#brain is sloshing out my ears

[akutagawas-fly]

I look at bsd tiktok after 3 years

I cry in fear, i feel like a disappointed parent; misinformation is everywhere, my brain is melting, I’m too terrified of that side of the community to say anything

I close the app and come back here

Here is safe

[chaosintheavenue]

I. I have just come across the single most absurd take I've ever had the misfortune of reading in my life, and now I think my brain is literally melting into goop.

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, praise, size kink, fıngering, dirty talk, oral fixation, mdni.

“easy, easy,” sukuna groans, having you laid on his broad, empty lap. you’re straddling him, chewing on your bottom lip as he’s knuckles deep into your drooling cunt. already, a clear sheet of slick coats down a single finger of his and you’re twitching from his hold. a cocky grin paints against his lips as one of his free hands attach to your waist. “ah, c’mon. not that bad. ‘s just one finger, princess.”

“y- your fingers are s-so thick, ‘kuna,” you babble out in broken words, and it doesn’t take long before your muscles tighten. indeed, he had much length to his fingers. he was easing you up because just moments ago, you insisted on how you could easily take him on the first try. of course, he decided to help you out anyway, finding amusement in how you’re already about to gush out from just a single digit. the stretch was immaculate, your tummy churns in a line of zig zags as you feel him slowly insert yet another finger inside. “fuck, ‘s long.”

with a breathy chortle, he makes you slump forward into his chest. “such a weak girl,” and his voice pitches against your ear — his breath, hot and fanning near the soft lobe of your ear. “if you can barely handle two fingers, what makes you think you can take two of my cocks, little one?”

your moans become more loud, echoing through the bouncy walls of his devilish, isolated chambers.

your body fails to remain still, grinding against his hand directly underneath you. “k- kunaaa,” you huff, your own jaw becoming loose and dangling itself agape.

it was so delicious . . the stretch, oh the stretch,

the way his two fingers curl into a salacious circular motion, rotating around the goopy insides of your sopping pussy. you were weak, so so weak.

he groans, hearing the slosh slosh squelches your own mess sings from the impact. “hah, ‘s good. i can take one more, please.”

chuckling, his lips press against your forehead. “hm, dunno. maybe i should take ‘em out..”

“s- sukuna,” you whimper, hearing him snickering at your desperate plea. your walls were more clingy than you were on a daily basis, sticking against the texture of his fingers like glue. with your face buried into the crook of his neck, you gasp once you feel the alleviated pressure arise furthermore. “pleaseplease, more. i can take another finger. need another finger.”

“girl,” he snarls, a single fang baring and you jolt into his chest once he spanks your pussy once.

the brief sting that follows makes you throb and it scratches such a good itch in your brain. “what did i tell ya? you don’t need, you want. repeat that sentence for me, pretty.”

“i— i want another finger inside,” you correct yourself, your eye twitching at his familiar sass. sukuna remained seated on his notorious throne, sexily manspread with you on top of him also. your legs felt like mush practically, and the stimulation has you swooning for more. gasping, you bite down on the breaking skin of your lip once more. “want it, ryo. want you.”

“good grief, does fingering make ya forget manners too?” he slyly grins, ruby red eyes peering into the depths of your precious soul.

you sigh, knowing what that meant. as he’s still got two fingers tucked away deeply into your cunt, your arms sling over his tense shoulders. “p- please.”

“atta girllll,” he praises, another one of his hands tugging against the fabric of your blouse.

as you still make a cute attempt at rocking your hips against his lap. he slowly inserts another thick finger inside. tightening around each one individually, you whine before your entire body jitters.

sukuna chuckles deeply against your ear, feeling the claws of your nails seep into the flesh of his arm. “oooh, so three is the limit. i see,” and within three seconds, his digits pull out of your cunt. a slimey string of your filth sticks against his fingers. as he looks down with an utmost hungry gaze, he brings his fingers up to his mouth before sniffing them.

“mhm,” and with glossy eyes, you stare as the demon pops his three fingers right into his mouth. you’re still taking your seat on his lap, watching as his forked tongue devours your enchanted taste. slit eyebrows furrow in arousal before he takes it back out, bringing his fingers toward your quavering lips. “open. taste it, girl,” and as your lips happily part, he slides two fingers inside your mouth, watching you suck against them. he groans, imagining you were putting your cute throat to use on his cock— not his fingers. your pink tongue swishes around, curling against the digits and you taste the bitter taste of your own sweet. “messy fuckin’ woman. taste how dirty you are for me? yeahhh, lick it all up ‘cause ‘m gonna put ‘em right back in. gotta train this weak cunt for the real thing.”

your head bobbles a bit— every few seconds sukuna’s lengthy fingers would thrash back against your uvula, causing you to almost gag. as you lick them clean, tasting his own syrupy saliva in the process, he quickly pulls them out before stuffing them right back into your greedy cunt as promised.

sukuna raises a brow as your head lowers onto his chest. “eh,” and as your tongue playfully licks against his neglected nipples, his breath hitches. you catch him off guard and he grunts at the suddenly sensitivity. “fuck are ya doin’ brat. didn’t tell you to s-suck on . . mhm, those.”

he doesn’t exactly pull you away.

instead, he drags your head closer, looking down embarrassed as your mouth latches onto his thickset pecs like a leech.

it felt odd, strangely new.

you’re sucking against his swollen perky nipples, lolling your tongue around before that’s when he abruptly pulls you off. with a new look of neediness in his eyes, sukuna watches as a trail of your own spit departs from his nipples. you leer back up at him with a teasing grin forming on your lips and he scoffs.

sukuna ryōmen was flustered..

“y’er .. fuckin’ weird,” he grouses, and once he sees your growing simper, he uses a hand to make your head move back toward its former placement near his now dampened pecs.

“keep .. doin’ that. never told ya to stop, little girl. phew, i- i liked that.”

[heavywithhaving]

EEEE

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

The Great Bucky Bake Off | Bucky Barnes x Reader | One shot - 3.5k words

An Avengers retreat takes a turn for the better when Bucky decides to eat your pot brownies… all of the pot brownies.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content. Drinking, casual drug use, Avengers wearing onesies for reasons, very flirty Bucky, p in v & oral sex. Rated R for ridiculous.

A/N: Happy birthday, Bucky Barnes!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and @reveriesources

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

“Okay, ‘fess up, who ate all my brownies?” You turned to stare down the rest of the team, admittedly a little slow on your feet already.

The scene in the living room could only be described as chaotic. When Tony suggested he fly the team out to his remote cabin for “rest, recuperation and team building”, you had been fully on board. You were even more on board when he had you buy everyone fluffy animal onesies and you’d signed yourself up to a lifetime of being obsessed with your job the day you received an email to source as much weed, alcohol and Asgardian liquor as possible. Being the Avengers PA certainly had its perks. 

“Not me!” Steve admitted, far too quickly. “I didn’t eat them.” He shook his head, sending the dog ears on top of his onesie flopping about. 

You narrowed your eyes, “Well, you sure know something.” He looked the picture of innocence until he pulled Sam into the conversation. 

“Tell 'er Sam, we dunno nothin’ 'bout brownies." 

"Nuthin’” Sam shook his head too, his beer sloshing dramatically in its glass and wetting his hand. “My wings!” He steadied the bottle and brushed the stray liquid from the soft Eagle wings that made up the arms of his outfit.

“Have you spoken to James?” Natasha asked, leaning next to you and swiping crumbs from the plate, the last of the joint you’d shared placed delicately between her fingers. Somehow she managed to make the black onesie look very stylish, the arms rolled up to the silvery spiderwebs embroidered on the elbows and shoulders.

“James? Bucky?" 

Organising and taking part in retreats was your second favourite part of your job. Bucky took the top spot, miles ahead of everything else with his handsome, stubbled face and gruff but gentlemanly manner. Despite being part of the team for a while, he still kept to the background, staying out of the way and keeping quiet. He was always especially polite to you, holding the door and making sure you were included all the time, even if he never really stayed that long at Stark’s parties or Steve’s team building exercises.

Deep down you hoped it was because he saw you the same way you saw him, in your dreams, surrounded by little hearts. 

But life just wasn’t that kind, and you took his friendship gladly if that was all he could give. 

"Why would Bucky eat them, can he even get high?” You slid forwards, leaning on the counter and clutching the empty tray. 

“Bambi!” The four of you whipped around, surprised. Bucky bounced into the room with an enthusiasm that Steve hadn’t seen for decades. He also had chocolate on his cheeks and crumbs all down his front making him instantly guilty. You looked down at your onesie, light brown and speckled like a deer with tiny antlers on the hood. 

“Ha, yeah, like Bambi.” You giggled.

“And I’m Thumper!” He laughed back pulling the hood of his own pyjamas up and letting the long, grey, ears drop in front of his face. 

“Because you punch people?” You were momentarily confused, your brain refusing to work and instead focusing on the too tight fabric around Bucky’s arms. 

Behind you Sam coughed to cover his laughter and Natasha turned away, eyes full of mirth. 

“No! Thumper in Bambi!" 

"The girl rabbit?” Tony dropped down onto the huge sectional couch, surprisingly sober. Although you were sure that had more to do with promising Pepper to keep the cabin safe, rather than any personal choice. 

“Thumper is a boy.” Bucky insisted, eyes never leaving yours, his smile boyish and relaxed.

“How would you know?” Sam scoffed, leaning over the back of the couch, positively gleeful when Steve whispered that Bambi was also a boy and they fell back laughing together.

“Because, Sam, I’ve seen Bambi." 

"What?” Tony’s snort of derision didn’t go unnoticed, but you shot him a glare. This was possibly the most relaxed you’d ever seen Bucky, you wouldn’t be letting anyone, including your boss, spoil it. 

“I saw Bambi, in 1942, when it first came out,” he said proudly. 

“That’s right, I remember!” Steve jumped up, the Asgardian liquor cocktail that Natasha had rustled up earlier starting to take effect. “We went with your sisters, Rebecca cried when Bambi’s mom got shot and he was all alone." 

"Don’t spoil it, Stevie.” Bucky chastised, turning back to you as quickly as possible, “Have you seen it? Do you want to see it? We could see it?”

You nodded but he ignored you, continuing to talk as he got closer and closer, backing you into the kitchen island where the empty brownie tray dropped with a clang. 

"We can go, I’ll take you, Saturday, you can have as much popcorn and soda as you like.” His right hand swayed by his side, nudging closer to yours until your fingers touched. “What d'ya say?" 

Every fibre of your being screamed yes, just as you’d internally jumped for joy whenever he came by your office or handed you a coffee. But those times you were sober, calm, collected. Now you were four drinks and half a joint deep, floating off into the clouds. Professional judgement be damned. 

So you screamed "Yes!” outloud for once. 

He beamed, throwing his arms around you and squeezing just a little too tight until you squeaked. “Good, gonna be my best girl, my Bambi and I’ll be Thumper, buy you lots of popcorn and - oh - you’re really soft.” His hands found the back of your hood, pulling it up to sit on top of your head, letting it fall into your eyes. 

“Yeah it’s nice, right?” 

“S’fluffy.” Bucky’s thumbs brushed over your lips and down your neck, just inside the hood for a moment, before finding your shoulders and arms, rubbing the fuzzy material until you felt static build on your skin. “You’re really cute, y’know,” he whispered. “My own little Bambi.”

“I know.” You giggled back, picking up the joint again so you’d had something to do with your hands other than grip the front of your own outfit. 

“We didn’t smoke weed back in the day,” he said, conversationally, as if he didn’t have his hands in your pockets, pulling out your lighter and a lip balm. 

“No?” You took a drag, blowing the smoke to the side politely. 

“Did a lot of cocaine though, keep us awake on missions.” 

“Jesus. That’s…intense.” 

He nodded, watching your fingers against your lips, the little pout when you exhaled. 

“Can I?” 

“You ate a whole tray of brownies, Bucky, I don’t know if you should have anymore.” You extended your arm away from his grabby hands, hoping Natasha would come and take it away again, but to no avail. Instead, he lifted you onto the counter, pinned your leg down and followed the line of your arm to your outstretched hand. His lips brushed the backs of your fingers when he took the twist of paper into his lips. You waved him over and he held his breath as he returned to you, leaning in close and only exhaling when you pulled your hoods together, his nose against yours. 

Instinctively you inhaled, the rush of smoke and the smell of Bucky was overwhelming. You giggled again, trapping him against you with an arm around his neck and your legs around his waist. 

“Haven’t shotgunned since college.” You smiled, everything was so floaty and soft, fuzzy round the edges and so fucking warm. When did it get so warm? 

“You know with your floppy ears you could be-” your laughter bubbled up, cutting you off, “you could- sorry - oh my god - you could be Bucks Bunny!" 

Bucky did not seem to like that nickname as much as Thumper and told you so, pouting until you let him take another long drag. 

Time seemed to slow down between Bucky’s words, his hands, the way your glass of wine felt in your hand and the texture of his onesie. They were a good idea, so soft, good for petting, and Bucky was petting you too. His right hand was burning hot, even through the thick material, the pads of his fingers were calloused and rough, but the palm was soft. His left hand was so rigid, making a whirring noise. When you put your cheek to the artificial bicep it ticked pleasantly and you smiled, sighing and closing your eyes so you could concentrate on the joined sounds of Bucky’s heart and his prosthesis. In turn, Bucky held you gently, his metal fingers gentle on your back where he kept you snuggled in tight beside him. 

You were faintly aware of the ongoing chatter across the room, but it had faded away into background static. Your soul focus was on the way two of Bucky’s eyebrow hairs stuck out from the others, the little patch of grey forming in his stubble, the dark fleck of colour in his iris, the way his mouth looked saying your name. Oh shit, he’s saying your name, say something back! 

“Uh huh, yeah, uhm - maybe?” 

He tipped his head to the side, bunny ears flopping over too, and came closer again. His hands on your cheeks. “I’ll help you.” He leant forwards to rest his forehead against yours. 

“What’ya doing?” You tried to look at your forehead too but your eyes seemed to stop when they got to your eyelashes. Annoying. 

“Telling you what I’m thinking without saying it.” 

“Oh, is it working?” 

“You have to tell me that, silly!”

“I don’t think it’s working,” you whispered, loudly, and Natasha groaned from the sofa closest to the kitchen. 

“These two are out, done, nothing more for them,” she declared, waving her glass of red wine. 

A chorus of yes and agreed sounded from the remaining Avengers. Clint had already fallen asleep across one of the arm chairs, his beer dribbling onto his shirt from the neck of the bottle. Steve and Sam were deep in debate about the merits of Japanese whiskey over original scotch whisky and Tony was watching you both intently, his own glass of Glengoyne warming in his hand. The way the condensation formed under his fingers was fascinating, and you told Bucky as much, pulling him close to your cheek so you could get the same view. 

 “I concur, what did you do to my PA, Barnes?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a bad influence.” 

“She’s not you PA, she’s our PA. So she’s ours to influence,” he returned, proudly. 

Tony just continued to stare, pointedly, sipping his drink.

“What you gonna influence me to do, Buck?” You kicked your legs against the kitchen counter, a picture of innocence, and Tony laughed into his drink. 

But Bucky looked at you very seriously, bent to whisper in your ear, his breath tickling the back of your neck, his leg between yours, muscular and firm despite the fluffy clothes. 

“I’m gonna influence you to steal all of Stark’s M&Ms.” He tried to keep quiet but ended up choking out the end of his sentence around his own uncontrollable giggles. 

“Oh my god, you know he has me take the red ones out, says they’re smug. I have so many red M&Ms in my flat.” 

“Hey, that’s supposed to be a secret!” 

“Wanna eat all the red ones I brought with me?” 

Bucky helped you down from the counter and then across to the pantry where you’d stashed the huge bags of snacks and sweets when you first arrived. Despite Steve’s shouts of leaving some for everyone, you closed the door and sat down, ready to tuck in, wrappers and chocolate littering the floor while you dug about for your favourites. Bucky sat on the floor, encouraging you to sit between his legs, keeping his hands moving over the downy material of your onesie. 

“Okay, Bambi, what’ve you got for me?” 

Before you could even attempt to feed him anything, Steve wrenched the door open, hands on his hips. “I think you need to sleep this one off, not eat more chocolate,” he insisted, waving at you both to get back up. 

“Nuh-uh, Steve, not leaving.” Bucky tightened his arms around your waist and nuzzled into the back of your neck. “You smell like cake,” he exclaimed, happily, ignoring Steve. 

“Sam! Can you help me shift Bucky?!” 

“What about me?” You pouted, holding Bucky’s hands around your waist. 

“You need to go to bed as well.” Natasha extended her hand to yours in an effort to pull you off the floor, but Bucky’s grip was too strong. 

Eventually, it took everyone to wrestle you away from Bucky and bundle you into your room. In the corridor, Bucky howled his anger, breaking out of his room to easily find you in yours. 

“Bambi! There you are! Those awful hunters took you!” he cooed, squishing your cheeks again and kissing your pouty lips. Deep down your brain registered that this was your first kiss with him, that the man who had been consuming your thoughts for months was actually kissing you, willingly, and had broken a door so he could get close enough to do so. 

“Buh-kee, it was just Nat and Tony,” you drawled, your lips moving gently against his, reluctant to pull away. 

“I know, but I didn’t like it, wanna stay here with you.” 

Natasha, who was still trying to wrestle you into bed, gave up. “If you two stay in here together, and stay out of trouble, I won’t say anything.” She pointed at you both, eyebrows slightly raised. 

“Promise I’ll be good, Natty.” You fluttered your eyelashes at her dramatically, hoping to seem more trustworthy, but she just rolled her eyes. “Fine, stay here.” 

And then you were alone. 

You hesitated for a moment, watching the slow movement of Bucky’s face, fascinated by the way the muscles tightened minutely when he smiled. 

“I’m going to kiss you again now,” he stated, so formal that you broke out into another fit of laughter which made you hiccup and grab for his chest to steady yourself. 

He ignored you, bending his head and catching your lips with his, messy and rushed. 

“You taste real nice, you know?” Bucky licked across your lips again, swallowing your giggles. 

“You taste nice too, ate all my damn brownies.” With a long lick up his chocolate smeared cheek, you kissed him back, tangling your hands in his hair, trying to push the too hot, stuffy, fluffy, onesie off his shoulders. 

Bucky shrugged, and sat back to push the material down to his hips. Your eyes followed the movements of his hands, the way each inch of muscle revealed itself and, suddenly, you were hungry again, lunging forwards to bury your face between his pecs. Starting at his sternum, you kissed further and further down, shoving him backwards so you could climb on top of him, nipping and kissing bruises in a slow trail towards the end of the zipper. With a twist of his wrist, his cock sprang free from its confines and you bent down to lick the pearlescent precum leaking from his tip. 

“Fuck, Bambi.” He dropped his head back, one hand gripping the pillows and the other cupping the back of your head while you licked the head like an ice cream. “I’m not gonna last if you keep doing that.” 

You sat back on your heels, letting your fingers dance up and down his cock. “Feels soft,” you observed, thoughtfully, “Hard and soft at the same time, isn’t that funny?” 

Bucky couldn’t reply, he just laid back, watching the woman he’d pined after for months finally touch him the way he’d dreamed. It seemed surreal to be here, in your bed, with your hands all over his body like you owned it. Well, he thought, you did own it, you just didn’t really understand that yet. 

“I wanna touch you, too,” he insisted, “Can I?” His hands hovered over your clothes, so close to the zipper his fingertips brushed it when you breathed. You nodded and he lowered the metal slowly. 

Everything seemed slow now, even his voice, mumbling against your skin when he kissed down your breasts and took your nipple into his mouth. When he bit down a little, you giggled, his fingers tickling your sides, until you were both laughing again, half in and half out of your onesies, brains full of cotton wool and lust and nerves. 

“Hey, hey.” You tugged on his hair until he looked up, resting his cheek on your belly. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

“Yes, I’m so good with secrets!” He crawled back over your body, lowering his face close to yours. “You can whisper it or you can do it telepathically.” 

“I’m not telepathic, Bucky.” 

“Sure, like this.” He dropped his forehead to yours. “I know all your secrets now.” 

“No, you don’t!” You shoved him, but he didn’t move. 

“I do!”

“Tell me then.” 

His eyes roamed over your face, from your eyes to your lips as if he couldn’t help it. “You like me.” 

“Everyone likes you, Buck, you just think they don’t.” 

“No you like me, you want to step out with me, be my best girl.” He looked overjoyed to have revealed your secret before you could. “Am I right?”

“Don’t be mean to me, Barnes.” 

“I’m not being mean, I read your mind.” 

“You know what? Fuck off.” You shoved a second time, but he still didn’t move. 

“Wanna read my mind? I’ll help.” His forehead met yours again, sweat beading along your hairline from the stress of being so clearly seen by the man you’d been fantasising about for months. Before you could protest that only he could read minds while high, he was kissing you again. Slow and steady, his tongue nudging your lips gently until you opened for him, throwing your arms around his neck and letting the feeling of petal soft kisses take over you. 

He moved away only enough to take off his now too warm onesie, as well as your own, leaving you both naked and tangled together on the bed. He couldn’t get enough of touching you, he felt buoyant, happy in a way that he hadn’t for months, years, and he never wanted it to end. His fingers tingled when they touched you, though it was becoming harder and harder to stay in control. 

“Bucky, I want you,” you managed to squeak out between kisses, fumbling awkwardly between you both, hoping he understood.

"I want you too.” He nodded, bumping your heads together. 

You wriggled beneath him, guiding him between your legs until he was buried inside of you. 

“Damn it, Bambi, you feel soft everywhere.” His wide eyed expression made you smile.

“You’re kinda soft too, Bucky.” This side of him was one you’d been dying to see, unguarded and playful. 

He nuzzled your cheek and began to move, tentative at first and then faster. In your dreamy state, it was hard to know where you started and ended or how long you’d been locked together. 

You moved as one, slow and steady, enjoying the feel of each other’s warm skin and chocolate sweet kisses, breaking every now and again to stare at each other in awe. 

Bucky seemed to sense your approaching release before you did, speeding up when you fluttered around him, the erratic movement of his hips driving you closer and closer to the edge of the bed until you both tumbled out. The pillows and sheets followed soon after, dropping on you in an avalanche of goose down and brushed cotton. 

You both paused in shock, your giggles broken by your fall, but then he was pulling you back down on top of him and holding your hips steady. 

“Bucky, I wanna - I gotta -” Your hand drifted between you again to touch your sensitive clit, just a little more pressure and you could feel your orgasm building. The tightness of your pleasure started between your legs and radiated out to your toes, making them curl against the sheepskin rug beneath you. 

Bucky followed after you, unable to control himself from the onslaught of sensation your clenching heat provided. 

You woke the next day in a tangle of limbs and bedding, your back sore from sleeping on the floor all night and your brain fuzzy. Beside you, still with a smear of chocolate on his cheek, Bucky continued to sleep. 

[thesturniolos]

make you mine ~ m.sturniolo x reader (she/her)

જ⁀➴. summary: i mean you know what they say, keep your friends close but always keep your enemies closer- just how much closer?

જ⁀➴. warnings: filthy smut, fingering, dumbification, degradation, praise, rope bunny, spitting, spanking (i’m sorry), dom!matt and sub!matt, jealousy, brat!reader, a little angsty (cause yk i fw that too much)

જ⁀➴. this is for @annamcdonalds67 challenge!! i will be basing this fic off of madison beer’s ‘make you mine’ !

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

‘i wanna lay you down, i wanna string you up, i wanna make

you mine.’

do you know that feeling when you’re drunk, so drunk that your mind feels like a fog? like a layer of cloud and mist has settled into the crevices of your brain, seeping into your every thought. a fog so powerful that it alters your visions and brings hidden secrets to the tip of your tongue, the kind of secrets that would change something, anything once and for all.

and in that moment, the feeling of freedom outweighs all the consequences of letting that secret out. slowly, my fogged brain pieces together to allow my hands to fiddle with the padlocks of the secret. to untie the tangled chains, to swivel the tiny little key around on the pads of my fingers, to push the blade into the hole in the chest.

and just like that, a secret sworn to never be spread dribbles down the edges of the box and every thought telling me, yelling actually, that what i’m about to do is wrong is etched away by a metaphorical marker and nothing will stop me from what i want to do and what i’m going to do.

the dizzying noise of a thousand people, some my friends, most of them random people you’d find at classic LA parties, is silenced by the sound of my beating heart and the blood pumping viciously around my body.

it’s the kind of passion that comes from envy, that comes from jealousy, that comes from resent so blinding that every step you take feels like it could break the marble floor underneath your feet. or that steam pushing out of your ears could be visible.

it’s the kind of jealousy that comes from seeing a person you care so deeply about in a corner with some bitch who knows nothing about him.

like- she doesn’t know what he likes and doesn’t like, she doesn’t know that he has three books by his bed and that one of them has her initials carved into the fourteenth page. she would never know that his own couch has an imprint from where my fucking ass sits everyday. like she wouldn’t know that their shared ‘hatred’ wasn’t actually real. just like how she doesn’t know that he is not on the market and she has absolutely no fucking place in the world to have her wretched bones on his skin.

you’d assume that in a situation like this time slows like a movie but it doesn’t. it speeds and i can’t keep track of anyone around me or what song is playing or even what drink is sloshing onto my hand from my cup. i just know exactly where it’s going to go though.

before i step foot into the beaming light of the kitchen, two hands grab my hips and swivel me around. two hands that won’t be there in a minute if they don’t leave my body.

im met with a pair of very similar eyes and i suddenly feel very guilty for thinking what i thought a second ago.

‘hey! where have you been all night? me and nick have been looking for you literally everywhere.’ chris’ eyes look concerned but his smile is still in full tact.

‘i’ve been talking to people, catching up-‘

‘did something happen? cause you know, you look like you’re gonna kill somebody’ he laughs, his hands leaving my hips and i brush the area off where he touched, holding my head high to hopefully hide the seeving look on my face.

‘just people liking to get up in my business, you know how it is. ‘ i nod, sipping from cup, immediately regretting because actually wtf is in it.

‘okay, well- me and nick were about to leave, we’re just tryna round you and matt up.’ my teeth clench together at the sound of his name.

‘yeah, i don’t know chris. i might go home later, feels like we only just got here!’

‘it’s literally 2am, we’ve been here 4 and half hours already-‘

“come on, chris! when do you ever get to go to a party as big as this? go find a girl or something- give yourself a good time!’ his eyebrows furrow and he shrugs his shoulders.

“i guess so-“

“you gotta get over that bitch ex of yours anyways, perhaps this could be your perfect time.” and with that, he was fully listening. his shoulders now standing upright and his posture as straight as possible.

“you’re right, y/n. oh, look- there’s matt! guess he’s already a step ahead of me and you.”

my head spirals around is quickly, i think i saw stars. big, white, angry shooting stars. the sight of his hands clenching onto her ass, pushing her against a kitchen counter. her dress slowly riding up her thighs, thanks to his legs prying them open.

and with that, something ticks inside me.

i’ve been jealous before. hell i’ve been the most jealous in the room. but have you ever been so jealous that a rack of knives looked appealing and the bat that hangs above the wall in the living room looked handy dandy to do the exact job you needed to?

why was it always the bitchiest of girls who all the guys hate -but apparently not so because she’s tugging on one of their dicks by saturday.

well guess what? two can play at that game, bitch.

i turn around to find a good looking guy, not so attractive that i could become attached but not ugly enough for me to be gagging when i run my hands along his dick.

‘you. come with me.” i gesture, my fingers curving in to lure him into me.

his brows furrow and he scoffs, “why?”

“cause i fucking said so, come with me.” i drag his hand and he turns back to look at this friends with a sudden bright smile.

our hands are clenched together as i pull him through a small crowd towards the kitchen. the urge to instantly jump on him to rile matt up is incredibly overwhelming but desperation isn’t always the best look on me.

my hand reaches for a red cup, filled with what looks like classic punch and i pour it down the sink to fill it up with straight vodka and hand it to him. “drink up, buttercup.”

his eyes widen but he obeys and i watch as he drinks every last sip, my fists clenching from the idea of what’s going on directly behind me.

“ngh’ matt-“ i hear the girl moan and my head twists to see his eyes glaring into mine whilst sucking red marks onto her neck.

i scoff and drag my guy closer to me, all whilst maintaining eye contact to lick a stripe up his neck and shove my right hand up his shirt to feel his torso. the guy did have toned abs, i could feel from how rock hard he was against my fingers but unlucky for him, i was completely and utterly distracted by the guy i hated so fucking much opposite me.

hate so pure that the sound of his name made goosebumps run down my neck and my blood bubble under my skin. my eyes would sting from the gaze of his eyes, my eyelids burning from refusing to shut. it was hate so pure that seeing a girl on his arm made my throat run dry and my words choke. the rings on my fingers digging into my palms and my teeth scratching against one another as i clenched my jaw to see the hickies scattered on his chest.

my tongue caresses the skin of his neck, latching over what i think is his sweet spot, as he moves his hands down my body. i smirk as i see matt latch onto the bitch’s figure tighter, desperate to outweigh whatever i was doing.

i look up at the guy and say, “do whatever you want to me, right here, right now.” his eyes light up and his breath halts slightly.

“but we’re in here with so many people-“

“i don’t care.” my head turning back to look at matt who is still looking at me, a grimacing smile speaking across my face which makes his brows furrow deeper into his skin.

the guy grabs my leg to push it onto his, my front up against him and he latches our mouths together, his tongue immediately creating a space between my lips to enter.

after a solid minute of awkwardly making out in front of what felt like 30 people, a hand pushes my leg down from the guys hip and grabs my hand to pull me away from the crowd.

i’d be stupid if i said i didn’t know it was matt, of course i knew it was him. after all, he knew i had full control over him even if we were just enemies.

sweating bodies collided with mine and i squeeze my body close together to avoid elbows to the face. my heels making me stumble a little, alcohol still running through my system.

i look down to find a step up a winding staircase, a classic LA mansion.

20 steps felt like half a lifetime as matt still desperately drags me up them, whispering incoherent, angry remarks under his breath. until finally he makes it to the top and barges through the first bedroom he sees.

i enter quickly after him, my hand falling to my side as he slams the door behind us. i didn’t have time to react before he pushes my shoulder into the wall behind me, digging his nails into my skin.

his eyes are practically black with anger, his eyebrows fallen to his eyelids yet a disgusting grin on his face. his tongue slides along his teeth, before he spits, ” what the fuck do you think you’re playing at?”

“whatever you’re playing, i mean it’s only fair.” i squeak back, my breath a little taken away from the sudden collide with my back and the brick wall. and of course the incredibly small space between our lips and the fact that our noses are touching.

“that’s not how this works around here.”

“then how does it? you get to go around with every girl in our state and i sit in the background watching?” what was that even supposed to mean?

he removes a hand from my shoulder and shakes his head, “people around here know they can’t touch you. they just know that, sweetheart. i assumed you would too.”

“and you’re allowed to have that bitch all over you? tell me, matt. how is this really fucking fair?” his hand comes up to my throat to clench it, light enough so i’m not choking but hard enough so that i’m gagged, my head lifted up a little.

“because how else am i supposed to get you to fucking take notice that i want you.”

i furrow my eyebrows, i try to speak but he clenches harder and the words don’t form in my mouth.

“every girl i have i imagine it’s you, every time i’m fucking a girl i imagine it’s your pussy im in, i imagine it’s your lips that im sucking on.”

i look dead in his eyes, my lashes blurring my vision slightly, his hooded gaze mesmerising me as i take in his every word

“every mean comment i made and every remark you made back riled me up. i knew it, you knew it, everyone else fucking knew it. im fed up of this bullshit circle we’ve had going on- i need you to see that you’re mine. when i saw you and that bitch in the kitchen, i smiled because i knew i got you. i got you to the point where you fucking admitted to me that im in your brain, you want me just as much as i want you baby.”

his tongue pokes out to lick a strip along my lip, he stands back to look at me in such a vulnerable position. my legs squeezed together in my little black dress and his hand wrapped around my neck as i look up at him with teary eyes and a dumb little smile on my face. it was just all he had ever wanted.

his hand leaves my neck, reaching up to grab my jaw and push my lips against his. a messy, tongue-filled kiss. his tongue sucks onto mine and i moan into his mouth, my legs moving forward to push him backwards.

he hums into the kiss, moving his head to suck on my lips whilst treading towards the bed in which he eventually pulls us onto. my legs scramble to straddle his lap and loop my hands around his neck.

he pulls away to pull the straps of my dress down as i look into his eyes, if somebody had told me two years ago that i was straddling matt’s fucking lap i probably would’ve slapped you around the face.

“do you know how long i’ve wanted you baby?” he says, yanking down my black dress to reveal a lacy, practically see-through bra that pushes up my boobs to accentuate them especially for matt’s eyes.

i shake my head, my hands clasping onto the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“too fucking long.” he rips off my bra, my mouth wide from how easily he broke the fabric, a loud groan leaving his mouth as he launches forward to suck my hard, pointed nipples.

my head thrown back as i grind against his jean pants, desperate to relieve the feeling in between my thighs. the tent of his pants brushing roughly against my region making me pull his head closer into my tits.

he pulls away to stare up at me, already looking a little disheveled, as he chuckles slightly, “you’re so fucking needy, who knew a pretty baby with a mouth as big as yours could be so desperate for my cock?”

i whimper at the sound of his patronising voice, my hips moving faster as he speaks but the loss of the soft pad of his tongue of nipples making my eyes water a little.

he grabs my jaw to force me to look at him, his fore finger and his middle finger squeezing together closely as he pushes them towards my lips. “open up, slut.”

i open my mouth for him and he guides his fingers into my mouth and instinctively i suck on them, my eyes slowly fluttering shut and i hum onto them, wishing it was something else.

the tent underneath me twitching even under all this fabric and the hands looped around his neck untie to slowly run down his torso all the way to the zip on his jeans.

“you want it all don’t you baby? you act so tough but really you’re just a whore for me and my dick. it’s not even been five minutes and you’re already scrambling to undo my pants. that’s it baby, let me use all your pretty parts.” i pull them down to reveal his wet boxers and his huge dick.

this man wasn’t just packing a couple inches, it was enough to bruise the back of my throat and my cervix. my eyes light up as i hold it through the cotton of his underwear, drool begging to leave my mouth.

he leans back slowly, his elbows digging into the plush mattress underneath of us as he guides me closer towards his cock, pushing away stray hairs that curl around the frame of my face.

i pull down his boxers for his dick bounce straight up and hit his stomach, pre cum leaking from his bright red, swollen tip. and i hungrily scramble to grab hold of it, his words replaying in my head, i’m just a whore for him.

my hands smooth the veins along the bottom of his dick, slowly making my way up to kiss his oozing tip and i feel his body shudder underneath me. without a second thought, i shove his tip in my mouth and suck his cum off. my mouth hollows and i move my head up and down, determined to get some noise out of his pretty mouth.

“that’s it pretty girl, just like that- mmm” his head is thrown back and his hands come round to cradle my head, pushing me further onto his dick.

i moan which sends vibrations down his cock, his tip growing in my mouth as i swirl my tongue around it, the gagging sounds echoing in the room, riling matt up more and more.

“fucking take it all baby- oh fuck, i know you can” he winces out, the grip on my hair tightening and i smile against the girth of his dick doing exactly what he says, hollowing my mouth and sucking all the way to his bone. his hips shove up to hit the back of my throat and my eyes flutter shut, the full feeling in my throat overwhelming me.

he guides my head by bobbing my head up and down in time with his hip thrusts, the sounds of my gargling getting progressively louder as he becomes more determined to cum down my throat.

a sudden halt to his erotic sounds, i feel my head being pulled up, a ‘pop’ sound coming from my mouth from the sudden loss of his dick in my throat. he laughs, smoothing my cheek with his thumb before gently slapping it and grabbing my chin so i look at him.

“you gonna let me make you feel good?” i frantically nod my head, the heat between my legs practically burning a hole thru my panties now.

“that’s my girl, you’re mine. aren’t you?” i nod and he tuts, “ use your words.”

“i’m yours.” and that’s all he needed before he picks me up like i’m a fucking feather weighing nothing more than a couple pounds and throws me onto the bed whilst he twists around to stand up off the bed, looking down at me.

“you know it, my little slut.” he pulls down my dress finally, he didn’t get to finish underdressing me cause the idea of finally tasting him was too much. but now that i can feel the cold air hitting the most private of places and his glare blazing up and down my body, i feel shy.

my elbows hover over my boobs as i try and scrunch up a little but matt’s hands pry them away and he spreads my legs before discarding my little black dress on the floor, i’m only left with my matching lace panties.

he licks his lips, his glare fixating on the wet patch created on my underwear, just for him. as he holds my thighs apart, he blows gently onto the fabric making it instantly cold and i shift up the bed a little, whimpering.

“this all for me, baby?” he looks up at me, caressing my thighs gently. the cold metal of his rings making my goosebumps more and more apparent.

“mhm.” my eyes flutter shut and i push against the force of matt’s hands, becoming increasingly desperate for any kind of pressure on my pussy. “please.”

“please what?” he smirks, his touch on my thighs now so light you wouldn’t even believe it was there. it was another level of teasing that made the core of your very stomach fuzzy and the lack of any touch adds to the sick feeling you have.

“just do something, anything.” he snaps when i say that, flipping me around quickly so that my body slaps against the mattress, my ass on full show to him, my thing not doing much too cover my the cheeks of my ass.

“i wanna feel the rush, i wanna taste the crush, i wanna get you going.”

the sharp sting of fabric ripping against my delicate skin and sudden gasp mixed with the breaking of sweet lace makes matt chuckle in the background before placing a harsh slap to my ass, sending me into the air as it was so unexpected.

“you gonna be good for me?” he smooths over where he slapped, secretly wishing it will make a bruise.

“yes, yes i’ll be good.” i beg, wanting literally anything.

as his fingers move closer towards my wetness, he suddenly moves away quickly before getting up and searching the room.

i look up and frown, “what the fuck are you doing?” i whisper a little, upset that he looks like he’s about to leave.

he doesn’t say anything but pauses once he gets to the drawer in the closet and laughs before turning around to reveal a belt.

“what are you doing? this isn’t even your room.” i say, relaxing yet still confused.

he walks over to me and forces my chin up at him, “keep speaking in that bratty fucking tone and i will leave you high and dry”

“well you won’t even let me get high so what effect is that gonna have-“ before i could finish my sentence he covers my mouth with one hand and uses the other to turn me around so my head is shoved into the pillows of the bed. he scrambles to grab my hands, pushing them against my back and fiddling with the belt.

“just you fucking wait and see, little angel.” he twists them around my wrists and tightens them so i can’t get out without any help.

his hands letting going of mine before i feel them suddenly exactly where i need them. a singular finger pressing down onto my bundle of nerves and my whole body jumps with just a simple touch, a pornographic moan leaving my mouth.

“does that feel good baby” i whimper back a desperate ‘yes’ and wriggle against the pad of his finger wanting him to move oh, so badly.

“want me to move my hand, darling?” i nod my head frantically hoping he can see me which i gather he can considering the low laugh that leaves his mouth and the sudden movement of his finger dragging down slowly through my folds.

“you want me here?”

“yes, yes. i want you there. i want you to move.”

“you want me to move?”

“please.”

“there it is.” and with that, the gentle movements turned into quick, hard thrusts. his two fingers sliding through my hole at an insane pace, not letting me readjust for one second, making my whole body lift from the bed, my hands shaking in the belt he tied me up in.

the cold metal of his rings mixing with the warm wetness coating his fingers, the sensation was immense. all before he flips me over and presses his mouth onto my clip sending me into fucking sub space.

“oh my fucking god! matt-“

he licks and kisses at my clit at a gentle pace all while his fingers strum in and out of my hole at an alarming speed, it’s a wonder he doesn’t have arm cramp even after one minute.

my ass doesn’t stay on the bed and my whole body is jittering at the sudden overwhelming sensation. the flicks of his tongue and the curving of his fingers making sure he hits my sweet spots makes the bundle in my stomach tighten up.

“please matt, i’m gonna cum!”

he carries on, his feasting at my pussy getting progressively more intense, like a starved man. he enters another finger into my hole, stretching me perfectly so that i am shaped for him.

he breathes against my heat, “let go, baby.”

and with that, i did. sweat running from my back and forehead, my tied hands desperately grabbing onto the leather and my toes clenching over his shoulders.

he licks me clean, pressing one last kiss to my clit which makes me jolt as he laughs a little to himself seeing my messy figure on the bed.

“you did so well, baby.” i smile at him, his head coming close to mine to kiss my lips.

“now you gonna help me out sweetheart?”

i nod and he turns me around to take me out of the tied belts and he kisses the red marks from where i pulled against the restraint. “you liked these?” i shake my head and he laughs.

i pull myself up from the bed and onto matt’s lap to face him, i latch my lips onto his and hook my hands around his neck pulling him closer to me. my naked body fitting perfectly around his warm body.

he moves his hands down my body, caressing my curves and humming against our kiss as i pull away and look down to stroke his dick to which he kisses and pulls himself into my neck.

i move myself up his body to push myself down onto his hard shaft, as he winces and throws his head backwards, moaning my name.

i pull at his hairs and rock my hips against him and watch his demeanour change as his hips desperately rutt against mine and i forcefully push my hands onto his thighs so that he’s restricted.

“what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he groans as my grinding against him slows.

“taking control.” his eyes widen and i push myself up further so that i can plunge further onto his dick. my nails digging into his thighs as i watch his breathing get faster and moans leave his mouth.

“that’s not - ngh- how it works.” he argues with me which doesn’t last for long when i start to kiss his neck and suck on the lobes of ears in which his thrusts up into me become more persistent.

“i’m gonna cum-“

“not until i cum.” i say, chasing my high with him as i hear him whine into my ear, panting a little too.

“please, just let me.” he hugs me closer, my boobs crushed against his chest as he begins to rocks back and forth with me, moaning and groaning with his head in the air. so much for tough guy, huh?

“cum with me.” i bounce up and down as he thrusts up into me for the last time before releasing his cum, painting my walls as it oozes out of me as i collapse onto the bed next to us.

our heavy breathing and hearts beating is the only thing that can be heard.

matt’s hand slowly moves to bring me closer to him, i smile as i look up at his tired state.

“you changed quickly, mr tough guy to oh please! please, let me cum! “ he shakes his head and covers my mouth.

“shut up, you wouldn’t fucking let me .”

i laugh at him and he picks me up to squeeze me, so much for being enemies, huh?

“so-“

“you’re mine now right? like for real?” he’s not looking at me, rather picking at his nails.

i giggle and press my head against his forehead and nod, “of course.”

hope you all liked !! too many fucking words :)

tags: @wisteral @evieolo @ev3rgreenxtrees @estelleswrld @recklessmatt @recklesssturniolo @realuvrrr @urfavstromboli @obscurechris @poopydroopt @plasticferal @lilasturns @lovingmattysposts @m4ttslvr @mattandmilds @muwapsturniolo @mattsgirlfriendlol @kirby0strombolli @kvtie2 @kikisturnioloo @kqyslyho3 @klarasmith @sturnioloshacker @strniohoeee @sturniolopepsi @sturniolosstar @sturniolossmut @mattslolita @zooweemamas @chrattenthusiast @chrissgirlsstuff @bernardsbendystraws @ducksturniolo @dsturniolo @deatthmatch @fruitglazed @hearts4sturniolo @hawaiihasmyheart @heartsforchrisandmatt @hoesformatt @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @inlovewchris @ihateeveryone357474 @ilovemattsturn @nicksmainbitch @noellesturniolo @yurtrrrr @mattsgirlfriendlol @mattsfaked

[norrizzandpia]

Based off of the song bags by Clairo. Lando and y/n are more than friends but less than bf/gf. Super flirty and touchy always. Both in love w the other but don’t want to confess in case the other doesn’t feel the same way. Ending however you want!

I LOVE THIS SONG

Can You See Me Using Everything to Hold back? (LN4)

Summary: Lando and Y/n have always been as close as can be, but unresolved and disregarded feelings threaten everything they thought they once knew.

Warnings: language, angsty but HAPPY ENDING, mentions about Lando’s weight

“Happy birthday to my best friend!” Lando cheered as he let his arm rest firmly on Y/n’s face, a quick kiss to her cheek.

The girl smiled through it. It was her birthday after all, right? No crying this time around.

However, Lando was making that promise to herself extremely hard. The soft fingers dancing along her back, the hugs where he would breathe her perfume in, and the glow to his eyes were just a few of the instances where Y/n felt like keeling over and vomiting all over the pristine marble flooring of the hotel Lando had rented out extravagantly for her. Her glossy eyes, some thought, were just a mixture of the alcohol and the exhaustion of partying until dawn.

Truly, she was grateful for what he had done for her. The surprise party with all her closest friends made it known how much Lando really listened to her. The wish to not spend her day with crowds of people who knew only the shell of her being had been accomplished as she looked on at the room in front of her. Adorned in each corner were people who knew almost exactly what it would be like to live in her skin… and then there was Lando.

Lando, her best friend, knew more than just living in her skin. He knew more than anyone in the room, they both knew that. Nobody knew why she had that random scar on her stomach or why hated blueberries, but he did. Random facts about her that only God would be able to answer, he knew.

…Not to say Lando was God.

Nevertheless, the point was made in her brain. She loved the people here, but she adored Lando. Maybe too much for friends, but, again, no crying on her birthday.

“When everyone leaves and you open your presents, open mine first?” Lando whispered in her ear. Chills down her spine and a flush to her cheeks are not from the drop in the AC.

She turned to him, their faces inches apart as her champagne sloshed over the edge of her glass. Her hair landed over her shoulder, which almost brought Lando to his knees. Her gorgeous hair, beautiful dress, and glowy makeup enhanced every bit of pretty Y/n had to offer. He was breathless at the sight of her. Smiling softly, Y/n tilted her head, “Are you not staying?”

He shook his head and her heart sank, “I want you to open your gift alone. Plus, I have an early flight tomorrow.”

She checked her watch, “Lando, it’s almost 4 AM. What time’s your flight?”

His head dipped down to stare at his shoes, “7 AM.”

Her mouth fell open, “Lando!” She smacked his shoulder as she scolded him, “Why the hell are you here and not sleeping?!”

He pulled her into him, his breath fanning over her nose, “Because I want to celebrate my favorite person.”

She softened, “Fine, I’ll let you get away with it this time.”

—

Can you see me? I’m waiting for the right time. I can’t read you, but if you want, the pleasure’s all mine. Can you see me using everything to hold back? I guess this could be worse; walkin’ out the door with your bags.

The small grouping of gifts sat next to Y/n on her apartment floor, completely alone without the company she craved. As he asked, she fished out the small box from the stack. She shook it around for a moment, a small clanging meeting her ears. Finally deciding the package could be fragile, she unwrapped it.

TWO YEARS BEFORE

“Can we please go in here, Y/n?” Lando pleaded with the girl as they stood on the street, his hand in hers as he pulled her one way. She rolled her eyes at him, “Lando, what are you buying at Van Cleef?”

He stuck his hip out while he let his bottom lip do the same, his usual ‘my way or the highway’ stance. She giggled before relenting, “Fine, but when we walk out empty handed and all the employees give us dirty looks, don’t come crying to me.”

He smiled at her before tugging her through the doors. Immediately, a woman approached them as she began welcoming them to the store. “If you need any help, just let us know.” She smiled and Lando nodded.

When they were alone, he turned to Y/n. She saw that mischievous look from miles away, “Look around, Y/n. Pick out your favorite thing.”

Her eyebrows raised, “You’re not buying me anything, Norris. Especially from Van Cleef.”

Lando’s look challenged her, “Uh huh, for sure.”

Deciding not to argue, Y/n let go of his grasp and let herself wander. Almost to the end of the store, nothing stood out to her. Everything was either quite popular and not something rather unique or not her taste and Lando was beginning to tell. Seemingly quite disappointed in her sudden lack of interest in Van Cleef Jewelry, his face lit up when she suddenly stopped at something.

A little gold necklace laid before with the quaintest red heart charm and there was nothing she loved more. Her eyes sparkled and her fingers ran over it on the glass. Lando loved seeing her fall in love with something beautiful. It paralleled something in his life.

“Like that one?” He whispered, his hands coming up to her waist as his thumbs began rubbing softly.

She twisted her head, “If I say ‘yes’, you can’t buy it for me.”

Lando pouted, “Why not?”

She sighed, “Because, Lan, it’s 2,000 euros. That’s way too much to spend on me.”

“2,000 euros is not enough.” He murmured and she chuckled. Suddenly, his hand tapped on the glass and he moved closer to her, “Tell you what, I won’t buy it for you right now, but I do get to buy it for you at some point.”

“What’s the difference from buying it now to buying it later?” She questioned and Lando’s eyes held hers.

“When I buy and give this to you, whether it’s a month from now or ten years from now, it’ll be my sign to you that I will never let you go. When this necklace ends up in your hands because of me know it is my tangible way of telling you that there is not a day I wish to go by without you.” He gazed upon her face in preparation for any kind of reaction. What he was met with was a slow smile that had his heart beating too fast.

She kissed his cheek, “I think I could get on board with that, Norris.”

PRESENT

On top of the Van Cleef box was a small, folded paper. Y/n let it unravel in her hands and staring back at her was Lando’s messy scribbling, however she could tell he had tried to make it nice.

My love letter to you. You’re better at words than I am. I know you’ll remember. Cheers and a happy birthday to everything you are and everything you will become. I know it’ll be great. You’re meant for something out of this world, Y/n. - L

A small tear ran down her face. She already knew what laid beneath all the ribbon. Her favorite heart necklace rested in her hands as she tried to take it all in. Her hands shook and her brain short circuited.

The only thing she could seem to remember were his words, “it is my tangible way of telling you that there is not a day I wish to go by without you.”

—

Lando cursed quietly to himself when his long awaited slumber had been stolen from him at the hands of his phone. Beside him, the device rang and rang annoyingly until his grogginess finally wore off enough for him to grab it.

Max, on the other side of the table, gave him a death stare. He had fully been asleep and any person knows that waking Max from any type of slumber is catastrophic.

Lando just smiled and shrugged at his best friend before answering the phone.

Crying is all he heard.

Pulling back the phone, he clocked Y/n’s contact. His mind raced. What had happened to her? He had watched her walk through her door the night before and lock it before leaving to get his luggage from his place. There was no time for her to be hurt. She was with him the entire night.

“What’s going on? I’ll kill them, Y/n.” That got Max’s attention.

”No,” She choked out before taking a breath, “It’s you. The necklace. It’s so sweet.”

“Oh,” Lando chuckled and Max continued to eye him weirdly.

“This is so much, Lan. I don’t even- Thank you. I thought you would forget or maybe never end up buying it.” She said, still breathing deeply through her past tears.

At the insinuation, Lando became rather confused, “I was always going to end up feeling this way Y/n. It was only a matter of time. It’s not hard to always want you around. You’re you.”

She was quiet for a moment, “The note, Lan. You say you’re bad at words, but that was perfect.”

He sighed dramatically, “Nothing will ever be as perfect as you. Crazy you don’t understand that yet.”

She smiled, “Still.”

He just shook his head silently and prayed that somewhere something, anything would give him the strength to be just friends with her. “Happy birthday, Y/n. I meant everything I said in that note.”

“Thank you, Lan.” A beat passed, “Well, I’ll let you get back to your flight. Be safe, please.”

He nodded, “Of course. Bye, Y/n. Love you.”

Her heart thumped in her chest. It always did when he said that. She whispered, “Love you too. Bye.”

Max sat with his arms crossed and his eyes trained on Lando. “What was that about?” He asked, although he had a small feeling he knew all too well what had just happened.

Lando coyly grinned, “Her present.”

“Which was what?”

Lando bit his lip, “That Van Cleef heart necklace I told you about like two years ago.”

Max stayed quiet for a moment, keeping his gaze on his best friend, before cocking his head. “Let me get this straight - you bought your best friend, who’s a woman, a Van Cleef necklace so she would know you never wanted to live without her. You got her this for her birthday as well?”

Lando just stared at him.

Max laughed, “Right. So, do you think she knows how in love you are with her now?”

“I hope not.” Lando rolled his eyes and swatted his hand in Max’s direction.

The man huffed, “Lando, sometimes you make me want to claw my eyes out with how stubborn you are.”

“I refuse to put my friendship with someone I cherish in jeopardy for some feelings I have that will surely go away soon.” Lando declared, his tone strong and direct.

But, there was no fooling Max.

“You do realize you just bought her a Van Cleef necklace, right?”

—

A triple-header was never easy. Especially when Y/n wasn’t with him for any of the races. Lando stared longingly at a picture of the two of them in London with chocolate smeared all over their faces, a cup of strawberries in Lando’s hand. They had been out wandering the city with a group of their friends that day and had shoved their faces with the most delicious food that Lando had gained so much weight, Jon had scolded him when he got back. Nonetheless, he adored the memories that came from that day. Which included this picture. Y/n was laughing and he was holding onto her by the waist, smiling at her widely. Lando never let her know this image existed solely because of how obvious his love for her is in it. His eyes twinkle and random dimples he never knew existed pop out and you can practically hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

It was too much for his liking.

In moments like these, when the yearning for her got too strong, Lando likes to think the days of them being friends are over. That they’re more than friends, soulmates or whatever his romantic mind would like to call it. It helps the pain of only being hers secretly subside.

“Are you gonna keep drooling at your phone like that or are you gonna call Y/n?” Oscar chuckled. The fact that the man couldn’t even see his phone yet knew he was looking at Y/n made Lando scream internally. He really needed to be better at not giving away too much.

Lando rolled his eyes, but his thumb was already pressing the call button. His phone rang as he put it up to his ear and Oscar tried to keep his smile unknown. Tried.

“Lando!” Y/n yelped. He could hear the grin in her voice.

He could feel the grin on his face, “Hi, Y/n.”

“What’s going on? What do you need?” She blabbered.

Lando’s eyes shot to Oscar, who was eavesdropping so obviously, and shuffled his body around to gain some sort of privacy. His head tucked down, he whispered, “I miss you.”

Y/n stopped her movements, putting down the yogurt she had been trying to put away. She smiled, “I miss you too.”

“Come here.” He begged, “Please.”

She sighed, “You know I can’t. I’m too busy here.”

He didn’t respond.

“I’m sorry, Lan” She whispered, guilt eating at her.

“I’m not mad… or disappointed at you. I just…” I love you.

“I’ll be fine, Y/n. I’ll see you when I come back.”

—

Tell you how I felt, sugar coated melting in your mouth. Pardon my emotions, I should probably keep it all to myself. Know you’d make fun of me.

Drunk was not what Lando should be after begging Y/n to come, practically declaring how much he wanted her, and getting denied. Yet, here he was with tequila sloshing over his glass as he tried to comprehend the words coming out of this woman’s mouth. She was standing in front of him, but all he could focus on was the fact that her hair wasn’t the same as Y/n’s and she didn’t smell the same.

Frustrated, he apologized, albeit slurred, to the woman and left her in the middle of the club. His vision was blurred slightly as he fell outside, the cold air going to his head.

Another call to the girl he’s always wanted. He counted that as two today and mentally scolded himself for being so obvious. At this point, everything he did was obvious. At this point, he couldn’t be just friends.

Y/n picked up, the grogginess in her voice evident. “Lando? Is everything okay? It’s 4 AM.”

“Y/n,” She could almost smell the alcohol on his breath, “I’m sick and tired of this.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, “Lando, you’re wasted.”

He shushed her before continuing, “Let me finish. I cannot do this with you anymore. It’s killing me.”

“You can’t do what with me anymore?”

“I can’t… I can’t…” Even in his drunken state, he knew it was a bad idea. He knew what was truly at stake. She was at stake. He just couldn’t ever risk that.

“Nevermind. I’m just really…” He tried to finish his sentence. Drunk? Yes. Upset? Yes. Angry? Yes. Annoyed? Yes. It was everything and nothing at the exact same time.

Y/n chuckled, “Drunk, I know. Don’t worry, Lan. You’ll just feel a little sick tomorrow morning.”

She hung up the phone, the last moments of it all being her laughing. His hands pulled at his hair and he couldn’t believe how close he had come to losing it all.

And how she had just laughed.

—

Can you see me? I’m waiting for the right time. I can’t read you, but if you want, the pleasure’s all mine. Can you see me using everything to hold back? I guess this could be worse; walkin’ out the door with your bags.

After his disastrous call, Lando went completely silent on Y/n. To the point that she dropped everything she was doing, at work and in her personal life, to go see him, to make sure he wasn’t dead.

When she showed up to his hotel, the concierge told her that seeing him wouldn’t be possible, no matter how close she said they were. Back and forth with the employee ended when Oscar walked through the lobby, Y/n calling out to him so loudly it earned her a few stares.

He looked at her for a moment, trying to decipher if what he was seeing was real, until concluding the woman screaming at him was in fact Lando’s best friend and the girl he had been trying to hide from all week.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, completely baffled, when he told the front desk she was with him.

Y/n huffed, “Lando’s not answering me and the last time I heard from him, he was absolutely shit faced. I’m worried, so I came to check on him.”

“So, one phone call and a few days without contact and you’re suddenly showing up halfway across the world to check up on him?” Oscar eyed her, his gaze pleading with her to just end this dance between her and Lando.

She coughed, “Yes.”

“Uh huh,” He smirked, “Well, Lando’s on the second floor in room 28. I think he’s there now if you want to go see him. He’s completely fine by the way. You could’ve just called me to ask. You also could’ve called Max… or Jon… or Andrea… or literally anyone because I know you have all their numbers.”

She blushed, “Stop looking at me like that, Piastri.”

He raised an eyebrow, “I’m not looking at you like anything, Y/l/n. I know nothing.” He shook his head and walked away.

Second floor. Room 28.

—

“Can I just be honest?” She blurted out when Lando opened the door. He stood motionlessly, looking her up and down as if he was trying to will her into existence.

“Y/n?” She pushed past him and turned around in a fury.

“Why the fuck have you been dodging me? What the fuck, Lando? You call me wasted and then ghost me for days on end. Did you genuinely think through anything?” She scoffed.

Lando shrugged, “I couldn’t talk to you.”

“Why?”

He couldn’t look at her, “Because.”

She groaned, “Jesus Christ, Lando, again with all the vagueness! Can you tell me anything? What’s going on?”

His head snapped to hers and he let his eyes warn her own. Warn her not to push this topic, not to make him say what he’s worked so hard to keep down. But, when it came to him and his lack of vulnerability, Y/n knew no bounds.

She sat down on the bed, knowing the aggressive approach was never the right call. She looked down and then up at him, “Please just tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t, Y/n.” He sat down next to her, taking her hands in his. Everything in him was screeching. He felt like he was being ripped apart by the two, conflicted sides in him. One wanted him so heavily to end the hell of being just her friend by telling her how he felt and the other willed him to remember the privilege of being in her presence, to not fuck that up.

She could see it as well, the quiet war in his mind. In trying to comfort him, running her hand on his back, she triggered him. He sprung from the bed, gaining as much distance from her and letting his head fall in his hands.

“Stop.” He pleaded, “You need to leave, Y/n.”

Her eyes watered, “Why? I don’t understand why you’re pushing me away.”

The waver in her voice made him grip the side table next to him. If he couldn’t hold on mentally, maybe he could physically.

But, no. One look at her defeated face made him lose all composure. And one small whisper of hers, “Please let me in.” became too much.

“I’ve always been so in love with you.” He breathed out. A relief fell over him, a truth that had been eating at him finally said.

Y/n froze, her eyes on her hands in her lap. When she gathered the courage to look up at him, she found the shell of a man.

In thinking he had let go of a truth, he remembered the risk that had been holding him back all this time. Gone was the relief and all that was left was pure terror at what he had just done.

She breathed, “You know when I got here, Oscar looked at me and almost mocked me for the reasons as to why I had come. He told me I had come here because of one drunk call and a few days of no contact. And, you know, I was looking at this necklace the other day,” She touched it as it laid across her neck, “and it almost felt like some sort of declaration of love. I thought I was insane, thinking you would see me that way, but I think it made me more inclined to do my own declaration of love. The whole grand gesture thing was never for me, but I think I’ve found myself there, no? I think this is my declaration of love.”

Lando gapped at her, “What are you saying?”

She smiled, “If you thought I didn’t love you too, then we were both dumb.”

He breathed out then laughed, falling next to her on the bed. She let her hand rest on his next to her and squeezed tightly.

“It sucks we waited so long, but at least it ended in neither of us walking out.” She murmured.

He sat up, letting his arms wrap around her waist, “I was never gonna walk out.”

“Neither was I.”

[maxinemaxmayfield]

For the STWG daily drabble prompt: modern au

“Steve… he wrote his number on the cup. Your cup. Of course it was meant for you,” Robin sighs, pointing this out for the third time in as many minutes. 

Steve glances back to the barista behind the counter. Their eyes meet and he whips his head back around so quickly she can hear his neck crack. Steve doesn’t see the toothy grin that spreads across the guy’s face after he looks away, or the way he tugs a dark curl across his face. 

“See? He’s looking over here. Just text him!”

“Shut up!” Steve hisses, leaning forward. “What would I even say?”

“Uh, ‘hey, it’s Steve, from the coffee shop’? Or, ‘you look sexy behind that espresso machine’? Or, ‘I want to cover you in chocolate-covered coffee beans and whipped cream and eat my way through to your di–’”

“Robin!” Steve yelps, sloshing some coffee onto the table between them, the edges of the puddle dripping off the edge and into his lap. She jumps up to get napkins, and luckily, that’s the end of that.

Steve doesn’t pull out his phone until later that evening, lounging in bed and staring at the ceiling, agonizing over which regret would be worse – doing it and getting rejected, or not doing it and never knowing. 

He takes a deep breath and taps in the number still burned into his mind, searching his brain for something to send.

That latte was hot, but not as hot as you…

DELETE.

Felt like there was something brewing between us earlier…

DELETE.  

I like my men how I like my coffee… keeping me up all night.

DELETE. 

“Oh my god,” Steve says out loud, groaning and rolling over to bury his face into the pillow. “I’m pathetic.”

“Is that so?” a familiar voice asks, crackly and quiet. The same voice who had called out, ‘latte for Steve’ earlier that very day.

He pushes himself upright, nearly drops his phone before he manages to flip it over and look at the screen. 

OUTGOING CALL - 00:42

He flinches, cursing every piece of technology ever invented as he brings the phone up to his ear. “Uh. Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I didn’t mean to call you, sorry. Meant to send a text, but…” Steve trails off, not even sure how to explain it. 

The barista huffs out a laugh. “And what did the text say?”

“Not important,” Steve says hurriedly. “Just saying hi.”

“Well then, hello to you, too. I’m Eddie, by the way.” 

“Steve.”

“I know – it was on your cup,” Eddie says, the hint of a grin in his voice. “So, Steve… next time you come down, I’d be happy to make you a drink on the house.”

And this, the back-and-forth, the flirty banter… this, Steve can do. “I’d rather come by when your shift is over… maybe go grab something a bit stronger than coffee?”

“Yeah? I’d like that.”

[loveyouprongs]

hope we grow old, but we never grow up

james potter x fem!reader

upcoming content: fluff! mentions of reader being anxious in crowds, mentions of just having had sex but not smut, mentions of alcohol. lmk if you think i missed anything :)

authors note: i hope you like this! i’m still new to writing, so i tried my best! inspired by one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite artists: never grow up by niall horan!🎶 despite any photos used in the header, it’s important that people of all races can identify with my work so please let me know if any of the descriptive language i use is exclusionary, i’m trying my best!

word count: 2.8k

masterlist

“I hope we still dance like we're fallin' in love, Hope we still drink like we're back in the pub”

the noise inside the pub was so loud you could feel the floor shake beneath your feet, or maybe it was just your brain making it up. you were getting jostled and a man elbowed your shoulder, causing the cranberry juice in your cup to slosh over the edge. a sharp gasp escaped your lips that you were sure would get lost in the rowdy atmosphere but james quickly snapped his head to look back at you, eyes trailing down to the red liquid dripping down your hand.

“y’alright, sweetness?” big, brown eyes peering at you as the hustle and bustle of the crowd moved on around you both.

“i’m good,” you said back softly, squeezing his hand that had been tightly grasped in yours since the moment you both walked in. today was the final match of the rugby championship and everyone in town was together to watch in anticipation… and drink, no matter the outcome. james had sweetly invited you out with his friends a few nights ago and you of course said yes. the two of you had begun dating a few weeks ago, and you were eager to learn everything about him and spend as much time as possible with him, even if it meant trudging through sweaty, drunk bodies, resisting the urge to cover your ears.

“sirius got here early so he got a table for us already, we’re almost there,” james assured, squeezing your hand back. as you neared the large booth tucked away in the corner, the weight in your chest lifted at the sight of remus rolling his eyes at whatever sirius was saying, waving his hands expressively.

“they’re here! finally!” marlene squeaked and everyone’s eyes turned towards the two of you and they started making room for you both in the booth. you couldn’t stop the tingly feeling in your chest at how easily they accepted you in their tight-knit group.

“mate, where the fuck have you been?’ sirius exclaimed, slapping a hand on james back.

“if you couldn’t tell, he’s already had a bit to drink,” remus muttered in your ear as you leaned in for a half hug around him. when you first met, you were sure he didn’t like you despite james’ reassurances that he was just a quiet person naturally. you understood that, being quite shy yourself, but you still desperately wanted his friends to like you. so when you instinctually gave him a soft hug for the first time and he didn’t pull away, even initiating it the next time you saw him, you were sure you and remus were becoming good friends.

“oh, i’m sure,” you responded, eyes widening at the collection of empty pint glasses that littered the table.

“what’s the score?” james asked, cleaning his glasses against his sweater with one hand, squinting up at the screen, the other stayed wrapped around yours, even though you were both sitting comfortably.

“not good jamesie, why’d y’think i’ve been drinking so much already?” sirius said, taking another swig of his beer.

throughout the night james was intensely focused on the match, going between not even breathing as he stared at the screen to groaning or shouting with sirius whenever his team made a play. you were fine with the fact that he wasn’t paying much attention to you, knowing this game was so important to him, and you and marlene were catching up anyway.

“y’having a good time, honey bee?” james asked, looking down at you for the first time in a while, his large arm wrapping around your shoulders, warmth immediately overtaking you. you could tell he’s well past tipsy, eyes alight with bubbly frivolity.

“honey bee? that’s new”

“‘cus you’re so sweet,” his hand that wasn’t grabbing at your shoulder came up to stroke your cheek and you were sure he could feel it warming up under his touch. the subsequent smirk that crawled across his face affirmed your theory, all adoring if not a tad smug, but he was charming enough to get away with it.

“i am having a good time, yeah, i mean, i don’t really understand what’s going on but it’s cute seeing you so focused.”

james laughed and you felt his chest rumble against your cheek as he tugged you in closer, “mm, it’s probably good that you don’t anyway, we’re getting absolutely shitted on.”

“it’s only half time, it can still turn around!” sirius slurred emotionally with his head in his hands, a lot like the other patrons in the bar disappointed at the team's performance.

“keep telling yourself that, mate,” remus said, patting his back pitifully, still reading his book.

“you want another drink? i can go get you one,” james offered and you shook your head, preferring to stay relatively sober so james could have as much fun as he wanted. “you’ll let me know if you do though, right? anything you want, i’ll do it for you.”

for the umpteenth time tonight, and for the millionth time in your relationship so far, james made your heart stop as he looked down at you with his unwavering gaze. you knew he was only offering to navigate the crowded bar for you, knowing your aversion to crowds, but such a declaration paired with the tightness of his grip around your shoulders, how you could feel his heart beat against the soft of your arm if you focused enough. something about this moment, tucked away in a pub booth, felt like it was the beginning of forever.

“i know,” you breathed out softly and james lips quirked up in a small smile, as if instinctively, and with a single nod and press of his lips to your head before he turned back to the screen, you knew he felt the same way.

in a way that could only be described as a miracle, the team pulled through and as the reporters announced a home win, the crowd erupted in cheers. “praise be to god!” sirius cried, reaching for remus’ pint while remus tried to keep him away. he’d been cut off around thirty minutes ago when he attempted to throw marlene’s purse at the screen.

“sit down! you’re not even religious!” remus sighed, wrangling in his wild friend. you could only smile as remus tried to feign annoyance but couldn’t help but laugh when sirius started pressing congratulatory, sloppy kisses to his cheek.

“i can’t believe it!” james cried, wrapping his arms around your front, your back pressed to his chest as he towered over you. you were still sat in the booth but james had stood up five minutes before the match ended, pacing to get his nervous energy out.

you titled your head back to look up at him, genuine happiness radiating off his large form. “that was incredible!”

he looked down at you with a beaming grin, “it definitely was! did you see that last play? blimey, can’t believe we pulled it off!”

as he spoke you twisted on your butt to face him, and he caged you in between his spread thighs. “i know! i don’t know how they do it, i would get so tired- oh!”

you were no longer sitting, now fully upright with your feet dangling off the floor, arms tightly strewn around james’ neck as he lifted you in a hug. you could feel his hair tickle your cheek as he tucked his face into your neck. he spun you both around in staggering circles, having to stop when he felt the alcohol quickly begin to travel back up his stomach.

james couldn’t believe how perfect today was. his favorite team winning, surrounded by his friends, and at the center of it all was you. like a figurine from a snow globe come to life, so charming and sweet. so open to becoming friends with his friends, liking what he likes; he still doesn’t know how or why you agreed to a date with him, nonetheless put your trust in his rough hands, but he could only hope that soon he could carry your heart, and you his.

“this whole day is incredible,” he said, lips brushing against your ear as he set you down.

your guys’ bubble was popped when marlene shook your shoulders, not quite as gone as everyone else, but getting there as sangria glossed her lips “babes do you hear this?!” she let out loudly and you tuned back into reality, music now blasting through the speakers as the patrons danced and sung along happily.

“sorry to steal her from ya, but this is our song!” marlene slurred winking up at james who only shook his head and watched you get dragged to the middle of the makeshift dance floor and jump about with the other girls.

“to doing this all next year?” remus spoke, handing james a glass of water, with one for himself as well.

james chuckled and watched as sirius infiltrated your dance circle, horribly attempting to break dance, but you’d never guess based off of the encouraging woops! and wows! from you and the girls hyping him up.

james could do this again next year, and the year after that, he’d quite like it, he thinks.

“I think that we could be like that, every single Sunday in our Sunday best. Laughin' over nothin' with a full wine glass.”

“honey bee, i’m hopeless with this,” james grumbled, giving up on his tie and falling back against the bed. at your silence he rolled on his side to catch a glimpse of your face through the mirror. your lips twisted at the side, surely holding in a laugh you refused to grant him with, not wanting him to know he’s softening you up again.

“it might help if you button your shirt first,” you said, finally turning to face him. even with his face half squished against the mattress and hair sticking up in all directions he was still the most beautiful boy you’ve ever seen.

his eyes slowly grazed up your figure, body he was just ravaging now covered in soft, flowy blue fabric, and your hair was tied up neatly with a bow. James let out a low whistle, heat immediately rising to your cheeks, “well would y’look at you,” he mumbled as if he was speaking to himself, “s’ gorgeous.”

you took a minute to collect yourself, shaking your head at how he still made you this flustered this far into your relationship. “thank you, love. you could look beautiful too if you got dressed.” you now sat primly on the sheets beside him, stroking his cheek.

“too tired,” he said, voice low as he engulfed the hand of yours on his cheek in his and brought it to his lips, “you really wore me out, baby.”

“james!” you chastised, trying to pull your hand away fruitlessly. he smirked against it and pressed a final kiss to your palm.

“what? you did! absolutely mindblowing! that thing y’ did with your hips… oh baby!” he moaned and you slapped a hand against his chest, walking back over to the mirror.

“clearly i didn’t hold up my end of the bargain if you’re able to get dressed s’ fast, lemme make it up to you, honey.”

“no!” you squeaked, quickly gathering your make up and running to the bathroom, james’ laugh echoing behind you. any more talk like that and he actually would convince you to go back to bed with him for another round. but you promised you’d go to marlene’s birthday dinner and you were really looking forward to it. in the back of your mind, you knew it was a mistake to get tangled up in the sheets so close to when you had to leave, knowing james could be absolutely insatiable when he wanted to, but you couldn’t resist!

for the next few minutes, you both got ready in silence. you applying light mascara and blush, and james trying to manage his hair. “need a haircut soon,” he said breaking the silence as he reached over you in the bathroom.

“me too, i think. but i like your hair long.”

“i know you do,” james remarked back, a haughty smirk donning his features once again, falling into a pure smile as you playfully rolled your eyes. as he combed some product into his thick locks you took in his appearance, a plain white t-shirt that hugged his muscles and framed his arms in a way that made you question if he was really from this earth or a Greek god, and fitted slacks, you recognized as the one’s you bought him a few months earlier, after claiming he had no nice going out clothes aside from jeans and the one tuxedo he had for a friends wedding.

“you look really nice, james” you said and he cast his gaze down to you through the mirror.

“thank you, sweetness,” he said back and two sentences, as simple as that, caused the love in the room to blow up like a balloon. the sultry, teasing energy from before now a pure adoration that hung in the air.

“we’re a good looking couple, aren’t we,” james said as you both finished, now looking at the two of you in the mirror.

a startled laugh escaped you, “i suppose we are,”

“no wonder i always want us to be having sex, i mean who could blame me!” james exclaimed, walking to the door, keys jingling in his hand.

“please get it all out now before we get to marlene’s, this is supposed to be a classy party!”

“oh, alright! but i’ll remember this when you’re grabbing at me later,” he said, holding open the car door for you.

“we’ll see about that.”

the sun was beginning to set, casting marlene’s back garden in an orange glow. she set up tables and chairs, all holding delicious food and wine, and fairy lights were strung along the awning.

“marls this looks amazing! happy birthday!” you said, giving her a hug.

“thank you! i love your dress! potter… you cleaned up nicely,”

“it was hard to find a clean shirt, but this one passed the smell test, didn’t it, love?” he joked back, twin gags coming from you and marlene before the three of you erupted into laughter.

“i want you to come meet my best friend at work, she’s so nice!” marlene said and in a flash you both were gone, pastel skirts flowing in the wind.

“‘bout time you got here!” sirius called, hugging james, “was starting to thing you wouldn’t show,”

“sorry, got caught up at home…”

remus rolled his eyes, already knowing what was coming.

“…if you know what i mean,” james finished, wiggling his eyebrows, eating up sirius’ wolf whistles and high fives.

“you keep us oddly informed of your sex life, you know that mate?” remus asked, pushing off james’ hand that took purchase in his hair.

“what else are brothers for?”

“ugh!” remus groaned.

“are they bothering you, rem?” you asked, pulling up a chair at their table.

“aren’t they always?” james and sirius let out matching offended scoffs as you laughed.

“y’always take remus’ side, ‘s not fair!” james whined.

“i have to! it takes two of us to watch over the two of you!”

“exactly,” remus laughed, crossing his arms across his chest.

“well in that case, the two of you can stay here, while jamesie and i settle a bet,” sirius said, mischievously, lighting the adrenaline in your boyfriend’s eyes.

“do i want to know?” you asked james, who sent you a blinding smile.

“siri here thinks he’s faster than me. than me! can you believe him?” james said, stretching his calf. his thighs were hugged wonderfully in his trousers and you quickly darted a glance at marlene’s beautiful -yet muddy- garden.

“have to prove him wrong, don’t i?”

“yeah, you can’t be datin’ a loser, a slow one at that!” sirius retaliated and you knew there’s no way you could talk him out of it then.

“just make sure to be careful of your nice clothes, love,” you pleaded, “you look so handsome, the last thing you need is to be covered in grass stains.”

“promise, i’ll try my best honey bee,” james said back, cupping your cheeks so your lips squished together and pressing a kiss atop them.

“c’mon let’s get this race started! or are you scared, pretty boy?” sirius egged and james ran up besides him. as the boys took off you knew it was only a matter of time before it resulted in a friendly yet frantic wrestling match, as most of their competitions did. so you captured the image of your tall, broad-shouldered boyfriend, dressed like he just came out of a catalog, running under the setting sun in your head now to look back on fondly. his childish giggles carried throughout the air and you had a pathetic smile on your face despite yourself.

“you’ll just have to hose him off before you get in the car,” remus said, content with sitting with you, watching your loved one's mess about, truly happy.

“it’s my own fault for thinking he could keep a white shirt clean.”

[superblysubpar]

modern!steve harrington x you

712 words

warnings: this is a small follow up to "We Got Love" , it's not necessary to read that fic first, but I think you'll enjoy it more if you do | We'll revisit these two again on October 31st, so don't hate me too much | alcohol mentions

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event - don't forget to vote for tomorrow at the bottom of the blurb!

Yeah, so now he’s really fucked.

Your lips smack together, rubbing the ruby red over them in the mirror. They quirk up on the ends when you spot him over your shoulder.

“Hey Goose.”

His hands land on your hips, a little less precise than normal, though in their rightful place nonetheless. His thumb swipes over bare skin, just above where a pilot’s flight suit is knotted around your waist, midriff exposed under a white t-shirt you’ve cropped. His aviators are pushed up on to the top of your head.

Steve’s lips skim behind your ear, a whispered “Maverick,” slipped out of them and pressed to your sparkling skin that smells like his soap.

He’s so deeply, utterly, tremendously, fucked.

Your hum turns into a sigh that mixes with a giggle when his arms wrap around you tighter, resting over your stomach and drawing you back against him as his mouth delves lower to the collar of your shirt.

“Steve-” you scold around a yelp of surprise when he rolls his hips against your ass, the movement making you fall forward and needing to brace yourself on the bathroom sink, your drink in the other hand sloshing dangerously close to your white top.

He thinks long and hard about his next words, probably too hard for something so easy and simple. His hand engulfs your shoulder and gently pushes until you’re spinning to face him. His fingers drag down the chain of the fake dog tags and pull you closer as you blink up at him with wide bambi eyes and pursed red lips.

He’s about to do something so dumb. He knows it.

“Say my name again?” He whispers as his other hand reaches up to cup your jaw.

A thumb brushes over your cheek so tender, so delicately, like you’re about to disintegrate right from under his touch if he holds you too fiercely. Steve’s hair is wild, like he’s run his hands through it a million times in the two minutes you were apart, his eyes equally so. Lost in a billion different thoughts and clouded with liquid courage infused lust.

Your cup lifts between your chests, your finger running over the rim as you tilt your head and blink longer than you need to, fluttering your lashes as you whisper:

“Steve.”

It’s fun to watch your boyfriend melt in front of you from something so simple. Fun to let the butterflies in your stomach take the reigns and lean into the feeling for once instead of letting your brain wonder if it’s all too much too fast. Fun to let your eyes track his swallow when you kiss his thumb that brushed over your lips as you said his name.

Your cup is still crushed between your chests that heave in equal anticipation as you continue to speak softly against the pad of his thumb, “That what you wanted baby? Just came in here to hear me say your name?”

“Like when you call me baby,” Steve mumbles, staring at your nose that scrunches when you smile.

“Yeah?”

It’s not his fault, not when you look at him like that. Like he’s the greatest thing to ever walk on this earth, like you’ve got little hearts that match his in your eyes. It can’t be his fault when he knows how you feel, or well, he thinks he knows, because you said it in your sleep a few weeks ago and he’s just not sure how to tell you he feels the same way. Not his fault when you’re in matching Halloween costumes like idiots in love, touching him all night, leaving lipstick on his cheek so everyone knows he’s taken. That he’s yours.

‘Cause christ, is he yours. He’s so yours.

The words are so stuck on his tongue, weighed down by too much tequila and slightly soured by the orange he chased it with. His movements are clumsy, his heart is beating so god damn fast-

Red punch splashes against a white top.

The word shit slips from your mouth, but a different words rings in his ears as the room gets a little hazy.

Bullshit.

He’s bullshit.

Love is bullshit.

Steve Harrington’s love is bullshit, and why did he ever think this could be different?

[bbokicidal]

Smile For Me .:. Hwang Hyunjin .:. 10/10/2024

Genre : Smut Pairing : Ghostface!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader Warnings : Height difference, mention of Hyunjin being physically bigger, stronger, taller, etc., face fucking (hard), rough sex, mirror sex, tiny surprise at the end !!

Notes : Again, a bit of a shorter post but I did my best here. I really had no motivation to write this bc of my brain feeling fried but I wanted to get it out for you guys. Ty for staying tuned. <3

Kinktober Day 4 of 10 : Size Difference w/ Hyunjin

Word Count : 3.3K

Next Post : 10/16/24

"What's a sweet thing like you doing at a party alone?"

The voice is enough to startle you into turning fully around, the drink in your hand sloshing aggressively in your cup and spilling over white knuckles. A gasp escapes your lips to show just how surprised you are by the man suddenly talking behind you. The voice changer definitely flipped a panic switch in your body.

"Well?" He questions.

The man is - well...

He's tall. Very tall, in fact, compared to you. Six foot at least if you had to guess. With broad shoulders and arms hanging down by his sides as he stands before you. The only reason you can even tell he's looking at you is because of the way his head tilts when you still fumble to answer; Though he doesn't seem to understand just yet that it's from both fear and arousal jolting through your limbs at the sight of a Ghostface costume looming over you.

The man's head cocks once more, a gentle nudge in an attempt to get an answer. Subtle prying.

You fumble, spit coating your lower lip as it escapes your teeth. "Just - came to drink."

Stupid answer to a genuine (?) question. Now this man - potentially.. dangerous - knew that you actually were alone and drinking by yourself.

Then again, even if he was potentially dangerous; He was undeniably sexy.

Or maybe that was your inner mask kink screaming.

The man leans in further to close the distance between your bodies, taking one step forward in a heavy combat boot that nearly stepped on the pink of your heel. Your eyes stay on the mask glaring down at you and as he leans in, you get the slightest glimpse of dark eyes hidden beneath the black mesh.

A soft tug pulls on your skirt, and when you look down you realize it's his hand pinching the fabric.

"You got a boyfriend hangin' around here, doll?"

You swallow, every word you thought to say somehow lumping in your throat. What about him was making it so hard to speak?

"I..."

His head tips upwards when someone calls for him, but with your ears ringing and head spinning from the closeness of his warmth - and his heavy cologne weighing down on his costume - you'd never even heard the name called that had summoned him.

He lets out a breath that you swear you can almost feel even if it's trapped behind the mask. Straightening up, looming over you once more, he takes his leave in slow and planned steps around your frame. His hand drags over the soft skin of your thigh as he passes, the leather glove making goosebumps raise in pink.

"Coming..~"

.

The alcohol had taken its toll whether you liked it or not - and it was time to break the seal. Unless you wanted to piss all over the couch.

The drunken contemplation makes you chuckle to yourself, eyes rolling back as your lips split in a silly grin, while your hand escapes the frosted - and spiked - root beer float sitting on the end table. With a soft excuse of your body, you slip off of the couch cushion that had held your weight to make way for the restroom just down the hallway.

It's a little wobble here and there, but you manage to make it to the bathroom door with the sturdy support of the pretty blue walls adorning the campus home. And just as you reach for the doorknob, you realize it's - very close to you. The door is shut, locked actually, and you blink a few times in realization that someone was already in there.

The knob twists once, then jerks away from your hold. You step forward and lull to look up at the poor person you'd disturbed - only to be met with the sight of the familiar slasher from earlier - buttoning the black jeans that he adorns underneath the costume he wears. And you just can't help but stare at the way his long fingers prod at the fabric of the gloves, pushing the button through the hole in the denim and seeing the way the visible bulge beneath the fabric seems to grow more defined.

He sighs out behind the mask, head tipping closer to his shoulder as if analyzing you and just why you're there - yet again in front of him. You can't see it - but his brow cocks behind his mask.

"Pervert."

And you jolt, nearly jumping out of your skin once again at the voice changer. You shudder out a breath, looking up finally at the mask once more. There's a person underneath there, you have to remember. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize." His voice lulls into a soft growl at the end, coming closer to where you stand in the hallway, frozen. You think he'll close the distance once more - but he stops short in the doorway. And you think you're safe.

Until he's lifting an arm to rest against the frame, making himself look even taller than previously. His free hand tucks down into his pocket, pushing up his costume so you can clearly see where it goes.

"But did you need something?"

Your breath hitches in your throat once more, and as you breathe out you end up whining. "I really need to pee."

The man behind the mask pauses. Visibly halts. Before a rumbling chuckle escapes his chest, distorted and cracking with the voice changer. "Alright, can't deny you that right." He steps aside from the frame and gestures into the bathroom. "To your throne, my lady."

It was at that moment that you realized - even if he was a hot masked man at a Halloween party - he was definitely a loser in a hot body.

.

One hour later is when you finally spot it.

You see him; out of the corner of your eye, lurking by the kitchen island and facing your direction as to see if you'll catch him looking directly at you. He's making it blatantly obvious that he's staring and that's what he's trying to do - wanting to gauge your reaction, see if you'll notice and catch on.

And when you do, you stare back for a moment as your friend babbles to a man beside her about some group drama happening the week prior.

He doesn't move.

Your head slowly tips to the left, his mirroring to the right. And you're very sure then that he's keeping his eyes on you and waiting for you to make a move.

The buzz in your chest could be from the alcohol - or the bubbling arousal that had already begun to seep towards your core.

Turning from your spot and gently slipping past your friend, you make your way back towards the hallway you had previously met him in. Pausing at the entrance, you turn to look over your shoulder and see him slipping away from his own friends to trail after your retreating form.

Like he'd let you get away that easily.

.

Your body is so compliant with him - bending to his every will and leaning into his touch even if it's not skin to skin. Your throat burns from where he had his hand wrapped around it, fingers tight enough to make you worry about the lack of air slipping down your trachea and into your lungs. But nothing - can draw your attention away from the heat pooling between your thighs - and the way his free hand had already slipped down to caress the softness of your center. It's as if he's attempting to ease the ache, even if he's only making it worse.

Your hands had just found home on his sides when he had begun to push down on your throat; But not in a way that restricted breathing. He was guiding you down towards the ground and your body, ever wanting, once again complied.

Sinking to your knees and letting your hands drag from his sides to his hips, the man above you looks - far larger than he ever had that evening. Looming? No. Towering over you now. With thick, heavy thighs right in your face and a bulge pressing against the denim of his jeans, he bunches the length of the costume in one hand and tucks it into the sides of the denim waistband so it's out of the way. Easy access, he's sure, watching as you sit so patiently in front of his pulsing cock.

He sighs out once more and lowers his head in a sharp nod, gesturing for you to do the work. You seem happy enough to do so - fingers fumbling with the button you'd stared at earlier in the night and tugging at the fly of his jeans. It rips downwards and he has to sway forward at the way you so eagerly pull the denim down his thighs, revealing tight briefs that outline his cock so perfectly.

And you can tell even without looking right at it that he's big.

He's almost surprised at the way you tug on his waistband, yanking the black fabric down as far as you can without completely stripping him. Hovering just above his knees, the fabric pulls at the simple mass of the muscle it wraps around.

The sight of his cock is godly.

Perfectly straight, pink at the tip with a slit leaking pre that just begs to be touched by your tongue. Thick and so heavy that it weighs down, refusing to touch the fabric covering his lower torso.

"What are you waiting for, slut?"

The moment he spots your tongue sliding out along your bottom lip - the softest hint of parted lips - he's pushing his cock into your mouth and down your throat.

The back of your head bumps the wall as spit drips from your pretty, plump lips - pooled on the back of your tongue just from the earlier sight of his cock waiting to be smothered by your walls; Your throat. You huff out and a soft whine of pain rings from your vocal cords, but he can't truly be bothered too much to care.

The feeling of his cock weighing heavy on your tongue is enough to drown out any pain you'd felt from the simple bump and grind of his hips pressing your head into the wall behind you. He rolls forward, slow, the tip of his pretty length rubbing against the back of your throat in an effort to make you gag. And when you do, he chuckles - the sound still distorted and crackling with use.

And though he'd just filled your throat without care for the ache that the stretch created against your cheeks - He did care about your safety, and was kind enough to slide a gloved hand down the back of your skull. It's resting there, gentle at first; Before he's fisting locks of your hair between his fingers and using it as leverage to thrust his hips right up against your face. Over, and over. And over. Until you're choking on his cock and spit is dripping down your chin in a foamy froth that, to him, proves just how much you're willing to give

He may be playing nice for just a moment, but it doesn't last too long as he pulls you in closer to him and buries your nose against the dark, coarse, curly hair bunched at the base of his length.

He grins behind the mask, chuckling again when he finally lets go of you and allows you to remove yourself from his cock. Your gasps fill his chest with -- pride? The feeling swells, feeling as though it might burst from the way you sit back against the wall and look up at him with glossy eyes that silently beg for more.

"Come here, pretty girl."

Reaching down, large hands grasp at your sides to pull you to your feet. Your knees ache, bruised from the ground you'd been pushed and pulled against as his cock violated your throat for what felt like at least twenty minutes - even if it had really only been just over five.

"Right there. That's right." He maneuvers you with ease, turning your body away from him so you can bend yourself over the side of the mattress in the middle of the room. The scent of the sheets is wildly familiar - a sudden memory of your friend Chris entering your head. He'd worn a cologne just like this at a party the previous weekend. And as you peek open your eyes, you realize you've seen these sheets before.

Of course it was his room you'd wandered into so blindly.

The memory of your dear friend escapes almost as soon as it comes, washed from your mind as the man behind you - above you - around you - leans down close enough so his chest can press against the swell of your back. His hands snake around the warmth of your sides, feeling over the pink of your dress as he hums in a low tone behind the mask. The sound is muffled - muted, to you - but it's made so painfully obvious by the way his chest vibrates with every low sound that escapes him.

His hands press further, running over the expanse of your ribcage before gripping at your body to pull you back. It's a quick jerking motion, one that makes you tumble back into him and fall to your elbows on the sheets you had spent nights in before. A sound escapes, a gasp of shock and relief as his bare cock slides against your panties from behind.

The man seems fond of your body, as if appreciating it while his hands run over your form. They leave your abdomen to lull higher, cupping the swell of your breasts and giving a subtle squeeze that leaves you wanting more - just as he pulls them away. He removes himself from above you, the lack of warmth making you lift your head and whimper in soft complaint.

You find yourself staring into a mirror - directly across from where he had laid you on the bed. Perched on your elbows, back arched, ass up for him. You can see clear as day the way his hand slides over your rear and down your thigh, reaching to hook a finger in your panties and pull back on them until he can let go and let the lace snap against your dripping slit.

The sound that leaves your lips is to die for.

His finger hooks back in the lace and pulls, this time to the side so he can move his hips in and press the tip of his cock to your pretty little hole. Waiting for him, dripping slick that leaks down your thighs and clenching around nothing as your body aches for him. Yearns for him.

You don't even know who he is and yet you're so desperate.

"Fuck -- Yes," You breathe heavy, your body gently lulling forward in a sway as he presses into your gummy walls with ease. It's a tight fit for him - he can't deny that - and it really is something he'd never forget. His body aches for more; Craves for more. So he snaps his hips forward almost immediately in a way that causes you to cry out louder than before.

He huffs, chest rising and falling in quick motions underneath the costume he wore. He couldn't help the way he breathed so heavy, especially with the mask on and wanting to keep it for a while longer so you would remain guessing and wanting to know who he is.

His hips snap in quick succession. His hands, rid of the gloves after he'd thrown them aside in anger that he couldn't properly feel the curves of your body with them on, grip tight at your his. His fingertips dig in and he uses his hold to pull you back onto his cock as he rocks forward, every motion so quick that even watching in the mirror is one big blur for you.

The way he snaps his cock into your walls, tip pressing to your cervix and kissing at it every other push; The way his body begins to drop down closer to yours the more he ruts into you in desperation for release.

He's nearly flush to your back now; Moaning and huffing and panting out in want for more, even if he's rutting his hips against your own as fast as he possibly can, the poor bed frame squeaking beneath the force he places down upon you.

But he refuses to give in so easily. That - or he gives up.

Sitting up and lifting a hand to the mask, his fingers curl in the black fabric and pull hard, ripping it from his head and shoulders. The reveal renders you speechless - the soft moans previously leaving your lips now silent as you stare up at him in admiration.

Hwang Hyunjin ; A quieter, kinder boy you'd only known from a Biology class the two of you shared. He sat kitty-corner to you at a table next to Chris, bumping their knees together to annoy the senior and giggling when Changbin - another senior of his - threw paper balls at the back of his head during class.

He always seemed so... booksmart. Nerdy. Dorky.

The reveal of his perfectly structured face glistening with a thin sheen of sweat really proved the fact that he is a loser in a hot body.

But you'd be straight lying to yourself if you said you didn't fucking love the way sweat began to bead and drip down the sides of his face, pooling and falling from his chin in a way that proved his effort.

"Oh my -- God," You choke on your words, staring up at your classmate through the mirror painting the wall across from you.

Plump lips curl into a knowing smirk. You hadn't suspected it to be him - Had you? You'd never seen the confident, sexually charged side of him that came out when he was outside of class - partying or dancing or rapping with his friends at karaoke. The cocky bastard that wanted the girl no one could get. (Oh, wait. That's you.)

"No need to keep staring, baby," He chuckles, his voice finally cleared of the distortion and truly his own. Low, raspy. As if he'd just woken up. "I'll find a way to make this moment last forever."

While your lips part in questioning and a soft sound leaves your throat to give him a shy reply, his fingers curl into your hair from behind. The locks, thick and heavy with sweat from the events of the night, tangle between thick knuckles that grip so tight you're sure he's never going to let go. Hyunjin tugs - no, pulls - back on your head to let your back arch in a way that made you nearly scream in pleasure as he continued pounding his hips into your own.

"C'mon. Come here, baby."

Pulling just a little more taught, Hyunjin lets himself slump forward. HIs chest presses just barely to your shoulders as he leans down, free hand slinging around to your front holding a small black camera that looks as if it'd come straight out of 2009.

As the camera clicks to life and the red light blinks in warning that the flash is coming your way, Hyunjin snakes his hand down from your hair to wrap around your throat instead. Your face, flushed and painted red with want and admiration, is in clear view of the small screen on the opposite side of the camera. "That's it..."

Hyunjin coos, biting into his lower lip as his thumb presses a bit harder down on the shutter button.

The red light blinks again and the flash springs to life, blinding you momentarily as if your sex-ridden haze wasn't enough.

"Smile for me, baby."

Taglist : @crybabykurominho @softkisshyunjin @minniesverse @dwaekkicidal @lixies-favorite-cookie @bookheadeily @jeonginsleftcheek @madkati @jisunglyricist @millseyes-world @warpedspirit @lovetaroandtaemin @ka0ila

@jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi! Absolutely love your writing :) Would you be willing to do a enemies to lovers but with hero x villain? Maybe with like a controlling villain and the hero secretly likes it but is defiant externally? Sorry idk if that made sense lol

Thank you in advance though if you're able to!

"You can't just keep crashing my dates."

The villain glanced over their shoulder, raising an eyebrow in a mimicry of an emotion that didn't quite reach their eyes. "No?"

"No." The hero stalked closer, stopping in front of the villain, in time for them to turn. "I'm not yours."

"No?"

"No!" The hero's heart gave a little skip, at the possibility that the villain would then look at them and then say (in a growl, or devastatingly matter-of-fact, or in a teasing purr) 'yes, you are' or 'you're most certainly mine'. The villain had done it before.

The villain tilted their head, offering the hero one of the two glasses of wine they had just poured.

The hero took it, anticipating.

The villain didn't say anything, simply watching them as they took a steady sip.

The hero's face burned but they refused, stubbornly, to look away.

The villain set their glass down on the counter behind them. No rush.

The hero imagined the villain grabbing them, kissing them, as they had done before too. Twirling them, glass flying and wine sloshing, and pressing them up against the nearest flat surface. They would change every no to yes and please and more.

They both knew the routine, the dance of it. It didn't need saying.

"Your dates look increasingly like me," the villain murmured. "Have you noticed?" Their hands stayed, agonisingly, at their sides, as they leaned lazy against the counter.

The hero blinked, not expecting the comment. They took a sip of the wine instead of replying, hoping that perhaps an equally steady silence might come across as cool and mysterious instead of flabbergasted.

The villain smiled. "Say please."

"W-what?"

"Say please if you want me to screw your pretty brains out until you can't think straight."

The hero spluttered. "That's not - I'm not - that's not why I'm here." They undoubtedly would say please, but it had never been so close to the start, so when there wasn't any excuse they could possibly give for the desperate needing of it.

"No?"

"No." The hero swallowed.

"So you don't go on your little dates just to wind me up?" The villain finally straightened, taking a step closer.

The hero stepped back, but didn't run, didn't want to. Mesmerised. Their mouth felt very dry. "No." Such a lie.

The villain's smile grew. "You don't secretly wish I'd kiss you, claim you, in front of all of them?"

"No." The hero jutted their chin up. "I'm not a thing to be claimed."

The villain advanced; the hero back-tracked.

"You don't," the villain continued, a honeyed murmur, "say no, because you love all the ways I can persuade you. Because then you can pretend you don't want this. Because you like watching me take control of you."

The hero's back hit the wall. Miraculously, the wine didn't spill, still clutched uselessly in one hand.

"No."

"Mm." The villain set their palms on either side of the hero's shoulders, and the hero felt the very air between them might start vibrating with the urge to close the gap. "Perhaps I'll never crash one of your dates again then."

The thought was unbearable. The villain was bluffing, right? They had to be bluffing.

The hero wet their lips. The villain's gaze dropped to follow the movement, then flicked back up to the hero's eyes.

"You're a bastard," the hero whispered, because it was true and it wasn't no.

"Why yes," the villain's eyes gleamed, "I am." They waited.

The hero's stomach squirmed. "Are you actually going to make me say it?"

"I thought I didn't control you. I thought you weren't mine."

The hero shivered.

"So how could I," the villain leaned in to the hero's ear, still not quite touching, "possibly make you do anything?"

"...please."

"What was that, love?"

"I hate you."

"Do you?" The villain's lips finally pressed against their skin, kissing down their neck.

"Yes. So much." The hero's head fell back, offering more of their throat. The wine glass drooped in their hand.

"Don't spill on my floor."

The wine glass righted with titan concentration. There was nowhere to put it down.

The villain kissed them; soft, so soft, a promise of so much more to come.

"Would you like me to stop?" the villain asked against their lips.

"...no."

"No?"

"No."

The villain hummed and kissed them again, a little harder. The wine glass wobbled treacherously in the hero's hand once more. The hero's other hand clutched the villain's shoulder.

"I think we're done with the stage in our relationship where you pretend to date other people," the villain said, when they pulled back, breathless. They caught the hero's chin, and their stare was, for a moment, serious.

The hero scrambled past the kiss-drunk haze, brow furrowing. "It's actually bothering you?"

"No," the villain said, in the same tone that the hero said no, meaning yes.

"Okay." The hero leaned in to kiss them, just once, reassuring.

Tension eased out of the villain's shoulders. The wicked playfulness returned, and they shoved the hero back against the wall again. The next kiss was a consuming, hungry thing, and the hero could only chase after more than they were given, gasping.

The villain nipped the hero's neck, before giving a chiding click of their tongue. It once again sent an anticipatory shiver of delight down the hero's spine.

"Oh, would you look at that," the villain said, with soft and bewitching menace. "You spilled my wine. However shall I make you pay me back for that?"

"Make me?" The hero bit their lip. "You think you can make me do anything? Please."

The villain grinned.

There were no more dates with other people after that.

[ghostaholics]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐒

➸ PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader (established relationship) ➸ WARNING(S): [ 18+ ] body shots; oral (receiving); ruined orgasm; basically PWP with slight BDSM (disciplinary action) ➸ SUMMARY: Simon teaches you a very important lesson about holding still – extended version of this. ➸ A/N: Thank you to @mvtthewmurdvck who lets me bitch about anything and everything including this and offered kind words when I certainly lost faith in the whole thing. ➸ WORD COUNT: 2.2k

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐍, 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍’𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄. Pilfered from his not-so-secret stash and running low with about a quarter left; the contents slosh around in their bottle-shaped confinement as he stalks into the room with a heavy hand swallowing around the widest circumference of the glass.

Good memories, usually. Like the first time he’d brandished his titanium pocket flask for you to take a sip. You’d scrunched your nose, feigning disapproval of the drink. And he'd said – cheeky as always – with a low-timbered response:

"Don't worry. The taste of your cunt's still my favourite."

But now, there’s no trace of that Simon anywhere to be seen. His face is entirely devoid of the amusement he already so rarely expressed. Stone-rigid. Unimpressed. Disappointed – seems like – and certainly not in the mood for any games.

❝ 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐇? ❞

It's a red-hot brand searing the edges of your memory (charred, ash-coated, lined by the cinders of a poor attempt on your part that had gone up into flickering embers).

See, the brain remembers it well.

Your cunt, too: the walls hugging his cock, full of his cum – excessively so, nearly bursting with it after he'd buried himself to the hilt and stayed inside just to plug your snug little hole, ensuring that none of it would dribble out after he’d fucked you senseless. He’d given you plenty, more than enough. And it’d been generous of Simon. A gift, really, considering the enormity of the initial request.

Make me yours?

He’d only had one thing to say, just a simple favour in return for doing this, for indulging you. His voice had been hoarse, sandpaper-rough from overuse – your fault entirely – eroded away after being subjected to a whole night's worth of groaning against the shell of your ear and telling you just how fucking good you felt before you'd milked him for everything he was worth with your greedy, pulsing self.

Keep it all in then.

You’d done your best not to clench, but stretched taut around the girth of his cock like that, you'd just wanted to readjust. Not a lot. But the position you'd been in wasn't the most conducive one for this. And you’d shifted – barely, practically inconsequential (or so you’d thought) – to where you wouldn’t have even thought it’d matter except—

It had.

Pushed some of it out, that is. A stream of cum trickling down onto an area of the duvet, staining it – the unfortunate aftermath of your decision to move.

Thas’ a shame. Thought you wanted it. Guess I was wrong.

Simon comes to a stop at the foot of the bed where you're sitting; he towers over you – an intimidating, subduing presence without even having to try. "Had to wash the sheets because you couldn't keep it all in.”

You blink in surprise as your mouth parts slightly in what you're sure must be a dumbfounded expression. Of course, this is nothing new. You were there. Responsible for the incident, apparently. And though it wasn't necessarily your fault, you still feel the need to explain that it was due to factors beyond your control. “There was so much—” (As if it'll help your case.)

But he's never cared much for excuses.

“How ‘m I supposed to finish inside you knowing that you’re just going to waste it?” he asks. It's a rhetorical question, not one that actually requires an answer.

Your chin tips down in a silent apology. There's something heavy sitting in your chest; remorse, you think.

He grips your jaw in his hand, forces you to look at him. “Yeah, love. We’ll fix that. Gonna teach you how to be grateful, how to understand the value in the things I give to you."

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒.

He makes you tell him your colors.

You do.

He asks if you know what you’re supposed to get out of this.

You answer that he’s probably going to have to wash the sheets again before you can learn whatever lesson he’s trying to impose on you.

Yeah, that earns you a sharp pinch to the hip.

That massive body of his sinks to the floor, one leg bending down before the other joins it, rough carpet cutting into his knees, undoubtedly. Then, his fingers curl around your legs, blunt digits sinking in – ten identical divots pressed into the flesh. He leaves light indentations with his palms spanning along the sides of your thighs to spread you open while his elbows anchor into the mattress.

Heat blooms across your skin, every surface that he touches and even in the places that he doesn't – white-hot, intentional (and he never does anything without purpose); it sparks a fever that fans out, unfurls. There's no part of you left unaffected. You're growing warmer by a few degrees. Doesn't sound like much, but it's enough to make a noticeable difference if the beads of sweat gathering at the back of your neck are any indication.

And Simon lets out a soft scoff. Cocky. Like he knew what was waiting for him—

You're soaked, absolutely drenched. Cotton panties, sticky –saturated beyond belief. If you looked there yourself, you wouldn't be surprised to find a damp patch on the fabric steadily growing in size.

He's such a sight, too: the contour of his muscles shifting and rippling, all brawn and power – his presence speaking volumes about just who holds the cards right now, undeniably the one in control here; the visual of his stature and build emphasize that. And authority bleeding from the width of his shoulders if not spelled out by his words alone.

"Haven't even touched you, and you're already dripping," he murmurs. "Why?"

Your mouth trips and stutters over your own words the same way your heart trips and stutters over his. "Because you—y-you're..."

His thumbs hook into your panties, slowly peels them away – not an easy feat, damn things are clinging to your cunt – before dragging them down your legs. "Say it, sweetheart. What do you think I'm gonna do to you?"

And your mind is racing, jumping too many steps ahead. "You're going to eat me out?"

Simon stuffs his panties in his back pocket for safekeeping. A souvenir, since there won't be much use for them now. "I'm gonna eat you out," he affirms.

"Mhm, yeah. Want your mouth on me."

"Whether or not you come depends entirely on if I feel like letting you."

"Oh—"

"Spill a single drop, and you don't come tonight," he says, never one to draw out the details. His instructions are concise, uncomplicated. Then, further inquiry. "We clear?"

"Yeah..." you say with a shaky breath before trying to regain some semblance of composure. "Yes."

"Good girl," he purrs low, almost a growl – though you're not quite certain that you deserve the praise yet.

He’s answering to a shrine, beckoned forward by the invitation of a wet cunt and the promise of a taste of your slick. He pauses, takes a brief moment to admire it in his own way, almost reverent as he takes in how your arousal’s smeared everywhere from your folds to your inner thighs (all for him, because of him – isn’t that right?).

But make no mistake, there’s absolutely nothing respectful about the act that comes next. Simon leans, forces his shoulders to hold you open, before he bows his head and he licks; it’s a hungry tongue lapping at the slit, everything terribly hot and wet – the sensation makes you jolt upon first contact because it's too much. So, so much.

And at the same time, not enough.

The feeling spikes along the circuit running from your head to your toes – empty thoughts save for the white static that buzzes in the hollow of your skull, a tingling, prickling paresthesia-sort-of-thing that usually accompanies the high of an orgasm. Except, the irony’s not lost on you in this instance; he’s hardly even begun to wreak havoc on your cunt yet.

Currents zip down your spine, down, further down, everything else collateral damage. No part of you is spared by the overwhelming fervor responsible for it – the initial onslaught of his mouth laying waste at the spread of your entrance.

Every single nerve-ending is on-edge, trigger-sensitive as he sucks, and kisses, and fuck are his groans heavy, bone-deep, the rumble of a thunderstorm gathering in his chest. They radiate from the point of origin where your core’s suffering, reverberating tremors that diffuse out to the rest of you. It makes your skin thrum like a live wire. There’s no hope of staying in a fixed position if he keeps this up. How could you? The odds are zero to none. It isn’t feasible.

You forget your place, can't help but squirm within his iron grip.

Then, Simon; a severe reprimand— "Watch it," he rasps. It’s a lull amidst the incursion, an unplanned interlude. Temporary reprieve (barely) so he can scold you for your inability to follow his instructions.

A low whimper leaves your throat. That's completely out of the question, beyond what you're currently capable of. Easier said than done. "I'm trying—"

"Then try harder."

Despite how weighed down your eyelids feel, you manage to guide your laden gaze south, let it roam over your stomach. The dark, amber liquid in your navel sways; it rocks, sloshes with the tide, a consequence born from the pull and heave of your jarring movements. Exercise caution. This is delicate work – a balancing act. Those thoughts are cloudy.

Your mind is fuzzy, thick, a drunken haze. Buzzed, lightheaded. And everything's off-kilter. But you haven't had a single drop of alcohol. None at all. Couldn’t, because everything's still sitting in your navel right there like it’s supposed to.

Simon dips his head back between your legs, continues to seal his mouth over you, flattening his tongue to lick thick stripes from your entrance to your clit. He doesn't let up, only bringing his face closer, following that same path again and again and again – agonizing – until you're trembling. The noises he’s making, something debauched and bottomless – one wet groan after the other. This isn't for you. It's for him, that much is clear.

You plead anyways, hoping he'll grant you an amnesty that you haven't earned in the least bit, "Need you inside. Anything, just—"

"Sure you can handle it?"

Breathless when you say, "Ah, yeah..."

"We'll see about that," Simon murmurs.

He doesn't believe you.

To be fair, you’re not so sure you do either.

But he's courteous, slips one finger in and lets you clamp around him. And your cunt flutters, welcomes the feeling.

You release a soft moan. “Want more, Si. Feels good."

His face turns to the side, wet nose and chin grazing along your thigh to spread the slick in more places that haven't been drenched yet. Then he bites. Gentle. An admonishment. Nothing serious about it though: scraping, the light pressure of teeth sinking into the skin as he pulls with his mouth.

You jerk suddenly before catching yourself.

"Don't be fuckin' greedy. You'll take what I give you, and you'll thank me for it." He's curt, perfunctory. No delay as he offers up his two fingers to your mouth. The expectation is clear. “Suck.” And he's waiting.

You wrap your lips around them, swallowing him down, not one to squander an opportunity sitting in front of you, right? You understand that now.

“So tell me how good you taste.”

"I-um, taste good—"

"Yeah, you fuckin' do."

"Thank you."

“Mhm.”

You can't see it, but you can hear it: the low clinking of a belt being unbuckled, the sound of a zipper being undone. Clinking metal and rustling denim being tampered with somewhere below your line of sight as he reaches down, almost like he— is he… oh.

Most of his body's obscured by the edge of the bed, but everything from the chest up is still visible. Simon's shoulder is bobbing slightly, arm pumping back and forth in a rhythmic motion and fuck, he's getting himself off to this.

That sends another spark of arousal to your core, makes you gush. It adds to the mess coating his jaw, his chin, his lips. You whimper out something – broken syllables – his name, maybe. You’re not entirely sure.

God, you’re almost there. So close. Wound up tight, hips rolling against his mouth, chasing his tongue—

Until he stops entirely. No contact. Simon pulls away in such a rush that you gasp, startled.

"Look at that." Accusatory.

It's a trail of liquor dribbling over the curve of your stomach, down your side in small rivulets. There are streaks pooling onto the sheets underneath you. Tragic.

(Couldn't help yourself, huh?)

Guilty as charged.

Shit.

"What'd I say – told you to hold still, yeah?"

And even though you had a feeling it would happen, you still have the nerve to act surprised at the result. "Fuck," you whine pathetically. "Was so close—"

"We're starting over. Don't care if it takes us all night, we're gonna keep at this 'til you get it right or you use up the rest of the whiskey," he says, readying himself to deposit another pour of alcohol into your navel. Simon lifts his shoulder in a light shrug like he can't be bothered about the final outcome. "Better pray that it works out before the bottle’s empty. Won't let you finish otherwise, sweetheart. Understand?"

[pervspace]

MORE SOFT LEON PLEASEEEEEE!!!! Smth like Leon fucks m!reader after their mission together and Hunnigan calls reader while they're doing it and Leon goes even harder, tryna make reader louder during the call ^_^

warnings: nsfw, m.reader, breeding, a wee bit of feminization, sex while on the phone, leon is a jealous baby, daddy kink, marking

word count: 878

note: this was so fun to write, ty for the request! :D

—

leon was so cute when he was like this, rutting into your ass while he pinned you to the bed hungrily sucking onto your neck. you two finally got ashley to her home safely after a grueling week in spain, you both were so pent up the whole time, never being able to do more than a quick makeout sesh when you had a second to do so. when you two finally got home he practically pounced on you, grinding into your ass while constantly whining into your neck, begging, pleading for you to let him fuck you raw.

now here you are, leon hovering over you forcing his cock into your tight hole, whispering and whining sweet nothings in your ear, he was practically melting into you. “fuck fuck fuck…baby i needed this so bad, love you i love you s’much love you love love love…” he was absolutely drunk on you and your smell, his brain was practically soup sloshing around in his head. you rolled your hips up to feel some friction on your swollen cock, leon must’ve noticed this since he grabbed your cock and started to stroke it almost violently. your whole body tried to curl up and away from leon’s rough grasp of your cock, it was so much you thought you were gonna die.

“le-leee….not so rough…m-my cock hurts…” you whined trying to slow his hand down from the violent assault on your swollen cock, he whined when you tried to do this. how could you reject the pleasure he gives you? he was just trying to make you feel good, now you’re being so mean to him. “need to make you fe-feel god, please please please wanna make your cock happy…please?” before you could even respond you heard your phone ring, leon halted his movements for a moment watching you as you annoyingly answered the phone. it was hunnigan, you couldn’t really be that mad at her for trying to talk to you after that rough mission in spain. “oh, you actually picked up, that’s surprising. how are you and leon doing?”

before you could answer leon picked up your hips and started pounding into you again, you let out a silent scream before trying to resume the conversation. “he-he’s just fine…just trying! trying. to have a pr-private moment.” leon grabbed the base of your cock with one of his hands while the other twisted it’s palm against your sensitive tip, you arched your back while trying to stop leon from being so rough with you. it was your own fault, how could you answer a call from someone while you're with him? you were being mean to him, how dare you not give him all your attention? hunnigan continued talking only to be met with short choked out responses, you couldn’t hold out anymore, you really did try to act like nothing but the way leon grinded into your prostate had you seeing stars. “fu-fuck leon right there!” you dropped your phone entirely and wrapped your arms around leon’s neck, he moaned into your neck while sucking and biting it. “your so mean to me baby…you ignored me for her. so so mean.” he whined, he was always so possessive after missions and during sex in general but this time it felt different.

“m’sorry leon please please let cum together, yeah? wa-want you to cum in my ass, fuck me like a girl, g-get me pregnant…please?” leon forced your legs up past your head in a mating press, he plowed into you trying to make your request come true. so what if you were a man? he would stop at nothing to breed you with his babies, making sure you're so full with his cum that it oozes out of you. “yes yes yes, i’ll breed you. get you pr-pregnant, make sure no one else takes you away from me. love you i love you fuucck.” he grabs you by your throat to share a passionate kiss with you, everything felt good. your cock slapped against your tummy every time he thrusted into you, you could felt the knot in your belly tightening. “leon! please m’gonna cum please give me your cum…give me your babies, daddy!” leon pulled back giving you a drunk smirk. “that’s right, cum. cum with me baby, gonna fuck you full of my cum. gonna fuck you like you have a womb- fuck i’m cu-cumming!” he held you as close as he could while dropping his full body weight onto you, filling you up with his warm seed. your cum shot up to your chest and neck before you fully settled, finally coming down from your high. you suddenly felt leon’s tongue quickly lap up the cum that was on your body, how could anyone blame him? it was gonna go to waste if he didn’t lick it all up!

“fuck baby, you were so good. so good for me, i love you prince.” you giggled tiredly while sharing a soft kiss, your soft moment was broken by the sound of hunnigan clearing her throat. you could die right then and there, you forgot to hang up the phone before leon pounded you. “uh….hunnigan…?” “save it, i’m just gonna hang up now…hunnigan out.”

[themareverine]

WILD MAN

─ Logan Howlett x fem!OC

summary: Blizzards and pane glass windows—typical for a Thursday night at Laughlin City's favorite haunt. Until the Wolverine walks in, and hell hath no fury like a man ravaged by jealousy.

warnings: language, possessive behavior, angst, jealousy, implied sexual content, established relationship from my Mare & the Wolverine series.

a/n: i don't know what this is, really. went to write a different oneshot and it turned into this. guess my brain needed some jealous Logan. reposted from my deactivated account.

MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION

Inky midnights glare through the windows of Laughlin’s oldest haunt as the season’s thick, wet snow falls in an almost sideways blanket. The bar is flatlined, almost asystole. Heavy bass, thanks to Huey Lewis and the News, thunks from the stereo system like a jackhammer against her skull, trying to fill space that bodies aren’t.

Stale cigarettes and fried food in the air mingled with the highschool smell of sweat and testosterone, which may as well have been painted to the walls they were so familiar. Sticky floor, slick bartop, chipped tile in the bathroom—common ghosts for nearly eleven thirty on a Thursday night.

“Really comin’ down, ain’t it?” 

It’s more the sudden spike of cold overflow from the tap that jars Mare McAffery from attempting to glance around her reflection from the pane glass window. Surprised, she startles, slapping at the tap’s toggle before her fingers curl around the chilled glass. Slick with foam as it sloshes over the rim carelessly to the mix of drinks that have already found their fate on the floor at her feet. It isn’t her night. The lack of business has her brain running, her thoughts anywhere but here on a Thursday night among the snow, cigarette smoke, and canisters of beer she needs to change in back. 

She’d rather be home. Bundled in blankets, wool socks. Watching the kick of fireplace flames from the safe brace of Logan—just Logan. All of Logan. His arms, that absolutely breathtaking chest that ripples with life and hard muscle and heat. Feeling the rise and fall of his every breath, how the fresh wash of her hair tangoes with his heady scent of whiskey and cigar, wood and snow.

Feeling the warmth of his feet toying with hers under blankets as they stretch out towards flame, listening to the rich way he chuckles every time his nose brushes against the back of her ear. How his rough fingers pull through her cropped curls, teasingly carding as he dares to whisper about his day against the curve of her ear—-

She jumps when the edge of the bar comes up a little too quickly against her hip. Her heart shellshocks against her ribs like a violent engine. Feeling flushed, she bites the inside of her cheek. Lathes her tongue against the front of her bottom teeth. Praying to God the low light hides the color on her face seems fruitless, but it's there. 

Reaching for a bar napkin, her smile is slow as she slides the beer in front of Laughlin’s foremost gossip, affectionately christened Flappin’ Jim by the town’s population. No less than four decades her senior, stringy silver hair peeks out from beneath a nearly-threadbare Carhartt beanie, stained with what could only be assumed was engine oil. Jim has owned the zip code’s only machine shop longer than she’s been alive. 

She shrugs a shoulder when he mentions the snow a second time. “When isn’t it snowing up here?” The squared-off toe of her western boots scuff the floor cooler behind the bar as she reaches for Jim’s ever-requested cocktail straw, plopping it in the dark amber of his lager before his parted lips could continue, “I’ve seen my fair share of the white stuff—but never like this. You know how they say everything is bigger in Texas?” Jim chuckles, nodding as his tongue seeks out the straw, his gaze never leaving her, “Well, I swear to God, everything is colder and thicker in Laughlin.”

His laugh comes from his chest, phlegm from forty years of smoking Player’s. “Forget it’s your first snow with us, poor thing,” Jim waves a hand between the two of them, brows bobbing suggestively as his grin widens enough to reveal half-rotten mid-to-back teeth, “iffin’ you’re thinkin’ you need a ride home, darlin’, ol’ Jim’s got room for two on the old snowmobile—” 

Her brain nearly melts at the absolute atrocity of a mental picture that statement provides. She could think of not a single thing worse than going to the door with Flappin’ Jim, much less riding an hour west on a snowmobile in little more than jean’s and a leather jacket. Laughlin’s poster child for bad decisions and alcoholism. Perfect. 

Informing him of her lack of proper gear was the kind out. “Thanks for the offer, though, Jim,” her nose scrunches a little as she works at the try-a-hundred-times-a-day-but-still-nothing stain practically etched into the oak grains of the bartop, “Logan’s coming to get me, he knew the snow would be bad. Dropped me off this morning before work.” It’s nonchalant—surely women were dropped off and picked up by their boyfriend’s during bad snow in Laughlin. 

Never mind working a double, Jim’s brows popped tall as if it were an entirely new concept straight out of a Stephen King skincrawler. “Wild Man’s comin’ all the way down the mountain in this shitstorm?”

His thumb goes over his shoulder, despite evidence of his claim hanging in the window to his three o’clock left. He whistles over his shoulder for his buddy, Kenneth, to listen up. 

Kenneth’s head raises with interest, like a meerkat rising from his hole. “Lord’a mighty, Kenny boy—you was right, mus’ be better than’w thought!” 

More vapid laughter has Jim, and now Kenneth, hacking up a lung from their respective seats. 

Whatever population’s in the bar—eight souls —turns to look at her, snickering and the twist of their upturned lips all but nailing her to the back wall. Like looking from the outside in. May as well have all been pointing fingers at her—and, unsure whether her gaze should fall to Jim or past him to Kenneth, her raised brows opted to consider the older man sweeping his hat off his head.

Unwashed hair nearly glistening with what she can only assume is grease and oil, a thought that makes her stomach rise up to kiss the base of her ribs. His laughter turns raucous as his eyes skim over her, hazed. 

Swallowing a splash of stomach acid, her brow furrows hard behind the bridge of her glasses. 

“Pardon?” 

Wringing the bar rag through her hands, Mare ultimately realizes how this makes her look. Tosses it aside. Stands a little taller, wants to look down her nose at Jim, but realizes she’s shorter than he is, perched on a stool. More wind howls, biting at the bricks, flecks of snow tick tick ticking against the pane glass windows outside in the dark. Working a double has never felt so dehumanizing—she could melt into the floor right now. Whether from the tired headache blooming behind her eyes or the full attention from the bar, she’s not sure. 

A sharp smack! of Jim’s hand against the bartop makes her jump. “Oh come on, honeybunch,” the low accent matches every step that Kenneth, now, manages as he stumbles over to lean a plump hip against the bar. “E’ryone knows no mountain man like Logan Howlett comes off the mountain for just anythin’—‘less he’s gettin’ head,” Eyes skate her over her, visually-stimulated from top to bottom, ultimately parking at the cut of her tank top as he sloshes back the rest of his bottled MGM, “just how it works, sugartits.”

His eyes remain welded to her chest, but her jaw has long since lost its hinge. Any second now it would start creaking like a rusty gate, bone raking against bone. Opening and closing, like a fish choking on air. Slack and openmouthed, she blinks through the little flecks of dirt on the lens of her glasses, brain short circuiting to assimilate just how absolutely crude of a statement has just landed between her eyes like a stone to Goliath. 

Words don’t find her for a full handful of minutes before Jim and Kenneth’s attention are drawn away. Onto other conversation, this time bear hunting stories and the back-and-forth of rifles. Throat burning, like the inferno sands of Moab. Every sticky string of saliva moisture in her mouth is tapped dry, she attempts to raise spit on her tongue, to swallow. Virginal heat chases up her neck like a predator, sinking teeth into her confidence. Fans across her decolletage and collarbones. 

Queasy, embarrassment spins a weave down her spine and through her guts like a snake. Reminds her that wolves of the world so often hunt the lines of the innocent perimeters she’d fought hard to preserve—did everyone in town think she was sleeping with Logan? Like a broken record it spins, wobbling on the needle, screeching and clawing deep into the lines of her psyche. 

Years as a preacher’s daughter had provided her a certain level of naivete, certainly—-never ignorance. Wasn’t dull to the world beyond innocence, outside the lines of the pure and spotless idea of Christ and His church. She knew the world was spiraling, hell and brimstone around every corner. All parlor tricks and open gates, brazen. Like a painted woman in scarlets and pearls—or a drunk on a barstool at quarter-too. 

Mare hadn’t expected this level of forward. This, gall. Audacity. Snapping teeth of a big junkyard dog trying to look tough and scare her into shock—that’s what this was. Provocative, seeking a response. Gasoline on a snapping fire. Enough to make a harlot blush, and Jim knew it—it’s in the way he guzzles hops like his veins crave it, eyes following her even through the bottom of his glass.

He’d blurted what she’d suspected everyone in town to think, and for half of a breath, she wasn’t sure how to feel. Flushed and embarrassed, a given. 

Defiance lands like an airliner in her blood. Surprising, but not wholly unwarranted. Jaw setting with force enough to shatter the world, the heel of her boot grinds into the sticky floor as she turns to busy herself with empties. Glass cries out as she stacks them in the crook of her arm, fingers grabbing for whatever she can manage to stalk back to the kitchen.

Her heart pistons between her ribs like it’s been dropped into an Indy car, eyes flitting to and fro behind the bar. Anger. There's lots and lots of anger.

For handfuls of seconds she scours for a response. Something smart, smarmy—will fly in the face of what everyone in this town had been thinking about her since her boots had hit the province.

What Jim has actually implied—it burns. Like hot coals. For months she’d been walking the flames of the rumors; innocent little preacher’s daughter from the States.

“Y’even know how to spell ‘fuck’, darlin’?”

Far too busy brushing her dirty hands on the back of her jeans, Mare doesn’t even hear the squeak of Jim’s barstool swivel, “Well, I’ll be damned—if it isn’t the man of the mountain. How goes it, Logan?”

More snickering, and she about-faces, all-soldier as relief hitches itself like a wagon team to one of her ribs. 

Jim’s brows bounce over her direction, his look provocative enough to make her want to vomit right there on the floor.

Continuing his thought, he scoots his empty to her with his knuckles, “Come to fetch our pretty little Miss Minnesota here, eh, boy?” Another wet cough grates across her nerves like nails to blackboard, “Looks like you were right, babygirl—s’told us you’d be makin’ your way in, Logan. Didn’t quite believe ‘er, but wonders never cease I reckon.” His nose scrunches as she passes him another pint glass, “Was about to keep little girlie here all to m’self.” 

The line of her jaw twitches with how tight she’s clenching her teeth together, and it takes herculean will not to shoot off at the mouth—a trait she’s less than proud of. Thanks, Dad.

And it’s laughable how Jim is so quick to assume age, Logan’s raised brow in response shows it. At nearly 200 years old, he’s beyond surprise. Maybe, nearly. Closer than any part of her would like to admit, though nobody would know it—he doesn’t look a day over thirty-five. 

A little tick of contained smile at the corner of his mouth is enough to make her forget her name.  His dark eyes, calculating and deep, hold her gaze a few heartbeats. Logan reads her like an open book, an interested investigator—always has. She breaks first. Looks away, wiping at the sweat bubbling up on her brow. 

His sparkling, steady eyes flash with something she can’t identify before darting back to Jim. Logan’s hum of suspicion is warm. Low, too low. Medicinal honey, going straight to the center of her femininity like nothing could. Lord, if it didn’t set every bone in her body to gelatinous flame—she sucked in a breath that stabbed at the mesh of her lungs as he settled against the bar.  

He leans against the corner of the bar like he owns it, and he may as well have—out of the way and almost bleeding into the shadows of invisibility, he rests an elbow to the worn wood. A hand reaches to brush the wet of the storm from the sheepswool of his coat. Kisses of snow melt from his beard, ebony hair almost as quickly as they’d entangled—she doesn’t miss the blush that cold has left on his nose. 

“Is that right?” Leaning a bit heavier on his arm, his lips tip up in an amused little way that sets off fireworks in the depths of her womb, reminding her of organs long forgotten. “Good thing I’m a man of my word.” Toe-over-toe she slips to a stop across the bar from him, reaching for a half glass that’s almost too cold between her sweating palms. 

Logan pivots to face her, eyeballing her with a cool smile. Her usually-bright greeting is quiet, “Please sit. You’re ordering a whiskey.” It’s a demand, not a request.

Anything to keep her hands busy, to keep her from noticing how Kenneth hasn’t stopped ogling her tits since he sat down next to Jim, deep in his drink and fully, entirely out of his mind. 

“Just one?” Let no man say Logan Howlett isn’t keen. “Hi.” And just like that, he changes gears. Keeps her guessing, like always. Mysterious as the shadow, bright as the sun.

Elbow planted on the walnut bar, his brows bounce as his finger crooks. Come. 

Resting her hands at either side of his glass, she leans across the wood slowly. Considering him through low lashes, her heart swells at the way his tongue fills the pocket of his lower lip, considering. Hungry, almost.  Possessive.

He makes her forget Jim, and Kenneth, and anything resembling breathing in flatline seconds.

Logan’s eyes flick to her mouth, in a tantalizing, only–the-stuff-of-Hollywood way as her bottom lip curls in, a little sheepishly. Nose to nose, the bite of cigar smoke lingering about his beard is dizzying—a scent of fresh pine clings to his clothes. He smells of snow and man, just as he should. 

“Hi.” Little more than a breath and he closes daylight between them, lips brushing hers in a soft and slow hello. Smiling into his kiss, she sinks back to her feet behind the bar. Fingers curl into the wood beneath her palms. 

Changing gears, Mare reaches for a bag of clean bar rags and begins folding. “How was your day on the mountain?” 

His finger traces the rim of his whiskey glass and he shrugs a shoulder. “Peachy,” he takes a drink. She keeps looking over to Jim and Kenneth, who haven't stopped looking, and takes notices.

Logan's glass finds the counter again but his hand doesn’t lift from it, content to linger in the droplets of sweat. Simple, cleancut. Like always.

Then, “What’s wrong.” 

It isn’t a question—as her eyes cut up from her work to look at him, his are open and waiting. Seeking. Ever since she’d known him he was always watching, waiting; seeking something. 

He’d said once that he’d been looking for her all his life—her innocence. Purity. And it was no different, right now. Just now, he hunted the demons creeping inside her head, sitting invisible on her shoulder instead of the crisp light she usually carried. Nothing about him belies the name he gave himself, the name he carries nestled beneath his shirt on adamantium dogtags and numbers. 

The Wolverine—her Wolverine.

The sound of it, inward and out, snaps like a whip even months later. It suits him in such a way she’ll never fully describe, that poetry could never adjective. Thirty-two days of her calling Logan Howlett her own and it felt little more than a fairytale, her own Cinderella story lost to fantastical girlish dreams and giggles. A little over a month since he’d asked if she wanted to “go steady,” since she’d giggled at him like a child, “Nobody says that anymore, Lo,” and his “Wanna start?” had her—has her, to this very breath—unable to think straight. 

She lies.

“Nothing.”

Too quick to be truthful, she turns to replace a bottle of Bulleit, its glass lightly clattering against its brethren on the mirrored shelf. Her eyes flutter closed and she releases an uneasy breath, disappointed in her response—Logan wouldn’t take no for an answer. Never had, since she’d known him. 

A snippet of the night she’d met him races through her brain like a racehorse. “You should let me take a look.”  

“I’m fine,” She’d been too quick—too defensive. Good lies always bare a little truth in between their teeth, but—she’d always been a bad liar. A sheep amongst wolves. Or, rather, wolverines. 

“Bullshit. Needs stitches, we both know it—you’ve been workin’ the cage long enough to know the difference. Can’t let you go without a look.”  His look had been unmovable, like the earth. Understanding of her plight, her hesitance for an almost-stranger to look her over. Gentile as she’d sank low on a barstool to accept a beer from him.

Gentlemanlike, walking her through the steps—careful with his hands. Hands that hold her world, hands that could cut through stone. Aware of her nerves, but unrelenting all the same. 

His dark eyes narrow at her just so, his nose scrunching a little as he checks her reflection in the mirror. Much to her relief, Logan drops the subject. And she can see, in the reflection, he isn’t all too thrilled with dodging the question.

Knowing what topic of conversation would be on the ride up the mountain didn’t take rocket science, and she wilts inside knowing that honesty hadn’t been her first blush.

Two thunks on the bar have her checking her shoulder. Jim, signaling for another beer.

“‘Nother here, sugartits—make ‘er tall and strong, gotta get me home in one piece, y’know.” Jim’s smile is toothy, lopsided as he goes to the effort to lift his ass out of his seat. Passing by without so much as a nod, she swipes the glass from out in front of him. 

And before Kenneth’s hand is at his shoulder, Jim’s palm smacks across her ass cheek. Hard enough that it thwacks! against the pockets of her jeans.

It catches her off guard. Nobody had ever so much as ogled her ass to her knowledge, much less actually touched it—the pint glass falls from her fingers. Hits the boards of the wooden floor, the thick glass shattering to big pieces, low before her feet as if she’s some goddess worth breaking over.

A little breathless, she stumbles over her square-toed boots. Fingers curl into the wood until her knuckles are white. At first there’s anger, then embarrassment that hits her like an overloaded tractor trailer. Fluster ruffles her feathers like a wet hen, and she considers the broken glass at her feet. 

Audacity to laugh at the red bouncing to life on her cheeks has Jim roaring with laughter, unaware of what sin he’s just committed—her fingers are brushing the first big piece of jagged glass when she hears the swivel of a stool. The thunk of boots hitting the floor.

And before she can even begin to piece together what she suspects, she pops tall from behind the bar at the exact moment Jim’s laugh becomes a strangled wheeze. 

Collar snugged up too tight against his throat, Jim gags for air, tongue poking between fat lips as spit collects in the corners of his mouth. Breathing steadily, the crest and fall of Logan’s chest is evidence that he is on the raw and bleeding edge of composure—if his dark glare could be considered composed.

Brow little more than a hard line, his gaze narrows in Jim’s face as he leans in, lips curling in an almost animalistic snarl. 

“Logan,” Mare’s hiss is low, eyes skirting about the eight bodies that have almost backflipped up from their seats scattered about the bar, “Logan. Please—put ‘im down.” Murmurs have overtaken the air like quiet demons, they are no longer their own spectacle. 

Jim manages what sounds like the-hell-d’ya-think-yer-doin’, which produces a low rumble from somewhere in the base of Logan’s chest. Dark eyes cut to her, sweeping over her frame as she discards the chunk of glass to the small sink to her right. Heart pounding unlike anything she’d ever felt in her chest, bludgeoning the soft flesh of her lungs, she sucks in a stale breath that does nothing to ease the fire that seems to throb beneath her skin—sweat has replaced any semblance of chill in the room. Oxygen may as well be a hope. Tank top sticking to the flesh between her shoulder blades, her tongue nervously darts over her front teeth, eyes to Logan’s ironclad grip at Jim’s shirt collar. 

Logan doesn’t relent. Instead, she notices the cord of muscle in his arm tighten. Even beneath the shield of a coat, the mask of humanity —and she knows. His opposite hand lifts in Jim's face, and she's counting heartbeats before familiar adamantium splits skin wide open, bleeding with rage.

Adrenaline snaps into her blood like a whip, and she’s around the bar at his side in no more than a heartbeat or two. Hands at his arm. Fingers curling into the denim of his clothing. Met with hard muscle, he may as well have been cut from marble—an Adonis of power and strength unlike anything she’d ever seen.

The white’s of Jim’s eyes are all but tracking, brimming with terror as Logan snarls—actually snarls—down into his face. Possessive rage clouds any semblance of humanity left in his face—it’s all Wolverine. 

The Wolverine. Her Wolverine. Out from the shadows, out from any corner anyone had ever shoved him in—out to fight. To kill. For her. All for her, all for them, all for this.

She can’t put a full finger on the power of this honor, this…privilege. And that’s what it is, really—loving him is privilege. Is honor, only imaginable and dreamstate for girls like her. Everyday girls with little to offer, with little hopes for the next day other than to survive, to pray.

But Logan, somehow, had seen her—had seen her enough to care and care deeply, to his bones, adamantium bones he wars every second of the day to mummify, contain.  

Truth of the matter hits her like a stone between the eyes—it doesn’t matter how deeply Wolverine is buried within Logan’s sarcophagus of self control, his ability to walk the lines of his anger. Logan would kill for her, over nothing at all. It’s right here, right now, plain as the nose on her face—splayed out like prey, easy prey ready for the slaughter.

Logan would, could, destroy a man over a simple drunken act of flirtatiousness. If it meant her pleasure. 

What a position of power, indeed.

And Mare isn’t certain if it's love or power—if it’s even human.

Humanity wins. Logan's grip on Jim’s collar releases. Jim scurries away foot-over-foot, gasping for air, her realizing this is honestly much less complicated than matters of love, power. Both are players, but never common denominators.

A wolverine, after all, doesn’t fit into just one category—he’s both predator and prey. To something larger, to something smaller. 

This is just, very simply, Logan. 

Fisting and unfisting his fingers, he studies his hand as if it is otherworldly and not a part of his anatomy. After a few beats, Logan turns to face her. Jim is across the bar, a few hands clapping his back to check on him—as if he isn’t the offense of the entire situation.

Pressing into Logan, she rests her cheek against his chest, arms circling him in a hard embrace. He presses her close, a hand on the back of her head, chin coming to rest in her mess of curls. Breathing in his deep sense, her blood begins to cool—earthquaking in the base of her spine begins to dissipate. Colors of the room come alive again, the air suddenly all too breathable. 

Her head tips back to consider his face—unreadable, mostly, save for the glimmer of light in the corners of his eyes. 

The corner of her mouth tips up into a small tick, a heat she can’t describe hanging low in the base of her ribs as his hands lift to hold her face, delicately. As if he couldn't destroy her with a breath, as if he hadn't almost just culled mostly innocent blood.

Calluses rough against her cheeks, she presses into his touch. Firms up her arms around his middle. 

“And there he is,” there’s no malice in her voice, only awe. Care. “Had me worried there for a second, bub.” Smallest hint of a smile at the return use of his favorite jibe from her sends her heart pitching across her chest, as if it’ll take residence on the other side of her ribs.

The line of his jaw relaxes and she nuzzles her nose into the front of his flannel, “Now I get why Riz says ‘no boyfriends at work’—you’re a walking OSHA violation, Logan Howlett.” Unsure if Canada has anything remotely similar to OSHA, she forgets the idea entirely.

He knows, he always knows. 

Sighing into his chest, he fills up her senses on a full, deep breath. “And as much as I should slap you upside your thick head for almost slicing one of my best customers into tiny pieces, I have to say—I like the overprotectiveness,” her fingers gently brush through his beard, head tipped to the side like a curious pup, “a bunch. Like it a lot, Howlett.”  

His fingers in her hair tip her head back to look up at him, again. A low chortle has her blood flaming deep beneath her skin. “Yeah? Seemed a little nervous to me, bub,” he emphasizes the use of the name with a smile, spinning one of her curls around his finger. A gentle tug as her nose scrunches in amusement.

She giggles at the sensation of his fingers playing through her hair, “Flappin’ Jim had what was comin’ to him, that’s all.” 

“Maybe.” And without thinking, “Nobody’s ever stuck up for me like that before, Logan.” 

And there it is, out in the open.

Like the soft underbelly of the mud turtles she’d spotted all summer—-vulnerable. It hangs between them like a prayer. Lines on his face pull into a surprised wrinkle for all of a beat, then something enters his expression she’s never seen before—sorrow, maybe. Compassion, in the way his head cants to the side as he studies her looking at her boots. Just standing there, like a fortress. Unmoving, and resounding. Saying nothing and everything all at once.

Logan’s finger dips beneath her chin to tip her gaze up to his. “Don’t ask me how, but somehow I knew that,” his palm moves to caress her cheek, pad of his thumb gently skipping over the curve of her bottom lip. “You’re worth stickin’ up for, darlin’—I’m honored to be the first one to actually show it.” Two fingers dip into the front pocket of her jeans, shuffling her a few steps closer, until her chest brushes his.

“And let’s hope I’m the last."

Her heart swells to new heights yet unsurpassed by science, maybe even prose. “Who am I to deny the Wolverine?” Lifting on her toes, her nose brushes the seam of his mouth before her arms curl around his neck, his hands soft at the flare of her hips. “I’m yours if you’ll have me, Logan,” biting her lower lip, she fights the urge to smile—can’t, never could.

His kiss is hard. Fast, hungry—rough in the way God Himself intended for man. It’s everything the poets ever described a kiss to be, probably more. Infinitely more, mostly because it was her kiss. Hers, and hers alone. Right here, right now, even if the stars couldn’t see.  

He’s a little breathless when they part. And God, if it doesn’t take her apart. 

“Y’know, Logan—Jim was right about one thing, before he ran his fat mouth off.” 

He chuckles. “Hm?” 

“You really kinda are a wild man.”

[crimsonbubble]

Hey babe. You know part 2 to your shadow company blub. I can't help but need to ask for that specific piece where you said when they run a bath for you, you can't help but get finger fucked. Like omg I'm feeling so embarrassed to ask but you are one of the few people that gives me justice in smut ok

I'm on my period and feeling like a slut. Anyways love you. 🫶🏽

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, bath sex, fingering, overstimulation, praise, squirting *not proofread, just pure horny

[SCREAMING WITHOUT THE S,, GOOD LORD NONNIE THANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME HOW FUCKING HORNY I AM FOR THE SHADOW COMPANY // continuing the bath part of this hc thing :D] also the names are purely random bc not using names would make this way too confusing

kinktober masterlist

MINORS DNI!!

They take care of you. They always do.

So after a long and tiring session, two shadows, Logan and Stephen were assigned to take care of and pamper you. The two assigned to you were sweethearts, like two big and loving dogs. They’re just as eager as them too.

The shadows are simple, you lay back and sit all nice and pretty while they do all the work. So here you sat, in the bath of soothingly warm water as Stephen lightly washed your back. “You did so well, bunny. Did such a good job today.” You preen under the praise, closing your eyes as you get your hair washed.

Logan moved their hands down, washing along your arms and ribs. You can’t tell when the switch flipped until a hand found its way to your thighs. You subconsciously open your legs, letting out a short gasp as you feel two fingers press circles into the sensitive nub.

Your thighs clamp down around the hand before they are pushed open again. “Just want one more, baby, promise, just one more.” You lean back against the edge of the tub, holding onto Logan’s forearm.

Stephen reaches down, pressing two fingers against your sore pussy. His fingers are quick to push in, getting kisses along your cheeks as you cry out and clamp down on them. Their paces picked up immensely as you hiccuped out moans, hips twitching as all your pleasure points were pressed against.

“That’s it, sweet bun. Take us just like this, nice and easy.” It is not nice and easy. You feel like you’re gonna explode, grabbing at anything and everything in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. The water around you sloshed rapidly as you were lifted out of the water and placed onto Logan’s lap.

Logan’s fingers replace Stephen’s, while his replaced Logan's. The two continued to toy and play with your cunt, circling your swollen clit with feather-like touches and harsh curls into your sweet spot. You’re thrashing in Logan’s lap, the contrast in touches making you dizzy.

“C’mon pretty baby, give it to me, just one more time.” Stephen scissored you open with his fingers, using his free hand to hold your thighs open. The feeling was overwhelming, surrounding you and clogging your senses. Your brain feels like cotton, airy and floaty as the pleasure becomes increasingly intense.

The constant friction of fingers against your sweet spots, figure eights on your clit and the smooth purr of praises muddle your brain. Your body is on autopilot as each nerve ending is set on fire. All you can hear is water splashing, wet sounds of skin on skin and the voices of the men cooing never-ending praises into your ears.

Once the ringing in your ears had quieted down, you managed to wedge your eyes open. Through bleary eyes, you noticed the once dry shirt of Stephens was soaked from the chest down. His eyes held a look of bewilderment as he tried to calm his laboured breathing. Logan was breathing just as hard, his hands holding your thighs open.

Though your vision had cleared, your head did not. You merely looked at Stephen in confusion, before it was replaced with shock. Logan handed you off to Stephen before he kneeled in front of you, now getting his entire lower half wet as he sank into the water. “We’re not stopping until you do that again.”