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lalunanymph · 3 months ago

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ΉΣЯ ΛПD ƬΉΣ ЯIVΣЯ

༊ on the most fertile moon of the year, rafayel finally claims you as his true bride and the mother of his future heirs

✯ warnings; sorta sequel to her and the sea but can be read as a standalone, rafayel x fem!reader, established relationship, MONSTERFUCKING, switch!rafayel, switch!reader, rafayel's lemurian form, sex in a bathtub, reader is coded to be feminine (wears a nightgown), mentions of mermaid genitalia, petnames (my little conch shell, my bride, baby, my love, miss bodyguard), size kink, handjobs, mentions of food, breathplay, breeding, mentions of previous oviposition, dirty talk, praise and degradation, language, let me know if i missed anything

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

Like how mashed kelp with prawn hearts were the perfect antidote to third degree burns, or a particularly nasty cold could be healed with sea turtle soup made from the bales found at the heart of Point Nemo’s trenches.

Another secret?

Male Lemurians—specifically those of the Sea God kinds like Rafayel—had a special mating ritual.

You had no idea what you were expecting when your boyfriend called you over to his studio on a random Tuesday morning. As you had a day off from Hunter duties, you decided to drop by and visit, seeing no harm in meeting Rafayel after the innocent text he sent you.

Miss your face, Miss Bodyguard. Care to indulge me with your presence? I wanna show you something coolio lol

You highly doubted the ‘lol’ at the end of his sentence meant anything innocent, but you had learned a long time ago to figuratively and literally go with the flow when it came to your mermaid boyfriend.

You kicked your bike to a stop by his gravel driveway, staring at the pearly domes of his studio slash home. His front door was left open and you let yourself in, trailing your eyes across the soaring, pristine white walls illuminated by the natural light coming in from Whitesand Bay.

“Raffie?” Your voice echoes along the empty hallways.

His huge French doors were left open, the salty sea breeze tugging right at your clothes and hair, bringing a chill into the otherwise sun-warmed room.

“In here.”

His voice floated from the bedroom and your suspicions flared, wondering what he was up to.

Ever since that night in the middle of the ocean when he claimed you in his Lemurian form, Rafayel was growing bolder with initiating you into the practices of his endangered people; from the unique seafood feasts he prepared for you down to the different books in a foreign language he loaned you, it seemed as if your boyfriend was eager to show you the full extent of his world and culture.

With an open heart and an even more curious mind, you padded to his bedroom where you found the entire space open and bright, the brilliant sunlight nearly burning your retinas. You had to squint and shade yourself from the sudden glare, spotting Rafayel waving at you from his huge bathtub in the middle of the room.

“My little conch shell. There you are.”

You padded over to him, smiling mischievously at the sight of his slick, and bare chest. The cool, crisp bath water lapped at throat, droplets of water clinging onto the tips of his lilac bangs.

“Did you call me over just to watch you splash around?” you tease, sitting on the bench beside the tub, dipping your fingers into the cool water.

Rafayel snorted and grasped your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, the skin of his digits slightly pruned from his time spent inside the water.

“Hardly. I wanted to ask you something… eh, more like, show you something.”

You heard a tremble of uncertainty in his tone which he tried to mask with his usual boyish bravado. Months of dating the elusive Lemurian artist gave you a deeper understanding of his personality, and you could tell behind the breezy invitation to his home, there was a deeper meaning and reason behind his need to have you here.

As if answering your silent, roaring questions, Rafayel turned his indigo gaze to the bright sky opening before the bedroom’s sunroof, the panels pushed to the sides to let in the afternoon heat.

“Do you know what day it is today?” Rafayel hummed, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. You had to scoot closer to avoid your arm from submerging in the tub, shaking your head with a teasing smile etched on your lips.

“Taco Tuesday?” you joked and he rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding!” you laughed and added breezily, “I’m pretty sure I didn’t forget your birthday or any anniversaries. So, why is today so special?”

Your boyfriend pointed at the bright sky, and you had to squint to follow the direction of his finger.

“Do you see the moon there? Looks like a thin piece of cheese?”

Following his guidance, you noticed the pale circle in the sky; almost see-through like a wisp, close enough to touch the burning sun in the horizon.

“Uh-huh.”

Rafayel snorted. “Well… today is a very special day for Lemurians because it’s the one time in the entire year when the moon and the sun will collide.” He gauged your reaction, the confusion on your face making him sigh deeply.

“Ugh, humans. Okay, think of it this way—do you know what controls the tides of the sea?”

A fairly easy question. “The moon,” you retorted, furrowing your brow.

Rafayel nodded sagely, like a professor trying to prove a point. “Okay. And do you know what helps things like plants grow?”

“The… sun?” You weren’t exactly sure where your lover was going with this, but you played along for his sake.

“Good,” he gets out of the tub and sits on the edge, and you were relieved to find him dressed in a pair of navy blue swimming shorts. Unable to tear your eyes off the water dripping down his muscular thighs, you coughed, feeling your face flush warmly as you mapped the shadows lengthening around the room; a sign of evening arriving.

“What does any of this have to do with the fact that you moved the tub from the living room to your bedroom?”

Rafayel gently grasped your chin, lifting your face up to meet his sparkling, bright eyes.

“Remember that night when we made love on the cove in Whitesand Bay… when I asked if you were comfortable with me putting my babies in you?”

You nodded, recalling the night like it was just yesterday. Though a week had passed since your last encounter together with him, you could still smell the sea breeze on your skin, feel the stretch of his mermaid cock almost tearing you apart inside out.

“Well, tonight is what we Lemurians dub the Fertile Moon—the one time of the year where the sun and moon orbit the closest to one another, and their energies are in sync to increase the life force of the ocean and its inhabitants. Do you get what I’m putting down, Miss Bodyguard?”

Your head was spinning, and you’re not sure if you can make out the innuendo behind his fragmented explanations.

“No… I don’t think so. Can’t you just tell me point blank what it is you want from me?”

You tried to scowl and sound demanding, but it came off as pouty and petulant instead.

He grinned, barely able to hide his chuckle when he turned those mirthful, indigo eyes towards you. “What I am saying, my little muse is that tonight is the one night where every Lemurian is encouraged to breed so that… conception and a pregnancy is a guaranteed success.”

The silence after his words rang like the aftermath of a blurted crass remark.

You blanched, eyes widening when he finally helped you put two and two together.

“Whoa, hold up—tonight is the night?”

Rafayel’s eyes twinkled, and he flickered them momentarily to your relatively flat belly.

“Remember those eggs I put inside of you? Well, tonight’s their night to shine. I mean, not literally. You’re not going to glow inside out like a pregnant sea monkey. But, if we made love tonight, it’s a 95% success rate of my babies taking...”

He trailed off, letting you absorb this fact. You take in a deep breath, wondering if this day could get any weirder. Though it had been your idea for Rafayel to show you how mermaids bred in the first place, you couldn't help the feeling that you were biting off more than you could chew.

Absent-mindedly, you touched your stomach, almost as if you were trying to feel the smooth, oval deposits your boyfriend had gifted to you 7 nights ago. But, you could barely detect their outline or their presence, wondering how the biological aspect of everything would work.

“Hey,” Rafayel touched your cheek, trying to get you to look at him. “Are you alright? Tell me what’s on that pretty mind, lovely.”

“It’s just,” you struggled to speak, and had to take a few, deep breaths to keep calm. “Is this really happening? You really want me to get pregnant with your babies?”

In response, his violet eyes softened, and Rafayel steps down from the tub, moving towards you and getting to one knee. He grasped your hands, bringing them in his damp ones and squeezed them reassuringly. “You can always say ‘no’, my little muse. I’m not forcing you to carry my eggs if you don’t want to, though I do wish with every fiber of my being that you would. Nothing would make me happier than to know the only woman I’ve ever loved will be the one to carry my heirs and the future of Lemuria inside of her.”

When he said it that way…

The idea of saving an entire civilization appealed to your naturally altruistic nature, and you couldn’t deny the allure of being the one person whom Rafayel trusted to go on this journey with. Besides, your lover would never let anything happen to you—he would be there with you every step of the way to take care of you and the babies, just like he promised before. And you know he will keep his promises till the end of time.

You nodded. “Alright. The Fertile Moon. Half-Lemurian babies. Let’s do it.”

Rafayel gently tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, his voice low and gentle.

“Are you sure? I mean, the choice to decline or accept is yours. I will be gentle, but tonight is one of the nights where I’m afraid nature vs. politeness will not be in play, my little muse.” There was a flash of warning in his eyes. You swallowed hard.

“What do you mean by that?”

Rafayel’s grip on your hands tighten, and he exhaled a sigh. “It means I might get… rougher… and if you can bear it, I will make it the most pleasurable night of your life, sweetheart.”

You paused, considering his words. “Will you hurt me?”

He shook his head instantly. “Never.”

“Will you bite me? Maim me?”

Rafayel shot you a look of exasperation, shaking his head. “No and no. Absolutely nothing will pierce you… well, not too much.”

The addendum stopped you short, and you gave him a cursory look. Rafayel ups the innocent act, gazing at you with his big, indigo eyes which tug on your heartstrings.

Eventually, you’re swayed by the look of pure hope in those wondrous orbs and you sigh.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll do it.”

Sealing the deal and taking him off guard, you lean forward, kissing him fully on his shapely lips. “Let’s make some half-mermaid babies tonight.”

The chill of the night seeped into your bare skin, the skimpy nightgown you wore barely covering your shins and arms. You had to drive back home and change, returning to Rafayel’s home with your heart in your mouth.

A part of you considered the repercussions of such a deal—the idea of carrying to term a human baby was already daunting, but now you had to factor in the baby being half-Lemurian into the mix.

The doors swung open, as if sensing you and admitting you within the heart of his space. Once drenched in sunshine and heat, Rafayel’s home was now saturated in shades of night, the windows kept open to let in the illumination of the moon’s rays seeping into the white walls and hardstone floors. You followed a trail of roses he left for you, right to the lip of his bedroom door. Heart thudding a mile a minute, you pressed your palms flat on the intricate wood and pushed it open.

Flickering candlelight danced across the walls, shadows growing with your approach towards the bathtub situated in the middle of the room like a crown jewel. Rafayel is nowhere to be seen, but you felt his presence in this space, watching over you—waiting.

As per his instructions, you sat at the edge of the large tub, big enough to accommodate one human and one undecidedly non-human person. The warmth of the candles gave you enough courage to lift your head and take a steadying breath.

But, that breath stuttered out into a whispery gasp at the feeling of strong arms wrapping around you. Rafayel’s lips found refuge in the crook of your neck, kissing up and down the delicate column of your throat. His palms spanned around your waist, dragging up and down your sides, committing your outline to his memory.

“My bride,” he muttered huskily. “You’re here.”

“Mhm hmm,” your voice trembled, and he could feel the fear rocking you apart. “I’m here… Are you ready?”

Rafayel doesn’t comment on the terror he hears in your tone, or how you’re shaking as if an earthquake is tearing you into two. Gently, he pressed a kiss to your temple, running his hands up and down your stomach in gentle, soothing swoops.

“Relax. It’ll be fine. I’m here and I won’t ever let you go, my bride.”

He turned you around, and you were confronted by the sight of his bare chest peeking from past a pale, purple robe, gossamer thin and clinging onto his muscular torso and arms. A smirk plays on his lips when he realized you were gawking at him, your attention a boost to his ego.

“Like what you see, Miss Bodyguard?”

Before you could reply, he slipped his fingers in between yours, tugging you closer to the bathtub. Rafayel unties his robe, letting it fall to the ground and you take it as your cue to remove your nightgown, as well.

Though getting naked in front of Rafayel was something you had done many, many times before, this is the first time you felt a spike of fear run up your spine. Your breathing came out in stuttering exhales, and you managed to slip the diaphanous material off your body, revealing your bare skin to his wandering eyes. The heat of his gaze was like a hot brand, and you could feel it tangibly caressing the expanse of your skin, imprinting your curves onto his artistic eye.

“You look beautiful, my bride.”

Rafayel gently guided you into the tub, and you shivered when your toes sank in the water, finding it pleasantly warmed. He got in after you, pulling you close to his chest, hooking his chin over your shoulder. The both of you stayed like this for a little while, holding each other close. The briny scent of the ocean floating in from the wide open sunroof above gave this moment a fairylandish feel, making you think you were in the middle of some fantastical dream.

You felt his lips right on your jugular, kissing over your pulse point and shivered.

“Don’t be afraid,” his voice had taken on a deeper quality, rumbling against your chest. “I won’t hurt you. It will feel good, my bride.”

Your eyes wandered to the sky, watching the moon burn at her brightest. Rafayel, too, took a moment to absorb the spectacular celestial sight shining from his window, his arms tightening around you.

Something about the romantic and sensual atmosphere finally got to you, and you turned around, straddling yourself on his lap. Your naked cunt bumped against his thigh, and you felt him shiver from the close proximity.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you hummed, leaning forward, close enough for your lips to touch, but not fully. “Raffie… I’m not afraid. As long as you’re here, I’m not scared.”

That was his cue to give into his primal, oceanic urges. Hungrily, he claimed your lips, those large hands moving to your waist to drag you flush against his body.

His quicksilver tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring it slowly; his hands roaming across your body, caressing you with a touch full of desire and need.

“Rafayel…”

He broke the kiss, leaving a string of spit connecting your lower lip to his, hanging tenuously like a heart about to break.

Your lover darted his tongue out, lapping at your bottom lip, his teeth following suit to dig into the plush flesh. He repositioned you upon his lap, tangling his fingers in your hair to tilt your face to the side so he could slot his mouth closer to yours.

This kiss under the moonlight, sensual and sweet, stole a part of your soul and refused to give it back.

Perching you on his strong, muscular thigh, Rafayel dipped his head lower, dragging lazy kisses down your jaw, your collarbone, his warm mouth wrapping around your nipples. His tongue teased them, getting them hard. You squirmed in his lap, getting wetter at his every touch.

“Feels good, my bride?” He hummed, mouth still latched around your hard flesh and you whimpered, nodding.

Rafayel grinned at your responsiveness, hearing your whispery plea of his name passing your lips.

His mouth was better than good—it was downright sinful and delicious. It felt like every sensation was amplified tonight, your body keyed up to receive his ministrations.

Please, you whispered into the dim night illuminated only by candles that bounced off the whiteness of his grin. Touch me more.

“As you wish, my bride.”

Rafayel paid special attention to your nipples, tweaking them, sucking on them, brushing his thumbs over the hard nubs. Your hips began to drag across the muscular plane of his thigh, rutting and twitching as you struggled to relieve the ache in between your legs.

“More,” you’re desperate to get closer, to feel him deeper in your body; needing to satiate the lust his touches ignited deep inside of you.

Rafayel hummed, a grin tugging on the corners of his mouth as he tasted your desperation, your need to get off.

“Mhm, I know,” he mumbled in between sloppy kisses raining down your neck, taking his time to taste your skin. “I know, baby. But, we’re going to take it slow tonight, yeah?”

Rafayel would be the death of you. His duality would never cease to render you speechless; bratty, pouty boyfriend in one breath and then suddenly, a teasing force of nature determined to get under your skin and leave you begging.

Your whine graced his heated ears, and he chuckled.

Rafayel… no… stop teasing me…

Already begging? Your lover raised his lips to the juncture of your neck, biting down softly to bring the blood up, leaving his mark there. That was quick—thought you’d hold up longer than that.

Your indignant sounds were masked by his mouth moving back to yours, kissing your protests away.

What was it you wanted to say, my little conch shell? He teased, trailing his fingers down your thighs, igniting goosebumps on your arms. I’m a tease? I’m not giving you what you want?

He adjusted himself in the tub, the water starting to run cool, sloshing over the edges to dampen the surrounding floor. He lifted you higher into his lap, running his warmed, slightly chapped lips down to your sternum, mapping his way down to the part of you which needed him the most.

You know, I’ve never done this with anyone… Rafayel whispered against your flushed skin, nudging you up further until your pelvis bumped his jaw. You’re always the first one I try new things with… his fingertips glide across your thighs, gently nudging them apart.

You make me feel human—make me feel alive. His words are lost in your skin as he muffled them with his kisses, leaving a trail of heat in between your thighs, leading right to your pulsing core. Rafayel can’t help but chuckle at the sight of your little, twitchy clit, waiting for his tongue or mouth to give her some attention.

His touches are languid, caressing your knees, your shins and thighs. He moved his fingers to where you needed him the most, focusing his touch on your throbbing clit, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the slick bundle of nerves which seemed to pulse his name with every touch.

“Rafayel,” your moans saturated the air, a blessing to his ears.

“Mhm… yes, my little conch shell? Feels good, doesn’t it?” His indigo eyes looked at you with pure hunger like a deadly current threatening to pull you under.

Yes, your breathy whimpers boosted his ego, drawing a smirk on his handsome face. The heat that he sets off in your body when he placed his mouth right on your inner thigh was nothing compared to the smoldering flame about to engulf you when he sucked a hickey onto your soft flesh.

“I can smell you—you’re practically drenched,” Rafayel slurred in between nipping kisses to your thighs, determined to leave his mark wherever he went. I just want to… fuck… he trailed off.

“What?”

Your breathless question made him laugh.

In answer to your winded curiosity, he brought his mouth closer, right to the apex of your thighs and exhaled, warm breath fanning across your folds.

“I just want to eat you whole.”

Warmth engulfed your cunt the second he murmured those seductive words, and your head was thrown back, your moan rebounding across the room.

You were so worked up, it was insane how you haven’t exploded yet. The taste of you saturated his tongue, dripping right onto his chin and Rafayel lapped you up like you were the water of life, drinking you down in desperate gulps.

Those pretty indigo eyes hazed over, his long lashes obscuring his gaze into half-mast as he worked your pussy over with his mouth. Using a slender finger, Rafayel teased past the tight muscles of your entrance, sinking down to his knuckle, curling it forward in a come hither motion as your hips stuttered and bucked.

Rafayel… oh, fuck…

He grinned at the sound of your trembling moans, and stretched your perfect cunt around a second finger, applying pressure to your golden spots, determined to make you see stars.

Without warning, you felt the girth of his thigh transforming underneath you, growing slicker, harder. Scale-like. The texture of his wrists you were grasping tightly became harder, the skin toughening and lengthening.

Water sloshed noisily down the rim of the tub, and from the corner of your eye, you caught the flick of an iridescent tail in mid-air.

Rafayel continued to eat you out, oblivious to your wide eyes and hitched breathing, needing to feel you shatter around his fingers. Latching his lips right to your nub, he traced his name right into your sensitive clit, enjoying how your thighs were tensing and trembling, struggling to hold yourself upright.

One large palm guided you to ride his tongue, grasping your hip and helping you glide yourself back and forth over the flat of his pink muscle.

Your fingers curled over the edge of the wide tub, one hand tangling in his hair to hold him closer.

Fuck, so good, your moans goad him on. So good, Rafayel. More, please… more…

He gave it to you, lapping at your swollen folds, feeling your juices stain his mouth, drip down his jaw.

The needy twitch of your hips and the tremble in your moans spurred him on to double his speed and precision, racing to get you right to the edge. From the depths of the deep tub, you felt something hard stirring against your thigh, the thick, scaly ridge a familiar rasp as it grazed against your soft skin.

“I’m close,” your quivering moan made his blood thump harder in his veins. “So close…”

Your orgasm washed over you like a hot tide, nearly making you buckle and lose your footing. Luckily, Rafayel hurried to clasp his larger, merman hands around your waist, holding you upright and slowly easing you down onto his lap. Your quivering moans go straight to his cock, and he was already hard and ready when you sank into his embrace, the tip of his monster girth poking your lower belly.

Without a second thought, you reached for his length, stroking his Lemurian cock with a loose grip, feeling his entire body constrict under your touch.

Rafayel expelled a soft groan, the back of his head thumping against the smooth marble of the bathtub’s edge. Scaly and with bumps that felt heavenly between your gummy walls, his cock was a wonder of nature that always left you speechless. Hooded indigo eyes appraised you, and his tongue briefly darted out to touch the corner of his mouth.

“You’re becoming more bold and audacious day by day.”

Drunk from your orgasm, you managed to give him a grin. “What did you say again—the most pleasurable evening I’ve ever had?”

Arching a brow, Rafayel snorted. “So, jacking me off is your idea of a pleasurable evening?”

Your lips touched his ear, warm breath fanning across his skin. “What if I said yes?”

Putty in your hands and susceptible to your every will, Rafayel had no choice but to let you have your way with him. His hips ticked, pushing his cock further up your weak grip, aching to earn more friction.

“I would say you got me there,” his voice lowered into a husky whisper. “You’re a handful, you know that?”

“But, I’m all yours to handle.”

His smooth and low chuckle sparked a shiver up your spine, that hazy grin and heavy lidded eyes making your stomach flip.

“Mhm, that you are, sweetheart.”

The water rippled from the motions of his hips undulating to match your strokes, a pinch appearing on his brow. Despite having a fear of the water, you felt safe in Rafayel’s arms, letting him hold you close as you continue to pleasure him.

“Do you want to—”

“I think we should—”

He paused, and you giggled at both your eagerness; the simultaneous need. Rafayel’s eyes twinkled with mischief, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

Without another word, your lover guided you onto his lap, gently pushing your hand away from his cock and gingerly lifting your hips.

It started out slow first, with the head of his Lemurian cock slowly breaching you, pushing past the trembling muscle of your spasming cunt. Rafayel was conscious of not slamming into you, knowing you needed time to get used to the sensation of his longer length stretching you out.

The sensation of his bulbous head sinking through your walls, and the feel of every ridge and bump hitting your swollen spots was enough to draw full body shivers from you.

“Fuck,” Rafayel shivered, his eyes darkening.

Your breath tumbled out in a shaky exhale.

Palms flat on his chest, you struggled to sink down on him, the water adding more lubrication to help ease you over his impossibly huge cock. The stretch made sweat bead across your brow and you gasped, rocking your hips forward, trying to take all of him in one go.

You okay? His mouth on your pulse point soothed you somewhat.

Nodding, you felt the bite of pain, your muscles protesting.

Rafayel took this chance to play with your nipples, tweaking and tugging on them; when that wasn’t enough, he decided to use his tongue and teeth to get them wet and hard, leaving your body aching for more. His thumb trailed to your clit, rubbing on it as he continued to suckle on your tits, giving them both his undivided attention.

Your pussy twitched around him and he murmured, let go for me, sweetheart.

The effort it took for you to calm yourself down enough to take him is tremendous, and Rafayel felt a burst of love and adoration for how much you were trying to please him. The hunger you showed to be perfectly good for him incited his need to spoil you even more, and he quickens the circles on your clit, trying to loosen you up so he could bottom out.

Once you were slick enough, Rafayel didn't waste anymore time, guiding you down on the last few inches, kissing you full on the mouth to quell your trembling moans.

“Fuck.” Your cries were intoxicating, driving him mad with desire when he finally sank down to the hilt, a bit of drool dripping from your parted lips.

Rafayel didn’t hesitate to lap at it, dragging his tongue from your jaw to your chin, tasting the salt of your skin. The moon bathed your skin with pale, silky light, and the artist swore if he wasn’t trying to put his babies in you, he would’ve taken this moment to paint you from scratch.

A tick of your hips. Your walls trembled around him.

Guttural groans softened by his lips pressed to your neck reverberated against your skin.

Holy shit, his curses sink past your flesh. Shit, shit—you feel like heaven.

Please, move. Your begging elicited a hoarse chuckle from the Lemurian.

As you wish, my bride.

Slow, tantric strokes. Rafayel’s grip on your hips was firm and solid. He kept a steady pace, fucking up into you, the tips of his tail flicking past the tub's rim, catching your eye with its iridescent brilliance.

Every stroke of his ridged cock rubbing against your gummy walls felt like a pulsing nirvana. Throbbing, hot, needy. You were completely Rafayel’s—you belonged fully to the Sea God of your dreams.

Mhm, yeah, he continued to fuck into that same spot, coaxing you with You like that? fuck you like that. Mhm yeah. Uh-huh—good girl.

The tips of his lilac bangs tickled your neck as he sucked more love bites into your neck, hellbent on marking you up as his own.

Effortlessly, he turned you in his embrace, encouraging you to press your hands on the bathtub’s edge. This newfound position placed more pressure on your G spot, the tip of his cock nudging that same spot over and over again.

Behind you, Rafayel made it a sport to leave as many hickeys as he could on your nape, your shoulders. The rough scales of his fingertips gripped the plush flesh of your ass, squeezing heartily.

You look so good taking me like this. His rough praise drew goosebumps across your entire body.

You tipped your head back, dizzy with lust, mouth parting wide open.

In the dimness of the candlelight, Rafayel’s lilac eyes glimmered like amethysts, his hair shining with an ethereal gleam.

“My love, do you trust me?” His heated question pressed into the back of your neck pricked your awareness. The stretch and the bite of pain which mingled with pleasure fucked with your mind, drawing you right to the edge where nothing in the world existed beyond you being impaled on his cock.

“Mhm,” your replying moan drew a trembling laugh from him.

I have something which will make it all feel better… but only if you trust me.

Rafayel tangled your hair in his fingers, and in this instance, you would’ve done anything for him.

You nodded.

The pleasure he bestowed on your wrecked body, the gentle way he was asking if he could make you feel even more good, did not prepare you for what he did next.

One second, your head was tilted back against his chest, and the next, you were plunged face first into the tub water. Your eyes opened wide, your entire body tensing with fear. Eyes burning, you opened your mouth to scream when he yanked you back to the surface, sputtering and crying out his name.

“Shit.” Rafayel’s movements doubled in speed, fucking up into you like he didn’t respect you one bit. You were panting, gripping the edge of the tub with white knuckles.

“Fuck,” was the only word you could manage to blurt out, the tension in your lower belly tightening.

If it was possible, the sensation of his cock splitting you apart felt even more delirious. Dizzyingly so.

Your eyes crossed, mouth hanging open, the slick pistoning of his cock in and out of your willing pussy making every nerve ending in your body burst into unending flames.

Raffie… fuck… do it again.

You were pleading for him to hurt you, the taboo nature of such devious desires making your blood pump harder.

There was no need to tell him twice.

Rafayel grasped the base of your head, and your world disappeared into the bottom of the tub, your body bucking wildly, fighting for oxygen as his cock continued to bulldoze into you.

He brought you up, and you gasped, coughing loudly.

Fuck, your voice was gravelly from swallowing some water. Fuck, that was so hot.

You weren’t the only one who thought so.

Shit, your lover groaned. I’m close, baby.

Lavishing you with praise for being so good, Rafayel held you close to his chest, your back bowing to take all of him in.

You’re amazing, love. My bride, my Queen. You’re going to be the best mother. The best mate. I love you. I love you so much.

The moonlight scattered across the rippling water, reminding you of that time when he had you right on the seabed and you watched the light breaking above the surface.

Come for me, my love. His grunts touched the sensitive shell of your ear. Come for me and make me feel good—are you going to be good for me?

Yes, yes. You chant. Yes, I will, Raffie.

Yes, my bride. Fuck—doing so good. Yeah, yeah. Come, come. Fucking make a mess on me.

You could never deny Rafayel what he wanted. At his command, you spilled all over him, your muscles tightening, threatening to spit him out of your trembling heat.

So good, so good for me. Coaxing you through your orgasm, he talked you through it, there for every tremble, every quiver and moan.

Your pleasure washed over him in waves, and he couldn’t hold back the tide, not when going over and spilling inside of you, claiming you as his, is what he has always wanted since the dawn of time.

Strings of heat splattered inside of you, filling you to the brim till you thought you could taste him in the back of your throat.

Rafayel continued to pump his hips, desperately trying to make sure not a single drop goes to waste.

When the comedown hits, it slammed into you hard. The exhaustion mingled with the fatigue of the adrenaline ebbing out of your veins.

You slumped back into his arms, and Rafayel was careful to slowly ease you off his half-hard cock, holding you close in his embrace. The possessiveness that dripped from his fingertips as they stroked through your hair, the heat of his body, warmed you up in the already cool water.

The chill permeated through you, though you barely felt it, not when Rafayel was by your side.

A soft kiss was placed on your jaw.

“Was it good?”

You nodded, hazy and dopey from the rush of hormones. “Beyond perfection.”

Rafayel chuckled at the dopey happiness alighting in your eyes, tightening his grip around your waist, nuzzling his face into your damp neck. Now that his primal instincts were cooling off, he could give your wrecked body the attention it deserved.

The warmth of his skin seeped into yours. Hard scales turned back to soft flesh, his huge tail transforming into a pair of legs tightening around your midsection, determined to hold you fast to his chest. Languishing in the cool water, you glanced up at the moon, noting a pair of wispy clouds drifting past her luminous facade, reminding you of a couple dancing past a huge celestial spotlight.

Rafayel rubbed your belly with one hand, and you didn’t have to ask him what was on his mind to know his raging thoughts.

Placing your hand upon his, you smile at him over your shoulder. The fall of his lilac hair, the softness in his eyes. It made your heart melt.

“Are you nervous?”

Your question, seemingly innocent, held a multitude of layers which he could unravel easily enough after having known you for close to a millenia.

“Of the babies? No,” he answered truthfully. “But, of how will things change between us? Yeah, I’m terrified.”

You readjusted yourself on his lap, facing him, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. “Are you afraid I’m gonna leave you once I find out your babies are bulging inside of me?” you tease.

Rafayel’s pout was endearing, and you laughed, pinching his cheek. “Raffie… you’re so silly.”

He huffed, his palms drifting to clasp around your hips, pulling you flush to his chest. “Am I so silly or just worried you might still think I’m a freak?”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “Ouch. You really underestimate me, my love. You’d think I’d let you do this if I didn’t want it?”

Knowing full well how independent and firm you could be, his worries abated slightly, a smirk worming onto his shapely and perfect lips.

“Of course not, Miss Bodyguard. You would never do anything if you didn’t love it.”

Your eyes softened. “Well, there’s your answer.” Under the luminous moonlight, your embrace tightened around him, bridging the distance between 800 years and this moment where you and Rafayel would finally be a family.

“I only do it because I love you.”

— rbs and feedback are appreciated !!

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or translate my work across other platforms.

#🦢 writes #rafayel smut #love and deepspace smut #rafayel x you #rafayel x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel x y/n #lads rafayel #lnds #love and deepspace rafayel #qi yu x reader #qi yu love and deepspace #rafayel #mdni banner by me #l&ds rafayel #rafayel l&ds #l&ds #love and deepspace #seashell divider by @/ roseraris

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eupheme · 3 months ago

Text

— drive me crazy

[part ii of trouble will find me] | [masterlist]

bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader

rated e - 4.6k

tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, multiple pov, flirting, forbidden relationship, masturbation, light panty kink, poor professional relationships, making out, car oral (m) sex, come swallowing

It’s a bad idea to get involved with your bodyguard, you both know that. But you certainly don’t care, not after knowing how he feels inside you. Leaving you wanting more.

And with the way he watches you, you think Logan must feel the same. So when an opportunity arises where you’re left alone in the limo - you can’t help nudging at him, once more.

It’s worth the extra ten minutes of discomfort to see the shocked look on your face when he leaves you at your door.

The held breath that turns into a pout when he leans close, only to open the handle behind you. A tilt of his head - a silent command that you enter.

You move past the threshold - only for your frown to deepen, when he lingers in the doorway.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” It’s soft, and he ignores the way it makes his cock twitch.

Logan’s arms cross over his chest, a lift of his brow.

“Got what you wanted, didn’t you?” He points out, “Said you’d listen.”

Your mouth drops open in indignation and for a brief moment, he imagines what you offered him.

Imagines slipping his fingers against your tongue again - the warm and wet suck, the press of lips that he now knows are so fucking soft.

“I wanted you.”

He almost expects you to stamp your foot.

“Already told you, sweetheart.” Logan steps back, fingers curling around the knob. The door swinging shut, with the murmur of his voice, “‘s not a good idea.”

Not looking back, as he takes the path to his room.

Not about to admit that you’ve always had him.

Logan’s barely kicked off his boots, flopped down onto the bed before the goddamn phone is ringing.

He debates not answering it - something far more pressing on his mind. But he knows it will only end with a knock on his door, and an even greater inconvenience.

“Yes?” It’s barked into the receiver.

Cradled against his ear, as a hand snakes down to palm himself. Fingers yanking at the silver buckle, loosening his belt.

A sharp voice answers, not bothering with a greeting.

They both know who it is.

“Late night. Shouldn’t you be back already?”

Logan fucking hates the check-ins. Another notch tightening in the collar, already wound around his throat.

“She felt like staying out.” It’s gritted out - just barely managing to filter out the heavy edge of annoyance.

“It’s your job to keep an eye on her-”

Bodyguard. Not a babysitter.

It’s on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. His hand fishing into his pocket instead - tugging out the lace as your father rambles on about the importance of an early morning for whatever bullshit breakfast you’re getting dragged off to tomorrow.

An inhale, as he presses your panties against his nose. His groan near-silent, mind wandering back to the feeling of you coming around his fingers.

“-Logan. You listening?”

He bites back the growl, “Yes, sir. Early start tomorrow.”

The honorific is acid on his tongue - but if it gets your pathetic excuse of a father off the phone, he’ll endure it.

Only needs a thousand more bucks to get his bike out of the impound. A couple more to make the repairs and settle his debt - and then he is out of there.

Logan slams the receiver down the second he’s dismissed. A lift of his hips, shoving down his jeans. Not bothering to fully kick them off - he’ll do that later.

Too focused on the ache. A rumbled-out groan when his hand wraps around his cock, a rough thumb smearing the precum across the tip.

Inhaling you again, as he starts to stroke. It surrounds him, the soft musk that clings to the fabric. To his palm, where to you leaked against his skin - a low jolt in his belly, as he finally takes care of himself.

A sweep of his tongue against the gusset. It’s fucking filthy - how he laps at your arousal like a dog, but no one has to fucking know but him.

Hips rocking up to match the jerk of his fist. It’s all too dry. Impossible to imagine the soft clutch of your cunt when all he has is the calloused texture of his palm.

How wet you were, and he barely had even touched you. How you practically begged for him to fuck you, offered to get on your pretty little knees for him.

Logan’s breath hitches, air inhaled through clenched teeth. Only a heartbeat passing before he’s wrapping the scrap of lace around his cock.

Smearing himself with spit and your slick. Teeth bared as his fist curls around the head - on another night, he’d be annoyed about how fucking close he is already.

That it’s a little bit pathetic, what he’s doing.

But right now, he’s only thinking about you.

Picturing the way he’d fit in your mouth, how your lips would wrap around him. The pinch of your eyes as you struggle to take him - he knows you’d try.

That you love a challenge, and it only makes his cock jump in his hand.

Doing this so he doesn’t stomp right down the hall, shoulder your door open. Fuck you into the mattress, hard enough that he’d see your legs wobbling the next day.

Doesn’t need the mess in his life, shit is complicated enough as is. Just needs to keep his dick in his pants long enough to get his bike fixed, and get out of here.

Doesn’t need to stir things up by fucking the bosses daughter, either. He’d endure what was thrown at him, he always had, but to take on a mob family just for a girl-

The pressure mounts, coiling tight. His eyes half-lidded, lips parted as the air hissed between his teeth.

Again, and again. His mind fixed on You, you, you - and then he’s there - something ragged caught in his throat as he spills with a grunt against the lace. Soaking the fabric with each pump of his fist, wringing out his orgasm as it scorches through him.

Just barely able to hold back the sharp poke of bones between his knuckles, threatening to tear through skin.

Leaving him panting, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. His conviction leaches from him, because Logan is now certain of one thing - as his chest heaves.

Your underwear is a mess - the fabric stained dark, where he’s already soaking in.

He’s fucked.

It’s been four days of Logan doing everything to avoid being alone with you - all while being closer than he’s ever been.

Conversations are short. Gritted out, all while the familiar weight of his gaze still settles on you. Logan’s constant steady presence as the days pass, hip cocked as he watches from the corner of a room.

That mark between his brow deepening, as if he’s trying to settle something in his mind.

It’s maddening.

How he’s trying to convince himself of what he told you. Betrayed by the moments when you come together. A hand at your back to guide you through the door in front of him, his palm dipping low.

The jolt that rocks through you, an inhale that surely he must hear, when he passes you something in the dining room that you couldn’t quite reach - fingers brushing.

Orbiting around each other, neither one quite daring to move first.

The hunger that simmers, when his eyes are not hidden away.

Even now you can feel them.

Dark eyes behind gold-tinted sunglasses. A lean as he waits - the buttons on his dress shirt popped, thighs spread as he fills the corner of the bench in the foyer.

Could swear you see them narrow, when you glance his way. Half-way across the room, a distance that’s become familiar when the house is quiet.

Unable to let your eyes dip, for just a second. Down to linger at the dark shadow of hair at his chest, and then to the tight pull of his trousers.

The edges of his lips curl, when he catches you. A lift of his hips, as his thighs inch wider.

Impossible.

A sniff, as you pivot - facing away from him.

It’s not that he turned you down. Or that he seems set on taunting you.

And you’re not pouting - just licking your wounds.

You know it’s a bad idea. Just for once - you find yourself not caring. Stuck in a loop, as you try to figure out if he thinks the same.

What this game he’s playing means.

A little shake of your head to clear your thoughts - there’s Better things to think about, after all.

Things definitely more important than the way his mouth felt on yours. The way his fingers stretched you out - how full he made you feel.

How you haven’t been able to come close, with your own. Working between your thighs, only to feel a weak echo compared to tremor that wracked through your core at his touch.

It’s definitely not what you’re thinking about now - eyes drifting over the program for tonight’s dinner. Another charity event, where you’ll be paraded in front of countless socialites and politicians.

All in the pocket of your family. In your father’s.

The apple of his eye. Another reminder of a good daughter you are, to support him like this.

A leg jiggling as you wait, one crossed over the other. Waiting for your driver, but as time ticks by, it becomes evident that Johnny seems nowhere to be found.

The jiggle becomes a tap of your foot. Impatience lacing through you, adding to the keyed-up feelings you’ve carried since the club.

A hallway door opens - there’s a hushed murmur, as one of your father’s men greets Logan.

You let yourself look, while he’s distracted. A brief reprieve, letting yourself want.

He looks good. The shirt pulls tight across his chest. A jacket laid out on the bench beside him, a tie jammed into the pocket. Cleans up nice, and you have to remind yourself that he’s not doing this for you.

Just part of the job.

Quick to bury yourself in your notes again, when he stretches - crossing the room.

“Come on.” His head tilts, expression hidden behind the glasses, “I’m driving you.”

You stand, but your feet stay rooted in place, “Where’s Johnny?”

Logan sighs, hands on his hips, “Listen, kid. Do you want a ride or what?”

That gets you moving. Crossing the last few steps in front of him, your hands mirroring Logan’s as you peer up at him.

“Kid? What happened to honey?” You coo, as your head tilts, “Or baby?”

His jaw works, tongue trapped between the sharp edge of his teeth. A scowl that’s visible even through the frame of his glasses.

“Just get in the fucking car.”

The ride is short, when Logan’s driving. A short temper and a lead foot do a lot in the busy New York traffic.

You end up early, the limo idling in the parking garage beneath the hotel. Tucked away in a back corner as Logan argues with one of the attendants - or you assume, with the way his lips pull back over his teeth.

The sharp gesture of his hands, one lifting to rake through his hair, messing up the tufts.

Before he opens the door, leaning against it.

It’s unfair the way it frames him - shins to chest, your head turning so you don’t stare.

“They’re still getting set up.” Logan growls, “Guess we’re early. Said they need another thirty minutes, at least. Maybe an hour.”

He leans then, a lift of his brow as he waits for your call.

You can think of a lot of ways to pass the time. But you’re not about to voice any to him.

Going elsewhere - a cafe, even back home - feels pointless. Not enough time to do anything meaningful, not with how you’re already dressed so nicely for the dinner - an elegant dress, heeled shoes. Makeup and hair done just the way you like it.

Your shoulder lifts. “I’m fine waiting.”

Logan fixes you with a long look, as you drag out your bag - root through it for your planner. Making notes as the door closes.

Muffled conversation, before he’s climbing back into the driver’s seat.

Your eyes meet twice in the rearview mirror, as the radio plays, winding through sounds. Stevie Nicks, The Stones, Elton John.

The drum of his fingers against the steering wheel, to a tune that only he can hear. Logan’s cigar and lighter are still tucked in the back console, from the last time you were in the limo.

If he wants it, he can come get it himself.

But he has more willpower than you, even if his patience wears thin. The music bumped up, when one of your legs crossed over the other.

Inches of fabric tugged up at your thigh, baring skin.

That weight settles over you again, though his head does not turn your way.

Eventually - you cannot help but to voice the question you’ve been carrying. To slice through the silence and tension, thick in the air.

“Are you going to give them back?”

That gets his attention - the slightest turn of his head. The flicker of an eye that dips across your legs, so quickly you almost miss it.

“Give what back?” He rasps, and your eyes roll.

“You know what, Logan.”

There’s the slight narrowing of his eyes, the barest hint of a smirk, “Mm. Don’t think I do, princess.”

The teasing nickname sinks into your skin, curling in your belly. He’s going to make you say it - spell it out for him.

You don’t have the same level of bravado bolstered by soft hum of alcohol in your veins, but you still know that something changed, that night in the club.

Your teeth grit, but you hold his gaze, “My panties.”

“That’s what you call those?” His eyebrow arches - a hint of a dimple, “Wasn’t much there, sweetheart.”

The low husk of his voice weaves through you, sending your nerves alight. Encouraged by the back-and-forth volley - how he shifts, granting you his full profile.

“Well, they’re my favorite,” You push - arms crossing just beneath your chest, and you swear his eyes dip again, “What do you need them for, anyways?”

His laugh fills the space - rough and low as it drifts back to you.

“Your favorite, huh?” The peek of his tongue between his teeth - avoiding your question, “You’re telling me that’s what you wear under all those pretty dresses?”

For a long moment, you hold his gaze.

A shift of your hips, as your legs uncross. Letting your knees spread - thighs falling open for the briefest second.

Letting him have a peek at the red silk beneath, before you primly cross your ankles, tucking them against the seat. Your voice pitching low, sweet as honey.

“Come back here and find out.”

His jaw ticks.

For a moment, you think you’ve pushed too far. A lead weight left behind, as the embers in your belly start to snuff out.

But then, there’s the gritted out “fuck it”, as he moves.

The car goes silent, as his keys slip from the ignition. The creak of the car door - it feels like it takes him an age to cross the steps from the driver’s seat, back to you.

Anticipation palpable, as the door opens. As he folds himself into the backseat - so different than the times before.

Now, he crowds your space - caging you in. Making up for the days he’s spent apart.

Despite the seats in front you of the space feels small with him in it, your pulse spiking as the door is tugged shut behind him.

A heartbeat passes, before you’re meeting him - closing the space. His back pressed against the blue velvet as his hands find your waist, guiding you to him.

Your own tugging at the fabric of your dress - rucking it up to your thighs so you can straddle him. Shins pressing into the seat, as you press down flush against him.

There’s the click of the door lock, before his mouth tips to yours. A rough sound in his throat as you pick up where you left off - your hands smoothing over the soft fabric of his dress shirt, up to his shoulders.

His slipping from your waist down to your ass. Palming you, tugging you closer until your core rocks against the front of his jeans.

A hand slipping to cup the back of your head. Keeping you close as a tongue licks across your lower lip, then further when you part. Swallowing your moan as heat floods through you, as you let him deepen the kiss.

As you feel how he stiffens beneath you, trousers pulling tight as your core nudges against the thick curve.

“You need it that bad, baby?” Logan rasps, as you inhale a breath, “Makin’ it really fucking hard to do my job.”

Chasing your mouth, bringing it back to his. It makes you smile, the way he groans when you grind down.

“Supposed to be keeping an eye on me,” You coo, “Doesn’t this make it easier?”

There’s an inhaled breath between clenched teeth, “Not when I’m too busy looking at you. Driving me crazy, sweetheart.”

Fingers trace against your bare thighs. Beneath the hem of your dress as you moan. The pad of his thumb ghosting against your slit again, low hum as you whine his name.

Letting your hands wander. Tracing over the bulge in his pants. Your palm flattening against him, fingers mapping the curves.

He growls out a soft warning, “Don’t start what you can’t finish, princess.”

The rough tone of his voice makes you shiver, your fingers flexing, “Should be saying that to you.”

There’s the peek of his teeth as he grins, voice pitching lower.

“Just trying to warn you, honey.” He croons, “I'm the best there is at what I do, and what I do best isn't very nice.”

Your mouth finds his jaw, as your fingernails tap against the silver buckle, “I know. Why do you think my father hired you?”

He makes a rough noise in his throat, when you tug at his shirt, fingers skating against the bare skin beneath.

“That what this about?” There’s a sharp edge to his voice now, as your eyes flick back up, “You tryin’ to get back at daddy?”

That makes you scowl. Fingers stilling as your eyebrow arches - pushing yourself back so you can fix him with a look, “What do you think?”

His lips are parted, breath heavy. Those hazel eyes darkened with lust, as he traces the edge of your panties. Slipping beneath soaked-through fabric, tracing against your slick folds.

“No,” He rasps, “She’s beggin’ for it. Isn’t that right?”

A smirk that turns sharp, as your lips press to his. Mumbled against your mouth, “Know this is all for me.”

“For you.” You agree, as he circles your clit. A slow pressure of his fingers, as your hips cant into his touch.

Need pulses inside you, low in your belly. That urge to taste him battling with the desire to rut against his fingers. See if he’ll give you more, like last time.

All too aware of the minutes that tick down. That you’re running on borrowed time, not enough left to do everything you want.

“Don’t tease, Logan.” You whine, when he keeps up the slow swipe against your skin.

“Tease?” He laughs, tongue peeking out against his lips, “You were the one trying to take someone home. Did you already forget?”

“S not how it went',” You pant, “I remember telling you I didn’t want him.”

He hums, eyes flicking down to the wet peek of your pussy, “Mm, and I remember how sweet you felt coming around my fingers.”

“That, too,” Your breath hitches, “And I remember saying I’d get on my knees for you.”

“Is that what you want?” Logan’s eyes darken, “Still want a taste, baby?”

There’s a whine caught between your teeth. Nodding, as you carefully slip off of his lap and down to the floor, arranging your skirts around you - settling between thighs that inch wider.

Watching the way his hand drops to palms himself, the rough “fuck” that slips from him that sends your heart racing.

Logan’s always been a big man, but he looks massive when you’re on your knees. The carpet scratches against your shins as you shift - eyes already greedy, fixed on the thick curve you had rubbed yourself on.

Watching the slow flex of his fingers - the glint of silver on his belt buckle.

The slow unzipping of his trousers, and you swear your mouth waters as all that skin comes into view. Nothing beneath but the dark trail of hair.

And for the briefest second your eyes flicker out the tinted windows. An unconscious check towards the door set into the parking garage wall, checking before you allow yourself this.

“Hey. You’ve got time, baby.” He coos - bringing you back, “I’ll keep watch. Keep your eyes right here for me.”

And they do - dropping back down without thought.

His cock still trapped beneath the fabric, but you can see the vein that travels down from his abdomen, the heavy curve that finally springs free when he lifts his hips.

You can barely bite back the moan of want, your eyes widening. He felt thick beneath your palm but it’s nothing compared to now. The heavy bob of his cock - velvet soft skin that flushes at the glossy tip.

How his fingers curl around, the lazy flick of his wrist as you shift in front of him. The slight sway as your head follows, a deep flutter in your thoughts as you wonder just how much you’ll be able to take.

Underestimating, in your daydreams. Your lips eagerly parting, as you lean forward.

His tongue clicks.

“Greedy girl.” Logan coos, “Hold on. Thought you said you wanted me to show you.”

At your moan he shifts, thighs spreading. Voice pitching low.

“Open.”

Your head tilts - offering your mouth, letting your tongue rest against your teeth.

Letting him feed his cock to you - tasting the salt that leaks from the head, when it taps against your lip. The low groan that shoots right through you, as he inches into your mouth.

“That’s it.” He husks, “You can take it.”

Your eyes are fixed on his as your jaw opens wider, as he sinks further inside. Fingernails biting into your palms as you try to listen.

“Pretty fuckin’ mouth,” Logan pants, “Good girl.”

A stifled groan, as your head bobs. The eye contact breaking as yours flutter shut, lips closing around him as you start to suck.

You can hear each of his breaths like this, in the quiet car. Rough murmurs of something sweet, held back between clenched teeth.

“Keep going, sweetheart.” He coaxes, thick fingers leaving marks in the velvet - grooves that your own will trace later, on the way home.

Resisting the urge to bury them in your hair, to urge you down the rest of the way. To palm at your tits, wrinkling the pretty fabric.

Letting you explore on your own. Letting him slip down your throat until tears prick in your eyes.

That thin sense of the outside world still keeps you tethered. The mutual knowledge that he can’t use you like you’d both like - until spit drips down your chin, messy and slick, from where it pools on your tongue.

You’re content to trace each vein, instead. To feel the weight as you suck - eyes opening to gauge his expression when your hands finally slip up.

Once bracing on a thigh, the other curling around his base. Stroking what doesn’t quite fit, as he sucks air in through his teeth.

He’s handsome, always. Beautiful like this - eyes burning in the beam of vapor lamp light that streaks through. The pinch of his furrowed brow, but so unlike you’ve seen before.

Looks like he wants to devour you. To tug you up to his lap, bury himself in your wet cunt instead.

You wish he would - another squirm as your thighs press together.

“Feels so good, baby.” Logan rasps. There’s a shallow lift of his hips now. Chasing the rhythm of your hand, the soft suck of your mouth.

The muscles in his thigh flexing beneath your palm, filth slipping from him as he chases the building pressure in his belly.

“God, I want to fuck you,” It’s growled out, and you whine with want, “Been dreaming about tasting you again.”

Again. The taste of your slick on his fingers, pressing against your tongue as he kissed you. An image of his face between your thighs sends a dull throb of need, as you moan around him.

Logan inhales, as you start to speed up, “Know you need it, honey. Bet you’re soaked through, aren’t you?”

Another whine buzzes around his cock, as he groans, “Take care of you tonight. I’ll, fuck-”

His fingers nudge yours out of the way, fisting around his cock. The other catching your chin, easing you off him. A string of spit connecting you, until it breaks.

“Shit.” He hisses out, as the tip bobs against your parted lips, “Keep just like that, princess.”

Logan’s thumb presses at your chin, as if there’s anything that would make your move.

Too focused on the way his eyes glint. Honey-gold in the stream of artificial light. The hiss of breath when your tongue peeks out further.

“Gonna take it all, won’t you?” He husks. Tone almost desperate, “Nice and wide now, don’t wanna mess you up.”

You know he’s thinking about it, you’ve thinking about it as well. Running mascara and a lipstick-smeared mouth.

There’s a rough groan that almost passes as your name, as his hips hitch. Muscles flexing as he spills white ropes across your tongue, with a ragged moan.

“Good fucking girl.”

Your eyes keep on his, as he jerks himself empty. Letting his release pools on your tongue - a soft groan as he shifts, slipping his cock deeper into your mouth.

Eyes finally closing as you suck, his thumb leaving your chin to catch the start of a drop, smearing it across your lip and back between them.

Feeling how you swallow around him. Tongue teasing at his slit, until you’ve taken every drop.

“Fuck, baby.” He breathes.

The tension weighs heavy, as your mouth slides from his.

Logan’s mouth is just beginning to tip towards yours - when there’s the slam of the side door.

A mutually shared expression, as you begin to scramble.

Your time is up.

He stalls for you.

Grilling the head of security for as long as he can - lip curled as he runs through a list of questions, the picture of professional concern.

It’s all bullshit - they don’t know what they’re doing. Not that it matters - he won’t be more than an arms-length away from you for the rest of the night.

His fingers tugging at his tie, knotted quickly and too tightly for comfort. The puff of smoke through his cigar, snatched as he slipped from the backseat.

Unable to help the tilt of his head when you slip from the backseat of the limo - his hand already extended to help you out.

A low throb behind his ribs at the smile you flash his way.

Never would have guessed that his cock was just down your throat, if he hadn’t known better. That you’d taste like him.

All the evidence neatly tucked away. Hair tidied, your dress tugged back into place.

But there’s little things he catches.

A fresh swipe of gloss over your slightly-puffy lips. The color matching the sticky ring around the base of his cock, one that will linger for hours.

Pupils that still are blown wide and dark. The arousal that clings to you like perfume, heady and sweet.

The way your eyes flick over him, hungry. A fleeting second before you’re pulled back into your world - a practiced smile curving your lips.

“Showtime.” You mutter as you take his arm. Following, as he leads you inside, “How do I look?”

The edges of his lips pull up, his voice a low murmur - something just for you to hear.

“Beautiful.”

thank you so much for reading! I keep getting little ideas for them, so I think this is going to be another mini-series (with 4 currently planned parts in total) 💖

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett #james logan howlett x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x f!reader

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writersdrug · 3 months ago

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omg you mind holy wow i love your brain i would never come to lobotomize you omgomg by god i need more bartender!simon you recently mention, maybe abt how they interact and develop? idk i really dont care what exactly you write, i js need any words from you abt bartender!simon

Hmmmmmm I have some headcannons!

You show up for work thirty minutes early because you're NOT risking losing this job.

Simon sometimes lets you bang on the back door for a few minutes, yelling for someone to let you in, until Soap gets tired of hearing it and opens the door. Simon finds it funny.

You think Simon is the owner of the pub until Price comes in one day with cash for your tip payout. You screamed as soon as you saw him walk in through the backdoor, thinking you were being robbed.

Simon barely managed to swing into the kitchen and grab you around the waist before you pummeled Price with an empty beer keg.

Price later told Simon he thought you were a perfect addition to the team.

You do your tips at the end of the bar every night as Simon polishes the glasses across from you. Lets you have one drink on the house.

First floor is the restaraunt/pub, second floor is the pantry/walk-in fridge/office where Price does money work, third floor is the studio apartment where Simon lives (Price discounted it for him).

When it's slow, you and Simon and Johnny all take a smoke break in the alley out back - you don't smoke, but you talk to them while they share a cig, complaining about customers together.

You bring it up to Simon that you've noticed how Johnny always comes to the front of house when Kyle brings the new kegs in, "Simon, need ya to check somethin' - ah, hey, Garrick!"

Simon scoffs at your revelation. "Jus' now seein' that?"

You live ten blocks away from the pub and ride your bike to work. Simon let's you stuff it in the alley for safekeeping.

If you're feeling especially sporty, you pop in your earbuds and take your skateboard. Simon nearly had the breath sucked from his soul when he saw you zipping by the window the first time.

You mop front of house because Simon hates it. Simon restocks the to go boxes because you can't reach the top shelf where the overflow sits.

You tried to pour a lager once when Simon was busier than usual. After watching you attempt it, he banned you from doing it ever again.

You enter Pino grigio in the POS as "peeno greeshio" and Simon hates it, but you love the way Soap cackles from the kitchen when he sees it.

Kyle sometimes sticks around to help you drag the new beer kegs up the stairs, and he shows you how to connect them to the taps.

You're constantly begging Price to set up a Karaoke machine in the corner of the bar. He says when you can afford it, you can buy it.

You broke the soda gun once; you and Soap were frantically filling container after container with tonic water while Simon was on his back under the bar, cursing and trying to turn the water off.

Monday mornings are deep-clean days, and everyone has to participate. You're all wearing sweats and bleach-stained shirts, pulling out the stove, sweeping behind the kegs, dragging the mats into the alley to clean them, emptying the fridge and scrubbing the entire thing.

Simon doesn't like to think too much about how hot you look in your sweatpants, ratty t shirt, and sweaty, flushed skin when you're exerting yourself.

You're constantly thinking about how those sweatpants hug his hips, those muscles in his arms flexing, and the grunts he makes when he's shoving the stove back into its place.

Simon gives you full permission to return any nasty attitude the customers dish at you.

After you go home for the night, Simon often finds himself lying on his bed, one arm behind his head and the other hand on his chest, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the day - and they're all centered around you

#bartender ghost #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost cod #cod x reader #call of duty #ghost headcanons

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luveline · 6 months ago

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𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt.

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat.

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too.

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well.

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause.

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun.

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years.

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled.

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!”

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love).

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.”

“It’s raining.”

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?”

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.”

“How’d you figure?”

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface.

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall.

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.”

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?”

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry.

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.”

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.”

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash.

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?”

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.”

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole.

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it.

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.”

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?”

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries.

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it?

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself.

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says.

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek.

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume.

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom.

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full.

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.”

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.”

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you.

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies.

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn.

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!”

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.”

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.”

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease.

“Take the towels, loser.”

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin.

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life.

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you.

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain.

Eddie just stares at you.

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry.

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic.

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh.

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.”

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?”

“What?”

“Eddie, are you okay?”

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“I don’t have any underwear.”

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry.

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose.

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says.

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.”

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.”

“I’m twenty one.”

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.”

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.”

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks.

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes.

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?”

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.”

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.”

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows.

“Get lost,” Eddie says.

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.”

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved.

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed.

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.”

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?”

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser.

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.”

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on.

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet.

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.”

“It felt important at the time.”

“Yeah?”

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him.

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.”

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.”

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder.

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment.

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.”

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head.

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks.

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different.

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable.

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.”

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead.

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re rubbing my arm.”

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach.

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest.

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end.

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume.

“You smell nice,” he murmurs.

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back.

Right. Eddie should remember.

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days.

“Too much?”

“The right amount,” he says firmly.

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this.

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before.

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back.

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.”

“For me or you?”

“For me, duh.”

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.”

“You think so?”

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.”

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.”

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it.

“We’re very close together,” you whisper.

“Super close,” he whispers back.

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do.

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?”

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.”

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?”

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?”

What does Eddie think about it?

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer.

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?”

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly.

He can’t not give it to you.

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead.

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue.

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur.

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse.

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly.

“You wanted to?”

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.”

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy.

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs.

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly.

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency.

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask.

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring.

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door.

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him.

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says.

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?”

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.”

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?”

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.”

Eddie grins back.

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring.

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed.

“Eyes on the road.”

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather.

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.”

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding.

He sighs. “No, it does not.”

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.”

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.”

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less.

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.”

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw.

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped.

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say.

“Then open it.”

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?”

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it.

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease.

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze.

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier.

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working.

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.”

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully.

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.”

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended.

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.”

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.”

“Now who’s not funny?”

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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iannmin · 1 month ago

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loser boyfriend san ♡ | 최산

pairing: domestic san! x reader (just san being an absolute sucker for his s/o <3), fluff (too much fluff)

a/n: realistic little moments of what san would be like because we all love san (if there are any spelling or punctuation errors, please ignore them)

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

loser boyfriend san who comes into your room in the middle of the night dragging his shiba plushie, eyes barely opened, just because you had a nightmare of being chased by a running broccoli in the middle of the streets. but he doesn't judge you, and holds you close in his arms, listening to all of your incoherent blabbering, hiccupping and sobbing, tears soaking a wet patch on his sandokki pajamas. after which, he tugs you to bed, lying beside you. the morning after, you wake up to san sprawled on the floor, hugging his shiba plushie close to his chest.

loser boyfriend san who takes pride in bringing you and your mom to the nail salon. and he absolutely does not care about the stares he receives when he links arms with you and your mom, striding in like a proud kitten. he waits patiently by your side, head resting on his arms, examining each and every procedure. "jagiya, doesn't it hurt? they are snipping off your skin!" san exclaims. oh,, such dumb boy. "san, it's my cuticles, i don't feel a thing" and when you and your mom attempt to explain to him what a french tip is, he smiles and nods sheepishly, even though you knew very well that nothing went into that boy's head <3

loser boyfriend san who claims to take taekwondo and gym classes to "man up" yet every time you fall sick he can't help but bawl his eyes out. "jagiya, it's okay, it's not your fault. it's just a little cough, that's all" you whisper while running your fingers through his hair. san, who had his head buried in between your breasts looks up at you, dragon eyes softened into swollen doe eyes. but your words didn't seem to help. he blabbers, tears beginning to well up in his eyes yet again "what if you die? what if you never wake up again because your cough killed you? what if-" "SAN. I'M NOT GOING TO DIE, IT'S JUST A COUGH"

loser boyfriend san who never fails to beat the housewife agenda by packing you cute lunchboxes when you had lessons to attend. every time you opened up the hello kitty themed lunchbox container, your friends would be in awe about how he managed to make the cute octopus shaped sausages, a heart-shaped omelette and fruits cut into different animals. once, you had forgotten your lunchbox at home and not even two hours into class, san showed up at your school running to you while frantically pointing at the lunchbox. "i can't leave my baby starving" is all he said to you before hurrying off to his school in a bike because he doesn't have a drivers license (...)

loser boyfriend san who travelled 8 hours to your parent's house without you knowing, just to ask for their acceptance to be your husband. "There is no one who provokes or quarrel with me. I can save her by fighting off bad guys because I have taken exercise hard and i can give her a lot of love because i grew up in a loving home. If you allow me, i will make her happy and comfortable all the time." and of course your parents were over the moon.

and that was the last time you had the rights to call him your loser boyfriend, because now he's your loser husband, and you still love him very much <3

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tartarusknight · 8 months ago

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Steve had this habit, a habit which most of the party were annoyed by. They understood it, God did they understand. But after everything was over and the Upside Down was gone for good, it kept happening. Months and months of daily calls. Just Steve checking in and asking them about their day.

Mike hadn't understood why he was on the list of names Steve would call, but if he didn't pick up the phone, there would be a knock on the door within the hour. And Steve, sometimes followed by Robin, would stop by like he was that important to them. Once, it had been on their way to work, and Steve had only locked eyes with him and raised an eyebrow. Mike just flipped him off and continued reading his comic.

Dustin had told him it was Steve's way of coping, and Lucas had turned the calls into workouts with the older teen. Will had just gone a little red and nodded along. El smiled and told Mike about the tips for hair care she got. Max just rolled her eyes and said that Steve had taken to stopping by with food most days.

Steve would be there. He was always there. It was annoying, but it was a constant. Maybe that's why Mike laid awake as the clock ticked closer and closer to midnight. Normally, he could fall asleep within minutes, a habit he had inherited from his dad. But he could bring himself to sleep as his phone didn't ring. As the walkie stayed silent. As the door remained untouched, no knock to be heard.

And it was stupid. Because Mike didn't want Steve to call him every day just to ask him if he was okay. It made him feel like a kid. It reminded Mike of his mom, but even his mom wasn't that bad. No, no one really did that for Mike. No one checked in day after day even as he remained uncaring towards them. No one but Steve.

Until now...

Mike watched the clock as it passed midnight, and his stomach twisted into knots. Fear bubbled up, and he pictured Steve getting into a fight he couldn't walk away from. He pictured a car crash so great that Steve was unable to reach for the walkie he carried with him everywhere. He pictured the worst- the Upside Down still around. The demogorgon coming up and dragging Steve into that hellpit.

Mike was up and pulling on a warm sweatshirt before those images were fully formed. He crawled out his window and down the roof, not too unlike the way Steve had done to visit Nancy. It left him already out of breath by the time he climbed on his bike. But that didn't stop him. He pushed off the ground, biking as fast as he could towards Loch Nora.

The cold air hot his face, and the road seemed to go on forever, but Mike didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Not until Steve's place was in view.

Mike tossed his bike uncarringly onto the pavement before slamming his fist into the Harrington's nice door. He didn't let up. He couldn't as an image of Steve dead in his own pool floated in his mind.

However, then the door was opening. Steve stood there, looking like he hadn't been asleep either. A smear of white powder on his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes. But still, something eased in Mike the same time Steve lost some of that weight in his shoulders as well. "You- you didn't-" Mike started, still out of breath. "Call. Why didn't you- call?" He gasped and Steve looked at him with a weird expression.

"You- What?" Steve questioned, sounding lost.

Mike crossed his arms, "I- you can't just stop!" He gasped out, and Steve's brow furrowed.

"But you don't like it when I do? I annoy you," he tries to point out, and Mike huffs.

"God, of course you annoy me! You track our days more intensly than my mom, and you always make dumb jokes, and I hate that I find them funny! You always call when I'm in the middle of something, and you make it easy to stay on the phone! You are always there like some weird older brother that I never asked for!" Mike shouts and Steve's eyes are wide.

"You don't have to stay around or call, but you do! You do, and you actually care. Like when you call and ask me if I'm okay, it feels like you care, and I don't understand why! I don't get you! I didn't ask you to care about me, but even when you were dating Nancy, you cared! You took Holly and me to get ice cream even though Nancy had to study! You give me and my friends rides everywhere! You care!" Mike throws his hands up in the air.

He glares at the older teen, "You care so much that I stupidly care about you! I care enough to come and check on you because when you didn't call, all I could think was that you were like dead or something," Mike snaps and takes a step back. "But you're obviously fine so-" and he wants to run suddenly. To run from the way Steve's eyes are filled with tears or the stupid words he just told the older teen.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly. "Mike, I stopped because I didn't think you wanted me to. You always acted like I was your least favorite person in the world and I guess I just- I didn't feel like it was fair to force you to put up with me just because I can't handle not knowing if you were okay." Steve said, and it didn't sound like the normal Steve. He sounded tired and nervous. He sounded like someone had finally beaten him

Mike bites his lip and tastes salt like he had been crying. Or maybe he still was. He crosses his arms like he can shield himself from this conversation. "But now you don't care enough to keep calling?"

Steve rubbed his face, a sigh shaking his whole body as he did. "I still care, kid."

Mike scoffs, "You didn't call."

Steve drops his hands to his sides. "Just come inside. It's too late for you to bike home. I'll call your place and leave a message." Steve says, his voice sounding close to tears. Mike is stiff when he lets Steve pull him inside.

They are quiet as Steve guides him towards the kitchen. The kitchen that has music playing softly and smelling like a bake sale. He blinks as he steps into the room and spots cookies cooling on a rack and a pie stilling uncooked on the counter. The top crust is sitting on the counter next to it. There's a smell of something in the oven, and Mike states at all of it in confusion.

"I bake when I can't relax," Steve admits, and Mike glances over at him. "I still care, and I was trying to give you space. I was trying not to crowd you, so I just," and he waves his hand around the mess everywhere. The smear of white on his cheek now makes sense.

Mike hugged himself, "I don't- I don't mind the calls." He whispered, and it got a snort from Steve.

He looked over at Mike, "I kinda got that from your speech."

They stood there in silence for another moment before Steve moved to finish putting his pie together. "I know that we aren't close or anything. But I care, it's not just the Upside Down making me anxious, it's just that-" and Steve went quiet. "I went overboard, I get it. But now I just- I can't stop." He admits, and Mike hates how upset Steve sounds. How guilty he sounds.

"I fall asleep easier knowing that if someone wasn't okay, we'd know because of you. It's like you take all the stress from me just by being around." He says, and Steve's eyes are wide. "Maybe we just do a sound off every night so you don't have to play phone tag all day." He shrugs, and Steve wrinkles his nose.

"I don't really get how to use the walkie. Like Dustin tried to show me, but he got distracted and started talking about radio waves and well..." Steve mimed it going over his head.

Mike snorted to hide how much that terrified him. The thought of something bad happening and Steve not being able to respond. But he pushed it away as Steve looked at him as if waiting for Mike to tease him. "That's fair. We did modify them, so they worked better. It's not as simple as your average walkie. I can show you," he offered, and Steve's face split into a grin.

"Cool, want to help me finish this so I can put it in the fridge until tomorrow? Then you can teach me the ways," Steve says, going all dramatic, proving to Mike he'd been spending too much time with Eddie. Mike groaned but came over only for Steve to shove him to the sink to wash his hands.

Steve showed him what to do, and Mike was glad to have Steve around. Because sure Steve's habit was annoying, and sometimes it interfered with Mike's plans, but it was nice too. Steve was nice. And that was something Mike ever believed would happen. But as Steve joked that Mike should not become a baker, he was nice. Like the way Mike was nice to Holly or how Nancy was nice to him. He was part of the family, annoyingly nice habits and all.

#stranger things #mike wheeler #steve harrington #trauma response #mike needs a hug #steve needs a hug #knightly talks

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robo-writing · 2 days ago

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Biker! Logan who spends his days traveling on the road but always seems to find his way to a specific diner with a specific waitress because unlike other places she smiles when he walks in and doesn’t hold him in contempt for being what he is.

Biker! Logan who always makes sure he has a nice tip for her at the end of the night, who stays with her until closing because he knows the area is kinda shady and he can smell the fear on her even if she plays the part of the brave employee.

Biker! Logan who tells her stories of his travels while she sits enraptured, never having left her small little town. One day she asks if he could take her for a drive someday, and his answer?

“Why not now, darling?”

Biker! Logan who swings you into his iron beast with one arm, careful to make sure you’re comfortable. He doesn’t miss how wide your eyes get at the display of strength, an impressive swell of pride in his chest.

Biker! Logan who is far, far too on edge when your arms wrap around his waist, when your body leans against his back, when he can smell your body wash every time you move.

Biker!Logan who has to end the drive early, managing to drop you off at your house while being grateful it’s dark enough that you can’t see his hard-on pressing against his jeans.

Biker!Logan who falls asleep with his nose buried in his jacket, inhaling the remnants of your scent as he fists his cock, damn near animalistic as he imagines it’s you stroking him.

Biker!Logan who makes it a regular habit of taking you out on a drive, relishing in your soft hands on his body, then cumming his brains out at the thought of fucking you on his bike.

#this was meant to be a full fic #but I felt bad about not posting anything new in a while #so have this :3 #Robo writes #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut

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ravenlilyrose · 2 months ago

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So you know the whole fanon trope of Bruce just paying off people’s student loans? Like “you look sad. Would no more student loans help?” to every random person on the street?

Well, what if Tim picks up something similar?

He and Bart are at a coffee shop and Bart is sad about something and the barista gives him extra whipped cream. Tim likes it when people take care of his friends. How can he repay her? Well, it looks like she biked to work today, and based on the way her hair is blown and the direction the wind was that morning he can figure out what direction she came from. So, biking distance that direction, he figures out the most common rent price for that area, adds a little just to be safe and tips that much.

Or, he almost drops his coffee but a mid-to-late-twenties guy catches it for him and hands it back to him. Tim is too tired to say anything but a mumbled thank you, but he does register the university logo on his hoodie and the name on his ID badge. Later that morning he takes a few minutes to find out what he owed in student loans and drops the money in his bank account and sends him an email thanking him.

Like, it’s all incredibly invasive. But all the Gothamites he does it to just coo about how much he’s like his (adoptive) dad and the non-Gothamites are too busy being confused and grateful to get too upset. Maybe one of his friends/siblings tries to explain to him that it’s a little creepy and weird and could be taken the wrong way, but he just gets confused so they let it go.

Just, let him be adorably weird in a benevolent yet creepy way.

#the gremlin nerd child has too much money and just wants to help people #(I am fully aware that this is incredibly fanon. I still love it though)#batman #batfam #tim drake #tim drake wayne #bart allen #young justice #yj98 #tim and bart

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osachiyo · 3 months ago

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riding chuuya on his motorcycle 😋 yummy - 🪽

not you always sending the best asks mwah 💋

What was supposed to be a fun night out riding on your boyfriend’s bike somehow ended up with you riding him in an empty parking lot instead. Not like you were complaining or anything — considering the way your velvety walls clenched around his fat cock like a vice every time Chuuya hit that one spongy spot inside of you — yeah, you were in no position to complain.

"God, best fuckin' pussy ever," Chuuya moaned, jaw slacking at the way you hopped on his dick like you couldn't live without it. Watching as your tits bounced up and down with every move of your delicious hips — it drove him fucking mad. He couldn't help but pop one in his mouth, suckling and drooling around your pebbled nipple while his gloved hands found your hips — slim fingers digging into the plushness.

"F-feel's s'good, Chuu -" you mewled out — glossy lips formed into a cute little pout which only made him want to fuck you even harder.

“Oh baby, my sweet girl — hope y’know m’not - fuckkk- letting ya go until we're b-both fuckin' ruined.”

You were so pretty on top of him, body slick with sweat moving up and down so shamelessly on his dick — incoherent words slurring out of your mouth that he couldn't even understand.

Chuuya couldn't even think straight anymore — the sticky grip of your cunt frying his brain up, eyelids shutting closed — the tip of his cock aching so good from being mashed into your g-spot repeatedly.

"O-oh—" A sharp gasp tore from your candied lips when you felt Chuuya's gloved fingers rub quick circles on your clit — spreading your sloppy slick all over the expensive leather - your tummy clenching and unclenching from the pleasure.

"Oh yeaaah — cum f'me, doll. know you can do it - haahh- cum on this fuckin' cock." Chuuya groaned as you gushed all over his cock, completely soaking the seat of his bike but shit, he couldn't care less — not when your pussy was fluttering around his twitching girth so enticingly — almost as if you were trying to milk him for all his worth.

It wasn't long before he was filling you up with his hot load — head thrown back as he continued bouncing you up and down, heavy groans and grunts escaping through gritted teeth.

#𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐃... ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 #𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐝... 🪽 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 #𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒... ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 #chuuya.nakahara #chuuya smut #chuuya x reader #chuuya x reader smut

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landmodsblog · 1 month ago

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The Future of Ebikes: Emerging Trends and Innovations

At Pedal2Power, we’re excited to be at the forefront of the ebike revolution. As your trusted ebike mechanic and custom conversion specialist, we’re keeping a close eye on the latest trends and innovations that are shaping the future of ebikes.Advanced Battery TechnologyIncreased range: Next-generation batteries are offering longer range and faster charging times.Improved energy density:…

#ebike battery maintenance #ebike brake maintenance #ebike cleaning tips #ebike maintenance #ebike motor maintenance #ebike safety tips #ebike tire maintenance #ebike troubleshooting #electric bike care #future of ebikes #green tech #green transportation

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writingwisterias · 2 months ago

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A restless Wife

ID!Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Sex, Doggy Style, Fingering, Oral (M receiving), Sonomophilla, Dumfication, Cock Drunk

You watched as his chest slowly rose and fell with even breaths. He looks so calm and peaceful like this, the worries and stress always etched on his face finally faded away. Leon's plump lips were parted slightly as soft snores filtered into the room's ambience; his hands were held protectively over your growing stomach. As much as you loved how attentive and kind he had been the past few months you were now beginning to get restless, your body craved for more. The heat in your lower stomach was becoming harder to snuff out, the burning wildfire fueled by your husband walking around in his work suit. Or when he would tinker with his bike in the garage on a hot day, oil spattering up his muscular arms as you hung up the endless amounts of washing. You tried not to get flustered as he flashed you a smirk when he caught you staring for too long.

Your fingers traced the veins and small scars littered along his hand, each telling their story of how he got them. Small hairs littered the back of his hand, their presence made known as they tickled the pads of your fingers. Maybe it was your own fault you were this turned on? Thinking about the way the digits would flex and curl deep against your inner walls, or imagining the sounds they would make as your arousal coated them. Your thighs parted for the man who was lying next to you, dreaming peacefully as you fidgeted against the fabric below you in frustration. Just as if he was playing some joke, his body moved away from you, giving you the space his subconscious assumed you needed. Your large belly makes it hard for you to get comfy, his body heat often proves to be too much for you in your sleep. All things his brain had adjusted to since the start of your pregnancy but right now it was making you mad.

Your fingers danced along the waistband of his sweatpants; you had both spoken in the past about waking each other up to these sorts of activities but neither of you have done...at least not since the pregnancy. Leon had been sure to be careful with this, always being gentle and caring, opting to wank himself off or use your pretty mouth to get his release instead of cumming inside you like before. Whilst it was sweet you craved to be rammed by his girthy cock, feeling your walls stretch to accommodate his size, just like you did before you fell pregnant. Your fingers followed the trail of hair that went down the middle of his abs, a perfect arrow towards the prize that you craved.

It surprised you that he had yet to wake, that the small snores still fell through his lips, the warmth of his breath teasing your neck as goosebumps began to spread over your arms. Your hands finally slipped in, tracing his half-hard erection through his underwear, soft whimpers began to spill from his lips and his hips adjusted so you could access the area better. If only it wasn't for your belly you would already be crawling down the bed, freeing his cock from his clothed prison and placing kitten kisses along the underside of it. Your mouth began to water at the thought of the taste of his cock. Leon's hands twitched against the bed sheets, his fingers gripping the fabric tightly as the night chill breezed against his weeping tip as you exposed it. Your fingers gathered the cum that slowly began to drip off from his slit using it as lubrication as your hand ran up and down the length. You watched eagerly as his eyebrows pinched together the pleasure slowly rousing him from his slumber. Perhaps you should stop when he finally woke, leaving him to tend to himself like he has done this past couple of months but you were so desperate for the feel of his thrusts against you that you kept going.

Admiring the flushed tip as it began to darken along with his cock hardening under your touch. It was now hot and heavy in your hands, the angle you were working at was beginning to cramp, and he still hadn't awoken yet. You groaned lowly as your hand left his cock needing it to help you adjust your weight as you slowly bought yourself to your knees. Leon felt you move, his body slowly beginning to wake as he felt you move around on the mattress assuming it was just another attempt to get comfy like usual. But his eyes widened as he felt your lips encase his cock, your tongue scooping up the salty taste of him. His head shot up to you working on him, your drool already spilling down your chin, your breasts hanging heavy as you knelt before him. He leant up on his elbows, his movements catching your attention. You grinned around his cock, happy he was finally awake, his eyes squinted as he tried to find yours in the dimly lit room. "Sweetheart, what are you doing?" he grunted out, sleep heavy within in his voice. His hand moved to stroke your hair lovingly as you continued to work. Leon groaned as you pulled away from him, a line of drool following your lips. "I need you, it aches so much"

You were in no mood to tease or play, your underwear was damp with your arousal you could feel it against your legs as you sat back on your knees. Leon looked at your goddess form, your breasts resting against your stomach, your nipples poking against the fabric of his shirt. Your hair was messy from the small amount of sleep you had managed to get, the moonlight highlighted the dribble that decorated your chin. His perfect pregnant wife. "Lay down then love, get in position for me" he demanded as he began to sit up - pulling the rest of his boxers with him as he moved. "No Leon, I mean it, I really need you" You whimpered, the gusset of your underwear was beginning to stick to your pussy, the cold air fighting against the heat coming from the area.

Leon looked at you again, he would be lying if he didn't desperately want to bury himself deep into your gummy walls, yet the responsible part of his brain was worried about your state, and what it could do to you whilst you were just over halfway with your pregnancy. "Baby- I want to really" he tried to reason, it broke his heart as you resulted in pulling your puppy dog's face. Your doe eyes blinking at him, begging him to come closer, your bottom lip jutted out innocently. His cock was twitching like mad against his stomach, pre cum connecting his happy trail to the tip with a line. You watched his internal battle happen, trying to suppress the grin as his eyes scanned over your frame, his heavy cock thumping against him as he thought about it.

Leon eventually nodded, smiling as your face lit up with excitement. "Anyone would think I don't please you enough if they saw this sweetheart" he teased as he watched you leant forward attempting to capture his lips into a heated kiss. Leon groaned as he tasted himself on your tongue. His fingers toyed at the hem of his shirt before lifting it over your head. He paused a moment to take in your frame, your soft skin glowing with the beams of moonlight that slipped through the blinds. "Fucking hell" he muttered under his breath. His hands began to tweak and pinch your hardened nipples, his lips capturing the moans that left your lips. "These feel so heavy baby, I bet they ache so much" he whispered against your neck as he pulled away, leaving marks as he moved his way down towards the valley of your breasts. His lips encased one of the sensitive buds, his tongue circling it as he sucked against them. His other hand groped and tweaked the other breast. You whimpered at the feeling, your core fighting as you could feel your orgasm creeping in. Leon focused on your breasts, making sure to give them the attention they deserved, your fingers entwined themselves in the rough strands of his hair, tugging him closer to your chest.

Your head was thrown back as you stayed on your knees, your hips circling trying to gain any form of friction as you desperately tried to bring yourself closer to the edge. You could feel his rough fingers run down your sides, tracing delicate patterns down towards your clit. He pressed a finger against your clit, giving you something to grind against as you bought yourself to your first orgasm. He smiled against your chest as your hips sputtered finally reaching the sweet release. "Uh- Leon" You gasped bringing your head to rest against his shoulder as your body calmed down. "So good for me momma" he whispered, his breath cooling at the spot he was just sucking against.

His hands found your hips, drawing idle circles on them as he nudged his shoulder to bring your attention to him. "Are you sure you'll be fine love?" he questioned, eyes scanning for any hint of hesitation. If you weren't pregnant you would have pressed him into the mattress and rode him until he was nothing but a whimpering mess beneath you, but you definitely didn't have the stamina to keep up with that anymore. Instead, you moved yourself to all fours, presenting your clothed pussy to him, the dampness evident in your actions enough to display your need. Leon stifled a groan as the pads of his fingers stroked the damp fabric, he was only trying to do what he thought was right but look at his poor needy wife. "I'm so sorry momma, I didn't realize how unsatisfied I've left you all these months. Let me correct that huh?" he spoke as he removed the barrier, his hands gripping your hips lining you up against his tip.

The moan you let out was almost animalistic as you felt his tip push through your wet folds, the stretch was painful but welcome after so many months of neglect. His thrusts were slow and steady at first as if he was still holding back. He let go of all control when he felt your hips rock back into him. His grip tightened as he brought your hips back towards him manually, his grunts filling the room along with the sound of the two of you connecting. If you didn't know otherwise you would have thought a porno was being filmed in here. Leon's head fell back your name was being chanted like a mantra as he thrust his cock deeper into you. "Oh, sweetheart can you feel how deep inside you I am?" He whispered in your ear as he leaned over your body, pressing you into an arch as he desperately tried to get deeper. "Y-yes Leon"

"Is this what you wanted? Your puffy little pussy needed to clench around my cock?" He grunted as his thrusts began to get sloppy the closer he got to his own release. "Such a need girl, needing to be filled up again by me, should have known after how horny you were during the making process" His filthy words made your head spin, your arms becoming weak underneath you as he hooked himself over your hips. His cock bottomed out with each thrust. Your hands clawed at the sheets in front of you, your face pressed against them and he pushed you further into the mattress. Leon could feel your walls suck him in, he could barely pull back out with how greedy your pussy was being. "Speak to me darling" He muttered against your ear. You tried desperately but the words were lost each time he moved his hips, each time you felt the length of him split you open further. His balls slapped against your clit with the speed he was moving. "Look at you, all cock drunk. such a silly girl. You should have just asked. But then you wouldn't have been a good girl and warmed me up" He spoke.

Your mind was barely taking in what he was saying, you could barely warn him before your orgasm exploded through your body. Your juices coating his length. The force of your orgasm almost pushed him out. Leon groaned loudly before spilling himself deep inside you, You moaned finally feeling the warmth of his seed coat your walls yet again. It was an effort to not collapse onto you once he had orgasmed, instead, he leant back on his knees, taking your body with him as his cock still sat snugly inside of you.

"Fucking hell" Leon whispered as he slowly pulled his softening cock out of you. He helped you gently lay back against him, his hand stroking your hair, whispering sweet nothings as you slowly came back. "I'm so sorry sweetheart for leaving you this needy" he whispered, laying kisses against the crown of your head. "Never do it again" you finally chuckled looking up at him. Leon smirked, his blue eyes twinkling with adoration as he looked down at your body. "I will say, I'll never be mad if you wake me up like that again love" he chuckled. You smiled at him, hands coming to rest against your enlarged stomach. Leon's hands covered your own. Moving them soothingly against the bump "So beautiful" he said. You smiled dopily at him; tiredness finally creeping in. Leon adjusted the both of you so he could hold you as you slept, loving the skin-to-skin contact as you both finally fell into a slumber. Completely satisfied for once.

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfiction #leon scott kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon smut

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himbosandhardwear · 4 months ago

Text

Steddie I Different First Meeting I NSFW I Public Indecency I 2.8k words

He's planted. Call him The White Tree of Gondor, he's so planted. Nothing and no one could move him from this spot.

He's going to have perfect line of sight to center stage, as long as no one over 6’3” stands in front of him. He's got his good boots on, giving him a solid three inch lift.

Some people come and go, not as dedicated to keeping their spot. Not Eddie. He's planted.

“You think he moved back?” Some chick yells behind him.

“Doubt it,” her companion yells back, “the point was to get closer.”

“Well I don't know if I can deal with closer. It's only going to get worse when the band goes on, and I'm at my limit for men touching me today.”

“I'm pretty sure there's beer in my hair.”

“A fate worse than death,” she mocks him, making Eddie chuckle. “You wanna bail? He can come find us after.”

“I don't know, Rob, he's just a kid. What if he gets scared?”

“Oh my god, he's sixteen.”

“He's short!” The guy yells shrilly, practically in Eddie's ear. “No way he can see over top everyone's head.”

“Okay, then you stay, dingus. I'm going to go pay $12 for a bottle of water. Come find me after.”

“Rob! C'mon, don't- Rob! Ah shit.”

Eddie almost turns to give the guy some reassurance but he can't, making friends in the crowd is how you end up getting pulled into another direction. He can't chance it. He's planted.

Not to mention his friend was right, the more time that passes, the more packed in they become. Once or twice the guy behind him gets jostled into Eddie's back, mumbling apologies each time. Eddie doesn't bother to reply.

He's determined to ignore the guy until suddenly they're pressed front to back, shoulder to calf, the guys massive hands wrapping solidly around Eddie's waist so they don't fall down, and he's fucked. Suddenly the guy behind him is all he's thinking about.

Of course this turn of events sends the poor guy into apology overdrive, hands ripped back immediately as he stutters his excuses.

Eddie waves it off, still not turning away from the front, but the urge is strong. He kind of needs to see if the guy is as hot as that ten second press against him would suggest. Christ on a bike, he even smells good. At least Eddie is pretty sure that's him, the pine/sugar/sweat combo.

A glance at his watch tells him they've got maybe another ten minutes until the show starts. Five minutes ago that would've been all he would've cared about but now he's got Hot Boy Brain Rot and can't focus.

Which is why the next time they get pushed together, Eddie does absolutely nothing to help correct, he lets the guy pull him back and very nearly fall flat on their asses. The only reason they don't is because they fall into the people pressing forward.

“I swear to god, I'm not doing this on purpose,” the guy says with a chuckle that warms Eddie’s already sweaty skin. He hasn't let go yet, his enormous hands hold Eddie upright, skin on skin where his shirt has been cropped.

He's lost his mind completely, because he puts his own hands on the ones circling his waist and squeeze, a soft acceptance of their predicament. It could mean nothing if the guy is straight - maybe, probably, he's not good at judging that sort of thing - but if the hot guy standing behind him is in any way interested, he'll understand.

And praise Dale, raise hell, he does! Long fingers tighten, slide, tighten, before letting go again. He's pretty sure the guy just stuck his thumbs into the indents at the top of his ass too.

Which is when he realizes there's a not zero percent chance the guy thinks Eddie is a girl.

He forgot he's wearing a kilt, which idiots seem to think is a skirt 70% of the time he has it on. Combining that with his hair being down and the fact that he hasn't turned around at all… Fuck.

You're 6’2” right now. Maybe that's enough of a hint. Or your hairy legs? No, it's way too dark to see that far down, no way he-

Eddie squeaks as the guy runs a finger tip along the edge of the kilt. Luckily, it's too loud for the sound to travel, that would've been devastating.

The guy leans forward and whisper/yells, “Is this okay?” into his ear.

Eddie nods, takes a miniscule step back, bringing himself closer. He's gonna take this as far as he can before they either get kicked out for indecent acts or the guy realizes what he's doing and bashes Eddie for ‘tricking him.’ The smart thing to do would be to fucking turn around and confirm his stupid gender but… it's nice feeling wanted for a moment. Nice enough for whatever the consequences are.

An arm snakes around his middle, a fucking nice arm, all sinewy and freckled and brown, causing a surge of giddiness. They're pressed together again, this time on purpose. The guy seems to instinctively know Eddie has this spot picked out because he doesn't let anyone push them or get between. He does, however, laugh every time they get jostled closer together. It's infectious too, makes him smile along every time he hears that giggle. If the guy doesn't stop being adorable soon, Eddie is gonna fall in love.

Whoops. Too late. There's an enormous cock pressed up against his ass; any semblance of control or ability to play it cool goes right out the window.

He's never been more proud of himself for taking up street hockey with Jeff and his cousins than this moment. Some asshole had said to him, years ago now, ‘No one wants a bottom with a flat ass,’ and Eddie let that settle into a deep seated neurosis that pushed him into sports. Casual sports, that actually turned out to be pretty fun, but still…

Anyway, he's got an ass worth pushing against now, which is doing fantastic things for the whole ‘accidently luring a stranger into simulating sex acts at a concert' thing he's got going on.

Good god are they playing with fire right now. Yeah everyone is distracted by the drum tech setting up but it's not like they're invisible here. The guy to Eddie's left is just as close as the one rubbing off against his ass, if he glances down he's gonna see what they're doing. That thought only brings Eddie closer to finishing, untouched, in his underwear. His own erection is being held down by his boxer briefs, which are always a good choice when wearing a kilt. Shit happens in the pit, he's never been keen on flashing his bare ass to everyone if he takes a header.

He's snaking a hand down, trying to be subtle, but he needs to squeeze his dick or he's going to start crying.

His new friend must catch the movement because his right hand follows the trajectory, sliding right along with Eddie’s, until they're both stalled out, cuping his hip instead of his erection. Eddie thinks about passing out, he's so turned on and terrified. Either the guy knows he's about to touch a human penis or he's about to get an unwelcome surprise.

Before Eddie's heart can explode and kill him, three things happen rapid fire:

The lights go completely dark, signifying the start of the show, which makes the already packed stadium lose its collective shit.

Then there's a call from behind, the dreaded, “Heads up!” Eddie only just manages not to burst into tears as his one true love has to let go to support the weight of the asshole crowd surfing above them. He makes sure to pinch the fucker as he takes the weight of his stupid leg as it goes by.

Then, immediately after, there's another crowd surge as the first lick of Blackened rings out around them. Adrenaline pumps through Eddie like a lava flow, two desires waring within him making it impossible to choose. Does he turn to find the man of his dreams or does he stay the course and watch the greatest metal show of all time?

Considering this is the third time he's seen Metallica live, he turns around.

He's gone. The only people behind him now are two chicks with their tits painted white and gold and a middle aged biker.

Awesome.

He keeps looking but no one near fits the right description, not even close. Why the fuck didn't he turn around and just look at the guy? At least then he'd know who to look for after the show.

It's not like his night is completely ruined or anything. He jumps in the closest pit and takes his disappointment on the poor bastards unlucky enough to crash into him, and he has a splendid time with that. It wasn't his original plan, he wanted to stay center stage and actually watch the show this time, but he's too keyed up to stand still now, better to shove his fellow man and get elbowed for his troubles.

By the time James is wailing out the final insane notes of Battery, Eddie is thoroughly beat. It's a slog getting to the back of the stadium but he's determined to beat the crowd to the pissers. The night was fun and all but he's ready to go. Ready to stick his hand down his pants(kilt), relive the oddest and hottest encounter he's ever experienced, and then forget it ever happened.

He's made it as far as the merch line when a familiar voice yells his name. He looks back and sure enough, Dustin Henderson is waving at him like a semaphore code operator. Goofy ass kid, Eddie loves him to death.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asks after giving him a back slapping hug.

“Surprise early birthday gift, I didn't know until yesterday or I would've told you.” His whole body is thrumming with excitement. It must be his first metal show. You wouldn't know it to look at him, he's got a whole mini-Eddie thing happening, which is adorable.

“That's awesome, dude. You didn't want to stay till the end?”

“I already saw their setlist and calculated the timing just right to get in line before the crowd let out.” Of course he did. “What about you? Taking off?”

“Yeah, I've had…a weird night. Good but weird.”

“You wanna ditch in line? Looks like they still have plenty of T-shirts available.”

He laughs. “Nah, thanks though. I'm just gonna head home. I'll see you Saturday?”

“Totally, wouldn't miss it-”

“There you are! Jesus, Henderson, I thought I lost you. Your mom would kill me if something-”

The guy finally stops bitching but only because he's staring at Eddie like he's seen a ghost.

“Uhh,” Eddie drawls, confused.

“Steve! This is Eddie! You know, from Hellfire, at Tech.”

It would be appropriate for them to shake hands, he thinks, but the guy is just staring at him, going more and more red as the seconds pass. It's a good thing he's pretty because his social skills could use some work.

“Hey dingus, did the beer in your hair finally soak into your brain.” The woman standing to Steve's left knocks on his forehead with a knuckle, making him flinch.

“You guys okay?”

Eddie is too busy being strapped into a roller coaster of emotion to respond to Henderson’s quiry. It can't be this easy, fate has never been this kind or cruel to Eddie, not at the same time. His dream man can't be Dustin's babysitter/big brother Steve. That guy drives a BMW and listens to Supertramp, which he only knows because he followed Dustin out to the parking lot one night. Except, Steve is gorgeous and fun and a good dude who worries about his kids, and is smoking hot.

He knows Steve knows he knows now, his own face has gone beet red, and they're just staring at each other, like some kind of gorgon in a bathroom mirror situation.

“What is this? Why are you being weird?” Steve's girlfriend - Rob? - asks. “Wait, oh my god, is Dustin’s other dad, your imagined arch nemesis, the Guy in the Crowd? Holy shit, he totally is, what are the fucking odds!” She cackles.

Wait. He told her about that? And he knew I'm a guy? And he thought we were nemesis? That's so hot.

Dustin is going on about Steve's apparent low self esteem and how Steve needn't worry about his loyalty and how he loves them both equally, which is sweet, but he and Steve are still just staring at each other.

“I know a good diner around here,” he blurts out when Dustin finally shuts up. “They have all you can eat pancakes.”

Steve's eyes do something devastating, adjacent to cows touching grass for the first time. “I like pancakes.”

“Let's get pancakes.”

“Okay.”

They start walking away, dazed, until Dustin reminds them of his presence, loudly and with much insult. “Steve! You drove us here!”

“Shit.” He turns back. “Right. Sorry. C'mon, we're getting pancakes.”

Dustin looks to Rob, as if to say, ‘What the fuck is going on?’ She replies back with a sort of ‘I don't get paid enough to explain this to children’ and ‘I know, he's hopeless but we love him’ both kinda look.

“What?” Steve asks.

“I'm still in line, dude. I want a T-shirt.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Dustin screeches. “Pancakes can wait!”

Eddie wishes they would figure it out soon, he still has to piss.

Rob, bless her, she's Eddie's new best friend, takes Dustin under her arm and asks Eddie, “Where's the diner?”

“25th and Dudley Ave. Called Roxy's.”

“Got it. Go on, I'll bring your son after he's got his stupid shirt.”

Dustin is the epitome of disbelief. “What! No! Guys, don't leave me with Robin!” He yells, to which Robin responds by putting him in a headlock.

“Go! Run before he figures out what's going on.”

Steve doesn't need to be told twice, apparently, he grabs Eddie's wrist and yanks him toward the exit doors. It’s exciting, running away with Steve, even though they’re only running from Dustin. Still, it leaves them both breathless by the time they get to the end of the block, both laughing about how ridiculous it all is.

“God. Haven't run like that since…well the last time the cops were after me.”

Steve just grins, hands on his knees, looking like a former athlete, all deep breaths and physical therapy style stretching. Fucking hot jocks, ugh.

Eddie wants to mount him.

Which brings them up to the awkward part: acknowledging what happened.

Steve braves it first. “Hey, I, uh, I don't want you to think I go around doing shit like that.”

Eddie, ever the opportunistic asshole, says, “Shit like what?” When Steve's face falls to horror, perfectly timed, and Eddie loses it. “I'm kidding, sorry, I'm just fucking with you. It was definitely me.”

“Dick,” Steve says but he's laughing.

“Yeah, that's me.” They sort of instinctively move away from the street, closer to the less busy side storefronts. “In the interest of honesty, I should tell you, I wasn't entirely sure you knew I wasn't a girl, that's why I sort of hesitated right there at the end, before we got separated.”

Steve looks baffled. “Huh?”

“You know.” He waves at himself. “From the back I could be a tall chick. Cause of the kilt and the hair and everything.”

He shakes his head. “Dude, I saw you from like four rows back. Why do you think I stopped where I did?”

Fuck. Okay. That's…awesome. He jams a whole fistful of hair against his face.

“Also, even if you had turned out to be a tall chick, not a deal breaker. You're fucking hot either way.”

“Okay, Romeo, cool it with the compliments before I make you finish what you started right here.”

Jesus tap-dancing Christ, that smirk should be illegal.

“Right here against the jewelry shop window? I'm not opposed.” Eddie very seriously considers the pros and cons of that but before he finishes, Steve laughs. “Better not. I was promised pancakes. And Lord have mercy if Rob and Henderson get there before we do.”

He's right. God dammit.

“Fine but for the record, which I feel goes without saying, I do put out on the first date.”

Steve laughs. “Never would've guessed.”

By the time they get to Roxy's, Steve has his arm around Eddie's waist, pinkie tucked deep into his kilt.

#dustin: this steve hes my babysitter and he DROVE ME HERE #steddie #meet cute?#anonymous grinding #ficlet #my writing

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