.” The sardonic grin on his face nearly has you coming apart all over again.

“Is something the matter, Milady?” You recognize that voice. It’s your new servant, Zayne—the younger one. He isn’t supposed to be in here. “You looked a little pale earlier, so I took it upon myself to accompany you.” Your heart warms at his display of concern, though it does little to ease your distress over the situation. A woman must not be in the company of a man unchaperoned. “Can we speak outside?” The worry in your voice is clear. He walks up to you in an attempt to console you, his stride cautious. Right off the bat, you’d identified Zayne as “bright”. He’s hardworking, earnest, and never meddles in other people’s business. Today must be an exception. “Allow me to offer my help, Milady. I believe I know just the way to soothe a lady’s nerves. It’s…textbook.” Your stomach drops. He’s going to defile me—right here in this room! The indecency of it repulses you, yet you don’t head for the door. Your feet are rooted to the ground, completely helpless as his icy gaze travels the length of your body.

Gently, he guides you down onto the wide couch, settling you on his lap with a care that makes your breath hitch. “You’re my servant, Zayne—” But your efforts are futile. He’s dragging his hand along your thigh, his touch scorching hot as your skirt hikes up with it. You’ve never felt such powerful sensations before. It’s intoxicating. He reaches under your knickers and, with his thumb, begins to draw small circles on your most sensitive spot. You whimper in response, slickening almost instantaneously. How embarrassing..! “Does this feel good, Your Grace?” Your eyes respond for you, half-lidded and needy. It isn’t long before you’re grinding on his leg, chasing that sweet friction you now desperately need. Is he doing this on purpose? Drawing it out for your benefit?

He doesn’t torment you for long. Withdrawing his hand from between your legs, he pulls his pants down to his ankles and his twitching, hard cock springs free. You gape at the size of it, wondering if it’ll even fit. But that wicked, aching need in your core only grows stronger with every second that passes; the idea of him barely fitting sounds… To put it plainly, you're willing to do many unladylike things in this room right now. And though every last brain cell is telling you to get up and leave while you still can, you slide onto his cock anyway. It tingles so wonderfully where you’re connected in his lap—you give in to your body’s desires and bounce on it. “Faster, please—” he groans as you fuck yourselves silly on the couch, keeping your pace as best as you can and crying out each time his tip hits your sweet spot. People might hear us… you think anxiously, yet somehow your pleasure only heightens, the mental image if you and your servant fucking like rabbits in a room that doesn’t belong to you so thoroughly demented.

His dick throbs inside you, and your walls flutter. You both struggle to muffle your cries as he pumps his thick seed into your cunt, every part of your shaking so violently you nearly fall off his lap. “I sincerely hope that was…effective, Milady. Judging by your body’s response, I’d say you’ll be satisfied for a while. But when that satisfaction eventually fades…” His dick is still snug in your pussy, and you feel your walls tightening again. “Eventually” may come sooner than he thinks.

“Tough crowd, Milady?” You gasp and spin around. What? “You look like you’re about to faint.” Your new servant, Rafayel, stands by the closed door, a curious expression on his face. “I-I’m fine. Could I have some privacy, please?” you stammer, flustered. It isn’t acceptable for a lady to be hiding away at a social event like this, let alone with a male servant. So many things could go wrong. “Why? Don’t you think it’d be in your best interest to let off some steam?” He smirks at you, coy and sensual. There’s a hidden edge to him you’ve never noticed before—it’s making your knees weak. He tosses his gloves onto the floor and approaches you, slowly. Darkly. He looks like he’s about to give you orders.

“Face the wall. You’ll do as I say, won’t you?” He’s lust-drunk, hazy and hungry at the mere sight of you. The command—along with the aching throb between your legs— offends you, and you spit, “I am a noblewoman, excuse you—” “You’re a woman. And we both know you’re wet for me…” he whispers, sending shivers down your spine. Your body involuntarily arches against his, and he chuckles sadistically. Silently, you start to pray. You don’t know exactly what it is you’re praying for, but it involves his hands all over you and your mouth on his— Your sinful thoughts shock you, yet you’ve never longed for anything as miserably as you do this. Fresh arousal dribbles down your inner thigh as he corners you against the wall. At a loss, you glare at him defiantly. “You’re a nobody—”

You’re spun around and pressed up against the wall in an instant, the outline of his cock pressing against your ass. A started whimper leaves your lips as he nips at your earlobe, sharp and angry. “You’re gonna regret all that mouthing off, Princess,” he snarls, and your toes curl in anticipation. In one sudden movement, his pants are on the ground, and your skirt is pushed up to expose your ass. He shoves your undergarments to the side and thrusts his length into your sopping cunt, a firm hand restraining yours to the wall. The pleasure is euphoric, foreign—each jerk of his hips sending you into a mindless daze. His breath warms your cheek as he groans, and in the heat of the moment, he seizes your mouth, hot and hurried. “I think I’m going to—” But you choke on your words as a strained moan erupts from your throat, his dick hitting the ceiling of the sticky space inside you. What would the other nobles think if they saw you like this; all whiny and pathetic while taking your servant’s cock?

With one final thrust, ropes of cum drench the walls of your pussy, and the feeling of coming undone around his cock is indescribable. He grunts as he pushes his seed deep into your heat, his grip on your waist never loosening. Though you loathe to admit it, you needed that. You cling to his strong arms as you descend from your high. His voice is possessive, sinister when he says, “You’re mine. I don’t care who stands in my way. You’ll always be mine.”

“I couldn’t help but follow you in, Milady.” Xavier? What on earth is he doing in here? “It’s come to my attention that you haven’t been feeling your best tonight.” He’s naturally reserved and a bit on the no-nonsense side—you know that much. Surely he’s only here with good intentions. “No worries, Xavier. Just needed a little breather, that’s all.” His icy blue eyes lock on yours, and your breath catches in your throat. He looks…unconvinced. “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, averting his gaze. Like what? There’s no one else in this room. Could he be…in heat right now? You frown at him, wary, and make your way to the door.

A hand reaches out to grab you by the elbow, effectively stopping you in your tracks. “What—” He pulls you into his embrace, his breaths short and labored. “You’re not leaving this room, Milady. I need to have you here.” He unties the ribbons holding your corset together, his fingers fumbling with urgency. You’re too stunned to move, yet you don’t yell at him or push him away. Heat pools in the pit of your stomach, an ache begging to be soothed. Your perky breasts are freed in an instant, swaying in his face before he latches onto your nipple and begins to suck at it like a man starved. The wet, sloppy licks of his tongue cloud your brain, and your pussy clenches. “Xavier, wait—” you protest, but he’s sucking on your other nipple right now, and your words die in your mouth. He’s clearly skilled, but you still can’t wrap your head around it. This servant of yours—a quiet, modest boy—is driving you to tears by suckling on your tits.

“Do you want my cock?” he asks, suddenly arrogant and crude. You nod obediently and let him pull you down onto the floor, shivering as he frees his hardened length and pushes your legs apart. You’re so wet it’s embarrassing, but it only seems to encourage him. He removes your knickers and presses his tip to your folds, the friction making your hips roll upwards. “Be patient,” he orders, and you nod once more. Slowly—torturously so—he inserts himself into your tight heat, making sure you feel every inch of his cock rubbing against your walls. You moan his name and flush hot, unused to the feeling of being this naked, this vulnerable in front of a man. He’s pounding into you seconds later, unable to hold back himself. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. His control is slipping, and you’re paying the price for it. You feel so full, so dirty with his cock between your legs, like you’re committing an unforgivable sin that will bar you from heaven forever. But you don’t care—this is heaven to you. This is pure, inexorable bliss.

His movements stutter, and he blows his load deep into your cunt as you fail to muffle your screams. Your pussy spasms hard, your juices leaking onto the carpet in an obscene puddle. Can’t—stop—shaking— He helps you up, his hold around your waist steady. “I apologize, Milady. I-I couldn’t resist.” You stare at the cum gliding down your calf and consider making him your personal servant.

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

won't you spare me another year ?

synopsis : you want to be the first person to wish your katsuki a happy birthday every year <3

an. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BOYFRIEND!!

cw. nothing, pure fluff!!! also fem reader!

"5..4...3...2...1...aaaand—happy birthday, katsuki !!"

katsuki groans sleepily as your arms tighten around him. "you're fucking insane. it's midnight."

"it's your birthday !" you defend quietly, pouting up at him. he looks down at you and chuckles.

"ya could've just let me sleep and told me that shit in the morning, would've still been m'birthday." he yawns, wiping his eyes. you shoot up to press a kiss to his cheek, leaning into his space more to kiss him all over while he pretends to try and push you off when you roll on top of him. you both ignore how he immediately goes to squeezing your hips when you settle on top.

"i could've, but then there would've been a chance i slept in too long and then i wouldn't have been the first one to wish you happy birthday."

"so my birthday's a competition now ?"

"yup. and i plan to be first every year." you giggle, he rolls his eyes but can't hide the smile growing on his face.

"clingy brat.." he mumbles, he kisses you back anyways when your lips reach his.

"you love me." you counter.

"mm, whatever." he waves off, grabbing the back of your head to bring your lips back to his. you squeal as he tries to deepen the kiss. "you're being greedy." you warn, lips smushed against his.

"s'my birthday, means i get what i wan’, right ? and since you're gonna keep me awake, could at the very least gimme a proper damn kiss." he says between kisses, it makes you laugh against his mouth and he smiles. when you pull away, you lean in to press a long, lasting kiss on the scar right below his eye. you can feel the way the muscles in his face drop and his arms tighten around you in surprise.

"happy birthday, katsuki. i'm glad i can spend another year with you." you whisper earnestly, looking down at him like he'd hung up the moon and the stars for you. unfortunately, it seems that was too much sincerity for your poor boyfriend. he squints, his massive palms enveloping your face to squeeze your cheeks.

"y-yeah, yeah. quit bein' sappy..." he huffs. you feel his thumb run against your bottom lip when he glances up at you, ears tinted pink as he quietly whispers out a "thanks...".

you don't need to say anymore, smiling as you lay on his chest. you hum "what do you wanna do for your birthday ?"

"stay in and fuckin' sleep." is his simple response, you can't help but snort.

"and nothing else ?" you look up at him.

he looks down at you "sounds like you got something you're hiding from me." he asks, suspiciously raising a brow.

you scoff, looking away "pffff, me ? no way..."you lie, your voice going airy.

you’re being grabbed by your cheeks in an instant and katsuki’s not deterred by your whining "you're a shit liar."

"i plead the fifth."

"plead my ass." katsuki scoffs, squishing your cheeks in his palm. "i hate being out of the loop on shit, you know that."

"would it kill you to not be a killjoy ? where's your whimsy ? your child's soul ?" you whine.

"whatever the fuck that means." katsuki snarks. you laugh again, and he rolls his eyes. "as long as whatever you got planned doesn't take up my whole damn day, then do what you want."

now it's your turn to roll your eyes "no need to worry, i won't be interfering with your plans to sleep in."

"our plans. you're not going anywhere." your boyfriend corrects.

"i have no say in it, do i ?" you tease.

he pokes your cheek. "nope. s'my birthday." he responds simply.

you laugh "you're using that as some sort of cheat code now ?"

when your laughter dies down he's still looking down at you. eyes, droopy with sleep sure, but with something soft inside of them. they glow illuminated by the light of the moon outside.

"what ?"

"nuffin." he sighs, still just looking down at you. his fingers run across your face, your cheeks and eyebrows and nose so softly, so unlike him (he of course has to take the opportunity to squeeze your nose, but you decide not to ruin the moment).

"yeah, right. c'mon what is it?" you urge. katsuki scoffs "so damn persistent." he reprimands. he shushes you when you remind him that "that's why you like me so much!"

"m'just..thinkin'."

"about..?" you wiggle higher up until you can kiss his chin. he sighs again , smiling to himself.

"about...this really annoying girl."

you glare up at him, he smirks. "oh yeah ?" you deadpan.

"oh, yeah. a real pain in the ass. always talkin' back to me and bothering me. planning surprises and other stupid things for my birthday every year. " he taunts.

you roll your eyes again "she sounds like a fun time. sounds to me like you just don't know how to have any fun." you grouch. katsuki laughs, of course he does, dickhead.

"yeah, well. as annoying as she is...she is a pretty damn fun time." he admits softly "real damn sweet too...probably too sweet for me.."

you look up at him in surprise. he squeezes your nose to avoid you and you swipe at his hand. he continues talking while you're distracted. "but i'm glad she chose to be with an asshole like me, and..." he leans down to press a peck between your brows.

"..and there's nothing else i'd like more for my birthday then to spend it with her again next year. even if we do lame, boring shit like staying in or doing whatever."

you feel your heart squeeze almost painfully tight. your cheeks pull up so hard you feel your jaw hurt, but you're so unbearably happy.

so unbearably happy you get to spend another year of his life with him.

you lean in to kiss him. "well, i don't know about her surprises, but mine's gonna blow your socks off. s'gonna make you cry like you did last year."

he scoffs, planting another kiss to your lips. "i didn't cry, dickwad. that's your mind making shit up." he denies.

"yeah, okay" you laugh, and with one final kiss you pull back to look at your love, with all the love you had for him. "happy birthday, katsuki."

and he smiles back, softly, and only reserved for moments like this with you.

yeah, it sure was. happy fuckin' birthday to him.

[wirewitchviolet]

Sudokuvania: Digits of Despair is one of the most impressive works of pure game design I have ever seen.

Before I say anything else, I am going to be talking about a game that is VERY new and has pretty terrible search optimization, so in case this blog post somehow came up near the top of results for someone, here is the as-of-this-writing-current 1.02 release, and for good measure, here is the official FAQ page with the full version history, any future patches, and an FAQ for some of the more confusingly worded stuff that crops up later into the game. Now on with the praise-heaping!

So... Sudokuvania pretty much exactly what the name implies. It's a -vania, that is, a Metroidvania, and specifically one styled after one of the ones that's actually in the latter Castlevania series so that naming convention actually makes sense. Exploring a big castle, fighting bosses, getting various items letting you explore more areas, maybe breaking out of the borders of the map to find cool secrets here and there.

Also, it's a variant of sudoku. And I don't mean someone sat down with some videogame designing toolkit and made a videogame where some of the gameplay is solving logic puzzles on a grid you fill with numbers (I mean, I guess technically I do). I mean that link to the game I posted takes you to a website with a little built in standard app for solving sudoku puzzles and weird variations thereof, and the particular puzzle it's pointing to, somehow, manages to have a big map to explore, boss fights, special items that give you new powers, NPCs, and for good measure, fog of war. It is, again, an absolutely amazing hacky thing and I'm flabbergasted at how well executed it is. Now you're probably wondering how that even works, and that's why I'm writing this big gushy blog post. Here's what you see when you first load it up:

You're going to notice there is some absurdly small and kind of important text you can't possibly read, and that's because again, this is kind of a hacky thing this site so was not designed for. So it's kind of annoying but if you access this through the proper introduction page, it'll explain that the first thing you need to do is click the little gear icon in the floating tool palette, toggle on Visuals: Draw arrows above lines and Disable emoji replacement, then scroll all the way down to Experimental and turn on Test Large Puzzle UI. That enables you to zoom in and out with the scroll wheel, and right-click drag to pan around. It's... a little clunky because again, this website was NOT built for this, but tada, now you can zoom in, read the text, and start solving at a reasonable size. Then there's a couple gameplay concepts it does its best to explain, but... most people I've shown it to myself included needed extra explanation of a couple important early concepts. So let me just do a little color coding here to make this easier to get...

The map is not, in fact, one great big grid. It's 9 squares (and one rectangle that's not quite square over on the east side). Each of these is its own 9x9 Sudoku grid (well, the starting one is 6x6 and has those mutant 2x3 cells instead of the usual 3x3, and there's that weird eastern mutant). If you're solving stuff in one square, you completely ignore everything outside that square, except for where they overlap, in which case the numbers you're placing have to fit for both puzzles. So if we look at the light grey/green intersection on the left, those three overlap cells respectively can't be 4 6 or 5 (and whatever use you deduce in the grey box, but the pure green cells completely ignore all that, you're just focusing on the green 9x9 (which is going to have the overlap as a starting point, naturally).

The next bit that through me off a ton is the way fog of war works. Let me reasonably zoom in and do a little solving here. One second...

Here's the whole starting area all marked up to hell like you do when you're kinda bad at Sudoku and don't know how to spot a starting point. Penciling in little numbers in the corners. You'll also notice a that... most of the map is covered in this dark grey fog of war. A lot of in-game stuff mentions that you shouldn't go clicking out into the fog of war, because it'll show you names of later areas and preview certain special rules and all, but that's talking about clicking WAY off from what you can see. You are 100% allowed to solve stuff out in the fog of war, and it's pretty stingy about de-fogging. Don't go blindly guessing because then you can maybe end up sequence breaking but... yeah. Sorry I'm spoiling the Front Gate, it's basically the tutorial though. Anyway, first move is obvious, only one place we can put that 6, and suddenly...

Tada, important space so it rewarded us with a little fog clearing. You can also see that this will handily point out stuff in your pencil notes that can't be true, but only if A- it's untrue for standard sudoku reasons not special stuff, and B- it's not in the fog of war (or on the other side of some. You also maybe noticed that weird green thing under that first hint 6? That's something we need a tool for, you don't worry about it until you have that tool. Solving this out some more...

Little more de-fogging, both of the puzzle area and the margins where we're getting new information on playing the game in general. Now right here if you're observant, you'll see that bottom right corner has to be a 6. It's out in the fog of war, but you can mark it if you know what it is. And...

I was cropping it out before but the big purple number pad is always floating off to the side there, and the green text box over it, which among other things has an area name and flavor text for whatever grid you're in. This won't ALWAYS happen when you place numbers in fog of war, but there was a trigger on this 6 to load in a little piece of the first real area, and oh hey, we unlocked "Guide THERMO!" That's our first tool, and it's described up in the upper left.

So tada, from here out in addition to standard sudoku stuff, you've got these "bronze Guide THERMOs" that show up here and there and have this extra rule. You basically never get free numbers in the grid past the Front Gate, it's all slow-marching into new areas using what you're bringing in plus some easy starting examples of how your new tools work, plowing on from there. The fog of war is pretty stingy but it keeps you focused. You'll also notice the rules here mention bosses, all the 9x9 ones have one. It's clearly marked, and you should PROBABLY expose it from the fog first, but any time you're in the area really you, if you scroll around in that green text box or hit the rules button when in a grid, there's a link you can click to go fight it. The boss fights are all separate puzzles (site's good about auto-saving so don't freak out if it takes over your tab and you have to hit back after). These are very themey, sometimes VERY evil (especially boss #1, feels a bit overtuned) self-contained 9x9 puzzles, probably using the same tools their area is themed around, and I don't think there's a single pre-placed number in any of them. Beat the boss puzzle, it gives you some flavor text and a number to place in its cell back in the main castle puzzle, plug that in and you're always going to unlock something cool. Usually a new item, sometimes other weird stuff, and it just goes on like that.

Don't expect to be able to fully solve a given grid in one go. It's a Metroidvania, backtracking is expected. Even if you've fully de-fogged a grid, later stuff might reward you by straight up adding new symbols you couldn't see before or doing weird stuff with fog. It IS all solvable with pure logic... but there ARE a few places that do that thing I hate in tougher sudokus where you just kinda have to pencil in in a different faction and explore 2 possible futures for a bit to see which eventually contradicts itself. And of course the last couple of grids do some really evil mind-bendy stuff.

But yeah aside from a couple gripes where the way a tool works could maybe be a lot more grammatically clear, that first boss being a lot to deal with as you're first getting your feet wet, and a particularly cruel twist later on, I don't really have any complaints. Well, it might need a cool soundtrack. Maybe play some Castlevania music. Maybe switch it up for some real proper boss music when you're nearing victory.

Again I am just completely blown away that someone made something so meaty in a standard sudoku site's normal UI, and really managed to make it feel so much like playing a DS Castlevania. Some real proof of game design being an art form here. And now you too can just completely lose a day or two to it!

[daxisyzz]

Falling first, Falling hard

pairings:avenger!bucky barnes × avenger!reader

Summary: The reader is a newbie to the team and is a nervous mess. On top of that she is falling hard for her metal armed teammate. Maybe just maybe, he may have fallen harder.

Word count: 1k+

Warnings and tags: reader insert, insecure reader, clumsy reader?, sweet bucky, he's down bad, cute fluff.

A/n: Two drabbles in one day?! I'm hustling.

You had always thought unrequited love would feel like a knife to the chest, but in reality, it was more of a dull ache—persistent, lingering, and impossible to ignore.

Being the newest member of the Avengers was already overwhelming enough. You were constantly surrounded by people who had saved the world multiple times, and despite all your training, you couldn't shake the feeling that you didn't belong. That feeling only worsened when it came to Bucky Barnes.

Because how could someone like him ever look at you the way you looked at him? You weren’t Natasha, who moved like a shadow in the night. You weren’t Wanda, who could alter reality with a flick of her wrist. You were just… you. And Bucky? Bucky was Bucky. And that meant he was completely out of your league.

The first time you met Bucky, you had been so nervous that you'd nearly tripped over your own feet while shaking his hand. He had smirked, and you had wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Since then, things had only gotten worse.

Like the time you had walked into the gym, not realizing he was shirtless and dripping with sweat, and let out an embarrassing squeak before running away like a coward. Or the time you had been sparring with Sam and Bucky had walked in just as you got distracted, resulting in Sam flipping you onto your back with an obnoxious laugh.

Or, worst of all, the time you had tried to make conversation with him over breakfast and accidentally knocked your entire plate onto his lap. That one had been the worst. You had stammered out an apology, turning redder than a tomato, while he had simply chuckled and told you it was fine. Steve had given him a weird look after that, but you had been too busy internally screaming to notice.

It wasn’t that Bucky was mean. No, he was the opposite—patient, kind, always willing to offer you advice on the field. But that kindness only made it harder, because you were convinced that’s all it was. Kindness. If only you knew the truth.

Bucky Barnes was a patient man. He had spent decades waiting for freedom, for redemption, for peace. But waiting for you to see what was right in front of you? That was torture.

Because Bucky had fallen first. And Bucky had fallen hard.

He had noticed you the moment you walked into the compound, wide-eyed and nervous, clutching your duffel bag like a lifeline. He had noticed the way you hesitated before speaking in meetings, always second-guessing yourself. The way you muttered under your breath when training didn’t go as planned. He had noticed the way you looked at him, too.

At first, he had thought he was imagining it. But then there were the stolen glances, the way your breath hitched when he got too close, the way you’d go completely red when he so much as smiled at you.

It was adorable. Painfully adorable.

But somewhere along the way, your crush had stopped being one-sided. Somewhere along the way, Bucky had found himself watching you just as much.

Noticing the way your nose scrunched up when you concentrated. The way your laughter was always the loudest in the common room. The way you always waited for him to return from missions, even if you pretended it was just a coincidence.

The way you never seemed to realize just how incredible you were. You thought you weren’t good enough. That much was obvious. But to Bucky, you were already more than enough. And now, he just had to make you see it.

You had been training in the gym, trying (and failing) to land a proper kick when you heard the door open.

"That was… somethin’," Bucky teased as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

You groaned. "Please don’t say anything."

Bucky smirked, walking over to you. "You’re overthinking it," he said, stepping behind you.

"Here, let me help." Your brain short-circuited when his hands gently settled on your waist, positioning you properly.

"Keep your balance," he murmured, his voice close to your ear.

You barely heard him over the sound of your own heart hammering in your chest. When you finally managed to execute the move properly, you turned to him, beaming.

"I did it!" Bucky smiled.

"Told ya." Your excitement faded slightly as you looked down.

"Still… I have a long way to go." Bucky frowned.

"You know, for someone as smart as you, you say a lot of dumb things." Your head snapped up.

"What?"

"You’re always puttin’ yourself down," he said, shaking his head.

"But you don’t see yourself the way I do." Your heart stuttered.

"The way you do?"

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Doll, have you really not noticed?"

"Noticed what?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky sighed. "I like you," he admitted, eyes locked onto yours. "A lot."

Your brain froze. "You—what?"

Bucky chuckled. "I like you," he repeated. "And not just in a ‘teammate’ kinda way."

"But… but you’re you," you blurted out. "And I’m just—"

"You," he interrupted firmly.

"And that’s exactly why I like you." You stared at him, completely speechless.

"You think I didn’t notice?" he continued, stepping closer.

"The way you look at me? The way you get all flustered when I’m around?" Your face was on fire.

"Oh my god, stop this is so embarrassing." Bucky chuckled, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face.

"It’s not embarrassing, sweetheart. It’s cute."

You swallowed. "You… really mean it?"

Bucky nodded. "I'm falling hard for you," he admitted softly. Your breath caught in your throat.

"And if you let me," he added, "I’d like to prove it to you."

For the first time in forever, the insecurity in your chest didn’t feel so heavy. Because Bucky Barnes had fallen for you. And maybe, just maybe, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[okwonyo]

DRUNK–DAZED ✴️ when they are drunk

𝗢𝗥──────── 𝗂 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗍, 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽’𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗓𝖾. 𝗂’𝗆 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝗂 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗍.

𝖲𝖧𝖮𝖶𝓉𝖨𝖬𝖤 𖹭 drunk!enhypen x female!reader 13OO established relationship 𝒊 skinship kissing alcohol

❛ 姫　❜ this has been on my mind for a while now, it’s not what i wanted it to be but it’s fun nonetheless 😚 @bywonyo 寝るんだ ..

reblogs⠀⠀ꢾ꣒⠀ feedbacks please ˊᯅˋ quotidian 。

HEESEUNG

it is not your first time seeing your boyfriend desperately drunk. it is not the last time either— that is for sure. however, no matter how many times you experience this side of him, you can’t help but giggle each time.

“heeseung,” you call him, although his doe eyes are already fixated on you. he doesn’t respond, unable to due to the big smile drawn on his face. he looks like he is waiting for you to continue. “are you drunk?”

the answer is more than obvious. but it isn’t what you are waiting for, absolutely not. there is always something more.

the man sitting in front of you parts his mouth, about to give a response to your question. he is close from forming proper words to respond to you. but soon enough, he forgets it halfway and breaks into a fit of giggles instead.

you are quick to join him in his sudden burst. you let him pull you closer to himself, hiding his face in the crook of your neck while he laughs.

JAY

a sudden pressure on your body makes you jolt awake, aggressively dragging you out of your slumber.

you look around. the ongoing television makes you understand that you are not in your room. perhaps, without meaning to, you fell asleep as you were waiting for your lover to come back home.

the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of liquor as well as the nose rubbing against your neck’s skin tells you that he is home already.

“honey,” you start. he hums, sounding like a cat, when you pat the back of his head. to get ever more comfortable, the man hugs your waist before you continue, “you’re heavy.”

he doesn’t move. “you were waiting for me,” he affirms, deciding to ignore you by starting a new conversation. “i love you.”

JAKE

you were a tad taken aback the first time you saw your boyfriend getting drunk. him getting progressively more sad and teary made you feel the same way that watching a movie would do. the dramatic addition to it was the ending; him being a sobbing mess into your arms.

it is natural that you get a little worried whenever he goes out without you. which is why he always promises you that he won’t drink too much— and you make his friends swear to watch after him.

it never works out. the usual course of his nights out ends up with him weeping on the phone, asking for you to come pick him up quickly and making your heart beat with worry.

“baby, why are you crying?” you ask him, you gently shake his head cupped in your hands as do so. he sits in the chair in front of you. he always looks lovely when he cries, you can’t stop thinking about it when you wipe his tears, standing between his legs.

his voice is wobbly whereupon he speaks, “because you weren’t there,” his grip on your shirt gets tighter. “and i missed you.”

you coo, rubbing the skin under his eyes to make the tears go away. you lean in, “but i’m here now.”

his eyes grow wide, the realization hits him just when you say it and he sobs. he gives you a bone breaking hug and puts his face in your chest.

SUNGHOON

it doesn’t take much for his hands to be all over you. even while sober, he is a very touchy boyfriend. and despite what he looks at first he loves to touch you, he loves to touch youa in public.

after a few drinks, he is even more touchy than he usually is— saying a lot would be an understatement. he doesn’t only want to become one with you but he refuses to let you go anywhere as well.

“hoon,” the man doesn’t need to turn his head to focus on you, he hasn’t stopped looking at you since he pulled you on his laps a few moments ago, “i need to go.”

there wouldn’t be the need to announce that to him if his grip on your hip wasn’t so strong. you are surprised when it gets somehow stronger, “to go where?”

you smile at his genuinely worried tone. his eyes are a bit sleepy because of the alcohol and the way his eyebrows shoot up makes you weak. “to the bathroom.”

he stays quiet for a moment, the loud music fills the silence between the two of you during the time he thinks about whether he should let you go or not. “i’ll go with you.”

SUNOO

it is impressive, really, how good he can take alcohol. for the entire time where you have known each other and been together, you don’t think you ever saw him getting drunk.

at the end of every party you attend, the one who is more drunk than the other is always you— and tonight, you decided to do everything to see your boyfriend more than just tipsy.

he takes the bet. he stays still, maintaining eye contact while you hold his chin. his gaze is teasing, challenging. you don’t tear your eyes off of him either as he downs the liquor, ignoring his adam apple that you want to admire so badly.

a drop of his drink falls on the side of his mouth, running down his chin. you wipe it off with your thumb before speaking, “are you drunk now?”

he thinks for a moment, his eyes follow you when you put the empty glass on the table next to you both.

“no,” he says and you can’t help but groan. “but i think that you feeding me makes me feel a lot of things.”

JUNGWON

the best time to try new things, according to him and his decisions, is when he is drunk out of his mind.

therefore, he sits next to you with the most serious expression he could muster. he runs his hand through his hair before starting, “do you like raisins?”

you furrow your brows, both confused by his question and about how he looks so cute all the time. there is a smile on your face when you answer, “yes, i do.”

that’s what he wanted to hear, his grin says it all. he puts his arm around you shoulder and gifts closer in a smooth motion, “what about a date?”

honestly, you don’t know if it’s because he is close enough for you to count his eyelashes or because you are also a bit tipsy but a laugh escapes from the barrier of your lips before you can notice it.

he doesn’t pull away or seem offended at all. after a long silence, he starts to giggle— his dimples get more obvious as he tells you, “you are so pretty.”

RIKI

he has been craving your lips ever since his first drink. his mind the tendency of voguing on the thought of kissing you as soon as the liquor connects with his tongue.

therefore, instead of telling you about it, he decides to corner you between the wall and himself. he makes sure his body is pressed into yours enough to make you unable to leave.

“kiss me,” his voice is low as he tells you. his eyes are dazed, focused on the pink shade of your lips while a smirk dances on his.

you giggle, “riki,” he is already halfway through your lips, the call of his name makes him halt in his movements, “no.”

he doesn’t move for a bit, then he grins, “why? you got a boyfriend?” there is a drunk sincerity in his voice, he has forgotten he is your boyfriend. “he doesn’t need to know, baby, nothing at all.”

he kisses you before you can protest. “no—” you smile against his mouth when he kisses you. “riki, you’re—” another kiss. “too drunk!”

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Pyramid Head! Ghost

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Dubious Consent, Stomach Bulging, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Size Difference, Size Kink, Manhandling, Kidnapping, Punishment, Possessive! Ghost, Dark! Ghost, Implied Female Reader, Profanity, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Pyramid Head! Ghost finds you wandering around Silent Hill, desperately searching for an exit. 

You’re the first proper, living thing he’s come across in a long time, so he decides to take you for himself.

Pyramid Head! Ghost plucks you from where you stand and throws you over his shoulder like a rag doll.

You don’t fight him, unsure of his intentions with you. He didn’t attack you on sight like all the other monsters did, but when you hear the way he growls at you, feel the way he grips you with his thick fingers pressing between your legs, you’re certain they aren’t pure.

Pyramid Head! Ghost keeps you in a building he knows to be clear of monsters, but that doesn’t mean you’re safe. On the contrary, when you realise what he intends to do with you, you wish you were still outside fighting for your life.

Pyramid Head! Ghost has a nigh-insatiable sex drive – something you discover when he comes to you, lumbering with the weight of his erect cock and engorged ballsack, and takes you in his hand like the doll you are.

Pyramid Head! Ghost uses you as his own cum rag, abusing your body by furiously rubbing you along the length of his shaft until you’re slick and coated in pre, shortly followed by thick ropes of semen that stain your clothes and leave you wet in places you’d rather not think about.

He likes to think of it as marking his territory. Of letting all the other monsters know that you’re his.

Pyramid Head! Ghost has, of course, attempted to use you as a fuck doll, too, though he’s only ever managed to force little more than his bulbous, leaking tip inside you, both you and your body crying out for him to stop when you feel him filling you, telling him you can’t take any more. And he’d have ignored your pleas were it not for the fact he can actually see himself bulging within you, your body choking around him as you sob and beg for him to pull out.

Despite how barbaric he is, Pyramid Head! Ghost doesn’t intend on breaking you. Not just yet, anyway.

You’re no use to him dead, so he leaves you intact for now, instead lodging what little of himself your body can take and stroking his length until he cums, hard and deep, inside you.

His load is hot – uncomfortably so – and so unimaginably heavy that it leaves you limping and leaking for days afterwards.

Pyramid Head! Ghost never lets you wear pants or underwear when he’s done with you. He enjoys the sight of his seed leaking out of you and the bump in your stomach too much.

Pyramid Head! Ghost especially enjoys making you lay before him and spreading your legs so he can see you dripping, a puddle forming between your legs. He’ll push down on your bump, too, feeling his cock twitch when you yelp, his cum squirting out of you and leaving a spray of white translucence across the floor.

You weren’t his first outlet in Silent Hill, but you are his favourite. Hence, he never lets you take a break, using you almost daily to satiate the throbbing between his legs, the primal urge to breed.

More often than not, after making thorough use of you, Ghost has caught you holding your swollen stomach, your skin tender and stretched, as you moan in discomfort.

Pyramid Head! Ghost wonders, briefly, what it would be like to give you one permanently. To embed within you his offspring – something aside from you that he can call his own in this barren wasteland.

The idea becomes something of a fantasy for Pyramid Head! Ghost, and, when you’re secured inside your makeshift home with no hope of escape, he goes out and finds baby clothes, bringing them back to you as if to show them off. To make his intentions with you clear.

The only way you’re avoiding this fate is if you’re incapable of bearing children. Otherwise, Pyramid Head! Ghost absolutely rawdogs you until the viscous ropes of semen he’s pumped into you takes, leaving you weeping and sweaty and his from the inside.

He picks you up and literally holds you upside down afterwards, leaving no way for you to escape your destiny with him whilst doing everything in his power to ensure your pregnancy.

You can feel his semen gushing out of you even then, trickling from between your legs up your abdomen, your chest. Milk tears when they reach your face.

Pyramid Head! Ghost does nothing less than coo over you once you begin to show, not letting you walk anywhere, bringing you maternity clothes, destroying any and all monsters that dare to come near you.

He holds you against his chest, too, letting you use him as your bed on cold nights, and cradles you in his arms. Stares with what could be adoration down at your swelling tummy.

He can’t deny how his chest tightens when he hears you sobbing, though, the sheer weight and size of his child inside you causing you nothing but pain as Pyramid Head! Ghost uses you as his incubator. He hadn’t accounted for the fact that perhaps your fragile human body would struggle bearing the offspring of something as massive as himself.

Pyramid Head! Ghost does what he can to alleviate the pain, oftentimes with him letting you ride his shaft until you’re satisfied or groping the area between your legs until you cum, your orgasm a momentary distraction from your eternity with him.

Pyramid Head! Ghost will never let you go. Especially once you’re with his child. And he can’t imagine just stopping at one, either.

Pyramid Head! Ghost won’t stop until this town is rebuilt in the image of your family – everything he could never have when he was alive.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad X

[arachnidseyesmoved]

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

BREAKFAST AND GOODBYES

Damian Wayne x Constantine! Reader

A/N: First Part. Next. Breakfast with the Wayne's! I'm building their relationship, let me cook. They're like 19-20, Fem reader. w.c: 1.4K.

Damian sits at his desk, listening to the sound of the shower and your soft humming coming from his bathroom.

The last few hours were very much not how he expected the night to go. He didn’t expect Constantine’s spawn herself to show up on his balcony bleeding out. He didn’t expect to give her over a dozen stitches, let her sleep on his bed, use his shower and wear his clothes. He certainly didn’t expect her to be invited to breakfast with almost his entire family present.

It’s fine. He’s Damian Wayne. He’s gone through worse.

The door to his bathroom creaks open and you step out in a gust of steam. Since your clothes are more blood and dirt than cloth, you’ve chosen to wear a pair of his sweatpants and a stupid Robin T-shirt Dick gave him that he’s never worn.

“I feel spoilt Dames, Is this how you treat all your patients or just the pretty ones?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, watching you flop down on his bed. You look much better than you did a few hours ago and he doesn’t know why that lifts such a weight from his shoulders.

“So how’s Goliath? Haven't seen that big guy in forever.”

The unexpected question doesn't faze him.

"He is fine. I set him free on Lazarus island.”

You sit up a little to look at him better.

“You let him go?”

Maybe you’re overstepping a little but it’s a fair question.

“Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean he’s gone. Real bonds don’t fray with time or distance, even with dragon-bat creatures.”

He makes the mistake of looking at you after he says that, seeing the look on your face as you gaze at him while absentmindedly touching your stitches. He should chastise you for that but he just clicks his tongue and tries to go back to reading his book. A futile effort.

You breathe in deeply before sitting up,

“Well, it would be rude to keep Alfred waiting. What’s for breakfast?”

─⋅⋆⁺.

Apparently everything.

You have to swallow the drool pooling in your mouth as you stare at the ridiculous amount of food set out on the massive dining room table. You can't even remember the last time you had a proper full breakfast.

The sound of utensils clinking on porcelain stalls slightly when you arrive. You do a headcount of all the bats present; Dick, Cass, Tim, Steph and Duke. Damian takes the seat next to Cass, leaving a seat for you right next to where Bruce sits at the end of the table, reading the newspaper with a mug of coffee. God, could he act more dad-like?

“Hey, Bruce. Long time, no see.”

“Y/n, Nice to have you join us today.”

There’s an implied question in there that you choose not to ignore.

“Right. Well, just thought I’d stop by, y’know.”

You can feel Damian's eyes roll at the piss poor answer you just gave but you’d like to see him choke up something better. Dick leans forward, elbows on the table and asks,

“And just how often do you do that?”

You ignore his imploring stare and give a longing look at the breakfast spread.

“Clearly not enough. May I?”

You ask Bruce, and he nods his head, motioning towards the food.

“Of course.”

You sit yourself down and waste absolutely no time stuffing your face with almost every type of food within reach; eggs, bacon, hash browns, french toast, sausages, pancakes, bagels, scones, some other sides you probably can’t pronounce the name of.

You’re so busy in your mission to full your stomach that you don’t notice the mental war game going on between Dick and Damian.

Damian stares him down, fork stabbing into his eggs, a warning. Dick looks just about ready to burst, a million questions building up in his head, waiting to spill out.

“Ok, I can’t do it! What exactly is going on here?”

You look at him blankly, chewing a mouthful of syrupy pancakes. You give a small, “hmm?”

“Why are we all acting like this is normal?”

He looks over to his other siblings, who offer no assistance besides knowing glances and stifled laughs. They’re all very content to watch him find the answers to their burning questions, offering him up like a sacrifice to the Demon’s son. Damian sighs woefully, aiming an accusing look at you,

“Why couldn’t you show up when he was in Bludhaven?”

Bold of him to think you wouldn’t delight in making this even harder for him.

“Well, he wasn’t here last time, Babe.”

“Last time?! Babe?!”

You almost choke on your laugh as Alfred sighs at the eldest son’s ill mannered volume. Damian groans,

“Don’t make it worse, he’s too stupid to know when he’s being fooled.”

Dick looks at him confused and when he notices the quirk in Bruce’s lips behind his coffee mug, he understands.

“You’re messing with me.”

He points an accusatory fork at you, to which you shrug. He sits back in his chair, eyeing the both of you.

“Oh, you’re perfect for each other.”

He swiftly dodges the fork Damian throws at his head. Alfred sighs again, stepping away to retrieve the utensil from the wall.

Slathering a generous amount of butter on your croissant, you turn to Bruce.

“So hows that demon ward on The Batcave holding up? I can replenish it before I leave.”

Bruce looks up from his newspaper to address you fully. You resist the urge to look away, it’s always a little nerve racking to have The Batman’s full attention on you.

“The candle is still burning, no demonic related incidents since you put it up. It should be fine for now. If there is a problem, I’m sure Damian will be happy to get ahold of you.”

You break eye contact then. Clearing your throat, you nod in confirmation, looking down at your suddenly very interesting plate, like you’re only now noticing how pretty the porcelain is.

You pretend not to see Bruce’s small smile, or Damian’s tight grip on his fork. You pretend not to feel both Dick and Tim’s smug grins or hear Steph and Duke's childish snickering from four chairs down.

Most of breakfast is uneventful. It’s nice to just sit and listen to the small talk, to see what a real family looks like. Nobody asks about your father or why you scratch at your waist every now and then.

Bruce does tentatively ask if you’ll be staying in Gotham for a while, and you answer him,

“No, after this I should head home. There are portals in every city if you know where to look, usually the cemeteries.”

Thankfully, nobody questions why you can’t just teleport back home, maybe because they don’t want to have to ask where exactly home is for you right now.

Alfred does offer you a chauffeur and you accept that graciously, not really wanting to walk around Gotham in Damian’s pajamas and your only surviving clothes; your old brown coat and converse.

After saying your goodbyes and thank yous to the family, Damian walks you to the front door, stepping out and closing it behind him. The way he looks when he turns his full attention to you, for some reason, reminds you of Bruce.

“Next time you visit, I would rather it be as a friend, not a patient.”

Your mind stutters when processing those words.

“Next time?”

He sighs a little, annoyance clear on his face as he looks out at the garden trying, and failing, to ignore the widening grin on your face as you lean forward.

“It almost sounds like you like having me around.”

It's not a question, it's an observation. He bristles.

“You came to me bleeding out. Took up my bed, my bathroom and my clothes.”

You lean in a little closer, taking the opportunity to make things worse.

“Well, when you sum it all up like that, Dick's theories really don’t sound so unrealistic.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Constantine.”

You chuckle. At least he looks you in the eyes when he says it. Standing a little too close now, you watch his demeanor, knowing you’ll miss it once you’re gone.

You also hear the shuffling and whispers from behind the door. Figures moving from behind the pretty front windows.

“Your entire family is watching from the windows.” You whisper to him, to which he answers through gritted teeth.

“Yes, I know.”

You huff a laugh and, not one to overstay a welcome or prolong a goodbye, you start backing away.

“I’ll call you.”

Your mind stutters on that one too, how does he keep doing that? You raise a skeptical brow.

“You will?”

“Yes.”

No further explanation, as if none was needed, as if it was silly of you to even ask for one.

You nod at the very Damian-like answer and after another moment, one last good look at his face, you turn on your heels and start down the stairs, towards the fancy black car and chauffeur.

“See ya around!”

Damian watches you go and hopes to all hell you didn't hear the various disappointed groans from behind the door, especially not Dick's,

“Aw, What the hell! I thought for sure they were gonna kiss!”

Damian sighs and rubs his forehead, this migraine is going to last for months.

─⋅⋆⁺𖤐

[morganlism]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ let it roll, baby, roll. | trailer park!ellie williams headcannons.

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎︎ ︎ ︎ ︎she’s got a knife in her boot, a blunt behind her ear, and your thighs memorized like scripture. ︎ ︎ ︎| ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ︎ ellie williams. ૮ – ﻌ–ა

warnings: 18+ content, cnc, strap-on use, dom!ellie and sub!reader, oral sex (giving and receiving), overstimulation, kink, praise kink, breeding kink, semi-public sex, recording (audio/video, consensual), orgasm denial, dirty talk.

heath's note: lol I uploaded this last night and when I woke up I saw that my post violated the app policies :( honestly I felt sad momentarily, I guess someone reported my post, but I don't want to draw conclusions without knowing the problem, I hope you like it just like the first post. Btw, if this au was someone else’s idea, please let me know so I can give it the proper credits.

trailer park!ellie who lives in a shitty, rust-bitten trailer on the edge of a dried-up boston, where the air smells like motor oil and cigarette smoke, but you? you're her favorite little secret, no one in the park knows about the way she keeps you up 'til 3am, legs shaking and mouth stuffed full of her fingers.

trailer park!ellie's cock? big, rude, and permanent. She wears it under basketball shorts, gray boxers, or sometimes just free under low-hung jeans, it’s veiny and mean, and she loves to grind it against your cunt when you’re too tired to fuck properly, lazy, humping little motions, "C’mon, baby. Let me in. Just a lil".

trailer park!ellie loves sex in the beat-up truck out front. The backseat smells like weed and old leather, she’ll flip you onto your stomach, window cracked, and fuck you slow while her hand presses your cheek to the fogged-up glass. Her voice right in your ear, gravel-thick: "Anyone walks by right now, they're gonna know who this pussy belongs to".

trailer park!ellie who will show up to your shift at the gas station in a muscle tee, neck covered in bite marks you gave her the night before, asking for "one blunt wrap and a taste of that attitude", she’ll drag you to the back and eat you out next to the mop bucket if you let her.

trailer park!ellie who spits in your mouth like it's a blessing, especially when you get mouthy. One hand on your throat, her other working her cock into you — slow and filthy — and when your eyes roll back, she leans in: "Open up", and you always do.

trailer park!ellie who's into freeballing at home. Dirty tank top, legs spread wide on the busted couch, cock poking up heavy and leaking. She’ll jerk it slow, eyes on you in her lap, muttering, "You gonna suck it, or just stare all day, baby?"

trailer park!ellie who smells like gasoline, weed, and heat, makes you dizzy. Makes your thighs rub together, she knows it, too. "Fuckin’ slut for my sweat, huh?" as she presses her armpit to your face and makes you beg.

trailer park!ellie who quickies behind the trailer. Bent over the plastic patio chair while the neighbor’s dog barks, no panties, Ellie’s cock already lined up, her palm muffling your moans "Gotta be quick, baby. Be good for me".

trailer park!ellie who records you, just audio. Crackling tape-recordings of you moaning, choking, crying out her name — she jerks off to them when she’s alone, or makes you listen to it on her shitty speaker while she fucks you again.

trailer park!ellie who calls you her "good girl" and her "nasty lil slut" in the same breath. She’ll fuck you until you’re drooling, and then hold your face after like you're something soft, "y'feel safe with me, huh? Even when I ruin you".

trailer park!ellie who's addicted to the way you cry when she ignores your clit. She'll fuck you slow and deep, rock her hips in a rhythm that barely gets you close. Your nails dig into her arms, whimpering for more. Ellie just grins, "not yet. I like you like this — all pathetic".

trailer park!ellie who's still inside you, cock twitching, while you lie on her chest in the shitty twin bed she's had since she was fifteen. She lights a blunt, exhales slow into your mouth, and mutters, "you're mine, you know that, right?" And you nod, cum still leaking out of you.

trailer park!ellie who gets jealous. Real fucking jealous. One look from some guy at the gas station, and she's got you shoved against the wall five minutes later, legs spread, "you smile at him like that again and I'll fuck you so dumb you forget your name".

trailer park!ellie who owns a cheap camcorder. Sometimes she props it up on the microwave while she fucks you against the kitchen counter, she talks to the camera like it's some sick audience, "look at her — takin' it so good, she's fuckin' made for it".

trailer park!ellie who wears your perfume secretly, just on her wrist or under her neck. Says it reminds her of your thighs and sometimes she'll jerk off with it sprayed on her hoodie, tongue biting her lip, muttering your name like prayer.

trailer park!ellie who doesn’t let you cum until you're crying, not out of cruelty, out of obsession. Ellie wants to see you wrecked, broken, absolutely fucking ruined — so when you finally cum, it's a sobbing, leg-shaking mess and she fucks you through it like she owns your soul.

trailer park!ellie who will fuck you while you're on the phone. Doesn’t matter who it is, she'll go slow, deep, and quiet at first — until your voice starts shaking, until the person on the other end says, "are you okay?" and you gasp out a lie while Ellie licks the sweat off your spine.

trailer park!ellie who's into filming your voice. Not just your moans — but the little stuff, your sleepy giggles, your whines, the way you say "Ellie, please" like it's a sin, she just loops it while she fingers herself in the bathtub, she came in your panties once just from that.

trailer park!ellie who loves to finger you while you're half-asleep, lazy touches, knuckles deep, lips at your neck, "go back to sleep, baby, just makin' sure your cunt remembers who it belongs to".

trailer park!ellie who calls it "feeding her ego", which means sitting on her face until she can't breathe and you're begging her to let up, she just wraps her arms around your thighs like a lifeline and mutters, "nah, you're not goin' anywhere. I'm fuckin’ starvin'".

+

trailer park heatwave:

it’s 103 degrees inside that tin can of a trailer, the AC’s busted, the fan’s making noise but not doing shit, you're half-naked in just your panties and Ellie's worn-out sublime tank, sweating through the fabric, thighs sticking to the vinyl couch.

ellie's sitting across from you, legs open, blunt in one hand, the other palming her strap under her shorts, she hasn’t touched you in hours — just watches, eyes lazy, mouth parted, cock hard and twitching where it presses against the waistband, and you beg, twice, she ignores it, she’s waiting for you to snap.

and when you do? She makes you crawl across that sticky-ass floor, sweat dripping down your back, while she spreads her legs wider, "you want it so bad? Come earn it".

you suck her off like you’ll die without it, gagging in the heat, eyes rolling, while Ellie hums all sweet and smug, pretty little bitch can't even think straight, bet your brain's fried, all that sunshine cooked it right outta you".

she fucks your throat until tears mix with sweat, then bends you over and fucks you right there on the floor — no lube, no warning, just raw and mean, moaning into the wood. "Told you not to whine, baby. Now you're just gonna take it".

possessive ellie after a fight:

you stormed out earlier. Some dumb fight about weed, or bills, or the way she let that girl at the bar touch her arm. You didn't even say goodbye — just slammed the door and vanished for hours, ellie sat on the steps of the trailer, chain-smoking, jaw tight, fuming, when you come back, she doesn’t say a word.

just pulls you inside, slams the door, and grabs your jaw hard, "you think you can leave me like that? Walk out dressed like a fuckin' slut, leavin' every guy in town wonderin’ if they can get a taste?"

her voice is low, dangerous, you try to argue — but she's already pulling down your shorts. No prep, no softness, just Ellie spitting on her cock and ramming in, possessive, brutal, her hand's on the back of your neck, pushing you down onto the mattress like she's staking her claim.

she fucks you until your voice breaks, until the fight is long gone and your thighs are shaking, and even then, she doesn't stop. Just leans in close and whispers, "you’re mine, you don't run from me, you belong to me, say it".

and you do, over and over until it sounds like worship.

© 2025 all rights reserved — morganlism. do not modify, repost, plagiarize, or claim my work as your own without permission.

[wasyago]

Falls in, i would love to hear about this decked out/failed cave exploration au pls pls pls already i am Bewitched

hehehe [in tango's voice] sighh i suppose...

really im very tempted to just let it sit and not tell anything, because it's so fun seeing people theorize and point out details in the notes. but yeah i guess i shouldn't gatekeep it, its a fun au!

i do want to state in the beginning that it was a one-off thing and i have no plans on continuing it or drawing more for it. if you do tho? feel free! (not asking for fanart by any means, but giving the green light if anyone was wondering)

well

-------

Pet crew were a group of cave explorers. They're no experts by any means but they were no amateurs either! (ignore the fact that they're not wearing any PPE, i didn't want to draw it, ok--) And recently they've been excited about mapping out a new cave system they found, completely unexplored according to their research.

Tango, always a big lover of his plans and spreadsheets, presumably decided to go in alone ahead of time to sketch out at least a rough draft for a map, so they had an idea of what they're going to be dealing with.

But see, this cave is not an ordinary cave, no matter how pristine and untouched it looked. It is one gigantic organism of unknown origin, and a hunrgy one at that, the air inside it is filled with little cells or spores that, when inhaled enough, start taking over the body and corroding it to the cave's will. Killing the host in the process.

So, obviously, after spending some time in the cave by himself, Tango did get some cells in him. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough to give him a headstart on the corruption when the group went in for a proper dive some days later.

The first symptoms of undergoing the change are pretty standard: light fever, weakness, dizziness — easy to mistake for a flu.

Which is exactly what Tango did. Of course, going caving with a flu is not a smart thing to do either, but the group has been planning this trip for so long, delaying it even more because someone was slightly under the weather would've been foolish!

The cave started off with a big drop, requiring a rope to be set up, and then sprawled into a system of tunnels. Tango and Pearl were very excited to find an entrance to some ancient tombs a couple of hours into the dive. There were stairs leading even deeper underground, which turned out to be an entrance to a bigger cave system, with a huge frozen lake in the middle and an entrance to abandoned mines.

Further symptoms include skin turning pale, graying hair, eyes starting to shift color to red. Previous symptoms remain and intensify.

Tango had always been pale, he had blond hair too, and in the dark it was hard to notice the white streaks in them. The pink cheeks were easily passed as a result of being in the cold. Pearl did express some concerns about Tango's well-being when he started to fall back a bit, but he dismissed it as just him getting tired. By that point Pearl seemed to also have some "frost" in her hair.

After the hair have fully turned white, the tips start to switch color to an unnatural blue. Skin eventually loses color completely, turning gray. Fever intensifies as body desperately tries to fight the infection.

At that point it was impossible to deny that something was wrong with Tango. There are no mirrors underground though, so to him it was just his flu getting out of hand. Guilty of hiding his illness, yes, but nothing critical. The blue hair however were not normal, and the other two were freaking out a bit more than Tango would've hoped for.

They had an argument.

Etho snapped and hit Tango to beat some sense into his stupid head.

By that point Pearl was clearly looking bad too, and Etho's own hair were apparently turning white. They were all feeling terrible, physically and mentally. They decided to head home.

As previously stated, the cave is in fact alive and can sense when something that belongs to it is trying to escape. In an effort to stop it, the whole cave system comes to life. Old animal carcasses rise and start walking, small screeching creatures begin patrolling the tombs, the ice melts and the cave blooms in dangerous ways.

When the crew exited the mines into the second level of the cave system, it was apparent that the way back would be a lot harder. By that point Tango was struggling to stand and Etho had to drop his equipment to carry him. But the fever and the dizziness were making it hard to move fast, the changed layout of the cave was difficult to navigate even with their map, and the way to the surface was still very and very long. It was obvious they couldn't make it out....

Unless they were willing to make some sacrifices.

Etho isn't proud of his decision, but leaving Tango was their only option! He and Pearl still had a chance to escape if they moved quickly, but Tango was just too far gone, he couldn't-- Etho couldn't carry him to the exit, he was getting too tired, and if they all stuck together it would get all three of them killed! Was it not better for at least two of them to survive instead of-

They had another argument.

Pearl stubbornly insisted on taking Tango, so Etho had to lie to her and say that they will come back once they scout out the way. Etho couldn't force himself to look at Tango though, if he did he would be met with this knowing look and he just couldn't bear it. Tango cried when they were leaving.

After the body succumbs to the fever it stays dead for a short period of time, while the rest of the changes set in.

It took a miracle for both Etho and Pearl to reach the tombs, but the hard part came after. Etho did everything in his power to convince Pearl to leave with him, he said they will come back later when they're better prepared, he said it was too late to help Tango, he said it was Tango's own fault, he said many bad things, none of which were enough to change Pearl's mind. She turned back and Etho didn't follow her.

He ran through the tombs and the caves alone, losing his eye to a monster he saw all too late. It was painful and it was disorienting, Etho doesn't even remember how he got to the initial drop they went down, he was panicking and only moving forward because of adrenaline and instinct. The ascend was a fever dream, Etho doesn't know how he didn't fall to his death then.

Through the rush of blood in his head, Etho heard the faint sound of Tango's voice. Too cheery for his feverish condition, and much, much closer, a lot closer than the place they left him to die in. He did not hear Pearl. The sound stopped when it was right under him, and he felt a light tug on the rope he was hanging of. And nothing else happened...

Etho emerged from the cave into the cold night, stumbling over his own feet, too tired to run. Their van was parked over by the entrance and Gem was already waiting for him. Him — shaking, bloody and alone.

...

The body reanimates again, now obedient to the cave's will. It is no longer alive but it is not dead either, frozen, stalking through the tunnels in a mindless haze.

[rrysbabydoll]

Hihi Baby

I may got an idea for a next smutshot🙃

So I like your dominant vibe of writing so maybe Dom!Harry and it’s users first relationship so Harry teaches her how to give a proper blowjob 💋💋

Greedy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

CW: explicit sexual content, oral sex (blowjob), dominance/submission dynamics, age gap, slight face slapping (consensual), power imbalance, light degradation, mild choking/gagging, inexperienced!Y/N.

Synopsis: Harry teaches Y/N how to give a blowjob.

You're sitting on your knees, bare thighs brushing against the plush rug in Harry’s bedroom, and your heart’s racing. You’re still flushed from earlier, your body still sensitive and tingly from the way he made you come apart on his fingers not long ago.

Harry’s on the edge of the bed in a pair of black sweatpants, watching you with that heavy, calm gaze that always makes your stomach flip. He’s shirtless, tattoos stretched across his chest and arms, skin glowing under the warm light. He looks relaxed, only it’s that type of trained relaxed. The kind where you know he’s totally in control, and you’re already slipping into the space where you love to let him lead.

“Ready, bunny?” he asks, voice thick and low, brushing his fingers under your chin to tilt your face up.

You nod, all soft and wide-eyed. “Yes, Daddy.”

He smiles, slow and crooked. “You don’t have to call me that right now. Just wanna teach you something. Show you how to do it right.”

“I wanna be good,” you say quickly.

His eyes soften slightly, the dimple in his cheek twitching. “I know, baby. And you are. But part of being good means listening, yeah?”

You nod again, hair falling forward. He tucks it behind your ears, thumb swiping over your lip. “Alright. Take your time. I’ll guide you.”

You reach out and pull the waistband of his sweats down, hands a little shaky. His cock springs free, heavy and already hard, the tip flushed pink. It always looks too big for you, but that never stops your eager fingers from wrapping around it.

“Go slow, bun,” Harry murmurs as you lean in. “No need to rush.”

You drag your tongue up the length of him, cheeks burning. He tastes like skin and salt and something uniquely him, and you moan a little at just the smell.

“That’s it,” he praises, brushing your hair back. “Don’t open too wide yet. Just kiss it. Get used to how it feels.”

You do, soft kisses to the tip, then down the side, your lips flushed and sticky. But your thighs are squeezing together now, and you can feel your eagerness pressing at your limits. You want to please him. Want to show him you can do more.

So you open wider. And you take the whole head into your mouth.

“Slow,” Harry warns immediately, his voice still gentle but firmer now. “That’s good, but don’t take too much too fast.”

But you don’t want to stop. You want it all. So you go lower, ignoring the stretch in your jaw, trying to take more.

“Y/N—” he warns again, hand tightening slightly in your hair. “Not so deep yet, baby. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

You nod, even with your mouth full. You mean to listen. You do. But you just want him to feel good. So, like before, you start moving again, trying to go even deeper, swallowing until your throat tightens around him.

And then you choke.

Your eyes sting as you gag slightly, nose pressed against his base. You pull off, coughing softly, eyes watering.

He cups your jaw with one hand, the other still in your hair. “What did I just say, bunny?”

You blink, pout forming on your lips. “I just— I wanted to do it right.”

“And what did I say?” he repeats, slower. His voice is low now. Stern.

You look down. “Not to take it all yet.”

He hums. Then lifts your chin. “And you did it anyway.”

You nod silently. Your eyes are watering from the choking and now, from how intense he’s looking at you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

His fingers moved from your cheek to your jaw, tilting your head up. His expression had darkened, calm but stern.

He gave your cheek the lightest slap, not hard, more of a tap, but firm enough to shock you. You gasped softly, tears instantly welling up.

“Will you listen or not?” he asked, voice quiet but edged with warning.

You nodded again, sniffling. “Yes, yes. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“You’d better,” he said, wiping your tears away with the pad of his thumb. “I don’t like punishing my sweet girl. But if you don’t listen when I’m tryin’ to take care of you, bunny, I’ll make you listen.”

You hiccupped, cheeks burning. “Okay…”

“Good,” he breathes, letting go. “You don’t need to impress me. I’m already proud of you. Let me teach you. I’ll tell you exactly how to take me, how to breathe, how to move. But you have to listen. Understood?”

“Understood,” you whisper.

“Color?” he asks gently, tilting your chin again.

“Green,” you sniffle. “Really.”

He smiles then, presses a kiss to your forehead. “There’s my girl.”

He shifts on the bed, legs spreading a little wider. “Okay. Back to it. I’ll guide you.”

You crawled back between his legs, still teary-eyed but determined. Your fingers trembled a little as you wrapped them around him again. You kissed the tip, soft and apologetic.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Use your tongue. Focus on the tip.”

You obeyed. You licked and sucked gently, letting your tongue swirl over the slit. He groaned softly, and your heart fluttered with pride.

“Hand too, baby. Stroke me while you suck.”

He shows you how to breathe through your nose as you take a little more, and when he sees your eyes flutter, he murmurs, “That’s it. Such a good little bunny. Just like that.”

You moan around him, heat coiling low in your stomach. You love the praise, live for it, and now he’s petting your hair and letting little breathy curses fall from his lips as you work your mouth slowly over him.

“Just like that,” he repeats, voice tighter. “See how much better it is when you listen?”

You hum, eyes fluttering open to look up at him. His jaw is clenched, one hand gripping the sheets now, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

He groans, low and filthy. “Gonna come if you keep looking at me like that, baby.”

You blink at him innocently, mouth still full, and he huffs a breathless laugh. “You are so dangerous.”

You work him a bit faster now, taking him as deep as he allowed, and when he finally starts to twitch against your tongue, he doesn’t stop you.

“Gonna come in that pretty mouth,” he mutters. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

And you don’t. You take everything he gives you.

He was getting close, you could tell by the way his breath hitched, the way his hips rolled more urgently.

“Wanna finish on your face, bunny. Want that sweet little mouth to open for me.”

You pulled off him with a pop, mouth sore and wet, and nodded. “Okay,” you whispered, lips shiny and red.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You did, eyes still locked on his. He stroked himself once, twice, and then he was spilling across your tongue and chin, thick and hot. You blinked at the intensity of it, the way he groaned your name.

You stayed still, letting him finish, your cheeks flushed and chest heaving.

Harry leans down immediately, pulls you up off the floor and into his lap. “God, baby. You did so well. So fucking good for me.”

You nuzzle into his neck, body trembling from how overwhelmed and proud you feel. “Really?”

He holds your face in his hands, kissing your forehead again. “Really. Just needed you to listen. You were perfect.”

[mrsimpurity]

promiscuous - l. howlett

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 1.8k

cw: smut (mdni), kinda mean!logan, reader is wearing a thong, p in v, riding, male masturbation, literally the smallest hint of a degradation kink

a/n: based on this ask!

“where the fuck have you been?”

those are the first words you hear the second you walk through the door and a smirk plasters on your face.

mission accomplished.

busy with x-men missions and personal affairs, this last week logan had blatantly ignored you and your desires with all sorts of excuses - “not right now, doll.”, “charles is waiting, baby, i gotta go.” hell, you’d started to think he was having erectile dysfunction.

so, to spite him, you did what every other woman on this planet would have done - come home disturbingly late and see what his reaction is.

“at the bar with my friends… girlfriends.” you say sheepishly. it wasn’t a lie of course. that truly is what you had been doing - having fun with girlfriends at a bar. nothing out of the extraordinary, your clothes weren’t even that fancy - casual low rise jeans and a baby tee. 

well, your tits and ass were definitely covered and that was good enough, at least.

you turn to lock the door and bend down to get your foot out of your boot when you hear logan behind you.

“with your thong out? or was one of your girlfriends in a hurry when fucking you in the car.” he barks.

you try your best to bite back the loud laughter threatening to escape your throat. frankly speaking, you knew your thong was peeking out and were putting on a show just to spite him even more.

“oh, this?” you ask, grabbing the flimsy string that’s peeking out of your jeans and pulling it just to snap it against your skin in dramatic effect.

suddenly, logan’s hands are on your waist and before you realize it, he throws you over his shoulder, your feet dangling in the air as you cheekily smile behind him. he’s fuming, hand placed on your ass in a firm grip as he walks towards your bedroom and throws you on the bed. 

he grabs the waistband of your jeans and roughly pulls them down. next go your t-shirt and bra.

“i’ll teach you a lesson.” the threat entices you more than you’d like to admit, and you find yourself getting wetter at the thought of logan throwing you around and punishing you. he settles behind you on the bed, dragging you in his lap by your armpits.

logan pulls at your thong, making the string rub between your folds and tease at your clit, the feeling sending a shiver down your spine. you attempt to wiggle your hips to get more friction, but logan stops you in your tracks as he tugs harder. it hurts deliciously and you can’t help but let out a breathless moan.

“such a slut.” he groans behind you, grabbing a hold of your chin roughly.

“logan.” you whimper helplessly, devoting yourself to him in this very moment.

“don’t moan my name, doll. it won’t get you out of trouble.” he says, lying through his teeth. truth is, he’s unbelievably hard and can’t handle you speaking to him like that before he’s had a proper fill and taught you a lesson.

“come on. take it off.” he orders. 

you oblige, quickly getting rid of your thong and awaiting your next command.

logan studies you, standing in front of him in your purest form, and for a moment you can almost see the utterly obscene thought flash through his mind.

he beckons you with two fingers and you follow, kneeling on the bed again. logan rests his head against the headboard and watches you crawl to him like a lost puppy. he gets rid of his boxer briefs in a torturously slow manner.

“spit.” is what he says next, tone rough and unforgiving.

you hover over his lap, letting a globe of spit fall down and watching it slowly reach the tip of his cock. he smears the saliva and starts out with slow pumps from base to tip. 

you watch, utterly confused as you reach to replace his hand with yours.

“no.” he barks.

you retract your hand in shame, watching him rub his thumb across the sensitive head of his cock. logan doesn’t miss the way you squeeze your thighs at every single grunt of his, practically drooling as you watch him please himself.

logan hisses, head falling back against the headboard as images of you run through his mind, his hand pumping his cock vigorously.

you can see him getting closer and closer to his release, eyes shutting closed from the pain the teetering on the edge brings him. his pumps get faster and faster as he finally comes with a low guttural sound.

logan’s cum shoots out in thick ropes and you can feel your pussy clench around nothing at the sight of his seed leaking out of his pretty tip and landing on his thighs.

“clean me up.” his harsh words take you out of your trance.

you hesitantly lean into his lap, unsure of what to do. you place a teasing kiss on the tip of his cock and he hisses through clenched teeth.

“i said clean me up. don’t tease.”

you put your tongue out and lick a long stripe from base to tip while looking at him through eyelashes. he looks unfazed, gritting his teeth to stifle his groans under your warm breath. 

you put his cock in your mouth and lap up the remnants of his release, careful not to moan around his length.

your tongue runs over his thighs as well, licking the mess he made in his lap.

when you’re all done, you lean in for a kiss, licking the remnants of his cum on your lower lip with a swipe of your tongue. just as your lips are mere millimeters away from his, logan’s hand grabs your jaw abruptly

and you freeze in place. 

“lo, please. jus’ wanna kiss you.” you say, desperate for contact. the throbbing of your pussy can’t be ignored anymore. 

“no. you can’t kiss me with that dirty mouth of yours.”

you pout at his mean remark, batting your eyelashes up at him. he stares back at you like he’s totally done with your dirty tricks and his hand reaches behind you to give you a gentle, but urgent slap to the ass.

“come on. you wanna please me don’t you?” he asks, pitying you. finally, you’re given a chance for a reprieve.

you straddle logan, grabbing the base of his cock as you hover over his lap hesitantly. his eyes soften at the sight of you preparing for the sheer size of his cock.

logan grabs your hips to guide you as you slowly sink down on his girth, every inch of him filling your greedy pussy. you let out a moan at the stretch and give yourself a few seconds to adjust.

logan’s small gestures are in sharp contrast with his words and behavior as his hand carefully puts the stray strands of your hair behind your ears. he watches your expression, eyebrows scrunched in pleasure and hands balled into fists at the delicious stretch of his length, and he begins wondering how he got so lucky.

with soft breaths, you begin riding logan, hands propped against his chest. your pussy is eager, sucking him in as you bounce up and down his length slowly.

you close your eyes for a moment before logan’s sharp voice cuts through the air.

“look at me.” he commands and you oblige, getting lost in his strict, but oh so beautiful eyes as his scrutinizing gaze makes you pick up the pace. you can’t help but moan around logan’s cock, the position you’re in allowing him to reach impossibly deep inside you and rub against your gummy spot.

logan’s tone is harsh but it makes you clench around his girth. he doesn’t budge, watching you pant, breathless, face red and eyebrows scrunched in pleasurable strain.

the only sounds filling the room are those of your wet pussy taking logan’s cock deeper and deeper.

“logan, please.” you whine out, hips tired as you ride, chasing your release. 

he gives in to your helpless demand and places his hands on your hips again, his grip strong and controlling - everything you need right now.

without proper warning, he starts fucking up into you, pace relentless as your tight hole squeezes him like a vise. 

your moans are incoherent, a mix of his name, futile curses and weak “i need you”s.

“come on, doll. i know you’re close.” logan grunts under you, watching you play with your tits as he fucks your tight cunt, his anger still apparent. you can feel the delicious pain of the knot in your tummy that’s about to snap.

“jus’ hold onto me, baby.” you barely register his words, already on cloud nine before his thumb rubs your puffy clit, the action eliciting a loud moan from you as you cum around logan’s cock, your pussy greedily clenching and squeezing him. 

“fuck, lo. please.” you cry out, unaware of what you’re even begging for. all you know is that you need him close, even closer, you need him consuming you.

“that’s it. ride it out. ‘m right here, baby.” logan reassures as you barely hold yourself upright, hands grabbing his shoulders for support as his cock abuses your sensitive hole. he’s chasing his own release, needing to fill you up, to mark you, to feel your warmth embrace him.

“inside. inside, please, logan. i need you.” you murmur desperately, lost in a world where the only thing you can feel is pure pleasure.

his thrusts get even deeper and faster, your words egging him on. with a grunt, he releases his seed inside you. his warm cum fills your hole and you collapse on his chest, logan’s arms wrapping around your torso as the two of you feel the cum trickle down his length. 

you shift in his lap and feel logan’s hard cock twitch, still inside you, but your tired body chooses to ignore it as you pant in his embrace, catching your breath.

logan’s hands are roaming all over your body, massaging, kneading and rubbing soothing circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings into the crown of your head.

“logan.” you meekly speak, lifting your head to look into his eyes.

“what is it?”

“i’m sorry about earlier. it was stupid.” you say, referring to the whole “let’s spite logan and let him fuck you into oblivion!” stunt.

logan chuckles at your shy apology.

“are you kidding? you looked fucking hot, baby. i just got angry thinking about those slimy motherfuckers at the bar staring at what’s mine.” he says, accentuating his words as he grabs the globes of your ass, squeezing lovingly.

you giggle against his mouth, placing a soft kiss on his lips. his hand grabs your nape and he takes over, tongue entering your mouth in a delicious kiss which makes you moan softly.

you shift in logan’s lap again and are reminded of something. 

you slowly pull away from the kiss, raising a brow as the corners of your mouth lift up in a small smile at logan’s voice.

“maybe i’m still a little mad. you wanna take care of that, doll?”

[shadykazama]

Hello! Your headcanons on Wukong/Destined One had me giggling so much 😊 they're so great, couldn't stop rereading.

Um, if it's alright, can I ask for some Wukong/Destined One x Reader with their baby? Feral daddy monkey in his nesting phase with his mate and baby is so— 🤭

Absolutely! I have a lot of thoughts and the people demand more monkey business- so let's get down to it.

❤ Wukong

Starting with the pregnancy~

He is ELATED.

The idea of a proper heir had never crossed his mind because well- he's immortal. He doesn't need one. But that doesn't mean the idea of his own flesh and blood isn't positively exciting.

There's a chance he knows you're pregnant before you do. What with all of his special powers and heightened senses.

Celebrates privately with you of course but it becomes a mountain-wide event very quickly.

You are showered with praise and blessings by all the monkeys.

He will never miss a chance to brag that he's going to have a baby. And he's definitely smug about it too, thinks your child is going to surpass even his power.

When you start showing he gets more smothering.

Don't forget our king's fatal flaw! He thinks he knows what's best.

Will limit how much you travel and makes sure you always have at least two attendants by your side while he's gone.

Which, once you get further along, isn't often. There were plenty of superstitions about pregnancy in ancient China, as well as a high infant mortality rate- and that's not even counting what complications could happen due to the magical nature of your child. So he'd be stressed.

He expresses stress through aggression (canon), though it's never pointed at you. He'd be fiercely protective over the mountain, but especially any of the areas you regularly stay in. He'd be very snappy at everyone for the entire second half of the pregnancy, except you of course, who he'd be showering with praise and reverence.

Likes holding your stomach while you rest and tells your baby about the great lineage they're being born into, recounting his titles and strength and promising them they'd be greater.

He's hoping for a boy, but he's assured his child will be spectacular regardless of the gender.

When you give birth he will be extremely focused. He can't afford to be weak in a moment when you need him most. (Though your cries of pain and effort will certainly make his heart ache.)

As you're holding your baby for the first time, his teasing, smug attitude is nowhere to be seen. He just looks at you as if you'd given him the universe itself.

Cutest baby ever might I add 👆.

It's a Chinese tradition that only immediate family is allowed to meet the baby for the first 100 days after it's born, so it'd just be you and him for a majority of three months unless you invite your family to meet them.

In traditional fashion, on the 100th day a banquet is held to officially introduce the baby to everyone. And MY GOD would it be an event...

Besides all of the monkeys on the mountain who want to celebrate their new prince/princess, I can't even imagine how many celestials and demons would come to pay their respects and blessings- be it out of fear or respect.

Either way, expect a very long day and a LOT of gifts.

^ Wukong doesn't leave your side for the entire day. I dare someone to try and pull something.

You'd expect with his trickster personality that he'd be a very lenient dad, but Wukong is surprisingly dutiful in making sure your child doesn't turn out lazy or ignorant.

That by no means is to say he wouldn't be a wonderfully playful father. He'd have a wonderful connection with his child, and his most important lesson to them would be to respect their mother ;)

More of a one kid kind of guy, so he'd probably stop after the first, unless you had twins or triplets.

As protective as he was with you when you were pregnant, he's pretty chill with the actual kid. He knows they're durable and will let them get roughed up doing dumb stuff.

Carries them around hanging off his tail and will pretend like he doesn't know where they went.

It's like how cats will let their babies 'sneak up on them' to encourage them to keep trying. He does the same thing with your kid when they try to trick him.

Your baby would be the most respectful little shit ever. A little shit nonetheless, but would do anything for you or their father.

All the monkeys on the mountain help keep an eye on the little sage so you'll never feel lost or alone in parenting. It's very much a joined effort and your baby will see the other monkeys as their family as well!

This wonderful piece of Sun Wukong was done by @kanade-howl here on tumblr! They post their work on Twitter as well at @kanaade_ and @_liehuzuo please support them!

💙 The Destined One

Give him a bunch of babies I beg you.

He'd get addicted, he wants a big family for SURE.

When you first tell him you're pregnant he'll probably take some time to fully soak it in.

You'll be used to being patient with him at this point, but I imagine something like this is really nerve wracking so don't feel bad if you rush him for a response.

He'll put a hand on your stomach as if he's checking for himself before picking you up and smothering you with love.

He's not a chatty guy but he'll let you know how happy he is!

^ That being said, during your pregnancies is the most talkative he'll ever be.

He doesn't want you to stress about communicating and knows your body is going through a lot so he pushes himself to talk more to make sure you get everything you need.

That doesn't mean he'll be a chatterbox by any means. More than nothing is still very slim :')

Expect a lot of one word questions.

Trusts you more than he trusts his own instincts. His instincts tell him you shouldn't be climbing or moving around much- but if you want to, who's he to tell you what to do? He's not the one pregnant 🤷‍♀️

Follows you around like a guard dog when you do though, doesn't matter what you're doing.

Somehow even more physically affectionate than normal. Will insist on holding your hand when you walk so you can lean your weight on him.

When you start showing he'll be amazed. It's not that he's never seen a pregnant person before but like... That's his baby in there and he can't believe it.

His favorite thing to do is lay his head against your stomach while you're resting. Will kiss your skin and adore the life you're making.

You can catch him whispering things to your baby while he's resting his head on your stomach.

Your body is going to ache and he is more than happy to massage it for you. He doesn't even need an excuse to touch you, but he'll find them anyway.

Once you get further along and it gets harder for you to get around, he'll pick you up and take your wherever you want to go- within reasonable distance from your home of course. Not because he can't take you further, he just doesn't want to in case something happens.

But he wants to make sure you get fresh air and still see the beauty outside of your bed.

Doesn't trust anyone to watch you. It's him or nothing.

Makes offerings and prays to the goddess of childbirth. He does this a few times before you catch him and start helping.

He's a bundle of nerves when you're giving birth. If you weren't preoccupied, it'd probably be painfully obvious how nervous he was.

Holds you while you hold your baby and will not stop telling you how much he loves you and how perfect the baby is.

Gets baby fever bad.

Baby will be spoiled, and so will any other baby after that.

Huge advocate for carrying the baby. If you're not opposed to it, he probably carries them more than you.

Has the most deadpan look on his face as he looks at this baby but he has so much adoration for his little miracle.

Stressing over your baby crying in the middle of the night? Not with him! He's at that babies beck and call.

Watching a nearly mute man deal with a curious child is definitely amusing and you get a front row seat.

Your children kind of just accept that their dad doesn't talk much, but he'll always tell them he loves them if they say it to him.

Takes them everywhere with him so he can teach them. Is SO proud when the oldest starts helping teach the younger ones.

He's proud of them in general honestly.

Your kids are going to be super loving and curious. I think he'd foster really healthy relationships between all of them.

You'd have a whole team taking care of you if you ever got sick.

[powderpinkprincess]

Heat I. [Lando Norris x reader]

description: You almost pass out in the heat, but Lando helps you out.

It was a brutally hot race weekend. You weren’t used to this kind of heat. Besides, you were on your period, and the combination of these two made it difficult to eat a proper breakfast or lunch. You had no appetite, and you weren’t even feeling quite right all day.

Still, you knew Lando had it way worse. He was the one racing. The least you could do was not to complain. You didn’t even tell anyone how strange you felt, not wanting to make a fuss while your boyfriend had to sit in a burning hot car and drive.

You took a walk in the paddock with Lando’s best friend, Max Fewtrell. He also complained about the heat, but now he seemed fine, chugging a bottle of cold water and chilling in an air-conditioned room, waiting for the race to start. The two of you were chatting for a while, but now he was editing something on his phone, so you decided to scroll through social media to pass the time.

No, you weren’t feeling well. Everything started to blur a bit around the edges. Your vision dimmed for a second, and you could hear your heart drumming in your ears. You placed the phone on the table you were sitting at and buried your face into your palms, taking a few deep breaths.

 “Hey, Y/N, are you okay?” You felt someone touching your shoulder. Your brain felt foggy, but you had a vague guess that it was Max. You didn’t have the energy to reply.

 Your lack of response worried Max. “Uhm, do you want to grab a bottle of water from the cafeteria or something? You are so pale.”

 “I’m not sure,” you mumbled, your voice sounding foreign to your ears.

 “What do you mean? Come on, let’s go get something to drink. We have like twenty minutes before the race starts,” Max answered, and he grabbed your arms to help you up. He didn’t want to leave you unattended in a state like this. However, you lost your balance, so Max lowered you back on the barstool before the two of you would draw unwanted attention. “Come on, Y/N, Lando is going to kill me if you pass out on me,” he mumbled nervously.

That was when Lando decided to check on the two of you in the five spare minutes he got. When he spotted you in the corner of the room, he quickly realized that something was wrong. He walked over to the two of you. “Everything okay over here?” he asked, eyeing you with a mix of worry and confusion.

 “I don’t think so, mate,” Max answered, biting his lips. “I wanted to take her to the cafeteria, but I’m not sure she can walk- Or something.”

Lando saw how pale you were. Then he noticed that your hands were shaking slightly. His heart sank in his chest. It wasn’t the first time that you started feeling off at the beginning of your period, and the heat wasn’t helping you either. He wondered how much you ate all day.

He pulled out the barstool beside you and sat down, placing a comforting hand on your back. “Max, can you get her a bottle of water and a granola bar or something like that?” he asked, not taking his eyes off you for a second. He took your hand, his finger hovering over your wrist to feel your pulse.

Max sighed in relief as Lando finally took over the situation. He nodded and rushed off.

Lando gently squeezed your hand. “Come on, you’ll be alright,” he muttered softly. “Max will be here with something for you soon, alright?”

You heard his words, but you couldn’t register what he was saying. Lando hugged you to prevent you from falling off the barstool, and you leaned against his chest. He held you close and kissed your forehead. He tried to ignore the fact that you were in a public space, and there were probably plenty of eyes, maybe even cameras, watching the two of you.

You felt limp in his arms. He knew you were conscious, but he wasn’t sure how long you would be. He smoothed the hair out of your face. “Come on, you silly little thing,” he spoke gently. “Don’t pass out on me like this.”

Max was back in a couple of minutes, and he handed over everything to Lando. Your boyfriend took the water immediately, and he opened the bottle while still hugging you close to his chest. Then he placed the bottle to your mouth and tipped it lightly.

 “Just drink a little bit, okay? Small sips…” he said after realizing that you didn’t respond. As you felt the cool water on your mouth, you finally swallowed. Lando sighed in relief. For a second, he was sure you would pass out right there in his arms.

After you drank a few sips, the colour finally started to return to your face. Your vision slowly cleared up, and you realized you were leaning against Lando, so you pulled away. He was there, sitting next to you, his suit halfway zipped, watching you intently. He handed you the water bottle, seeing that now you were able to sit up somewhat straight.

 “Hey there,” he smiled a little as he reached out to rub your back. “You scared me for a second.”

That was the point when Lando’s engineer decided to find him personally when he didn’t return after the promised five minutes. “Man, everyone is looking for you,” he frowned at Lando.

 “I know, I’m sorry, mate. Y/N was a little unwell, I couldn’t leave her like that,” Lando turned away to answer.

Your cheeks heated up now that you were in the centre of attention.

Lando’s engineer didn’t seem convinced by your pale expression. “Does she need medical attention?”

 “I don’t think so,” Lando shook his head, and then he focused back on you. He opened the granola bar and placed it between your fingers. “Take a few bites. Do you think you’ll be able to get back on your feet?”

 “Why?” you frowned, confused. You had no intention to go anywhere.

 “I need to get back to work. Will you be fine with Max?” he asked. He didn’t want to leave you yet, but he knew staying wasn’t an option when the race was just about to start.

You nodded.

 “Good. Just eat your snack, drink the water, and stay in here. I’ll get you after I’m done.” He patted your knee and stood up. He took one last look at you before he hurried away.

You sighed as you watched him get in the car. You knew he was trained to deal with the heat, yet you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. It wasn’t the first time you managed to almost pass out while he was doing perfectly fine.

You took a bite of the granola bar he handed you and watched him go.