#brow zings

[sceletaflores]

HEAVY METAL LOVER!

pair: logan howlett x bartender!reader wc: 4.2k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, drinking, swearing, motorcycle rides, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering (fem!receiving), creampie, wolverine's hairy tits, the claws show up ofc, porn with plot, no use of y/n. author’s note: watched deadpool & wolverine twice in theaters, started rewatching the x-men movies, pondered many different thoughts, sat down and wrote this. i need him to breed me. title from lady gaga's 'heavy metal lover' cause it's literally his song.

the wolverine is a regular at your bar…

You're shining glasses behind the bar when you hear it, the gruff sound of Logan’s voice turning away yet another girl that worked up the courage to come up to him. It’s his third rejection of the night, not that you were counting.

You were, you always do. You pay more attention to that side of the bar than you normally would when he’s here, which is nearly everyday for the past three weeks. He's not like any of your other regulars. He's almost always alone, and he never talks to you except when he calls for another drink. 

The only reason you even know his real name at all is because Wade told you one of the nights he tagged along, leaning his elbows on the bar to whisper over the sugared rim of his "Piña Colada. Extra creamy please, you know how I like it..." like he was telling you a secret.

"Don't let him hurt your feels honey bunch. That's just classic Logan for you, a man of few words. Huge case of blue balls by the way." 

You remember the way he let the obvious innuendo hang in the air, the knowing look he gave you as he spun the little paper umbrella floating in his drink. You didn’t think you were being that obvious, that someone as socially inept as Wade was able to pick up on the way your eyes would linger a little too long on the broad width of Logan’s shoulders, on the way his arms would strain against the fabric of his flannels. 

You’d seen him on the news, thick corded muscles all wrapped in blue and yellow leather. It haunted you for days, playing in your mind on a constant loop of sweaty biceps until you finally gave in and pulled out your favorite vibrator. 

Even with that, there’s just something about the jeans and flannels he wears outside of the suit that make you want to jump over the bar and drop down to your knees right in front of him. Your mouth open wide and waiting.

The dull ‘thunk’ of Logan placing his empty glass on the bartop grabs your attention, two quick raps of his knuckles against the wood ripping you from your thoughts. “Another,��� he says briskly, not looking away from the peeling backsplash on the wall behind you.

You usually snapped at men who’d bark orders at you, but The Wolverine isn’t just any man. He's certainly the only man you'd ever take orders from willingly, happily.

You grin, tossing your towel over your shoulder as you grab the whiskey bottle off the shelf and slide over to him, tipping the amber colored bottle over to start refilling his glass. “That’s the third one tonight,” you say casually, casting your eyes over his shoulder to the girl from before retreating back to her friends. “I take it you don’t come here looking for company?”

Logan’s eyes flick to yours, it’s the first time he’s looked at you all night. You look back, lips pulled into a small smile as more whiskey than you’d usually pour splashes against the sides of his glass. The music playing from the speakers fades into a dull hum around you.

He holds your gaze for a second longer, a flash of something you can't quite read passing through his eyes before he’s looking away again. “Not the kind you’re thinking of,” he replies, his voice a low rumble that has something warm zinging up your spine.

You set the bottle down next to him, brow piqued in curiosity. “And what kind is that?”

He doesn't respond right away, just raises the now full glass to his lips to take a slow sip. You almost think he’s going to ignore you again, but then he speaks, “You ask everyone that comes in here personal questions, bub?” 

There’s the barest hint of amusement lacing his words that has you biting your bottom lip to try and contain the absolute giddiness blooming in your chest. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever given you before. Encouraged, you step in a little closer, hoping to draw him out further.

“Only the ones with their asses practically fused to my stools,” you shrug, a playful glint sparkling in your eyes. “So what is it, you got some poor wife you leave at home every time you come here? Because the ‘tall, dark, and kind of morally ambiguous’ thing is obviously working for you.”

Logan turns his eyes to you again, his brow raised in amusement. You’re close enough that you can see the way his lips turn up at the corners. He seems to consider your question, gaze slowly trailing along your face before flicking back to your eyes. "No wife," he replies, the words slow and deliberate. "No home to leave her at either.”

His response hangs in the air between you, heavier than you anticipated. You let out a soft breath, lips parting ever so slightly. You can practically feel the weight of his gaze settling over you, leaving your whole body warm and tingly. The heat swirling deep in your gut slipping down to pool wet and sticky in your panties. Logan’s eyes blink shut for just a second, the bridge of his nose twitching lightly.

You almost can’t believe this is really happening, that the angry guy at the end of your bar you’ve seen turn away pretty girl after pretty girl is flirting with you. It makes you feel dizzy with power, like you could do anything, but it’s also one of the most intimidating things you’ve ever experienced. You didn’t realize what it meant to be the center of Logan’s attention until now, but you refuse to back down.

 He gives an inch, so you take a mile.

Your grin widens as you lean your elbows on the bar, resting your chin on the heels of your hands. Logan doesn’t react to you invading his space, just keeps his eyes on you with a passive look on his face, but you don’t miss the way his gaze darts down to the low cut of your top.

“So…” you say slowly, voice dipping into a softer more intimate tone, “that means you’re free later tonight?” You tilt your head to the side coyly, allowing your hair to cascade over your shoulder, the movement drawing his gaze.

Logan’s eyes widen the tiniest bit, a surprised huff leaving his lips. He raises his glass, taking another long drink. Your eyes trace the sharp line of his jaw to where his adam’s apple bobs enticingly as he swallows. Your lips tingle with the need to mark up the tan column of his throat, to sink your teeth in the skin there, to taste.

The neckline of his undershirt dips low enough that you can see the dark hair scattered across his chest, dog tags dangling from a chain around his neck to sit in the center.

You drag your eyes back up to his face, flushing when you see that he's already looking at you over the rim of his drink. He sets his half drained glass down, a skeptical look on his face. “How old are you, kid?”

You shake your head with a soft laugh, dropping your palms to lay flat on the bartop. If that makes your top dip a little lower to flash more of your cleavage in Logan’s eyeline, then that’s just a bonus. “Old enough to be here,” you reply after a short pause, gazing up at him from under your lashes, “Old enough to know what I want.”

Logan’s eyes darken, the warm brown of them seeming deeper and even more intense than before. The dim overhead lights cast shadows across his rugged features, highlighting the scruff on his jaw. You can’t help but imagine the rough scratch of it brushing up against your inner thighs.

Logan pushes his glass away, leaning in with a soft grunt, his eyes drop to your lips. You suck in a shocked breath, your whole body lighting up at being so close to him. Your heart is racing in your chest, a quick ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum that echoes in your ears.

His lips turn up in a sly grin, the sharp canines of his teeth on display. “Is that so?” He asks, voice going all husky like gravel and honey. He meets your eyes and you swear you can see the sparks going off in the air between you, everything else in the bar completely fizzling out as his breath mingles with yours. “Careful what you wish for,” he says, his voice a low rumble that makes your knees weak. “You might just get it.”

Your lips curve into a mischievous smile, the heat between you palpable. “I’m counting on it,” you reply, your voice dripping with promise. It takes everything in you to straighten up and pull away from Logan, stepping back with the forgotten bottle in your hand. “My shift ends at eleven,” you say with a small shrug, jerking your head to a door across the room, “staff leaves through the alley door.” 

It’s a clear invitation, one that Logan easily picks up on. His hungry gaze follows every move you make as you shelf the whiskey.

Before he can say anything, someone calls you from across the bar, shaking their empty glass impatiently. You throw him one last smile over your shoulder, mouthing ‘eleven‘ again with a quick nod of your head. You aren’t sure if it’s supposed to reassure you or him.

Logan smirks nonetheless, standing from the bar before draining the rest of his drink and throwing a few bills down. The air crackles as you watch him make his way towards the exit, eyes lingering on the way his jeans hug the thick muscles of his legs before someone is snapping their fingers at you to serve them.

The rest of your shift drags by, but the excitement and hope swirling in your stomach doesn’t fade. You’re practically thrumming with excitement by the time eleven rolls around, anticipation coursing through your veins as you clock out and grab your bag from your locker.

You pull the door to the alley open, the heavy metal creaking with the swing. The gravel crunches under your shoes as you step outside, eyes eagerly searching the space in search of Logan. The light mounted above the door shines around you, but you don’t see him anywhere. 

Just as disappointment starts to settle in your chest, you hear a loud rumble coming from the down the street. A bright light shines across the road as it gets closer and closer until there’s a motorcycle pulled up against the alley’s opening.

Logan kicks the bike’s stand down, leaning over to hold out a helmet in offering. “You coming or not?” he calls out, voice deep and teasing, “I’m not known for my patience.”

You can’t help but laugh, a mix of exhilaration and nervousness bubbling up inside you. With a confident stride, you walk toward him, the loud growl of the bike reverberates through your body like thunder with every step. “You’re just full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?” 

You take the helmet from his hand, but he doesn't let go right away, making your fingers brush against his in a way that sends a shiver up your arm. You meet his gaze, the smirk on his lips matching the dangerous glint in his eyes.

He drops his hand down to the bike’s handle, jerking his head back to the empty space behind him. “Hop on.”

You straddle the bike, the leather seat warm from the rumbling engine beneath you. You give Logan your address as you slip the helmet on. His body is warm and solid against your front, you can’t help but press a little closer, your hands falling to rest on his waist. The leather of his jacket is smooth under your fingertips.

Logan turns his head to the side, the street lights shine along the side of his face in a warm yellow glow. “Hang on,” he says, voice barely audible over the roar of the bike’s engine starting up.

The sudden rush of wind as he pulls off paired with the thrillingly intense vibration of the engine revving under you is exhilarating. You wrap your arms tight around his waist, fingers digging in slightly as you lean into the curve of his body. 

The city blurs into a whirlwind of colorful lights as Logan navigates the streets with a confident ease. The cool night air whips past you, every turn and acceleration pumping more adrenaline through your veins. You cling to Logan’s waist like it’s a lifeline– there’s a sense of freedom and excitement that comes with being on the bike, but you think the real thrill is being pressed against him like this, feeling the power of his strength under you.

The ride seems like it takes both hours and seconds all at once when Logan pulls up to your house's gate. He kills the engine, the sudden silence a stark contrast from the roaring bike. Your heart pounds in your chest, pulse thumping as you slide the helmet off.

Logan takes it from your hands, eyes scanning over your house. “Nice place,” he comments casually, swinging his leg over the bike to stand next to you. 

"Thanks," you say, your voice a tad breathless. You can’t help but feel a little self-conscious as you dig for your keys in your bag, nerves finally starting to set in. The air is cold against your flushed skin, and you’re hyper aware of Logan’s presence behind you as you unlock the gate and push it open.

He doesn’t touch you as the two of you walk up the steps to your house, infuriatingly keeping his distance with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.

Your legs shake with every step, you can’t tell if it’s left over adrenaline from the ride or the building anticipation for the ride you know is waiting for you beyond your front door. Your hands tremble as you fumble with the lock, opening the door and stepping into the darkness of your living room. 

You’re barely a foot inside before a pair of strong hands pull you backwards, getting whirled around by your waist until your back hits your closed front door mute thud. You don’t have any time to react before Logan’s crowding up against you, his body a solid wall of muscle pressing you hard against the door. His lips crash into yours in a hungry kiss, you can taste the whiskey from earlier sharp and smoky on his tongue.

You respond eagerly, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down even closer. Logan’s hands roam over your body rough and possessive, one sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other grips your waist, pulling you even closer. His hands leave a trail of fire in their wake, your skin tingling with every brush of his fingers. You can feel the raw power in his touch, a barely there restrained strength that has your heart racing even faster. 

“I could fucking smell you,” he growls agasint your neck, digging his sharp teeth into your collarbone meanly. You can't help but let out a soft moan, your head falling back against the door to give him better access. The rough stubble on his jaw scrapes deliciously against your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Could smell how goddamn wet you got, back at the bar.”

His hand slips under the waistband of your jeans, sliding down the front of your panties to brush against your clit. Your mouth drops open with a soft moan, your slick lips still tingling. “Do you have any fuckin’ idea how hard it was not to bend you over, to not rip these things off and fuck you over the bar?” he asks roughly, lips brushing against your skin with every word. “Wanted to take you right, make everyone watch while I made you scream.”

Your breath hitches at his words, a wave of pleasure crashing through you. The rough skin of his fingertips press more firmly against your clit, drawing a broken moan from your lips. “Logan,” you gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily against his hand.Your hands claw at his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you try to ground yourself. 

His lips capture yours again in a bruising kiss, sliding two thick fingers into you with a rough thrust. “Atta girl,” he murmurs against your mouth, dragging his tongue across your bottom slip. “That’s it, say my name,” he growls, swallowing your moans as his fingers pump into you with an unrelenting pace. Your walls clench around him, a needy whine escaping your throat as he begins to fuck his fingers in and out of your wet cunt. 

The coil of pleasure deep in your stomach tightens with every thrust of his fingers, your body trembling with the intensity of it all. You can feel the pressure start to build, like a dam threatening to burst, but this isn’t how you want to come. You break the kiss, a thin thread of saliva connecting your lips before it thins and breaks. “Wait,” you say breathlessly, hand slipping down to grip his forearm tightly, “I want to come with you inside me.”

Logan growls, a deep, primal sound that you can feel rumble deep in his chest where it’s pressed against yours. “Bedroom,” he demands, hands dropping to the back of your thighs and lifting. 

You wrap your legs around his waist with a quiet squeal, attacking the skin of his neck with your teeth as he walks the two of you down the dark hallway. “First door on the right,” you whisper, dragging your tongue along the column of his throat. You can feel the thick length of his cock straining against his jeans press into your hip. He sucks in a sharp breath as you roll your hips down, sliding the damp fabric of your clothed cunt over him.

Logan kicks the door open with a force that has it slamming against the wall, the sound barely registering in your lust-addled brain. Logan dumps you on the bed, the force of it bouncing you on the mattress. He rips his white undershirt over his head and drops to his knees in front of you, big hands coming up to grip the waistband of your jeans.

The muscles in his arms don’t even flex as he rips your shorts down the middle, denim and along with lace panties tearing like tissue paper in his hands and falling to the floor in tattered pieces. You gasp at the cold air hitting your hot, aching cunt. 

Logan’s hands run up and down the bare skin of your calves, eyes glued to the soaked skin of your inner thighs. Your thighs start to tremble under his gaze, your patience starting to wear thin. Logan drags his eyes back to you, taking in the pleading look on your face. He smirks, wordlessly rising to his feet to pop open the button of his jeans.

You watch with bated breath as he unzips his fly, eyes glued to the way he starts to push them down his legs just enough that they fall to pool around his ankles. Your mouth drops open, eyes going wide at the sight of him.

He’s so big, so thick and heavy that his cock hangs hard between his hairy thighs instead of slapping up against his stomach. There’s a thick drop of pre-cum leaking from the tip, dripping down a thick vein running along the side.

Your mouth waters with want, the want to bury your nose in the dark thatch of hair surrounding the base, the want to have him fuck your throat raw and red. You can almost feel the ache in your jaw. 

As much as you want to get him in your mouth, you want him inside you even more.

“Get your ass over here,” you demand breathlessly, tearing your shirt off your head in one swift motion. Logan smirks, stepping out of his jeans and making his way across the room. His dog tags jingle with every step, your cunt clenches weakly.

He stalks up the mattress like a predator, eyes ablaze as a cocky smirk plays on his lips. Your legs fall open unconsciously, thighs spreading wide to make enough room for his hips to slot against yours.

You gasp at the thick head of his cock sliding through your wet folds, your body arching off the bed. The sensation is electric, shooting through you like a live wire. "Logan," you breathe, your voice barely more than a whimper. "Please..."

"Please what?" he asks, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin. "You gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart."

Your cheeks flush hot, but the need burning inside you is stronger than any embarrassment. "I want you," you admit, your voice trembling with desire. "I want you to fuck me, Logan."

His growl is low and feral, his fingers teasing you relentlessly as he presses his forehead to yours. "That's a good girl," he rumbles, his breath hot against your lips as he sinks into the tight heat of your cunt in a single thrust. 

The pace he sets is unrelenting, one hand braced on the pillow next to your head while the other grips your bed’s frame for better leverage to fuck down into you. The sting of his cock splitting your cunt open has your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders. His dog tags hang from his neck, swinging like a pendulum as he starts to thrust.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grates out, brows furrowed in pleasure. His hips speed up, barely pulling out halfway before he plunges back into you. The bed squeaks under you, slamming up against the wall as Logan fucks you.

It’s like Logan surrounds every inch of you, strong arms caged around your head while his body covers yours, metal bonded bones pressing you down into the mattress so there’s nothing you can do but take it. You know that he’s ruined every other man in the world for you as the heavy snap of his hips pounds against the skin of your ass hard enough to bruise. The thick muscles of chest bounces as he moves, the coarse hair scraping against your sensitive nipples.

The head of his cock pounds the soft spot inside of you that has your eyes fluttering closed, mind going hazy as heat starts to pool at the base of your spine.

“Don’t fucking stop,” you beg brokenly, tears sting the corners of your eyes. “God! I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come–”

“Come on baby,” Logan goads, dropping down to his fore arm so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck, “Give it to me, come on this cock, show me how much you fucking love it,”

The stinging bite of his sharp canines scraping the fluttering pulse of your neck makes you wail, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave long red welts that heal as you go. Your cunt clenches around the pulsing length of his cock, greedily milking him as you come in a rush of wetness around his cock.

“Fuck,” Logan grits out, his hips faltering. It’s not by much, but just enough for you to notice. The rhythmic smack smack smack of skin stuttering as his breath comes out in fast pants against the sweaty skin of your neck. His cock jerks inside you fiercely, his heavy balls tightening as he gets closer to the edge. You can hear the metal frame of your bed creaking warningly under his grip.

“Come in me,” you beg breathlessly, tightening your ankles around his waist. “Please, Logan I need it–”

Logan lets out a feral growl as his hand drops from your headboard, the sharp metallic sound of his claws unsheathing rings out above you before he slams his fist into the mattress next to your head. He floods your insides, pumping you full of his come as he grunts like a beast on top of you. He gives a few more weak thrusts of his hips, letting the two of you ride out your highs before he finally stills.

You hear the quiet snikt of his claws retracting from your mattress and back into between his knuckles before Logan collapses on top of you, arms braced on either side of your head to take most of his weight. His breath puffs raggedly over the skin of your shoulder, his spent cock still snug in your sore cunt. 

“You owe me a new mattress,” you say breathlessly, digging the heels of your feet into his lower back sharply. 

Logan chuckles into your neck, tipping his head up to look at you with dark eyes. His lips curl into a smirk as he rolls his hips, his still hard cock dragging along the sensitive walls of your cunt makes you gasp. “Yeah?” he asks, low and velvety. His eyes flick to the three holes punched through your sheets.

“You can add it to my tab,” he says with another stronger roll of his hips, “We’re not done here.”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

a/n! the actual biggest shout out to @ebodebo for beta reading and listening to my non-stop rambling and horny thoughts about this man. she's a true solider because i have been so annoying about this. mwah mwah mwah.

[starrystevie]

18+ | cw: public handjobs, coming in pants | crossposted on twitter

“are you okay?”

realistically, eddie knows the answer to steve’s question is no. he’s not okay. he’s sitting in a club booth hard as nails with a flush no doubt covering his whole body. he should say no, far from okay, but instead he says-

“yeah, of course im fine.”

steve brings the back of his hand to wipe at his brow, crinkling his eyebrows together in confusion as he flashes an all too well knowing smirk eddie’s way. 

“you sure?” he asks smartly, leaning over the table to grab his rum and coke. standing back up, he tilts his head. “you look a little… bothered.”

eddie narrows his eyes and looks back out to the dance floor to see the girl steve was just dancing with crossing her arms over her chest. she’s pretty, clearly thinking she was making headway with steve, probably making plans in her head about marriage and babies with freckled cheeks.

eddie sighs and slumps over the table, balances his head in his palm as he plants his elbow on the sticky table top. 

how is eddie supposed to tell him that no, he’s no where close to alright? his cock is leaking into his nice jeans and it’s all from the way steve looks as he grinds into a pretty girl. as he tilts his head back to let the neon lights bounce off his pretty sun kissed skin. as he threads a hand into his own sweaty hair to push it back off his forehead. as he threads a hand into her curly hair to keep her where he wants her. 

he has to stop thinking about it.

if he doesn’t, he’s going to cream his pants and that would make for an even worse evening. 

“im good, man. it’s just a little hot.”

steve nods absently as he sips at his drink, as he looks eddie dead in the eye. eddie sighs and steve smirks again. he’s well and truly fucked.

suddenly, steves sliding into the booth, arm coming up to rest behind eddie’s head. he sputters, floundering as steve gets closer, close enough that he can smell his sharp cologne mixed with sweat, a smell that drives him wild. 

“oh.” steve says simply.

eddie flicks his eyes up to meet steve’s to ask what he’s talking about only to find that he’s staring at his hard on. the humiliation that rushes through eddie must cloud his vision when he thinks he sees steve’s smirk get wider, all teeth like a wolf on the hunt.

“fuck.”

he’s been caught. eddie whispers the curse into the air of the crowded nightclub but steve still hears it. his fingers drop down to just barely graze eddie’s shoulder, causing him to shudder. 

steve huffs out a laugh. “looks like i was right, you are bothered.”

eddie groans and drops his head with his eyes closed. “yeah, yeah, laugh all you want.” if he was flushed earlier, it grows tenfold now. he can feel the heat emanating off of him, warm enough that he feels sick with it.

he wants a hole to open up and swallow him. he wants to run out the door and never look back, saying au revoir to the fairytale idea of ever being with steve. he wants to crawl into his bed and jerk himself off under his covers and think about how hot the humiliation is that runs through him when steve looks at him and-

“you want some help with that?”

eddie freezes. steve’s breath is hot against his ear as he leans down to yell over the music, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin, the fingers that were teasing along the very tip of eddie’s shoulder pressing more intently into him.

“…do i want some help with what?” he murmurs, sliding his eyes open to glance at steve as he pulls back.

there’s something electric that zings through him as their eyes meet. the lights flash and steve is covered in red, glinting off his teeth like he could go in for the kill.

eddie thinks, knows, that he’d let him if he really wanted to.

“your little problem. or well-” steve breaks off and makes a clear look down, trailing his eyes slowly over eddie before bringing them back up to eddie’s face. “maybe not so little, huh?”

eddie blanches, a whine escaping him without his permission, something high and thready from the back of his throat. it’s a miracle steve can even hear it, but he does, taking it as the ‘fuck yes’ answer that it’s meant to be and sliding his hand down to rest on eddie’s thigh.

steve’s fingers tighten around eddie’s leg as he nods, the pressure quick and intense and enough to have him whining once more, shoulder slumping forward. he’s going to black out, he just knows it. his head is getting all foggy in anticipation.

when he looks down and sees just how hard steve’s breathing too, his chest expanding in time with the increasing pressure of his fingers, it all clicks in eddie’s head. this isn’t just for him like he thought it was. this isn’t just helping with his maybe not so little problem.

this is for steve, too.

once he realizes it, he sees the same realization wash over steve and the floodgates open. there’s a hand cupping his cock over his jeans as steve pulls the table closer to cover what they’re doing. it’s so much so fast and eddie takes in a gasping breath.

steve’s scooting somehow even closer to eddie until they’re pressed together hip to hip, chest to chest, with lips hot against eddie’s ear once more. eddie briefly wonders what they must look like but it’s dark enough that people aren’t looking over. not really.

if they did look over, they’d see eddie with his mouth agape, shoulders and head hunched forward as his friend must be saying something over the music. they wouldn’t see a hand working deliciously over him. they wouldn’t see the tongue flitting out to play with his earrings. they wouldn’t hear the absolute filth that steve is whispering that brings eddie closer and closer to the brink.

“god, i can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” he says and eddie feels like he can’t breathe, his hips bucking forward to chase after an embarrassingly fast orgasm. “think if you come in your pants, you can get it up again when we leave? want you to fuck me into the mattress until i’m fucking crying, til i'm begging for it. think you can do that?”

it’s too much. eddie turns his head and looks at steve with his lip pulled between his teeth. “what about her?”

he doesn’t have to clarify, they both know who he’s talking about. steve grins again as he quickens his hand. watches as red lights and bliss pass over eddie’s face.

“just wanted to make you jealous,” he breathes out, “she has your hair, y’know? wanted to feel like it was you against me.”

steve’s hand grinds into him once more and then his fingers are finding their way around his length in the denim, stroking him quickly. it's a bit too dry and it kind of hurts but they both correctly guess that eddie loves it a bit too dry, a bit too painful.

eddie chokes, eyes squeezing together as he comes in his pants like a goddamn teenager.

“there you go,” steve murmurs pressing a featherlight hidden kiss to his temple.

eddie jolts his hips through the aftershocks, unable to hide the whimpers that escape him. he doesn’t care about it, can’t care about it, not when steve picks up one of eddie’s hands to place on his own hard cock. he can feel a damp spot under his palm, and when he looks up at steve's face, he looks about as wrecked as eddie feels.

the only thing he can possibly say to steve is easy. “take me home. now.”

[luveline]

PLS PLS PLS IM ON MY KNEES what about Remus with a sunshine reader? Like she comes around and is just so chatty and energetic and a much needed change of pace for our brooding quiet boy

Remus takes his earphones out the moment he sees you, but that's his secret alone. You barrel through the atrium to drape yourself over Sirius’ shoulder, meeting his smirk with a genuinely ecstatic smile before looking up at the others. “Hello, my favourite boys. Did you get dinner yet?” 

“No, babe, we were waiting for you. Sit down,” Sirius says. 

You beam and make directly for the chair next to Remus, though you could've sat with Sirius, or a little ways across next to the girls. “Hey,” you say, like he's the only boy you've ever wanted to speak with. James makes a knowing face behind your back. “What are you having?” 

“Remus doesn't believe in canteen food,” James says.  

“No kidding,” you say, still smiling, not even slightly put off by this nor Remus’ passive expression. It's not that he doesn't like you, the opposite, he just has a headache and he hates uni. You make it easier, a light in the dark. “What's not to like? Three quid for a slice of burnt pizza or five for a bowl of metallicy pasta. You couldn't get it any better.” 

“We'll go up to town,” Sirius suggests with a chuckle.  

“Let's order a pizza or something, they'll deliver in here, won't they?” James asks. 

You focus on Remus. “You don't like anything at all? The curry and chips is nice enough.” 

“It's not for me.” 

You nod appreciatively and let your tote bag fall from your shoulder into the crook of your arm. You rifle around and pull out a tupperware full of cut fruit, slices of banana, strawberries, blueberries, what looks like circles of pear. “We can eat this.” 

Remus could say no. He can't decide what's worse, saying yes or no, that is until you open the lid and put it between you both, offering to Sirius and James as well, and suddenly it isn't awkward at all, just something you've done. The pads of your fingers turn pink with strawberry juice as you tell him, “I was gonna put some tangerine in here but I keep getting super sour ones.” 

“They're out of season,” he says, fingers brushing yours as he takes a slice of banana. He swears, it zings. 

“I should know that. You know everything.” You leave a little strawberry print on the back of his hand, unnoticed, and he knows he's fucked when he lets it dry there in the shape of your finger. 

Somewhere between fruit slices and your chatter your chair grows closer to his, your knee pressed to knee without remorse, your elbow a whisper from his as you lean back in your chair. “So, bad day?” you ask. 

“What makes you think that?” 

You tap the space between your brows. He registers the gesture, nearly misunderstands, but eventually he relaxes the set of his brow and his tensed jaw. It's actually a relief. He hadn't realised he was doing it. 

“There,” you say, still smiling softly. “That's better. You'll get a headache, you know?” You sound genuinely worried. “It's not good to be so tense.” 

“Thank you,” he says. James and Sirius order a pizza on speaker across from you both, and, for fear you've missed it, he adds, “Thanks.” 

You needle into him with your elbow gently. “You're welcome. You're handsome when you smile.” 

“Not like you,” he says, “you're brilliant.” 

Your teeth peek out. His chest lifts, you look that happy, and when he smiles back it doesn't feel nearly as taxing as it usually does. 

[pin-k-ink]

bliss // sakusa kiyoomi

tw ⇢ so much fluff, does this count as pillow talk?, implied sexual content, nipple play, praise kink, marking

wc ⇢ 1.6k

The sheets tangled around your bare, sweat-slicked bodies as Sakusa pulled you fully against his chest with a rumbling sigh of pure satisfaction. His fingers traced idle patterns along the dips of your spine, lingering at the curve of your lower back to tug you even closer into his scorching embrace.

You hummed contentedly at the possessive caress, nosing against the hollow of his throat to revel in the lingering musk of his skin. Sakusa shuddered at the delicate brush of your lips there, tilting his head to offer more of that toned column for your tender worship.

"Again?" he husked out with just the barest hint of teasing gravel, calloused fingers skating over the swell of your hip in torturously light circuits.

You bit back a breathless laugh, skating one hand up the firm ridges of his abdomen until your palm settled over his thundering heartbeat. "Not yet...just want to enjoy this for a little while longer first."

Sakusa rumbled an affirmative against your hairline, lashes fluttering against your brow as his nose found the sweet spot behind your ear to lavish with unhurried attention. Each press of those full lips had molten tingles zinging down your nerve endings, body instinctively arching closer into his bulk with a helpless whine.

"That's it..." he purred in that sinful rasp that never failed to ignite your most primal longings. "Stay right here with me while I get my fill of this sweet skin, hmm?"

Punctuating his praise, Sakusa dragged open-mouthed kisses over the racing pulse at the base of your throat - laving and sucking until the tender skin there blossomed anew with fresh markings. You writhed weakly against him with a shuddering exhale of bliss at each branding caress.

When he finally lifted his mouth to prowl higher along your jawline, you chased his lush lips in a searing glide of satin-on-satin that punched twin moans from your lungs. Sakusa indulged your breathless ardor, cradling the back of your skull to angle the glide of his probing tongue deeper between your parted lips.

The luxurious slide of his calloused palms roaming the fever-hot expanses of your back drew forth an endless litany of appreciative shivers. Everywhere his skin brushed yours seemed to erupt in tingling ribbons of flame - an electric caress that seared down to your marrow and ignited renewed smoldering in the cradle of your hips.

"Kiyoomi..." you finally exhaled in a throaty rasp when he allowed you to surface for air again. "Want you...all over again..."

Sakusa growled low in his chest at your wanton plea, hands flexing against the dips of your waist and lower back in restless possession. Then he was pivoting the two of you in one fluid motion, hooking your thighs over his hips and rolling until you were draped fully over his powerful, trembling frame.

"Then take me," he husked out in challenge, gaze burning into yours with all the intensity of a supernova as his thick cock nudged against your molten center. "Take everything you need from me, kitten...nice and slow this time so I can savor you thoroughly..."

Your broken whimper dissolved into his rapturous mouth as he slipped himself back inside you in a frenzied union once more. Hands roamed, teeth grazed and tongues tangled in an electrified danse sensuelle that built the taut cords of tension between your twined forms to exquisite new precipices.

All in glorious, unhurried increments teetering on the razor's edge of blissful ruin - you and Sakusa savoring every nuance, every quaking gasp and slick caress as the flames built inexorably higher once more.

Only when you both hovered at the brink of that euphoric plunge did Sakusa halt the deliciously measured slide of his hips against yours with a snarl. Chest heaving in shallow gasps, he slanted that sinful mouth over your parted gasps to steal in deep, indulgent draughts of breath and velvet adulation alike between frantic praises.

"So perfect...fuck, you're so fucking perfect taking me like this..." His calloused grip anchored you in place with bruising possession as he crested the summit once more. "I swear I'll never get enough of you in this life...never want to leave you, this heaven you give me over and over--"

He pitched over the edge into incandescent rapture with a hoarse shout and searing glide of his tongue against yours. You wailed out your own climax in helpless surrender, entire universe narrowing to the perfect, transcendent union of your bodies conjoined once more at long, blissful last.

Sakusa's chest heaved in the aftermath as you lay draped over his sweat-slicked torso, both of you utterly spent yet thrumming with lingering aftershocks. His fingers traced idle patterns over the dips of your spine as you began to exchange shallow, dazed breaths against the fevered column of his throat once more.

"Easy there, kitten," he rasped out in that smoky rasp stained with undertones of pure masculine satisfaction. "We've got all night for more of that..."

You hummed hazily in response, nuzzling your cheek against the thundering cadence of his heartbeat while allowing your trembling limbs to fully liquify against Sakusa's anchoring bulk. This was your favorite part after the maddening crescendos - when the world blurred away into warm, intimate haze and you were wrapped in nothing but him.

Slowly, Sakusa shifted until you lay nestled between his parted thighs, cradled in the vee of powerful muscle and sinew that cocooned you so deliciously. You sighed out a sound of pure, untrammeled bliss as he peppered the crown of your head with indulgent, bruising kisses between murmured praises.

"Feel so damn good pressed all over me like this," he rumbled in tones gone husky with fresh yearning. "Having you spread out over every inch, taking me so goddamn perfectly again and again..."

You preened unabashedly at the graveled words, nuzzling a blazing path down over his sternum until your velvet nipples grazed that ridged expanse of muscle. Sakusa hissed out a breath at the teasing contact, large palms skating up your sides to palm at the generous swells possessively.

"Just can't resist getting my mouth back on these," he husked lecherously, guiding one lush mound up to lave at the hypersensitive nipple with artful swipes of his tongue.

An involuntary whine pitched up from your chest at the delicious suction of those plump lips around the tender peak. Sakusa smirked against your skin before setting an indolent rhythm of wet heat and silken nips that had you writhing helplessly atop him in no time.

"Kiyoomi..." you breathed out in a slurred, half-wrecked rasp. "Please don't stop, I need..."

His laughter rumbled deep in his chest and a fresh torrent of arousal simmered in your belly at the vibrations. "Don't worry, baby...I'm not going anywhere."

True to his word, Sakusa lavished your breasts with leisurely intensity - alternating between deep pulls designed to have your spine bowing off the mattress in bliss and featherlight patterns his velvet tongue traced over each tingling contour. You clung to him in rapture during those sublime moments, utterly hypnotized by the artful play of shadows over the chiseled hollows of his collarbones and throat with each dip and glide.

Only when you began quaking in overstimulated desperation did Sakusa lift his mouth, red and swollen and utterly wrecked. The blazing glint in those blown whiskey eyes promised infinitely more carnal indulgence still to come as he gazed up at you in reverence.

"Hi," he rasped simply, sounding utterly spellbound as one big hand cradled your jaw.

You blinked dazedly, lips parting on an airy exhale at the scorching heat simmering beneath his fingertips and smoldering stare. "Hey yourself."

That scorching mouth curved into a pleased smirk before Sakusa hauled you down into a languid, toe-curling kiss. You melted against him helplessly, surrendering to the luxurious slide of his talented tongue and the rough drag of calluses scoring over every inch of exposed, sweat-slick skin.

His taste and scent and solid presence wrapped around you so deliriously that you very nearly lost yourself to mindless worship all over again. It was only when the urgent need for oxygen finally reasserted itself that Sakusa allowed you to break away, both panting harshly into the scant distance separating your bodies.

"Talk to me a little," he murmured in that wrecked rasp, glassy gaze skating over every tremor you couldn't repress. "Want to hear that breathy little voice telling me all about how this incredible body feels pressed against me..."

The blatant, unguarded yearning in his words punched a needy keen from deep in your chest. You nodded mutely, suddenly desperate to indulge the intimacy of what he craved - to offer your entire being as the tether keeping him anchored in this sublime rapture for as long as possible.

So you did, painting him in vivid whispers and broken gasps while he lavished your forms in tender possession. Hazy, half-formed praises and confessions spilled forth heedlessly with each sinuous glide of his calloused palms, each burning caress of his mouth against your sweat-slick skin. Sakusa drank you down with hooded, rapt focus, lips curving in quiet bliss as your voices braided together through the still twilight.

He nosed along your throat and hairline languidly - placing searing, open-mouthed kisses every few inches as you threaded your fingers through his tousled strands. Eventually his ministrations slowed to little more than sated breaths feathering against your pulse in between bouts of drowsy nuzzling.

And as his eyelids finally drooped in hard-won release, Sakusa mumbled those three small words you never tired of hearing against your fevered skin - the simplest yet most fervent vow ever offered.

"My home...my heaven..."

[roanniom]

King Steve flirting with inexperienced never been flirted with reader

Smartest

King!Steve Harrington x tutor!fem!reader

Read Part 2

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, PIV/unprotected sex, teasing, coercion but consensual, King!Steve is a manipulative douchebag and is his own warning

“You’re really good at this stuff,” Steve says, watching for your reaction as you scribble math equations across the notebook paper. He can see embarrassment bloom across your features and he has to suppress the zing of triumph he feels. It’s so easy.

It makes him want to push it.

“It’s kinda hot.”

The pencil stops in its path and your eyes shoot up to his, brow raised.

“I’m not…that’s…you’re messing with me, Harrington,” you finally settle on in what you hope is a dismissive tone. Steve notes the way your hand writing becomes more shaky. He sucks on his teeth for a second before chuckling.

“I don’t know why you’re trying to be modest. Hot girl like you must be raking in the compliments.”

You shake your head but don’t look up from your work. Well…his work. The homework that you’re doing for him even though you were supposed to be tutoring him so he doesn’t fail algebra and miss out on basketball.

But his hand is suddenly on your knee.

“Look at you ignoring me. What, you tutor a football player that’s stealing all your attention? Nothing left for me?”

“I…I don’t tutor the football team,” you answer, dumb in spite of your high IQ. You look up and Steve’s grin is big, glad he could finally distract you. He’d gotten bored with the repetition of watching you do his homework. He’s got nothing else lined up today, might as well have some fun. It’s not like his parents are home and it’s a shame to waste a big empty house.

“Thought I was your favorite pupil,” Steve says in a mock whine, giving you puppy dog eyes that seem to short circuit your brain.

Bingo.

You can do his homework later.

“Y-you are,” you admit shyly. It makes Steve smile at you again and your heart bursts, the shriveled up crush you’ve been nursing for years finally being watered and rehydrated. You can hear your heart beat in your ears.

“Good. Because you’re my favorite hot tutor,” Steve says with a wink. You swallow visibly at that and Steve laughs. “You’re still acting like nobody’s ever called you hot before and I call bullshit.”

“No….nobody’s ever called me hot before,” you say in a small voice. Steve’s eyes widen for a second. He’d been pressing on that point, not really thinking too hard about whether or not it could be true. It was just mindless flirting. And pretty lazy flirting, to be honest.

He takes the space of a second to wonder if he feels bad about your clear inexperience and insecurity. Instead, he feels a dark, sour tinge of excitement. Your obvious interest is an opportunity. He doesn’t take any time to analyze whether he should be ashamed of that thought.

“Do you like it when I call you hot?” Steve asks. It’s not a question. Not really. Not when he knows the answer is yes. But he’s angling for something as his hand slides up from your knee to your thigh. You drop the pencil fully and give your attention completely to him.

“Y-yeah. I do.”

“Do you like it when I do…this?” Steve ask, lifting your arm and delivering a kiss to the inside crook of your elbow. You squirm but a smile starts forming on your face.

“Yeah.”

“And this?” Steve asks, moving up to kiss your bare shoulder, just beside the spaghetti strap of your sun dress.

“Uhuh.”

Steve moves to the edge of his seat so that his knee moves between your thighs under your skirt. You squeak a bit at the new proximity. One of Steve’s large hands grips your waist, pulling you to him so he can mouth at the side of your neck.

“What about this?”

The feeling of his lips on your skin lights you on fire and you find it hard to keep responding.

“Oh…” Your thighs try to close, a sudden twinge of need at their apex urging you to seek out friction. You end up squeezing your legs around his knee which has pushed between them. Steve pulls back and smirks.

"Oh," he teases. He slides his hand over the slope of your hip, to your stomach and down to your lower abdomen over the fabric of your skirt. Steve’s heavy lidded eyes find yours. “You seemed to really like that, huh?”

“I….I….” you stammer, unsure of what to do with your hands so you drop them to rest shakily on his forearms. Steve leans forward again, dropping his wet open mouth to the curve of your neck and sucking.

“Oh…fuck,” you whimper broke my. Steve chuckles against your spit-slicked skin.

“How am I supposed to learn from you if you’re going to set a bad example like that?” he asks wryly. You blink at him, watching as his hands move to the buttons at the neckline of your sun dress. Your chest rises and falls more rapidly as your breathing speeds up, both with arousal and anticipation.

Steve undoes the top button with deft fingers. Instead of shrinking away, you arch your back almost imperceptibly towards his hands. Steve definitely notices.

“Ohhhh,” he says teasingly. “Or does the tutor want to learn a thing or two from the student?” His voice is lilting and light, but his eyes are dark. You look away for a second before looking back at him. Eyes the tentative. Nod small. Steve nods back along with you. “Okay then. We’ll first of all, we have to have the right workspace, don’t we?”

When you nod, Steve surprises you by standing up and swiping all the books, papers, and writing utensils off the dining room table and onto the ground in one broad sweep of his arm.

“Steve!” you squeal out in surprise, slapping a hand over your mouth. You know his parents are out of town and the two of you are alone, but when he grabs you and manhandled you to sit on the table, you suppress the startled shriek that tries to come out. Steve pulls you to the edge of the table and bullies his way between your legs, your thighs bracketing his hips. Steve’s hands return to the buttons of your dress.

“Then we have to gather the right materials. See what we’re working with, right?” He pauses, looking at you for confirmation as if you have any idea what he’s saying. You nod mindlessly and Steve proceeds to rip open the last few buttons, exposing your bra clad breasts. He hums in satisfaction as you cringe in embarrassment over the exposure. But all embarrassment leaves you when his big hands close over your breasts, squeezing and groping appreciatively.

“Mmmm yeah. These’ll do,” Steve hums before leaning in and kissing over where they swell out of their cups from the squeeze of his strong hands. You gasp when he yanks the bra down to expose them fully. Steve’s brows life. “These tits’ll definitely do.”

Next thing you know, Steve is kissing and sucking his way from one breast to the other, leaving you a twitching mess in his arms. You feel a hardness press into your apex beneath the skirt of your dress and it occurs to you that he’s turned on just like you are. Which is a stupid thought since he’s literally sucking hickeys all over you right now, but your lust addled mind can still barely comprehend that this is happening right now.

When you begin rolling your hips into that hardness, Steve takes notice.

Pulling back, lips wet, he grins at you.

“Me playing with these tits not enough for you?” he asks, one hand still fondling your breast. Lucky for you, he doesn’t seem interested in a reply. Instead he flips your skirt up, showing the dark wet patch that’s bloomed in your panties and - more importantly - the erection clear in his tight jeans. “That’s alright. It’s not enough for me either.”

You blink slowly as you watch him grind his hard on against your clothed pussy. The friction catches on your clit and you gasp, unable to take your eyes off the outline of the shape pressing against you. Steve takes your hand and brings it down between your bodies, squeezing to make you grip his cock.

“Feel that? You did this to me,” he says, almost accusatory if not for the chuckle. A possessive thrill of pride runs down your spine and you squeeze at him, making him grunt in appreciation. Steve looks up at you from beneath his lashes in a faux display of boyishness. “Gonna help me out here?”

You nod feverishly.

“Yes…I…please–,” is all you manage to get out before Steve’s mouth is on you. The kiss is deep and possessive and aggressive and you feel absolutely devoured. His hands feel like they are everywhere at once, paradoxically, as he pulls at you and grips you and grabs you. So distracted see you by his mouth and tongue that you barely register a moment of cold air hitting between your legs before the warm slide of something hot and thick rubs against your opening.

“Now for the big lesson,” Steve says, the corner of his mouth curving lasciviously. The fat head of his cock teases at your clit, making you sink your nails into his arms. He’s big. Huge even. And that’s the last thought you have before he’s begin to slide himself inside you, splitting you open.

“Steve!” It comes out in a rush with all the air he punches out of you with the penetration. Steve kisses your neck and hums.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

He bottoms out and there’s nothing but your ragged breaths to fill the silence for a moment before he’s pulling out, causing you to reel again.

“I know it’s big, baby, I know,” he coos. The taunting cockiness should put you off, but for some reason it heats you up even more. One his hands finds your clit and you let out a moan at the expert circles he begins to rub in.

Your walls relax with the stimulation, and your increasing wetness makes it easy for Steve to begin fucking you in earnest.

“Taking it so well, baby. Fuck.”

His words ring in your ears and it feels like everything begins and ends with Steve in your line of sight.

“Oh…oh…” you moan with each inward stroke. You’re rocketing towards a climax better than your most lavish fantasies.

Steve Harrington is fucking you. On his dining room table.

Your arms are around his neck, but eventually he pushes you down so your back is flat against the wooden surface. With his hands on your hips, Steve holds you steady so he can piston his hips at a break neck speed. Your entire body rocks against the table, Steve’s eyes focused on the bounce of your breasts with the force of each thrust.

“This is so much better than homework, fuck!” he groans out. You let out a breathless laugh at that and Steve looks down at you. “This is what you wanted, right? For me to fuck you all this time?”

The embarrassment surges up again but he hits a spot deep down inside that makes you whine instead. Steve takes it as confirmation.

“Bet you’ve been wet every time you’ve come over here. Just hoping I’d fuck this - fuck. This tight little pussy.”

“Yes. Yes, Steve.”

“Yes, Steve,” Steve mimics your pathetic, breathy confession. He’s close himself now, and his fingers are sure to leave bruises from the force of him squeezing you. “Next time I should just bend you over while you’re doing my work and fuck you. How’s that sound?”

You don’t say anything, too far gone at this point, and Steve laughs.

“Probably wouldn’t be able to keep doing my work with my cock in you. Makes you too brainless apparently.”

You’re practically drooling as you gaze up at him with hazy eyes, seconds from your orgasm. You being so out of it is what’s doing it most for Steve.

“Christ, look at you. Smartest girl in school and here you are, fucked stupid. It’s so. Fucking. Hot.”

And you - someone who until today had never been called hot ever - find yourself breaking into a million pieces with his words. Your orgasm crashes over you and you spasm around him, back arching off the table as you let out a massive cry.

~*~

Over time you are able to build up to a point where you don’t go as brainless. Eventually you’re able to kind of still do his homework as Steve fucks you.

But inevitably during every tutoring session there comes a point where Steve hits that place inside you just right, and his filthy words filter into your ear - and you go dumb.

Just the way he likes it.

~*~

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Hope you enjoyed! Please reblog and comment to let me know!

Read Part 2

[avatar-anna]

Anime Eyes

just boyfriendrry and reader being disgustingly in love bc i love the new kacey musgraves album💕💕

Masterlist

"What are you looking at?"

"Who me? Nothing."

Your eyes fluttered back down to your book, but only for a moment, your gaze inexplicably transfixed on the man before you.

Harry wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. In fact, it was probably the most regular day you'd shared with him in a while. After lots of traveling, for both work and vacation, you and Harry were finally in the comfort of your own home. He was folding laundry while you enjoyed a lazy day in bed recovering from jet lag, humming to himself as he sorted his clothes into categories before putting them away.

"What?" he asked again, having caught you for the second time. The corner of his mouth tipped up, pleased that he'd caught you admiring him. "See something you like?"

Where do I start? you thought. It was no secret your boyfriend was attractive. Even in an old faded t-shirt, five o'clock shadow, and his hair unkempt as it dried from his shower, she was still the most handsome man you'd ever met. It was startling sometimes, his smile or dimples or green eyes making you do a double take, causing you to blush before he caught you ogling.

"No," you said, still holding onto the charade that you hadn't been admiring him. Harry raised his brows, not buying your cool act, which only made your cheeks burn, but you sighed in defeat nonetheless. "I just love you, that's all."

Harry's responding grin had your heart melting into a puddle at your feet. It was both satisfied and bashful at the same time, beautiful and adorable as his cheeks became dusted with pink. "Oh stop."

"No, really," you said, leaning forward as you set your book aside. "You're doing something as simple as pairing socks, and I just fell even more in love with you. Can you believe that?"

Looking down at his various piles of yours and his clothes, Harry shook his head before covering his face with his hands. When he removed them to look at you, his whole face was beet red.

"Now you're the one flustering me."

You shrugged, pushing onto your knees. Carefully, you moved the piles of clothes out of the way so you could be right in front of him to wrap your arms around his neck. This close to your boyfriend, you could see all the little things that made up the face you loved so much—the light dusting of freckles, the scar on his chin, the precise shade of green that made up his eye color, the perfect arch of his brows. Harry was a work of art, one you considered yourself lucky to be able to behold on a daily basis.

For a moment as you held his gaze, you could see it all. The present relationship you had with him hurtling into a bright future. One with tears of joy and sadness, of remarkable memories and feelings too great to comprehend. It was almost too daunting to think about, but you wanted it, you wanted it all with him.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked him, grazing your fingers over the tops of his cheekbones.

"How much I love that little twinkle in your eye when your mind wanders off somewhere," Harry replied.

"Thinking of you, baby," you murmured, before finally sliding your lips over his.

Harry's arms tightened around your waist as he hummed appreciatively, his hands roving all over your back as he brought you impossibly closer against his chest. You sighed at the familiar touch, never quite used to the feeling of butterflies or the electricity that zinged through your skin every time he touched you.

"In case it wasn't abundantly clear," Harry murmured, his lips smearing lazy kisses over your jaw and down your neck. "I love you."

Squeezing him tighter, you nudged your nose against his neck. "I love you too."

[buckymorelikefuckme]

drink up, me hearties

pirate king wanda x fem reader

words: 1.4k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** consensual somno, oral, fingering, scissoring, lesbians in ~love.

a/n: "ease back into it," i said. "take your time, there's no rush," i said... anyway, here's some seggs! any and all mistakes are my own. feedback is encouraged and greatly appreciated! xo

part 1 ❀ part 2 ❀ part 3

Slumber begins to elude you, awareness trickling in slowly. Glaring sunlight shines directly across your face and you squeeze your eyes shut even tighter, turning away from it. Your brows furrow slightly, though, as a certain sensation starts to dawn on you, coming from between your thighs. It's almost ticklish, never failing to make you squirm, and you can never tell if it's to get away from it or to push closer.

The sound of it alerts you next, the wet glide of a tongue and slick sucking from full lips reaches your ears, and even before you open your eyes there’s a rush of heat surging to your cheeks. You know what you'll find once you glance down, and it does not disappoint.

Wanda is already staring back, a slow grin stretching across her mouth as she pulls away long enough to murmur, “Good morning, my angel,” and then she's right back to what she was doing.

You let out a raspy whimper as Wanda drags her tongue from your opening up to your clit, circling it lazily, just to make you writhe the way she loves. Her cheeks are flushed, likely from the combination of also having woken up recently and from the way she's taken to waking you up. Atop her head, her hair is a wild mess, tangled in places and sticking up in others. She's still the most handsome person you've ever seen.

Of their own volition, your thighs spread that much further, allowing your lover more space to do as she pleases. It is in your favor that what she decides to please is you.

She has your sleeping gown rucked up around your waist, and you know without even asking that she probably grumbled to herself about it being in the way, since she prefers to sleep in the nude and has begged you to do the same, but you can't help worrying about one of the crew finding you in such a vulnerable state.

And it’s not like it really matters anyway, what with the extremely thin material it's made of leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination of what lies beneath it. You can see your nipples tightening through it and it makes you feel like a harlot, though you've learned to appreciate that feeling, have embraced it after Wanda’s hearty encouragement.

Your thoughts are stripped away in an instant when Wanda begins sloppily kissing her way down to your entrance, dipping her tongue inside the same way she does your mouth. You moan, high and drawn out, sliding a hand down to bury in her hair, not to guide, but for something to hold on to. She makes a noise of contentment and continues to slowly thrust her tongue in and out of you.

The pacing is driving you to madness, practically glacial, like there's no rush, like she isn't making every inch of your skin tingle with anticipation. Your pleasure builds and builds, inching closer to your high, but so slowly you feel as if you could cry.

Suddenly, you feel her fingers join her tongue, and your legs attempt to clamp around her head, but with a soft huff, Wanda is pushing them open again, using her arms to keep them that way. Your pussy immediately clenches down on her fingers, a strangled whine catching in your throat, hips twitching up into her touch. She groans, the vibration of the sound only adding to everything else her mouth and hands are doing.

With your free hand, you tug your sleeping gown even higher, exposing the rest of your torso to the warm morning air, just so you can pinch at your nipples. You gasp as you do, the spark of pain sending a zing of pleasure straight to your core. Wanda moans at the sight, blessedly picking up the pace of her fingers. She pauses every few thrusts to curl them against your sweet spot, rubbing at it incessantly until you're crying out so loud you're sure someone’s heard you.

You let go of her hair, using that arm to prop yourself up on your elbow so you can better watch what she's doing. Although, as you stare at the way her fingers glisten with your wetness, see it shine on and around her mouth, and as you meet her heated gaze, you're not sure if it was the most intelligent choice. Your head drops back, baring your throat as you pant for breath, thighs trembling on either side of Wanda. Your fingers haven't stopped plucking at your nipples, and as you approach your climax, you pinch harder, twist tighter.

Wanda focuses her mouth back on your clit, sucking on it harshly, forcing out sob after sob from you. Your hips jerk upward, wordlessly begging for more. Happy to oblige, Wanda squeezes your thigh in silent command to leave it there, then uses her other hand to replace her mouth on your clit, rubbing at it in quick circles.

“Wanda,” you cry out, curling forward briefly before falling onto your back once again, knees hitching higher.

“You sound so fucking beautiful,” she praises, her voice still a little gravelly from sleep. “Look so perfect taking my fingers.”

“Please, Wanda,” you beg, so close to the earth-shattering orgasm you're sure is on the horizon.

She kisses at the crease of your thigh, sucks a mark there for good measure. “I simply cannot wait for your present from the glass blower.”

Your toes curl at the reminder. She'd put in a special order for a piece that would be… phallic shaped. Just thinking of something filling you more than her fingers—which are already incredibly talented in their own right—has your back bowing off the bed, breath seizing in your lungs, as every ounce of white-hot pleasure pools in your cunt, and like a dam breaking, you come with a gasping wail. Your entire body jerks through your climax and you sob as Wanda draws it out even longer, trying and failing to catch your breath.

Which is only made harder when Wanda abruptly pulls away, and you foolishly think you can finally begin to relax, but then she's quickly climbing up the bed and straddling one of your legs, aligning her warm, wet pussy with yours and grinding them together messily. You whine as she groans, pushing the leg she's not sitting on higher, clutching it so hard you're sure her fingernails will leave marks. Your pussy is still so sensitive after coming, and you try to wriggle and writhe, but she's using her strength to hold you down, and it only succeeds in furthering your desire.

“Close, so close,” she gasps, head tipping back towards the ceiling.

Your vision blurs with tears as you're pushed into oversensitivity, but the burn of too much feels much too good to really try and stop it. With hiccuping cries, your own fingers dig into any part of Wanda that you can reach, bucking up into her filthy grinding to help her chase her climax.

“So good to me, so perfect,” she babbles, “I love you, my sweet angel, you feel so—you feel like sin, my god, I love you, I love you, I love you!”

You open your mouth to return the sentiment, but all that comes out are strained whines.

Wanda’s movements start to become less coordinated, and it's not a moment too soon, as you feel a second orgasm cresting within you.

“With me this time,” she instructs, clenching her jaw and grunting, sending a shiver down your spine.

She grinds down harder, your hips tilt higher. Your moans are harmonious as you both come, Wanda now lazily moving until she slows to a stop.

The air is filled with the sounds of your heaving breaths. It feels like lightning is crackling across your flesh, a bone-deep satisfaction settling in you. Wanda gently lifts off of you and carefully lays your leg down on the bed before gracefully falling beside you with a gusty sigh. You press your thighs together, twitching at the pressure and feeling more heat bloom in your cheeks at the messy slide between them.

“I love you too,” you finally manage to murmur, voice cracking.

Wanda hums, shakily propping herself up on her elbow to peer down at you with a happy, smug grin.

“I’ll bet the entire crew heard you,” she teases, laughing when you halfheartedly swat at her in reprimand. “One of these days I’ll convince you to let me have you on the deck, so that not only the crew, but all of the heavens can hear how beautiful you sound when I take you apart.”

You hide your face in her neck, allowing her to wrap you in her embrace as she laughs again at your bashfulness. Silently, you're already planning to let her do just that, but only after your special present is ready.

[aventurineswife]

Hello again! I was wondering if you could make a pastry reader.

Which makes them mostly try their desserts until one day they are given a dessert inspired by them, for example; Aventurine = It would be a small vanilla cake with chocolate and blackberry and strawberry filling.

Just to give an example, with the characters Aventurine, Sampo, Childe and Kaeya (separated). Take your time!

-🩵

Inspired by You

Tags: Childe x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Kaeya x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Fluff, Lighthearted Romance, Lighthearted, Pastry Chef!Reader, Playful Banter, Hidden Vulnerabilities.

(Header credit)

It had started with a simple request.

"Just a little something to brighten the day!" Childe had said, leaning casually against the counter where you worked. He always had that mischievous gleam in his eyes, like he knew something you didn’t. You had become used to his presence in the bakery, coming and going with his usual swagger, always asking for something new, something bold, something that would surprise him. Today was no different.

“Do you have anything... intense?" he asked, his smirk unwavering.

Intense? It was a word you could easily work with. You nodded and began to prepare the dessert—something wild and dangerous, much like Childe himself. You wanted to capture his essence in pastry form. The result: a dark chocolate torte filled with a rich, blackberry-strawberry compote and finished with a hint of vanilla bean cream. It was decadent, layered with complexity, and every bite burst with a different flavor, just like Childe’s unpredictable nature.

When you handed it to him, he raised an eyebrow. “This... this is for me?”

“You asked for something intense.” you replied with a playful grin.

He took a bite, and his face lit up with that familiar grin. “Not bad, pastry chef. It’s got layers... I like it. Bold, but sweet.” He paused, eyes glinting. “Just like me, huh?”

“Maybe," you said with a wink. "But you’ll have to try more of it to find out."

The sweet aroma of pastries filled the cozy bakery as you carefully arranged trays of desserts, each one crafted with precision. Aventurine, who had come in to visit you between meetings, watched with his usual amused smile, one hand resting on the counter. He loved tasting your creations, and you enjoyed surprising him with new flavors each time.

Today, however, you had prepared something truly special. "I have something just for you," you said, smiling as you set a small cake before him. The cake was adorned with a delicate chocolate glaze, and inside, layers of vanilla, blackberry, and strawberry hinted at a decadent surprise.

Aventurine raised an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. "Inspired by me, hmm? I didn't know I was worthy of such treatment," he teased, running a finger along the glaze before taking a careful bite.

The flavors unfolded slowly—smooth vanilla balanced with rich chocolate, and the tartness of blackberry and strawberry that left an unexpected zing. He paused, caught off guard by the mix of sweetness and slight bitterness, a taste that somehow mirrored the guarded depths he kept hidden.

"You’ve outdone yourself," he finally said, his smile softer, almost reflective. "Sweet, a touch bitter, and altogether surprising... I’d say you captured me quite well." He took another bite, savoring the thoughtfulness behind the cake as much as the flavor itself.

In that quiet moment, it felt like he was lowering his mask, just for you. And as you watched him, you realized that perhaps a simple dessert could reveal the hidden depths of someone you thought you knew so well.

(Header credit)

After weeks of watching Kaeya sample your treats with his usual charm, you finally set your sights on something special. You prepare a caramel tart with salted almonds, accented with a drizzle of dark chocolate—complex, balanced, and just a bit indulgent.

When you hand it to him, Kaeya raises a brow, a smirk playing at his lips. "You really do know how to get my attention, don’t you?" he murmurs, bringing it up to his lips for a small, thoughtful bite.

He lets out a pleased hum, clearly savoring it. "Ah, a perfect mix of sweetness and bite. I think you’ve outdone yourself this time," he says, his voice softer than usual. "Dare I ask what inspired this masterpiece?"

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. "Just something… layered, with a bit of a hidden edge. Thought it suited you."

He chuckles, leaning closer. "You’re quite the charmer," he says, his fingers brushing yours briefly. "Perhaps I’ll need to return the favor someday." His words carry a promise, and you wonder just how many layers there are to him, waiting to be revealed.

The bustling bakery quieted as Sampo strolled in with his usual carefree grin, tipping an imaginary hat in your direction. "Fancy seeing you here! You got anything for a tired traveler like me?" he asked, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You smirked, setting down a treat that had been prepared with him in mind. "As a matter of fact, yes. Here’s something inspired by you." you said, revealing a tart topped with fresh mint leaves, chocolate shavings, and a dusting of powdered sugar. Inside, the tart held a mix of light cream and hints of citrus—a refreshing and vibrant combination that seemed fitting.

Sampo’s eyes lit up as he leaned in, sniffing appreciatively. "Inspired by me, you say? You sure know how to charm a guy." Without hesitation, he took a large bite, savoring the blend of rich cream and zesty citrus, the mint adding a touch of surprise. He let out a satisfied hum.

"This is fantastic," he declared with a wink. "Just the right amount of sweet and a hint of bite. But are you saying I'm a little... tart?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Well, you do have that sharpness beneath the charm."

Sampo laughed, a genuine sound that softened his usual sharp demeanor. He took another bite, glancing up at you with a rare, thoughtful expression. "Y’know, not many people go to this much trouble for me." He leaned in, lowering his voice with that signature smirk. "Better be careful, or you’ll make me feel... special."

You felt your cheeks warm as he took another bite, clearly enjoying every bit. And in that small exchange, it was as if the tart, like Sampo himself, had revealed something sweet beneath its complex layers.

[jobean12-blog]

Protecting What’s His

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky x reader (Bodyguard AU)

Word Count: 2,590

Summary: Bucky has been your bodyguard for some time now and it’s been hard to deny how badly you want him to be more than that. 

Author’s Note: All these new pics of long haired beefy Seb have got me thinking and I thought I’d try a crack at Bodyguard AU. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: flirty tension, some fluff, Bucky is a bit serious and grumpy but he’s soft, mention of s-c-ar-s, a moment of slight p-a-ni-c in the elevator 

Bucky holds the door of the elevator open and motions for you to step inside. You walk in and plant yourself along the far wall. Once Bucky is inside he presses the button to close the door.

He dwarfs the entire elevator.

A heavy silence falls between you and your entire body zings with hyperawareness. You try to control your breathing so he won’t notice how affected you are but you’re already concerned it’s written all over your face.

It’s been several months since he’d started being your bodyguard and every one of them has been pure torture. Every inch of him is intimidating with his broad shoulders and thick biceps and legs that go on forever but it’s his eyes that really draw you in. A beautiful blue color like the ocean, framed by long, dark lashes and filled with a softness that contradicts everything about his physical presence.

As ex-military he’s more than qualified for the job and he takes it seriously. He seems to take everything seriously, that’s why making him smile has become one of your favorite pastimes.

As the elevator moves downward you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His dark blue tailored suits fits perfectly, accentuating all of the aforementioned yummy parts of him.

“Did you enjoy the party?” you ask in a teasing voice.

He’s so focused on his job that you’ve rarely seen him indulge in any of the fun activities he escorts you to but this party had been particularly enjoyable.

His expression softens slightly and you even seen the corner of his mouth turn up.

“I had fun watching you have fun,” he states, matching your teasing tone.

You look up and grin at him.

His gaze turns intense once again as his eyes drop to your mouth.

You open your mouth to ask how come he didn’t even steal a glass of champagne to indulge when the elevator jolts, metal creaking and squeaking as it stops.

It throws you off balance and you fall back against the mirrored walls.

“Are you alright doll?” he asks as he reaches out a hand to steady you, his brow furrowed with concern.

A sliver of fear runs through you. “Are we stuck?”

He reaches over to press the ground floor button, and nothing happens. “I think so.”

Your eyes dart around the small space and you feel the tightness of anxiety starting to make your breathing difficult.

His eyes narrow and he pulls his cell phone from his pocket, quickly typing something.

“Oh no,” you whisper.

You start to feel light headed and your fingertips tingle as your panic increases.

“Doll face.”

Your chest heaves with your struggled breathing.

A large, warm hand settles on your bare back and you look up to find his head bent toward yours.

“Are you feeling claustrophobic?”

You nod rapidly.

“It’s ok,” he assures you, pulling you closer to his body. “Look at me. Keep your eyes on me.”

You do just that, imagining you’re sitting on the sand and staring out at the most beautiful ocean.

“Breathe in.” He takes a slow, easy breath in and the releases it. “Breathe out.”

You do the same.

“Keep doing that and stay focused on me. I’m right here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His face is so close you can see every hair of his beard, even the gray ones. Your eyes drop to his mouth as you continue your slow breathing. You lick your lips and glance up at him, shocked to see his stare locked on your mouth.

Your breath hitches and you feel a new wave of tingles shoot across your skin.

He straightens. “Sit down.”

His command is blunt and quick.

“In this dress?”

At your bemused expression he unbuttons his suit jacket before holding out his hand for you.

You look down at it and slowly place your own in his. With your free hand you reach for the silky material of your dress and part it at the slit, exposing the skin of your leg. His grip on your hand tightens.

Your eyes fly to his before you carefully slide down the wall. He copies your action and leans back, his knees bent and his suit pants straining against the heavy muscle of his thighs.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure this will get fixed soon,” he says assuredly.

“I hope we aren’t high up.”

Your words are slightly shaky and it looks as if he wants to reach out for you but thinks better of it before answering, “no, I think we’re just above the opening to the ground floor.”

You nod. “I guess you don’t have problems with confined spaces.”

“They don’t bother me,” he replies.

“I bet there isn’t much that does. Bother you, I mean?”

He turns his face to you and you study him as he answers, “not much.”

You feel a smile pulling at your mouth so you bite your bottom lip to stop it. His jaw tightens as the muscle ticks and he drops his eyes to your mouth again.

“What have you been reading lately?” he asks.

The question surprises you and now you can’t stop a full-on grin.

“Everything and anything,” you admit. “Mostly romance.”

“Is that your favorite…?”

Before you can answer his question his cell rings and he gives you a quick apologetic look before standing and answering it. After several nods and mumbled “okays,” he holds out his hand to help you stand.

“Thanks for calming me down,” you say before taking it. “I owe you a drink.”

His large and calloused fingers close around yours and he pulls you to your feet. At the same time the elevator jerks upward and you fall against his chest.

He catches you in his arms and you cling to him, startled, as you press yourself along his body.

His eyes drop to your mouth before he looks away.

“You don’t owe me anything doll,” he grumbles. “It’s my job.”

You’re about to respond that calming you down isn’t part on his bodyguard protocol but the elevator moves again and then the doors start to open. He releases you gently.

Two maintenance men stand outside with smiles.

Bucky gestures for you to step off first, and you do, smiling in thanks to the elevator mechanics. You turn to watch Bucky walk out and notice his eyes slide down your body before moving back up to your face.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine now, thanks again.”

“I don’t know why he’s keeping me at arm’s length,” you huff sullenly. “We’re both adults and I’ve seen the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.”

You drop your head to the table and groan.

“Maybe he’s worried he’ll lose his job?” Nat suggests as she sips her coffee. “I mean he shouldn’t be distracted…”

“I’m not a distraction!” you scoff. “It’s not like I’m going to try to seduce him while we’re out in public where there are threats…although…the thrill of public sex is…”

“Babe,” Nat admonishes but she can’t hide her smile.

You give her a sad face. “I want to climb this man like a tree.”

“Then just do it. The next time you have him alone. Do it. Make sure there’s no doubt he knows what you want.”

You give her a raise of your brow and take a sip of your coffee as you contemplate her advice then your lips turn up into a mischievous smirk. “I might just do exactly that.”

“I really don’t feel like going to this party,” you admit as you sit in the passenger side of Bucky’s SUV. “I’d rather stay home.

Bucky’s gaze quickly flicks to you, his eyes running down your body before he focuses back on the road.

“I thought you liked these parties.”

“I do. But not all the time. Being home in pajamas is nice too.”

He nods in agreement.

“I don’t even like this dress that much. I’m not sure it suits me.”

You turn his way and note the white knuckled grip he has on the steering wheel.

“What do you think?” you ask.

“About?” he counters.

“My dress.”

“It’s fine,” he states.

Your mouth drops open with indignation but apparently he wasn’t done commenting.

“You always look perfect.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, looking away to hide your triumphant smile.

“Bucky,” you say quietly as you walk up next to him. “I’m ready to go. My feet hurt and I’m kind of tired. Take me home.”

He nods as he stares at you.

You lean up to kiss his cheek, breaking him out of his trance. “Thank you.”

He gives you his arm and you wind yours through it, leaning into him as you walk toward the elevator.

“Not another elevator,” you mutter.

“We can take the stairs if you prefer,” Bucky offers. “It’s only two flights.”

You look down at your shoes, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. The action draws his attention to your mouth and you catch him staring. Again.

“What are the chances we’ll get stuck again?” you ask warily.

“Very unlikely,” he tells you with a soft smile.

He helps you into the car, the ride is mostly silent other than your few short questions and his even shorter answers.

“You know I never got to thank you with that drink,” you say when you pull up to your house.

“For what?” he asks, looking genuinely confused.

“For helping me in the elevator last week. If you hadn’t been there I’m not sure how bad it would have gotten.”

“Doll,” he starts. “It was nothing. I’m glad I could have been there to help. It’s all in a days work.”

You hold his gaze, shifting in your seat at its intensity. Your movement draws his eyes to your legs and you see heat replace some of the intensity.

He clears his throat. “Let me walk you to the door.” Without another word he gets out and rounds the SUV.

You try to hide your disappointment and take his outstretched hand, sliding from the seat. You stumble on your heel and your palms land flat on his broad chest just before he reaches out to steady you.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’m ready to be out of these shoes.”

He chuckles and waits until you’re steady on your feet once again. His hand rests on your lower back as you walk toward the door.

You’re not even half way up the walkway when the sky opens up and the rains starts. You screech and try to run but Bucky grabs you, motioning down to your shoes.

“Easy doll. Don’t want you taking a tumble.”

You cling to him as you move toward the porch, already soaking through.

“You can’t go home like this,” you tell him when you reach the door.

He looks down at his clothes, wet and sticking to his skin. “I’ll be fine doll face.”

“Bucky,” you sigh. “At least come in and dry off.”

The muscle in his jaw flexes as his eyes flicker to your body, your wet dress molded to every last curve.  When he meets your eyes again you startle at his expression. His blue eyes are darker and filled with hunger, something he does little to hide now.

You turn away, still unsure if he’s going to follow but then you feel his heat at your back as he comes inside and shuts and locks the door.

“Hang on. I’ll get some towels.”

Before bringing him the towels, you quickly peel off your dress, dry off and change. When you arrive back downstairs he’s standing in your foyer and trying to take off his suit jacket.

You giggle at the sight and rush over you help him pull off the sleeves, the material sticky from the rain.

“Thanks doll,” he murmurs as he takes the towel.

He begins to dry off, patting his shirt and running the towel over his hair.

“You need to take his off,” you tell him sternly then reach up to the buttons of his shirt. “I can put it in the dryer for you.”

He whispers your name, his eyes on your fingers as they slowly undo each button. You separate the sides of his shirt to reveal his skin, glistening from the wetness of the material.

You press your fingertips to the upper right side of his chest, touching a circular scar.

“Is this a bullet wound?” you ask, your voice thick with emotion.

“A sniper,” he answers quietly. “And not a very good one.”

“What do you mean?” you whisper, looking up into his eyes. “He shot you!”

“I’m sure he was aiming for my head.”

He says it so casually, but the thought makes you feel sick.

You swallow hard, your fingers trembling as you move them lower, trailing them across a large gash that runs over his ribs.

“And this?”

“Bar fight. Some assholes like to pick fights with soldiers.”

“It looks bad.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. But I survived.”

Your fingers move over his cool skin, his abdominals flexing under your touch as you slide them lower, through the dark trail of hair that disappears into his pants.

“Doll?” he growls, gently grabbing your wrist.

You wrench your eyes away from his body and look up at him in surprise.

“I…” you start, “I’m sorry. It’s just…I want….”

“This isn’t a good idea,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Why not?” you counter, wanting to pout like a child.

You must be doing just that because he lifts his free hand and brushes his thumb across your lower lip before he traces the curve of your jaw.

“I can’t do my job properly if all I can think about is getting my mouth and hands on you. I need to keep you safe.”

His words are pained and you can see the war in his eyes.

“But there are no threats right now. It’s just you and I, safe at home.”

He’s still holding your wrist and you slip free of his grasp, taking his hand in yours and placing it just above the neckline of your tank top.

“Touch me Bucky. Please.”

You leave his hand there and lift yours to push his shirt from his shoulders. You have to tug the wet material off his arms but once he’s free of it you let your fingertips ghost along his skin, goosebumps forming in their wake.

“Doll,” he pleads, his eyes closing.

When you reach the button of his pants you toy with it before deftly popping it open. His arousal strains hard against the fabric and you suck in a breath.

He finally stirs, his eyes opening and focusing all their intensity on you and the path of his hand across your collarbone.

His calloused fingertips are feather light as they slide along your shoulder until they trace along the column of your throat. His large hand closes around the back of your neck and he tilts your head back, dragging you into his chest.

He dips his head, his lips hovering just above yours as he whispers, “if we do this…”

“Yes,” you breathe out, your eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

“You need to know something doll.”

His nose bumps yours as he brushes it over your skin, his lips moving to shell of your ear.

“What?” you gasp, your nails digging into his chest.

“You belong to me now.”

@book-dragon-13 @goldylions @hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @lookiamtrying @late-to-the-party-81 @laineyreads @justkinsey @beccablogsthings @flordeamatista @sstan-hoe @littleseasiren @blackwidownat2814​ @buckysdollforlife​

[pfhwrittes]

all my love and thanks go to @buttdumplin for inspiring this soft little something for ale.

tags/triggers: the comfort part of hurt/comfort, use of papi as a pet name, fluff, brief mention of minor injuries (bruises), food mention.

word count: 430ish (unedited and unbeta'd as usual)

pairing: alejandro vargas x gender neutral reader.

a/n: i'm gonna level with you all, i don't know any spanish and the only spanish i know is european spanish. so instead of butchering a beautiful language, i've used a lot of italics. please please tell me if i've screwed up. and my standard request as per the banner, please do not interact with my writing if you're under the age of 18, despite this being entirely fluff.

everything hurts as ale shoulders the door open. his pulse throbs in time behind his eyes and over the swollen bruise on his jaw, a combination of too much paperwork and a lucky hit from rudy in the gym.

ale takes a deep, restorative breath as he makes his way towards the kitchen. the sounds of something sizzling over the music playing on the speakers tempting him further into the house better than any siren song.

"hi my love. busy day?" you call over your shoulder as he drops into the chair at the table heavily, "dinner is almost done, i'm trying the recipe your tía sent me and i think -"

ale tunes the rest of your chatter out as the headache flares behind his eyes and the patterned table cloth in his peripheral - the one his mother gleefully bestowed on you - blurs slightly before he closes his eyes with a tired groan.

"oh papi." you cluck your tongue softly and ale feels your cool hand smooth over his forehead, brushing back the few loose strands of his hair before moving to press lightly on the bruise under the scruff on his jaw.

ale nuzzles into your palm with a sigh.

"i'm sorry my love." he murmurs softly, blinking his tired eyes open slowly.

you're standing in front of him in the soft loose clothing you always prefer when you come home from work. a vision in comfortable cotton and jersey. he gives in to the urge to bury his face in your belly, sighing when the palm cupping his face slides to the nape of his neck. you soothe him with gentle words and gentler touches, kneading at the tense muscles of his neck.

minutes or hours later, ale lifts his head and watches as you melt at his expression. the little frown at your brow smoothing out, love radiating from every pore.

"what would i do without you?"

you hum in response and ale lets his eyelashes flutter closed as you scratch at his scalp lightly.

"come on papi, let's get you in the shower. wash some of the day off you, hm?" you say softly and curl your fingers into his hair, a teasing tug that would ordinarily send the blood zinging through his veins but tonight warms him slowly, making his thoughts go syrupy slow.

ale leans his forehead onto your stomach again, completely content to rest as you dote on him, his words muffled when he speaks.

"i love you so much."

"i know papi," you pause, before urging him to lift his head to look at you, "i love you too."

[wwilloww]

sh. | chapter twenty three | jhs

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 5.8k WARNINGS AND TAGS non penetrative sex. some mild angst.

AN hey :) i'm that dude sliding into ur dms after not responding to ur text for three months but i AM here with a new chapter for you all. this one, for some reason, was a doozy to write, but i hope you find something warm in it waiting for you. more to come soon! love you--and thank you for sticking along with me on this ride!

← || series m.list || →

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE: WITHOUT A GOAL

Hoseok’s hand is warm in yours. You smile at him as he tugs you from Jimin’s bedroom. For a moment that is all there is: you, Hoseok, and the singular place where your bodies are joined. You are silent, curious about where he is bringing you. 

Namjoon calls your name from within a door. 

He jogs out before you have a chance to respond. “I’ve been looking for you!” he says with a grin. 

“Have you?” 

“I need a hand organizing some of the books in the library.�� Then, sheepishly, “I thought you might like looking through some of them. I was hoping you’d help me.” 

You glance between Namjoon and Hoseok, trying to read their expressions, wondering if this is some remnant of your dream or if this is simply a perfectly normal conversation. 

“Hobi-hyung!” Taehyung calls, appearing at the end of the hallway. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

You and Hoseok share a look. “Apparently we’re quite popular,” he muses. 

“It seems,” you reply. 

“Sorry—” he mouths at you, as Taehyung slips his arm through Hoseok’s and tugs him away. You watch each other until the other disappears from view. 

Looking at Namjoon shakes loose the dregs of the dream from last night—the swirling mist of early morning, the possession in his eyes—as Namjoon leads you to the library. You watch his face closely for any recognition that the person you saw in your dream is the one standing before you. But his face is open– happy, even–taking in the sights and senses around him. 

“Is there a reason you keep pulling me away from Hoseok?” you finally ask Namjoon.

“No—why would you say that?” Namjoon asks, his brow furrowing. You shrug it off. 

“No reason.”

The day speeds by in a blur, and before long you find yourself at the dinner table, crowded around with your friends. Jin has whipped up a fusion meal: gochujang parmesan pasta with a whole brown butter spatchcocked chicken. It’s rich, creamy, and zings with acid at the end of the palate. You all coo over Jin’s culinary accomplishment, which he happily soaks up.

Jimin is a little quieter than normal, but when he’s not staring at his hands beneath the table, he’s consistently glancing at you, like he’s looking for something.  You offer him small smiles when you catch his gaze. He quickly looks away. It doesn’t feel like him. You have the sense he’s standing across a bridge from you, a forest, large and looming at his back. 

Where are you, Park Jimin?

—--------------

When dinner’s done, you all stay seated for hours around the table, laughing, talking, sharing small moments from your day. Jungkook shares that he tried to find a way onto the roof, which procures a very large, very enthusiastic scolding from the rest of you, Taehyung found some paints in an unexplored closet and has begun painting in his free time, and Yoongi sheepishly shares about a new song he’s been working on, in very vague, humble terms. You and Namjoon excitedly detail your work in the library, sorting books, and the discovery of a locked box of books. Everyone is enchanted by the story, and Jungkook offers to try to break the lock with a hammer, to which Namjoon shudders deeply.  

Though you never explicitly agreed to it, it’s become a tradition that you all eat dinner together each night. As the conversation winds down, your cheeks are heated from laughing, talking, and smiling so much. The gang breaks apart, some of you shifting back into the kitchen to finish dishes and tidying after Jin’s masterpiece. You and Jungkook tag team the table, collecting remaining dishes and napkins. 

Jungkook pauses, and leans across the table towards you. 

With a smile, he asks, “Wanna stay over tonight?” He waggles his eyebrows. 

“We’ve been meaning to have a moment alone,” Hoseok cuts in. You look up from your dishrag and spray bottle to find him standing in the doorway. You wonder how much he overheard of your conversation. We, you think. Hm. “Do you mind?”

You glance between Jungkook and Hoseok. 

“I did promise him earlier,” you say with a shrug to Jungkook. 

“Don’t you worry, Jungkook,” says Jimin, who also appears from the kitchen and lounges against the door. Somehow he manages to make every position—seated or horizontal or standing—look luxurious and effortless. “Why don’t you come hang out with me tonight?” 

“Really?” Jungkook says, his eyes lighting up. “Yeah—yeah, I’d like that.” 

“Mind if I join you two?” Yoongi chimes in. He, too, has emerged from the kitchen. Jungkook and Jimin nod, Jungkook’s face reddening slightly. You can read on his face what he’s imagining: the three of them tangled up in bed. 

This is may be the first time you’ve noticed Jimin and Yoongi being so straightforward with each other. You had always noticed the way that Yoongi would watch Jimin a little bit extra carefully than the others, his eyes tracking Jimin’s movements and the immediate surroundings whenever the latter was present. Before your group agreement you had always attributed it to Yoongi’s protective side, how he looked out particularly close for Jimin, despite Jimin’s lack of need for a guard dog. It had always seemed to you to be some kind of disagreement in perception, one you couldn’t always understand. Jimin had never needed protecting, not with his quick words and sharp judgment. But now, alone, stranded in the wilderness, who was Yoongi protecting Jimin from? 

“I, um, wanted to do some reading tonight anyways,” Namjoon chimes in, poking his head through the entryway. You exchange a glance, your gaze asking what no one wants to ask aloud: Do you want to be alone? He nods in response.

With arrangements settled, Hoseok slips his hand into yours. You look down at it, a little surprised. 

“Come on,” he says, and leads you to the back of the house. 

In the bedroom, you take in the sight of what is supposed to be your room (even if you share it). The last time you were here, you were getting ready for the dinner party that changed everything. The room remains unchanged, and yet it feels entirely different than the last time you were inside. 

You wonder where that red dress went. Knowing Namjoon, he probably returned it with a careful touch to its proper home shortly after the orgy. 

Standing in this room, something in you feels older, a little more mature. That’s not the word…

—Bigger?—

Yes, like you had grown, larger, more expansive, around the edges of your previous self. Has it really only been a couple days since you left your belongings here and began wandering the beds of the house? (Officially, and with everyone’s knowledge, that is.) The distance between now and then feels like it stretches weeks, time itself stretching taut and thin, despite it only being a handful of days.

Time seems to move so strangely here, in this house, like a river, barely moving in some places where it collects, stills, and becomes cold in the far reaches of its depths. And yet, there are other days that speed by with the quickness of a white water rapid. Right now, there is a part of you that feels caught in the eddies: whipped along and holding your breath. 

“You probably just want to just go to bed, don’t you?” Hoseok says as he strips off his sweater, revealing a simple t-shirt beneath. “You must be tired.” 

You come up behind him and wrap your arms around him, standing on your tiptoes. With your head on his shoulder, you look at him in the mirror. 

“Mmm. A little. Not too tired though.” The end of your sentence remains unspoken, but still understood: Not too tired to touch you.

You catch his gaze in the mirror and hold it for a moment. He smiles. A sense of ease and affection flutters in your chest. 

After a moment, though, that warmth becomes too warm, searing into your cheeks and making your heart flutter, and you break away, your hands falling to your sides as you take a step back. 

“Almost everyone in this house has asked something of me today, but I never learned why you pulled me out of Jimin’s room in the first place,” you say. 

“Do I need a reason? I just wanted to spend some one-on-one time with you. Is that too much to ask?” 

You startle, but gather yourself.“Never.” 

You both get ready for sleep, as if there’s nothing else to do. And when you have very thoroughly brushed your teeth and washed your face twice, instead of climbing into bed, you grab the book you were reading earlier in the tree and Hoseok promptly grabs his journal. You are avoiding the bed. 

You settle on the couch by the fireplace, sprawling out comfortably. The two of you lay there for a while, both minding your own business. It feels awfully domestic. Like you’re a married couple already settled into routine. The difference is—not a single word of the page in front of you is sinking into your mind.

 The difference is—you’re burning up, your whole body tuned to how close he lies—where his hands are (they’re playing with the edge of the page)—how his foot brushes against yours—how deep his voice resonates when he apologizes for nudging you. 

The difference is—you notice every edge of him. 

“Don’t apologize,” you say firmly. 

“Sorry—Don’t? Why not?”

You laugh. “I don’t ever want you to apologize for touching me. If anything I want you to touch me.”

“You do?” He stares blankly at you. 

“My god, Hobi,” you say, rolling on your side and discarding your book. “Sometimes you can be so thick.”

“Me?? I’m the thick one? And what about you? I’ve been waiting for days for you to pull me into a closet or a spare room or—god forbid—just kiss me out there in front of everyone—”

You reach for his hand, pulling it away from his book, and into yours. For a long moment, you both stare at each other, as if waiting for the other to make a move. And then, making a decision, you both move at the same time, hands reaching for faces, lips magnetized towards lips. 

Hoseok’s hand trails down your body, slipping beneath your pajama pants. Your hand wraps around his wrist, stopping his movements. 

“But—Jimin—” He said, I’m not allowed to come.

He chuckles. “It’s so sexy when you say another man’s name in my bed.”

You roll your eyes. “Behave,” you remind him. “But I did make him a promise. And in all honesty, I have no interest in being punished again. Today was enough.” 

Hoseok’s brows raise, and for a moment you think he’s going to ask about what happened between you and Jimin, and will end up hurting himself by wanting to hear the gritty details. But instead, he shakes his head and continues. “You know, not everything about sex has to be about orgasm,” Hoseok says, raising and waggling an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” 

“Sometimes sex can just be about pleasure. Instead of trying to chase something down, like a goalpost or, um…” he searches for the words. “Like some kind of race, where the only objective is to come. It can just be about the sensations along the way. Gentle pleasure.” 

“Edging, you mean,” you say, a little bit of disappointment in your voice. You have had enough of edging in the last weeks to last you an entire lifetime. You would consider yourself the resident expert of edging, considering how many orgasms you’ve been denied since arriving at the doors of this mysterious house, though you have a sense Jimin or Jin might try to come for your title. 

“No, not quite.” He frowns, trying to find the words. “I think edging brings you right to the cliff of an orgasm and hangs you over the drop for as long as you can hold out. The thrill is in not knowing if you can hold on or not.”

“Oof, all this talk of edges and cliffs hits a little too close to home,” you giggle.

“Okay, yeah that wasn’t the best way to say it.” He smiles. “But you know what I’m trying to get at, right?” You nod. “What I’m proposing, we just get to feel each other. Make each other feel good—without running. Running towards a finish line, I mean.”

That sparks an idea in you. “Where did you learn all of this?” 

Hoseok flushes. “Oh… You know.” 

“I don’t.” 

“It doesn’t really matter. Former partners. Reading.” 

You pass quickly by the first answer and focus on the second. “You read… about sex?” 

“Yeah. Sex. Psychology. Sexual health. Namjoon is my dealer.” 

You laugh. “Your dealer?”

“My book dealer,” he grins. You nod knowingly, well aware of one of Namjoon’s favorite activities: shipping his friends books during quarantine in the city. He sent the books out wrapped messily but compactly in brown construction paper. You can picture his notes, scrawled in pencil in the margins. He hated the thought of permanently marring a book with an ink pen, but in the same moment, couldn’t shut up with his brilliant ideas, even if it was received by the silence of a page. 

Namjoon had always been the designated librarian of your friend group, and was ever enthused to coerce anyone into reading whatever book suited his most recent interest with him. He had been trying to get a book club with you all up and running for years now, and yet—

“Never thought much about what it was that Namjoon was reading,” you murmur. 

“He’s got a diverse taste, that’s for sure,” Hoseok chuckles. “So, what do you say?” He leans in close, his fingers gliding over your belly. “Want me to make you feel good?”  

You’ve never really thought about the possibility of sex without a goal, without an orgasm to reach for at the finish line. But you nod, and smile, and his fingers slip beneath your pajamas again. 

At first he just explores you, his fingers tracing around your lower lips, pressing here, circling there. He doesn’t kiss you, but lays close enough, watching your face as you try to hold it together. But you can’t help it: little gasps slip out and pattern the silence. A gentle warmth begins to build in your belly. But without the urgency, the rush, the goalpost of it all, you find yourself focusing on the sensations in a deeper way than usual.

“Hobi—” you breathe. “It feels good.” 

“Good,” he grins. You reach for him, to slip your hands into his own pants, but he stops you. “Just let me make you feel good, okay?” 

That’s when he slips a finger inside you. He begins by pumping shallowly and oh-so painfully slow. You can feel every inch of him as he slips deeper on each thrust, opening you up for him. He’s careful, deliberate. 

“Close your eyes,” he whispers. “With your mind, I want you to trace where I’m touching you. Focus on the sensation of it all. Put all your attention there.” 

His other hand wanders your body, a gentle finger tracing your collarbone, a palm cupping and pressing against your breast, swirling touches against your belly. Your attention follows his. You feel your skin brighten, warm. All of it culminates in a sensation that he’s exploring you, learning you with a careful sense of duty. You can feel his diligence. 

“I want to be closer to you,” you gasp as he adds a second finger to you. And you mean it in more ways than one. But he answers the surface request, pulling you flush against his chest, lifting your leg over his hip. Your fingers cup his face, tracing over his features. 

He builds you to a slow, radiating heat, one that sifts through your whole body. You burn like embers, flushed and gulping for air. 

“Where are my hands?” he asks gently. “Follow them. Tell me what you feel.” 

“Warm. So warm, Hobi. Like sunshine.” 

Where he touches light radiates through your skin, down to your bones. It’s sex like nothing you’ve had before. There’s a part of you that keeps wanting to shift away from the slowness and sense of it all, to grab for more, to beg him to let you chase pleasure. It is the same part that has whispered since you arrived at the mountain house: run, run. The whisper turns to a shout: run, run. But when you breathe in deep and bring your attention back to touch—his finger circling your nipple, your bare feet brushing against the soft cotton of the sheets, his lips biting down on the soft flesh of your earlobe, his fingers moving slowly in and out of you—there is a new awareness, golden and bright. 

You take a deep breath. You settle into the feeling. 

It feels like forcing open a door, hinges rusted shut from disuse. 

It is a door that leads into your own body. It’s traitorous territory. But you breathe once, then again, sinking deeper, deeper, led by his touch.

You let your hips move against him, a slow grind. His hand is now between his and your pelvic bone, and you know that as you rock against him, he can feel it too. You shift closer, so you’re intentionally pressing against his groin, your hands tangling in his hair, raking slowly against his scalp.

The closer your bodies move, the more his touches blur into pleasure against your skin, the more the lines between you blur too. This is what you had all anticipated a few days ago, right? The muddling, the mess. You had told everyone you wanted to lean into it. But as sensation bubbles to the surface of your skin, so does something else within you: something dangerously warm. Something dangerously happy.

When he groans into your mouth, echoing your own pleasure, you know you’ve gotten what you want. 

Tonight, it’s so easy to find a quiet rhythm with him. It feels like it was never any other way. Without the element of chasing down an orgasm, there’s nowhere to go except here, now. Nowhere to go except towards him. 

That’s how you fall asleep, your bodies slowly grinding against each other’s, gasping against the other’s mouth, the other’s neck, the other’s chest until sleep swallows you whole. 

-----------

When you wake up Hoseok is pressed close to your face, his eyes wide open, a grin on his cheeks. 

“Oh my god are you watching me sleep?” You roll over, away from him, sleep fogged and groggy. 

“Come here,” he rolls you back towards him. “I was waiting for you to wake up. I have something to show you.” 

With his urging, you quickly get dressed, grab some coffee and something quick to eat, and head out. You’re sure he’s going to bring you outside.

“Hobi, maybe we shouldn’t,” you say. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, a look of genuine confusion on his face. 

“I don’t think any of our stints outside were any good,” you say. “Can we stay inside today? Please?” 

Hoseok nods. “That was the plan anyways. No outside for us, at least not for a while. We’ll stay inside today.” 

You smile at him.

He leads you to the back door, but instead of going outside, he takes a turn down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. It leads to a spiraling, narrow staircase descending down into the unknown depths of the house. Though the white walls of the passageway are narrow, as if they might lead to a basement or root cellar, the steps shine as if they’ve been polished recently. As you step onto the first step, you notice a thin carving on the edge of every stair. A woodland scene: a bear, an evergreen forest, a collection of tree-loving creatures. The wood itself is gorgeous: a reddish lumber that glows in the dim light. A delicate handrail leads your descent.

“Where are we?” 

You’re in shock that even after all this time in the house, there are still parts you haven’t explored. A dark basement is hardly something you’d like to explore alone, but you trust Hoseok, so you give him your hand and let him lead you down the stairs, trying to ignore how they seem to melt into the darkened floor below.

The sound from upstairs dampens, the voices of your friends blending into silence as you journey deeper. 

The temperature too, drops, raising goosebumps on your skin.

You emerge into a dark hallway, and Hoseok’s grasp tightens around your hand. 

“This way,” he whispers. 

There’s a doorway at the end of the hallway, a simple thing, and you know that’s where you’re headed. 

Hoseok pushes the door open and light spills all over you. 

The room that opens before you is walled by a thousand mirrors, an oak-golden floor, and a sweeping modern chandelier dangling from the ceiling. To your right, a wall of windows looks over the valleys and peaks of the mountains. Today the light is bright and warm, and as it spills over the changing leaves, you feel like you are held in the center of a pendulum. 

You’re standing in a ballroom. 

“This is it.” 

“Goddamn, Hoseok, this is beautiful.” You step away from him to wander the room. In one corner is a baby grand piano, and you run your fingers over the keys. Perfectly tuned. 

“I thought you would like it.” 

“I love it.” 

There’s something about the open space and the reverberating light that fills you with energy. 

“Yoongi showed it to me,” Hoseok says. “I bet he loves coming down here.” He plinks a key too. “Where he can play and sing without anyone listening.” He smiles fondly, and then turns his attention to you. “I thought maybe today I could give you a dance lesson?” Hoseok offers. “It’s something we could do together. You know. Without having to fight off a rabid bear or dangle off a cliff.” 

“Risk management. I like it,” you laugh. 

“But also selfishly—I was missing dancing with someone. And I’ve been working on a new piece of choreography, and, well, it needs two people. Will you help me with my little experiment?” He gives you those doe eyes you know better than to say no to. Still, you hesitate.

“You know I’m no dancer.” 

“But you’re good enough.” 

“Are you saying ‘I’ll do?’” you laugh.

“Yes, basically. But also, I wanted to do this—”

Hoseok steps closer to you, wrapping his hands around your lower back. 

You had danced with Hoseok in the past,  stepping in when he needed a hand or wanted to practice teaching a new dance before bringing it to a studio. You were decent, you could admit that, but you were no professional. 

“You just want to touch me, don’t you?” you tease. 

“Of course I do.” 

“And last night wasn’t enough?”

“Of course it was enough. And now I want more.”

“Ah…” You trail off. “I dunno. I’m not at the level you’re used to.” 

“You’re at the perfect level,” he grins. “Please? For me?” 

You sigh and nod. “Fine. But you owe me.” 

“I owe you times a hundred! Yes! Thank you!” 

He bounds away from you, before flicking on a stereo. A remix of an old waltz comes on, synths and electronic iterations dotted throughout the classical sound. He pauses, puzzling over how to start. You can see it in his eyes, all of the steps of the dance existing at once, the story of the dance, and the logistics of how to pull it out of the trenches of his mind to share with you. And then it clicks.

“Maybe we can just start out with a basic waltz? Just to warm up?” 

“Absolutely,” you say, and offer him your hand. He messes with something on his phone—speaking of, when was the last time you checked your phone?—and the song changes to a traditional waltz. He sweeps you into his arms. 

And like that, you’re off. His left hand holds your right tightly, while his right hand presses gently against your back. You’ve done this with him before, and the steps come back quickly and easily. Before you know it you’re laughing gleefully as you twirl around the room. 

You can’t help but compare it to the dream. There’s that same warmth, the way both dream Hoseok and real Hoseok had felt identical. Or no-–that wasn’t it. You had glowed identically in their presence. 

That was it. 

“I dreamt about this,” you blurt, before you can think of what you’re saying. This is the first time you’ve spoken about the recurring—and intimate—dreams you’ve been having about your friends to anyone beyond Jimin.

“So you’re dreaming about me now?” When you don’t answer, he asks, “What did you dream?” 

“That you wanted me—to marry you or something. It was some old timey thing. There was a barn. And lots of candles. And you teased me, endlessly. And you wouldn’t kiss me.” 

“I’m sorry—” 

“Hobi, it was my own imagination that didn’t kiss me, not you.”

“Well dream Hobi was right about one thing.” 

“What’s that?” 

“That I want you.” 

You flush, letting your eyes drift down. 

The dance comes to an end and Hobi puts the original song back on. He shows you the dance once from beginning until end, miming a dance partner in his arms, before he walks you through his choreography step by step. Tongue caught between your teeth, you follow him painful step by painful step, over and over again, until you’ve gotten the movements down. 

“Now we try it all together?” 

“That wasn’t all together?” 

At first it’s stumbling and awkward, but it doesn’t take too long for you to catch the gist and begin moving in tandem with him. As your hips roll, so do his. A perfect mirror. As you turn, he’s ready to catch you and pull you into him. As you step towards him, he steps back. 

Your bodies move as one and it feels so easy, too easy with him. The movement of the dance feels so natural that you find yourself blurting out: “You’re easy.” 

“Excuse me?” He stops moving, an incredulous laugh breaking free from him. 

“Shit, no sorry—I mean. You feel easy.” 

He tilts his head, still not understanding. 

“These past couple of days. Everything has felt so nice with you. So simple.” 

He nods slowly, finally unraveling what you’re getting at. “Yes, I, well, I agree.” He steps away to turn off the music and all at once, as the gargantuan room around you settles into silence, you’re struck by the profound quiet. Although it’s frequently quiet in the house, you usually have at least a passing awareness of the other people in it, a shuffle from the hallway, a cough from the room next to you. Now, all you hear is your breath, and his. Now, it’s just you and Hoseok. 

You nod. You’re not really sure where you’re going, what thread you’re trying to pull at. You follow him across the dance floor. 

“I’m confused that it’s so easy.” 

“You’re confused?” He turns back to you. “Aren’t these kinds of things supposed to be easy?” 

“Yes—I mean, gosh.” You run a weary hand over your face. “It was so hard. After we fucked the first time. Not hard. It was so goddamn awkward. And in all honesty, painful too.” 

Hoseok grimaces. “Yeah, I—Even though I was shitting on everyone else and, you know, the whole ass dynamic, I don’t even know how to put into words how uncomfortable it was for me too. Even though it was my own fault, I hated it. I hated every moment of it.” 

You nod and squeeze his hand. 

He continues. “It feels so stupid because I can’t even remember what was holding me back from you,” he clears his throat. “From you all, I mean, when right now it feels so easy. It makes me think that I was a complete and entire dummy.” 

You chuckle. “You were a complete and entire dummy. But then again we both were.” 

You want to say that you’ve been holding back too, but you swallow the words down. This moment, everything, him, it feels like it’s drawing short. Like it’s so fragile that at the arrival of the wrong word or touch it would shatter around you, leaving you too, broken into a million pieces. 

“We work well together, you know,” Hoseok says. “We’re good partners.” 

“It is really easy dancing with you!” 

“I don’t just mean dancing.” 

You stop. “What do you mean then?” You ask tentatively.

He pulls you close, runs his nose against your neck, nips against your ear. “I mean, I think you and I work really well together. It’s so natural it makes me wonder.” 

“Wonder what?” 

He laughs. “What it would be like to lean in—to explore this connection. To keep making it work.” 

“Well, of course–” you stop yourself. Well, of course we can keep exploring and making it work. You swallow the words, swallow the promise of offering him something more than what you can give. “Well, of course there are the others too. It feels so wonderful to be connected to you as well as to the others. Like it feels like it’s not supposed to work? But it totally does.” 

“Yeah, uh.” Hoseok steps back, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “The others. Totally.” 

You notice the tension but you’re too worried to step into it and interrogate it, lest you upset the precarious balance you and Hoseok hold these days, the tightrope between past and present that it feels like you’re constantly walking. 

“I mean it, Hoseok. It feels like this should all be a disaster but—it’s been the best part of my year.” 

You get him to smile at that. “I know. It’s been really special for me too.” The two of you grin at each other for a long moment, and then Hoseok is blinking and stepping away, moving towards the speaker to flip it on again. “Again? I think we can really get that final move down.” 

“Alright,” you sigh. “Again.” 

This time, when you go through the steps, you really feel the core of them. You understand the story behind it. You keep catching Hoseok’s eye in the mirror, and find his gaze glimmering and full of admiration. Sweat beads on your forehead with the effort of it all, but you’re exhilarated. In glances and glimpses in the expansive mirrors, you watch two bodies—bodies so familiar you might mistake them for those of a pair of old lovers—glide across the floors. Behind your figures, the valleys stretch, cavernous and deep. The mountains radiate with the kind of sun that only spills right as the seasons are in shift.

And then, you are back in the moment, trying to remember the next move, and the next, and the next. 

When he pulls you against him, he slips his leg between yours and raises an eyebrow, pausing longer than the dance calls for. The command is clear: Grind on me. 

You give a tentative swivel of your hips against him, gaze stuck to him, his form. 

“That’s all you got?” His hand on your hip presses against you, showing you the way. Showing you how to move your hips. You lean forward, so your lips are at his ear. Your breath ghosts over him, and you can feel him shudder beneath you, before his strength returns and he continues guiding you. 

“Like this,” he says. 

Sure, the move is part of the dance, but not quite like this. 

“Again,” he breathes. 

This time you shift your energy, bringing your focus to your hips. With careful deliberation, you grind your hips forward, pushing your pelvis to his, letting his thigh press up to your core. It’s the perfect amount of pressure to have you shuddering against him. 

“Fuck,” you groan. 

“I love when you have that filthy mouth on you.” 

You smile into his shoulder. His hand continues to roll your hips against him, matching the beat of the music. 

And then he shifts, his weight pulling away, pulling you with him, resuming the dance. But this is different. As you move, your bodies are pressed together without air, your lips ghost over one another’s, your fingers dig into each other’s flesh, desperate for more. When the dance dictates that he’s at your back, he presses his pelvis to you and you feel him against you. In the mirror you catch his gaze and he smirks. 

“This okay?” he whispers against your neck. 

“More than okay,” you reply. 

There’s a darkness swirling in his gaze, a contradiction to the usually sunny disposition you’re so used to. It’s a warm darkness, one that beckons you near, one that sings sweet promises of drowning oh-so gently. 

Do you want to drown?

In the next step you’re spinning back into him, and all choreography forgotten, you kiss him, hands flying to his face, pulling him down to you. He seems surprised at first, but soon relaxes into you, his arms wrapping around you, hands splayed across your lower back. Your kisses are hungry, needy. 

It’s like you’re making up for lost time. You devour each other, lips mashing together messily, hands wandering, clutching, gripping. Time slips past you like a stream. 

He begins to walk you backwards, until your back hits the cold surface of the mirror. You gasp at the cool sensation, your body split between the heat of exertion and the livening shock of the glass. His lips devour yours, his tongue scraping against the roof of your mouth. You pull him as close to you as possible and whisper in his ear: 

“I want you.” 

“Fuck. Forget the dance. Bed. Now.” 

— 

You sprint through the halls and up the stairs, laughing, giggling, Hoseok pulling you forward, forward. When he kisses you against the wall of your bedroom, you melt. When he slips under the covers with you, ignoring the knocking on the door and the sound of one of your friends calling your name, you turn into liquid in his hands. As he fucks you with his fingers, while you take him into your mouth, you hum with pleasure. 

Still at the back of your mind, the knot of a question sings: Why don’t we ever talk about what happened that night, all those months ago? It’s repeating like a chant, in tune with the sounds of pleasure that he pulls from your body over and over and over again.

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wc: 1.4k tags: 18+ only, established relationship, bondage kink, teasing, dry humping, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie -> requested

“I could untie that with my hands behind my back.”

Chifuyu’s teasing voice interrupts your concentration, his chin coming to rest atop your head, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he looks down at your handiwork on the kitchen table. 

Looking back and forth between the YouTube video playing on your phone and the knotted rope currently clutched in your hands, you roll your eyes at your boyfriend. “I think you’re long past your Toman days, Mr. Pet Shop Owner.”

Chifuyu clicks his tongue against his teeth, kneeling down and resting his forearms and chin on the table beside you as he watches your nimble fingers work the rope. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw how bad Kazutora tangled up the new shipment of leashes last week when he knocked over the display. I’ve still got it.”

Raising a brow, you bop him lightly on the head with the knot. “Fine, loser makes dinner tonight.”

Twenty minutes later, Chifuyu’s seated in one of the dining chairs in the middle of the kitchen, his wrists secured around the back with a bandana covering his eyes.

“Was the blindfold really necessary? It’s not like I can see my hands, anyway,” he calls out.

Smiling to yourself, you pad back into the kitchen, having silently slipped into your bedroom a few minutes prior—unbeknownst to him. A surprised noise escapes his lips as you climb into his lap, straddling him. His thighs flex beneath you, and you reach up to tug off the blindfold, leaving his black hair a mess in the aftermath. 

He takes in your outfit, now nothing more than one of his oversized tees and your underwear, lips curling upward in a smirk. “Lose confidence in your knots?”

You shrug, shifting in place, and you don’t miss his subtle intake of breath as you press into him. “I thought I’d see how well you work under pressure while we’re at it.”

Chifuyu huffs, blue eyes flashing with a challenge. “I’ve gotten out of worse.”

—-

Chifuyu very quickly learns the difference between the panicked adrenaline that fuelled him as a teenager to escape ropes and zip ties from rival gangs while covered in blood and bruises—and this. 

This being the sight of you sitting in his lap, a teasing pout on your lips and one of his threadbare old t-shirts hanging over your frame, the neck so stretched out at this point that he finds himself staring at one of your collarbones. It’s instinctual, the urge to grasp your legs at the knees, to slide his palms up your thighs until he’s rubbing steady circles into the shape of your hips.

His fingers twitch, and he remembers that he’s stuck. 

But the real problem now, beyond the fact that you’re perched in his lap waiting patiently for him to escape and touch you—

The real problem is the unexpected zing of pleasure that arches up his spine at the feeling of the rope digging into his wrists. 

Breathing in sharply through his nose, his eyes widen slightly, and you don’t miss a goddamn thing.

“Having some trouble there?”

Chifuyu bites the inside of his cheek, wrists twisting as his fingers grasp at the knot. You make a show of stretching meanwhile, rocking forward in his lap while you do so, and the t-shirt lifts up enough to reveal a peek of your black panties in the process. Between the feeling of the hard rope chafing against his skin and the way you’re now pressed up on his growing erection, he can’t help but groan.

“I thought you’d be quicker than this,” you tease. 

To his credit, the rope does loosen enough to let him know he’s on the right track, but you also choose that moment to ditch the shirt entirely, tossing it onto the floor in one swift movement.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Chifuyu’s certain that you went out of your way to put on this lacey bra, the cups sheer enough to show the outline of your pebbled nipples. 

“You take cheating to a new level,” he grumbles, though it comes out a bit labored as he tries in vain to pull apart the ropes with brute force.

—because your tits are right there in front of his face, but he can’t reach out to stroke a finger across your peaked nipples, can’t use two fingers to unhook the bra to let it join his shirt on the floor, can’t lean in to wrap his mouth around them and suck till you’re the one begging him—

And the fact that he can’t touch you is making him that much harder.

His cock aches in his pants, and he regrets not changing out his jeans before all of this started, the stiff material pressing down into his shaft as you blatantly roll your hips against him. 

“Should I give you some more incentive?”

Chifuyu’s about to tell you that he doesn’t exactly need another reason to desperately want to undo these ropes and fuck you right here on the floor, but the words die on his lips when you lean in and begin to mouth at the side of his neck, dragging your cunt along the outline of his hard shaft all the while.

“Fuck,” he groans, grinding back up into you as best as he can without topping the chair in the process.

You keen, pressing down into him harder, mouth trailing along his jaw before your lips find his in a messy, spit-soaked kiss. 

Pleasure simmers hot in his gut, and he’s not sure if he’s actually trying to get out of the rope anymore or just blindly grasping at its edges to enjoy the feeling of being trapped while you whimper with each roll of your hips.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he gasps, chest heaving as you drag your hands through his hair.

He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down.

As much as Chifuyu is sure it would please you to have him come in his pants right now—which he’s dangerously close to doing—he’s certain he might just lose his mind if he has to wait to fuck you after all this

It’s that motivation alone that finally gains traction over his rapidly straying attention, his fingers calling back on old habits of muscle memory to untie the knot and send the rope falling to the floor.

You yelp when his arms wrap around you suddenly without warning, laughing as scoops you up and then lays you down atop the shirt. He doesn’t even bother taking off his pants, just shoves them and his boxers out of the way enough to get his flushed, aching cock in his hands.

He hooks a finger in your panties and tugs them aside, groaning at the sight of the slick arousal dripping out of you. A moan crawls up your throat when he slides a finger inside of you—you’re so fucking wet. 

His cock twitches, precum dripping messily from the tip, and he spits in his palm, taking himself into one hand as he begins pumping two fingers in and out of your soaked cunt.

When he finally sinks his cock into you, Chifuyu’s so desperate for it at this point, he knows he’s not going to last. Especially not when you take off your bra so he can lean in to wrap his mouth around one of your sensitive nipples as they bounce before him with each pounding thrust.

“Chifuyu,” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist, hips rocking into his as your cunt begs his cock in deeper.

Reaching down, he drags his fingers over your swollen clit, relishing in the desperate sounds you make as he buries himself balls deep. 

“Leme hear you come,” he murmurs, leaning in to slot his lips against yours.

He can feel your muscles tense beneath him, and he doesn’t relent, not until you choke out a sobbing moan, your slick walls rapidly fluttering and tightening around his shaft as you come all over his cock. 

And then one of your hands wraps around his wrist, the skin there red and rubbed raw from the rope, and Chifuyu nearly collapses as his orgasm hits him with the force of a truck, vision going white under a thick, gushing wave of pleasure. You moan softly beneath him as hot cum spurts heavily from his cock, filling you to the brim.

“Did I win?” he asks, still trying to catch his breath.

You grin up at him, “Did anyone really lose if we discovered you have a new kink along the way?”

Sighing, he rolls his eyes fondly. “I guess this means we’re ordering takeout.”

[anxi-aashi]

I'm shy but like... i need to suck childe dry, to the point of letting him all sensitive and whimpery. Leave his cute red cock sensitive to the slightest touch just to put him inside and cockwarming as long as I need it. Yes.

me too dawg............................ me too

warnings: cursing, oral sex (m!receiving), slight sub childe? praise, implied fem!bodied reader

a/n: ran out of steam towards the end no cockwarming sorry :( enjoy my first attempt at smut!!! MDNI

“Please?”

Spread out on the couch, Childe peered down at you, kneeling prettily between his legs. A slight smirk rested on his kiss-swollen lips, and despite the cocky air he had about him, a bright flush rested high on high cheeks. “Hm, I don’t know. Do you think you deserve it?” he cooed, bringing up a thumb to play with your bottom lip.

A wave of heat pulsed through you and settled in your core. You subtly squeezed your thighs together. “I think you deserve it,” you purred, hand inched closer to the tent in his pants. “Please? Wanna make you feel good.”

Whatever he had been about to say was cut short. He hissed in a breath through his teeth at the teasing squeeze you gave him, and the smirk quickly melted away. Beneath your hand, his clothed cock throbbed. 

“F-Fuck– yeah, yeah, okay,” he stuttered, trying not to seem too eager while tugging down the waistband of his pants. In any other situation, you wouldn't have passed up the opportunity to tease him a bit, but that thought was thrown to the side the moment he freed himself from his boxers. 

Flushed a red that almost glowed, the head of his cock slapped lightly against his light happy trail. You salivated at the sight and bit your lip. 

Your hands tugged down his pants the rest of the way to his feet, allowing you to shuffle closer and take his dick in your hand.

The action released a grunt from Childe that came from deep within his throat, his head falling limply against the back of the couch.

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Someone’s sensitive.”

“And whose fault is that?” His gaze remained on the ceiling until you swiped a thumb over his slit, encouraging a few drops of pre-cum to race down his length and over your hand. His head snapped toward you then, hips bucking a bit. “God, baby, please stop teasing.”

A hum was all he got in response, but you wanted him just as bad as he, you. So you wasted no more time before reaching your other hand to lightly play with his balls as the one wrapped around his cock coaxed him into your mouth. 

The whine that escaped Childe at the feeling was most certainly not one he wanted you to hear, but God, you wanted him to do it again. You hollowed your cheeks and slowly took him further into your mouth before pulling up and dragging your tongue along a vein that ran up the bottom of his shaft. 

His hands clawed at the cushions on either side of him, a crease forming in the middle of his brow. His jaw dropped open, leaving you privy to all the desperate pants he sighed.

Just as you were about to pull off of him, you swirled your tongue around his tip, giving it an extra suck, and flicking again over his slit. A string of saliva followed you as you pulled just the tiniest bit away, checking on Childe, but the pause sent a hand of his flying to cup your face and snaking around to the back of your head. “Please, don’t stop,” he pleaded.

You weren’t planning on it. Taking him back into your mouth, you set a steady pace, bringing up the hand that fondled his balls to massage what you couldn’t fit. At a light graze of your teeth, Childe let out a broken moan that sent a zing of electricity through your veins. The hand at the back of your head pawed with want; you could tell he was itching to take over and fuck your throat. A surge of heat joined the wetness already pooling in your panties, and you couldn’t fight the moan that worked its way up your throat as you worked him.

His gaze fell on you when he heard your need. The flush had spread all the way to his ears and the deep blue of his eyes was nearly all consumed by his lust-blown pupils. “You like that— mhm! — My cock taste good, baby?” You moaned around him in response, not relenting with the bobbing of your head. “You look so pretty with my dick down your throat. So good t’me,” he mumbled. 

Tears welled up in your eyes as you picked up the pace, his tip hitting a spot on the roof of your mouth with every descent. It didn’t take long for Childe to become a mess. His eyes didn’t leave you, watching a tear slide down your face, drool drip from where your bottom lip hugged his cock. 

When he felt the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat at your attempt to take more of him, he let out a long, needy whine, hips involuntarily bucking. The grip on your hair tightened. “Fu-uck! I— baby, I’m close, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—” Childe gasped, his breath catching before devolving into a drawn-out, guttural groan.

His seed spilled down your throat with his release and you swallowed what he gave you, save for a few drops that escaped down your chin from a few of your coughs. Chin slick with cum and drool, you grinned up at him. 

“You have another one in you?” 

He wheezed out a laugh, still recovering from his high. “I don’t— Ah!” his sentence cut off at the kiss you planted on the tip of his soft, but quickly hardening cock.

“Please?” Your tongue peeked out to lick your lips.

And really, how could he say no to you?

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter XII : Venus

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

A/N: I realized shortly after posting chapter 11 that I’d made a small mistake in the timeline I’m intending this to follow. I included a line from Din saying Paz had already tried to take the Darksaber from him and failed, but where we’re at now, chapter 5 of The Book of Boba Fett hasn’t happened just yet. So I’ve gone back and deleted that small detail from the previous chapter, and why am I even telling you this, idk, but if you guy could do me a solid and pretend to forget my fuck up, I’d love you forever for it. 

Writing Star Wars is hard

Also, the indomitable @dirtysouvenir has rendered the most gorgeous artwork imaginable of Din and Sithy, and I still can’t quite believe my eyes every time I look at it. Everyone please go show Jonis all the love and praise she deserves. 

Anyways… like always, forgive me for the wait. I love you all for being so patient with me. And shout out to chapter four of Someone’s Wife in the Boat of Someone’s Husband which served as inspiration for this. You will always be famous to me!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

CHAPTER XII : VENUS

What are we doing here, and why are our hearts invisible?

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water

“Just like that, yes. Good girl–keep doing what you’re doing.” His hand slides to circle your wrist, leather and the thick weave of your tunic, the slight shake of your nerves caught between. “Grip it firmly, but squeeze it gently. Yes– yes, good. You’re doing so well.”

You suck in a trembling breath, too hyper aware of the feel of his chest plate brushing against your back, the cap of his left knee gently bumping the back of your own, his arms wrapped in a loose and careful cage around your frame where he’s helping you direct the blaster at the target he’d set up several meters away for practicing. He’s got one of your wrists wrapped in the leather of his fist, the other cupping the underside of your elbow to keep your shaking arms steady. 

“I don’t know why I’ve never been very good at this,” you whisper over the sound of the burning desert winds lashing you in the brow. “It’s just never come very easy.”

“That’s alright. That’s why we’re practicing again.” The hand cupping your elbow moves slowly to your waist, all his handling of you these past few days has been so intentional, cautious and patient and aware of himself and you and your reactions. Your heart beats, thumps and thumps hard enough to make you a little dizzy, a little sick. “Keep your right arm firm, but fluid. Try not to lock your elbow, let the recoil move through you steadily.”

He’d covered your hair and face in soft white linen wraps to keep you from being scorched by the sun and sand, and his voice is so deep, head pitched low so that the modulator is vibrating right at the level of your ear, the sounds of him sluicing through the linen to curl around your ear. You shiver again, squeezing your fist too tight around the butt of the blaster. You’d asked him if he’d help you practice just before you’d made planet fall a few hours ago, and now here the two of you are. A few clicks outside of Mos Eisley, he’d found a cluster of sandstacks to land the Crest amidst for a couple hours of target practice—near an area he’d told you is called Beggar’s Canyon. 

You’re not sure if it’s just an excuse to have him touch you, but here you are now, in the circle of his arms, shivering with nerves and heat and want. The sun burns, but the places where he grips you burn worse, and your heart rings in your skull. 

“Focus your gaze between the eyeline, eventually, it’ll come naturally, your aim, but for now, use the field the blaster sets. Squeeze gentle–” He grips your now healed elbow firmly, anchoring your arm, the hand holding your wrist moves to your waist, securing you in his hold so that when you pull the trigger, the zing of the blaster bolt leaving its chamber moves through your limb, into your chest cavity, electrifying your heart, and his hold is steadying all the way through. He’s there to keep you up, keep you strong, and so it’s almost thoughtless when you do it, a gut instinct or some muscle inside your brain desperate to flex and stretch or come awake because faster than you can blink or think, you take hold of that bolt of plasma with your mind, freezing it midway between where the two of you stand and the target he’d set. 

You feel his hands flex around you, but he keeps still and silent, watching, waiting for what you’ll do next. And your heart beats faster and faster, the bright of the sun gleaming and nauseating, refracting off the sand, the plasma, your eyes. The bolt screeches and writhes and defies the laws of nature by your hand, and it does not feel good, but it does feel right. 

The first time you’ve really wielded the Force since the night you escaped. 

There’s something painful and uncomfortable and familiar about it coming back to you. Your breath goes fast within your chest, the taste of the desert on your tongue and the grit of sand sneaking beneath your clothes, sweaty line of anxiety down your spine, and his steady, calm breaths up against your back every other moment, this power inside of you that’s always been the cause of everything bad and only some things good. It vibrates in everything, moves through all living things, the Force, within you, within him. 

“Let it go, cyare. It’s okay if you miss.” You shut your eyes and let it fall away and now it’s not the Force or you or anything else, it’s only him keeping you up against the rest of everything. 

The two of you, like grief and the mountain. 

-

“How did you meet this woman again?” You ask for about the third time, seemingly unable to keep your mouth shut and your nerves to yourself. 

“She’s been keeping up maintenance on the Crest for a while now. And she helped out with the kid, watched him for me a couple times—I trust her.”

“Peli,” you repeat the name contemplatively, taking in the sight of him as he checks the pre-landing codes, flipping switches and punching toggles a little too roughly. He’s agitated, covered and swathed in it. You know he’s worried about you, the way you’ll feel being around someone else, scared you’re still feeling fragile or tired or weak. And you’re accepting it for now because you are. You are tired and you do feel fragile and you do need taking care of. If only for the time being, if only for a little bit longer. A sort of end feels very near, and you’re still working out what that such end is going to be. 

“Peli,” he sighs, hitting the last button and finally swiveling in his chair to face you, and you eye him suspiciously, you know that sigh and head tilt. “How do you feel?”

“Fine.”

“Not tired?”

“No.”

“Your shoulder?”

Hurts. “Fine.”

“Cyar’ika.”

“Din.” Another sigh. Another shake of his head. You’re sure he’s rolling his eyes at you beneath that stupid lug of metal he wears on his fat head. But you hope that he’s smiling too, and you give him a soft, small one of your own, twisting your fingers together tightly in your lap. You want to reach out for him, to go to him and sit with him and kiss him again like the other day. But you don’t feel ready again. Again, fragile, tired, a weakness of heart within you that you can’t understand the source of, or you can, but you don’t want to accept it, you want to be able to move on, to get over it, to be like you once were. But that you also know he’ll let you feel for as long as you need to.

“I promise I feel okay, and that I’ll tell you if I don’t.” The target practice had left you tired and awake, and there is something moving inside of you—a recognition of sorts you can’t pinpoint exactly, but which you know is going to show or tell you something about yourself soon, the Force, the things you’d done or the things you’d do. And there’s patience too, a waiting, a readiness to receive whatever this would be without pressure or urgency. You feel entirely strung tight, a knot about to be set loose, entirely at ease, as well. Something strange about the anxiety you carry within yourself, like it doesn’t really matter much anymore and is only waiting for the right moment to be expelled. 

He gives a soft grunt and turns back to face the control panel. The rolling golden sands of Tatooine like an ocean before you, and then there in the distance, the littered smattering of sand blighted little buildings that make up the spaceport of Mos Eisley. He directs the Razor Crest towards Hangar three-five, the ship jostling with the lowering of the landing gear. 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” You ask nervously, following him down the ladder once he’s eased the ship into the landing bay, fretting over this ordeal of having to meet someone else from his life, a friend, which wasn’t even something you were aware he knew how to have. You hear the heavy thud of his boots against the durasteel, and then his hands are circling your waist and pulling you down the rest of the way, paying no mind to your indignant squawking. 

He’d been strange with his touch, as well. As if he couldn’t help himself some moments, overcome by habit and familiarity, and then afraid and cautious in others. And you can’t understand how you feel about this either. Grateful, a sort of soft that makes your eyes smart and your cheeks bleed with heat. He’s so aware of you, so aware of what you might want or need, but then overcome, as well, needing you, wanting you. And you feel so afraid you won’t be able to give him those things—the ones he wants or needs, that you won't be able to find your way back to the way things had been between the two of you before. 

“You’ll be fine,” he says, little compassion to be found for your fretting. You stick your tongue out at the back of his head, rolling your eyes and steeling yourself as he lowers the hatch, and a chirpy little voice calls, Mando!

The plank lowers, and lowers, and lowers, and finally, a mess of springy dark curls come into view. The small woman, Peli, claps her hands excitedly and spreads her arms in wide welcome of him, and something in your heart throbs. 

A friend, indeed. 

“Peli,” he greets her, heavy, swaying gate stomping down the gangplank, voice serious and not all matching her enthusiasm. You roll your eyes at him again as the reverberations of his steps tickle your feet through the soles of your boots. 

“Hey, look everyone! It’s Mando,” she says to the chittering droids whirring around her. You follow him slowly, slinking directly behind him so that the breadth of his shoulders conceals you for a second longer before, “And who do we have here? Another unlikely companion?” 

He pivots, letting you step into full view and brave shyness, a hand coming up to hover around your waist, urging you forward, but not actually touching you. The sound of your name rings in tune to the thump of your heart through the modulator. Careful, so careful, and it makes you hurt at your own self. Wanting to touch you one moment, unable to stop himself from ripping you into his arms; another, afraid, feeling like he can’t even put a gently motioning hand on your body, and how will you ever fix this? How are you going to ever be able to get the two of you back to where you were? 

You take a hurt little step away from him, swallowing the heat in your throat several times before you can force a smile onto your face. 

His body shifts and sways towards your retreating one. 

But the small woman steps towards you, pit droids spinning and skittering frantically around her, and she claps a work hewn hand on your shoulder. “Let Peli take a good look at you.” Her gaze is cheerful, full of a youthfulness that belies her age and an even more cheerful, gap toothed smile. “Pretty girlfriend, Mando.” She waggles her bushy brows up at him. “Brought me another set of bright eyes, didn’t’cha?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Peli.” Your throat feels humiliatingly tight when she takes your hand in her smaller one, giving it a swift shake, no gentleness about the way she handles you, and there’s something comforting about the forsaking of the kid gloves. Your fracture isn’t obvious for the whole world to see, there’s still normalcy to be found for you. 

She looks up at Din as you avoid his burning gaze, laughing scowl on her sunny face. “Who woulda thought you had it in, ya, huh?” She thumps a fist on his chest plate, shaking her head and moves to take a look at the Crest. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Chasing down some elusive bounty? Carbon scoring’s worse than last time.'' She chatters a million miles a minute, pulling out some sort of electric scanner, assessing the old gunship. 

“We had a long trip,” he sighs, hands fisted on his hips as he watches her impatiently, turning his gaze back to your face every few moments. You want to bare your teeth at him in a snarl and tell him to stop fucking worrying. You want him to take you into his arms or hold your hand. 

“Long trip, sure. That’s what he always says,” she tells you over her shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Turns out it’s usually a gun fight or something just as idiotic.”

You snicker, enjoying the easy way she handles your Mandalorian’s surliness, grateful for the cheerful buffer she provides between your own internal angst and his overzealous worrying. “It was a long trip this time, I swear. We’re coming from the Core,” he grumbles, and the two of you follow her while she inspects the damage on the ship, and in a moment of bravery or desperation for normalcy or closeness or just him, you reach up to grip two of his thick fingers in your fist. His hand immediately adjusts and curves to wrap around yours, intertwining your fingers and taking you securely in his grip. You feel him turn to look down at you questioningly, but you refuse to look back. This is normal, this is how it should be, this is what feels right even if you need the barrier of his gloves to feel like you can breathe. 

“The Core! Long way’s.” Hmm, she muses as she goes. “Got a fuel leak.” Again. He huffs. “Taking a vacation now?” She turns back with another smarmy smirk. 

“Something like that.”

“Nice little honeymoon?” She teases. “I could use one of those myself.” She scans something else, and the pit droids chatter and chirp around her, almost full her height, she’s so small. 

“Peli–” he grumbles. Your grumpy, shy boy; you wonder if he ever blushes under that thing, squeezing his hand in yours as tight as you can. 

“Yeah, yeah. No droids, I know. When are you gonna get over that nonsense, huh Mando? It’s about time, you know!” She bends to inspect something closer near the landing gear, covered in carbon scoring here too, examines her scanner again, then clips it back to her utility belt. “Alright, here’s the deal–” But he cuts her off, pivoting while pulling his blaster in one fluid motion to shoot at a poor little droid that's gotten too close. “Hey! Hey! What’ve I said before? You damage one of my droids, you’ll pay for it!” She shouts. 

“Din–” you scold, gripping the thick of his arm to pull the weapon down. 

“What’ve I told you?” He barks. 

“No droids. No droids. Blah, blah. You have got to get over that! I’m tryn’a make a deal with you here, ya womp rat.”

He jerks aggressively towards another little droid that wanders too close, sending it skittering away in terror, and you pinch his arm beneath the thick duraweave, frowning up at him, be nice, when he looks down at you, giving him a jut of your eyebrow and thrusting your chin at Peli. He groans, cursing low and grumpy in Mando’a. “Fine. What’s the deal?”

“If you let them work on the Crest–” She jerks her chin at the little pit droids quivering behind the crates strewn about the hangar in abject terror of the mean Mandalorian. 

“No,” he cuts her off, stubbornness in every line of his frame. 

“Din!” You scold again, bumping your hip into his. 

“Come on, Mando! I’ll charge you half price–”

“Deal,” he cuts her off again immediately, the cheapskate. 

“Ha!” She hoots and claps loudly. “Droids! Get to work on this lovely man’s ship. Lemme see the cash.” She holds out a grubby palm, wiggling her fingers. “He’s pretty easy, you ever notice that?” She says to you conspiratorially. 

“Constantly,” you can’t help the laugh in your voice. Your first laugh in what seems like years. 

“Loose knickered is what they used to call it back in my day.” And you have to turn your face into his arm to muffle your cackling, listening to him start up another string of curses beneath the helmet.

“I’ve literally never heard anyone say that before, ever,” he mutters sullenly. 

“Well, you’re young.”

“Not that young,” you provide helpfully, big cheesy smile that feels slightly unnatural and rusted spreading across your face. 

“Whoopee, Mando! I like this one! You really do know how to pick ‘em.” She claps him roughly on the shoulder, her little paw slapping loudly against his pauldron. “Anyway, I’ve got somewhere to be for the next couple of days, you see. I’m dating that Jawa again—the one I’d told you about,” she announces, proud as anything, big smile across her leathery face.

“A Jawa?” You repeat, making sure you heard right. 

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, bright eyes. They’re quite furry… very furry, but…” She clicks her teeth together, “You know…” Grins. 

You look up at Din, squeezing his arm in your grip. “Guess I gotta try it.” You’re pretty sure you hear him grumble something to the effect of over my dead body, before he’s agreeing to Peli’s deal with a clap and a shake, and the promise of two hundred and fifty Imperial credits and absolutely no harm done to her droids while she’s gone and they work on the Crest. 

“Treadwell, get in there!” She shouts, and the little pit droid chirps fretfully, trembling behind an R5 unit. “You can’t say no, you’re a droid. Oh, he’s not going to shoot you. Stop being a coward! What is this, a democracy all of a sudden?” Losing the fight, the droid wheels forward to get to work. “Yeah, thought so.” She turns back to you and Din. “You two can stay here, look after the shop while I’m gone? It’ll only be a few days.”

“We have some resupplying to do, but we’ll stay until you’re back,” he promises.

“And you’re not going to shoot my droids?”

“And I’m not going to shoot your droids,” he agrees, but later, you catch the too rough nudge he gives one of the little droids with his boot when he thinks no one’s watching. This man and his droid complex, you roll your eyes. 

“How’s the N-1 keeping up?” He asks as she’s packing up to go. 

“Just how you left her. That honey’s faster than a fathier. You should take her out while you’re here, give that baby a spin. Oh! And I added that turbonic venturi power assimilator I’d mentioned before. Remember? S’how I reconnected with my Jawa,” she nudges you with a wink. “You’re gonna be the fastest ship on the Outer Rim.” 

“You got a new ship?” You ask curiously.

“Just a side project we took up while I had some spare time.” But the way he says it is a little strange, making you pause to look up and try to read the blank face of his helmet. Ah, and he smooths that same hovering hand from before along the line of your spine, an attempt to soothe or quell your curiosity without actually giving you the gift of his touch.  

Peli leaves a few hours later, and she really does have a Jawa lover. The little critter comes to collect her right before the suns set, off to catch the sandcrawler before it journeys off into the desert, leaving you alone with only Din and the little pit droids for company. 

And suddenly, that shyness from earlier is back for some reason. The distraction of travel and the buzz of hyperspace lost to the calm silence of the quiet spaceport as the suns set over the horizon and night settles in, cool winds coming in on the sand gusts from deep in the desert. After hours of work, Din posing as the menacing overlord barking orders and complaints, intruding on their work when it isn’t up to his ridiculous standards, the droids finish up for the night, and Din engages the hangar security system, and then the ship’s, locking the two of you in safely for the night. 

“Dinner?” He asks as he moves slowly around the hull, pulling the cloak from his shoulders, a river of sand sluicing in a rain sheet onto the steel floor. The sound of it has a shiver moving through you as you lower yourself to the floor, crossing your legs beneath you at the edge of your makeshift bed. You desperately want to crawl between the covers without a shower and find the peace of evasion through sleep, secure in the knowledge that he won’t follow you into bed. He’d refused since you’d reunited, even though you’d invited him several times to share the much more comfortable pile of blankets than what you know his pilot’s chair or bunk provide. He’d not taken you up on the offer yet, and right now, fluttering heart and hot eyes and sweating nape, you’re glad for it. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you—or you do. You’re overwhelmed with want and fear, of him, of his touch, of having lost what the two of you had before. And as you watch him start to pull his armor from his body, first one pauldron, then a vambrace, then a thigh guard, no sense of congruity to the pattern with which he divests himself of his Creed, it’s suddenly like he’s standing right in front of you, and yet you miss him anyway. Miss him in a way that makes you sick and devastated. 

You must make some sort of sound, a funny look on your face or a change in your breathing because he turns suddenly, a too worried, “What’s wrong?” on his tongue. 

“Nothing.” You look up at him from your spot on the ground, head falling back on your neck, and you can feel the wet of your eyes, trying to force yourself not to blink so that they won’t fall—the tears. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He comes to a slow crouch before you, long legs folding down, down. “What is it? Tell me.” Half missing his armor as he poses now, it’s like he’s half him, half yours, half only-man, half Mandalorian. A little bit like what you feel yourself; half, half, half. 

Pulling one glove from his hand, he lifts it, palm spread towards you, showing you his intention before he carefully cups the side of your face; thumb at your pulse, pointer and middle fingers giving your temple a soft pressure, pinky poised at the bridge of your nose. Your lashes brush against his index every time you blink, and his skin is smooth and rough at the same time, and warm—sun-hearted man. 

You press your face harder into his palm, letting him support the weight of your head, nuzzling against the rough of his calluses, blaster blister scratchy against your carotid, and heat pulses all through you from the crown of your head, sliding down the length of your, still yet, too long hair, the back of your neck, your chest, pooling to settle deep in the pit of your belly. 

And yet there’s something missing or different or off, like you feel empty but too full of trepidation to conjure up that old desire you’d always had, that need for him to fill, fill, fill you. Like the heat is there, but it’s remembered, not necessarily present. It all makes you want to cry and scream and go to sleep. 

The truth, and plainly: you’re terrified of anything that might hurt, can’t fathom the idea of it. 

Your heart beats in your throat, you taste it on your tongue, and it mixes with the sad when you say: “Do you remember when we were on Kashyyyk—when we sparred?”

“I remember,” he says, voice deep and low—through the modulator. You hate his helmet. You wish you could get beneath. You wish you were brave enough. The feeling of it coming on sudden and unexpected, thought, bitter and foul and not something you’d necessarily felt before, certainly not so viciously. It’s just that you hate that all this has happened—you want to feel the press of his lips at the crown of your head and the wash of his breath like heat moving through your hair—that you are not in the same place you once were, that you’re too afraid to move forward. 

“When we switched weapons—”

He hums: “Yes.”

“It was so green there.” You turn your face further into him so that you’re speaking into his palm now, words pooling there in the cup of it like a well of truths and fears. 

“It was.” The pointer and index stroke your temple, press once, twice, thrice—harder on the latter. It feels good, it feels real and reminding. He lets a heavy silence pass for a moment, he’s thinking of something, contemplating a push. “Do you remember—” He passes a swallow you can hear the thickness of, “Do you remember how I had you in the dirt—like a fucking animal? How you let me do whatever I wanted, however I wanted.” He gives the hardest press he’s given yet, at your temple, you think you feel the press against your brain, and you open your mouth to let the edge of your teeth dig hard into the meat of his palm. He growls a rough sound, a hungry sound, a sound like one he’d have made when he had you in the dirt like a fucking animal. 

You drag your teeth along the hill of his palm, closing your mouth at the end. You don’t give him the wet of your tongue, you don’t feel ready to taste his skin like that just yet—an assimilation of violence.

“Yes,” you finally say, realizing that he understands what you were thinking without having to say it, or knowing how to, that you’re full of memories of past desires and how badly you want them back and how out of reach that all feels, but also, that suddenly now, in a single blink, the heat in your belly isn’t remembered, but present, alive, awake. That you’re cunt clenches once, twice, thrice around nothing—harder, hungrier on the latter. That you’re wet for him. “I remember.”

“Good. I remember every single thing we’ve ever done.” You roll your face in his palm so that you can look up at him now, feeling something like brave. “Every word, every breath, I remember all of it. Alright?”

“Alright,” you say quietly. 

“And if you need me to help you remember too, then I will.”

“Alright.” And then: “What if I can’t, though?... What if we can’t ever have that again? What if I can’t remember? What if I can never give you that again?” A tear slides over the bridge of your nose, and now it’s not only truths and fears cupped in the palm of his hand but the saltwater of grief too.  

“Then we’ll find something new. A new way, a different way. We’ll do it however you want now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, cyar’ika.” It’s very much a promise, a new Creed being established here. 

“Okay.”

He nods, “Okay.”

-

The water is warm verging on hot verging on scalding. It feels incredible slithering over your tired and sore muscles, the ligatures in your arms still trembling from the blaster practice earlier today, from your overwhelm of emotions. 

You hate that you’re not good at it, that the only weapon that seems to become you is a lightsaber. 

The suds of his earthy smelling soap slide through your hair, slipping down your spine, over your ass and along your legs to pool around your feet and disappear down the drain. You shiver once, as though letting something fall away as you slide your hand down, over the swell of your belly, to cup the palmful of your cunt, wedging your hand between your thighs. You pet slowly at the wet curls there, realizing some of it is also the sticky slick of your desire. You were right, you’re wet for him and your clit pulses, slightly swollen and wanting. Your body is awake and hungry for him for the first time in what feels like eons. 

You explore slowly, your cunt slightly trembling at the feeling of being prodded and touched for the first time in you can’t remember how long. Moaning softly, you pull your fingers from between your legs, hands sliding up now to cup the weights of your breasts in each palm and squeeze tightly. Oh, you want him, you want him, you’re afraid. Your head falls back on a thump against the fresher wall, loud enough that you hear his lurking voice through the door, you okay in there? And instead of being annoyed at his overbearing caution, his hovering, you shiver again, something coming back to you now. 

Your desire. 

You shut the water off, grabbing one of the soft linens he’d slung over the warm pipe for you to wrap yourself in. He knocks a knuckle against the wobbly little door, “Cyar’ika?” 

Looking at yourself in front of the steamy mirror, too long, naiad hair, bright, strange eyes, you want him, you want him, you want to feel alive, awake, anything. You can’t deny your shortcomings, fears, whatever they might be called, but there is yet still a soft place inside of you that they’d not snuffed out, that wants Din still. 

You turn to slide the fresher door open just as he’s readying to knock again. 

He’d showered before you, after he’d fed you your soup and your disgusting fake bread he’d promised he’d find a real substitution for soon enough, and you’d needed a moment alone to sit in your grime and silence, digest your feelings. He’s clad now in one of his soft, dark undershirts, his flight pants and the helmet, opposite your towel and water dewed skin, steaming from the hot fresher. 

You watch a swallow pass through his throat, words caught, slow and heavy. He clears it once, twice, tilts his head down to take in the state of you, before he says, “You alright?”

You nod, wide eyed awake. He’s standing right in front of you and you miss him and you want to shock him wide eyed awake too. “The water was too hot. I got dizzy,” you lie, swaying towards him a little, letting your lashes flutter dramatically. 

Not all the way, but enough, just a little, as much as you can bear, that’s what you want from him right now. 

His hands come up to grip the sides of your arms immediately, his bare hands, soaking up the wet of your skin. He pulls you into himself, pressing you carefully against his chest, and you shiver and shake against him, teeth rattling with a sound entirely lacking temperance. Your blood feels like it’s boiling, there’s desire alive and writhing in your tummy, and you squeeze your thighs together tightly, shifting from one foot to another while you drip a puddle onto the cold floor. 

“Come here, sit down,” he murmurs, gently moving you to your bed, easing you down onto it slowly. “You need to take it easy,” he clucks over you, gripping your elbow to let you down carefully, keeping his hands on your bare skin until the last moment. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re still tired, you’re still recovering. And you never listen. You have to listen to me when I’m trying to take care of you. You don’t eat enough, and I know your shoulder still hurts, little liar. Your elbow is barely better, and I saw you making strange faces when you were walking up the plank the other day. Your hip hurts doesn't it? Or your knee, something. No, don’t answer. I know you’ll just say no.” He talks and talks and talks, and you love him and you think that— 

There’s a name for this…

He’d told you he loved you and he’d not said it again, neither had you, it felt too huge a thing to talk about again just yet while there was still so much left to discuss and bridge, but what does it matter if your body sings or screams in pain when you have the love of this beskar titan? What could you care for all the rest of everything?

Yes, Din. Yes, Din. Whatever you say, Din, as he huffs and puffs and arranges you, brings another pillow and blanket from the bunk, his only one in there, not that he cares, lovely man. 

And it’s not only that you feel like you need to give him the things he wants or needs, because of course you do. You love him, you need to be able to give him things, everything, you want to be able to give him the whole galaxy. But it’s also that you want to. That to give him what he desires is to feed yourself, to live together, to be together, to give each other the things you need to stay alive. 

You let yourself fall back onto the soft blankets slowly, this nest where you’ve always felt so safe and so protected and so loved, even when neither of you knew it was love that was holding you here. And you watch him for a few anxious moments as he pulls the covers this way and that, tucking them here and there, trying to avoid looking at the bare expanse of your dew damp legs. But then, taking hold of his hand, you still his nervous movements, and he finally looks up at your face, letting go of his fretting, taking hold of the bravery in the palm of your hand. 

Shy—but brave. Brave—and wanting. 

“We’ll take care of each other, won’t we?” You want to tell him you love him again, but there’s something slightly terrifying, gloriously intimate and fragile about the words. 

“Always.”

“And we’ll keep each other alive?” Maker, I hope we keep each other alive. 

“Yes.”

You take hold of the edge of the linen covering you, revealing your naked body to him slowly, exposing your soft underbelly. You hear his breath hitch, exhale on a groan that sounds like dying. His grip on your hand goes tight to the point of bone crushing pain for one brief, brief moment before he remembers himself and gentles again. You shiver at the pain, belly swooping and quivering with fear and nausea and lust. 

You wish you could see his eyes, his face, his want. 

“You—” he stutters, swallows, “You don’t have to, my love.” My love. He doesn’t need to say it out loud again now with teeth and tongue, he says it in all the things he does. 

“You have to know that I want you so much. That I want you more than anything, Din.”

“I do know,” he says immediately. “I’ve never doubted that.” 

“I want to show you.”

“You don’t have to. I know—” His other hand comes up to grip yours with both of his, caging your limb within the strength of his fists—to keep himself from touching you anywhere else, you think. But you can feel the intensity of his gaze along your skin, over your bare breasts, quivering with your hitching breaths, water droplets translating the frantic beat of your heart in their trembling on the surface of your skin. The line of your belly, the slope downward to the soft place between your thighs. 

He’d seen the scarring on your hand, it was inevitable as much as you’d wished you could hide the deformity they’d left. As much as you wish you could’ve kept it from him, held an illusion for the rest of your lives together to spare him from the reminder of the things that’d been done, happened, chosen. But now… now he is to be subjected to the whole truth of it. Scars like cobwebs, strangely shimmering in silver lights beneath the surface of your skin—they’d been clever and ingenious in their torture—covering the whole circumference of your left hand up to your elbow. But also, from the lowest point of your last rib, over your right hip, traversing lower down the contours of your skin to wrap around the uppermost swell of your thigh. 

They’d left their mark like they’d intended, and it wasn't something you could ever hide from him, the reality of what’d been done, what you’d chosen. It was obvious in everything, etched into your skin, a chasm in the still present distance between the two of you. 

You feel like a bruise; tender, vulnerable, incongruously desperate to press on it harder and feel that dull throb, dark and ugly and on display. 

His hands go tight around yours again for a moment, before he’s snatching them back to grip his bent knee, white knuckled, silent anger on display when his eyes reach the scarring. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, smoothing a hand over your hip down to your thigh to grip yourself there, digging your fingertips lightly into the plush softness. Your skin vibrates. “It doesn't hurt now.”

“What did they do?” His voice is like gravel, restrained fire-full fury. 

“They wanted to see what it’d take to leave a mark. They figured it out.” The helmet turns away sharply, a short, brutal curse spit from his mouth. The tongue of his mother, beautiful despite his violence. 

“It’s okay, Din.” You take hold of your thigh, pulling it up and apart, spreading yourself for him. Brave, wanting heart, be brave. He turns back immediately. “I want you to see how much I want you,” you whisper. “How much I still need you.” 

You let your fingertips flutter lightly over your swollen, needy sex, and you can hear the obscene, sucking sound of your wet lips spreading apart when you part your legs wide enough for your sex to bloom. Cunt hungry and weeping for him. 

Fuck, he spits, leaning closer, and his hand snaps forward to grip your ankle all the way around, pulling your foot up onto the uncompromising muscle of his thigh—your only point of contact. 

“Show me, cyar’ika. Show me how much that pretty cunt missed me,” he growls. 

You start slow, wide eyes fixed on the dark tee of his vizor, fingertips swirling around your clit slowly, it pulses and throbs and beats to the rhythm you can feel his own heart beating at within his own chest. But you pet it slowly, teasing both of you, and then feel lower down to the clenching mouth of your cunt—fuck, he spits again—slicking your fingers in your sticky wet. You start to rock your hips against the flat of your hand, the sound of your cunt, loud in the quiet hull, nothing to interrupt but the too desperate sound of your mutual panting. His fingers around your ankle are so tight they’ll leave a sore spot, and you can't think of the later hurt now, afraid it'll scare you out of this, all you can focus on is the beat of your cunt, the way it cries for him. 

You swirl your fingertips at your opening, again, again, “Put them inside. Let me see you fuck yourself.” And it’s a demand. 

You start with one, slow and tentative, a little, shocked gasp as you probe shallowly within the tight, little hole. Then further, wiggling inside until you’re impaling yourself with your own small finger, the first thing inside of you in so long, and suddenly, you wish it was him. Your eyes fill with tears at the thought, spilling over at the wish that he could’ve been the first thing inside of you after all this time, but the reality that you’re just not ready for it yet. The salted proof of your inevitable shortcomings slide back along your cheeks to drip into your ears. 

“Another,” he demands. “Oh, it sounds so pretty, little one. Give it another.” You pull your single finger out, sucking, wet-cunt sound that he groans in tune with, to press another one in, mewling at the pinch and stretch of it, the slick slide. Yes, just like that. You’re doing so well, he says, a mirror of his earlier words to you today during target practice. “Roll your hips, ride your hand.” You hitch another sob, “Don’t fucking cry,” he grits, pressing your heel hard into the meat of his thigh. “Don’t cry, don’t cry. You’re going to come for me, you’re going to let me see it.” He spreads his thighs wider in his kneeling crouch, pushing his hips forward into nothing, drawing your gaze to the heavy bulge behind the plaquette of his flight pants. He’s so hard. 

You crook your fingers inside yourself, hill of your palm against the swell of your engorged clit, fingertips against the spongey ridge at the front of your cunt, rolling your hips faster, chasing the orgasm you need to give him. Your foot feels numb in his grip, your cunt, on fire, so tight it hurts. Your belly hitches and heaves, open mouth gasping and you cry his name, moaning and writhing wantonly, your stomach slick and glistening again with sweat now instead of water. One of your palms reaches up to take hold of your breast, nipple caught between your fingers, squeezing tight, tight, tight. And suddenly he’s surging forward, letting go of your ankle to lean over you and rip his pants open, freeing his furious erection. The tip is red-purple and swollen fat, drooling a thick string of sloppy, white precum, and he wraps one massive fist around the angry thing. Din, Din, Din. He beats at his cock furiously, the sound of your name, the slick thwack, thwack, thwack of it sends you spilling into your orgasm, belly pulling tight, cunt twisting even tighter. 

“Fuck, fucking come—fucking come,” he snarls as he twists his fist cruelly around the head and the thick white viscosity of his semen starts to spill from the fat head, bubbling up and over his fist and between his fingers, splattering heavy and hot onto your spasming cunt, coating your fingers so that you’re pushing the thick of his come into yourself, slicking you further. “Yes, yes, yes, like that. Let me fucking see it…Look at what you do to me.” And there's so much furious want in his voice, and he’s so big, long and thick, and you know it’s going to hurt when he puts it inside of you for the first time again—you remember how it hurt before, how you loved it—and you’re afraid you’re not going to be able to handle any sort of pain ever again, not even the sort you’d been so hungry for before. 

But your womb pulls tight, pulses and throbs, and suddenly your two skinny fingers arent enough, you want the thick heft of his cock fucking hard and fast and deep inside of you, punching at the deepest spot within you.

His orgasm ends on a fierce groan, panting, thick chest heaving, his head hangs low between his shoulders. You pull your shaking fingers from your clenching hole, and he gives a few last lazy strokes, squeezing the last drops of come from the slick tip to splatter against your pussy. “I fucking missed this—your cunt covered in me.” His dripping cock bobs so close, and you have the sudden insane thought of him just shoving it in, holding you down prone and fucking all of his spend into your sloppy cunt, forcing you to take it and be his again. “I can’t wait to eat it. I can’t wait to fill it with my come again and eat it out of you.” There’s a part of you that might want it, that might wish for it. 

“Maker, Din…” you moan, rubbing the thick semen into your overstimulated clit, your mound, up the curve of your belly, slicking yourself in him.

 If you can’t have his touch, this is enough, and you bring your sticky, soaking fingers up to your mouth, sucking the come from them. He groans, not fair, sitting back on his knees, spent cock hanging obscenely from his open pants, wet and glistening. He reaches behind his head to tug his shirt up and off, leaving his sweaty chest bare and gleaming. Your eyes flutter shut, cupping your cunt in the palm of your hand, covering the slick curve of it, and you arch your back, spreading your thighs further, putting yourself on display for him. 

“Gorgeous, cyar’ika,” he says between pants. “So pretty, my love.” He reaches down to squeeze his half hard cock once more. “I can be patient for you, I promise. You’re so worth it.”

-

He lays beside you in the dark, stretched out long and entirely clothed, but here with you, forced and convinced to share your bed with a line of pillows as a protective moat between the two of you at his own insistence.

You’re on your side, hands folded beneath your smushed cheek, wide eyes searching fruitlessly for the shape of him in the pitch dark. You want to say something else. You want to tell him you love him again, to hear the words fall from your tongue. 

“What are you thinking?” He asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” You hum a barely breathed laugh. And then, “I know you’re scared or regretful or worried that we’ll not get back to where we were,” he reads you.

“Yes.”

There’s a name for this…

He sighs long, goes quiet for longer, and then finally: “What’s happened’s happened, which is an expression of faith in the mechanics of the galaxy.”

“Fate?” You muse, a little unbelieving.

Dark red—

“Call it what you want. We met, we separated…you were—gone. We waited. Now we’re here again. It’s meaningful, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You believe in this—fate?” I didn’t think I believed in anything anymore. But I believe in you.

“Call it what you want, but yes.”

—String. 

There’s something about this that you need to consider, chew on. The fact that you’d felt, all your life, cursed to know how a thing would happen, be, end, always. Something like fate, perhaps, the whisper of it making a home for itself within the shell of your ear, and now the truth that he too believes in this thing you’ve always lived with. Destiny, what have you—you believe in the same things, you believe in each other. 

“Will you hold my hand?”

He turns over, reaching to twine his fingers through yours; large, rough palm against small, soft palm. You want to tell him you love him again, you want to hear the words for him, but they feel trapped, tender, timid. 

You’d always thought your destiny fixed, poised, on the tip of your tongue. A thing was what it was birthed unto the galaxy in perpetuity, and no amount of desire could absolve you of its sunken teeth. But this—this desire is like the creation of myth, that dark red thread that goes by the name of fate being pulled taught, humming in accord with a frequency heard only by the two of you. 

Now: “Will you kiss me?” A beat of silence, his fingers around yours going tight, tight. 

“Come here,” his voice blends with the darkness, and tugging you into himself, protective border between your bodies and his hand around your jaw, he slips a kiss onto your tongue. His mouth holds the hot recollection of being alive; the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the taste, your fingers weaving through his hair, your names sounding together, a pair because they belong on the same breath. 

You pull back, and it’s only a small brevity, but it’s enough, and that confusion from earlier, that shiver of letting something go or taking it back into yourself, settles. 

You’re afraid or regretful or both, yes, sure. You also find yourself to be, suddenly, forgiving, full of empathy. You won’t be able to have him unless you take possession of yourself first, and on the tail end of a comet breaking across the sky: I love him, but I must also love myself. He deserves someone who loves themself, but more than that, I deserve it too. To be able to give him the things he wants and needs: I deserve to be in love with myself. 

You let the Tartarian memory become nothing.

 Love manifests itself primarily in forgiveness.

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I Know It Sounds Absurd (Please Tell Me Who I Am)

꧁⸺⧼ ❦ ✩ ☾ ✩ ❦ ✩ ☾ ✩ ❦ ✩ ☾ ✩ ❦ ⧽⸺꧂

Corrupt Cop!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Dedicated to all of you wonderful folks out there who enjoy my content! 🙈 You guys make my day every day! 😘 💜

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, dirty talk, fingering, DARK THEMES such as rape play, rape fantasy, rape kink, consensual non con (reader is very much into it although she acts like she doesn’t); rough sex, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, squirting

Roughly looked over but I’m sure there’s mistakes 😜 also this one is mostly smut not much plot, Leon’s been making me feel some sorta way lately 🥵 🤭

Title from The Logical Song by Supertramp

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꧁⸺⧼ ❦ ✩ ☾ ✩ ❦ ✩ ☾ ✩ ❦ ✩ ☾ ✩ ❦ ⧽⸺꧂

It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve actually spent any time with Leon. Your schedules haven’t lined up, you haven’t talked or even texted each other that much. You’ve been so busy with school that you’ve been putting all of your focus on that. 

Or at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself as you cancel plans again to work on your biology assignment. You’re starting to realize that as hot as you find it, Leon also kind of scares you. It’s nice to have someone so protective of you, but it’s getting to the point you don’t feel like you have any autonomy anymore. 

It’s nice to get the flowers and notes left on your door, but you think that he’s starting to overstep a bit. He bumps into you everywhere: the grocery store, the library, the gas station, the park, the hair salon. It’s getting ridiculous. 

Today, the guy you went out with ages ago to Lover’s Lane made eye contact with you in the library; you had your hand raised halfway to wave at him, to sort of say no hard feelings, but he blanched and took off in the opposite direction. Frowning, you watch him speed walk out of the library. 

A warm arm brushes against your shoulder, “Hey, sweetheart, you working late again?”

Leon’s voice sends goosebumps down your arms every time you hear it; the deep timbre makes you ache in all kinds of ways, but fear zings through your brain at the same time. 

You turn and smile at him, hoping he doesn’t see your nervousness, “Hey Leon, yeah, trying to cram in some study sessions before finals.”

“Really?” He smiles at you, boyish and sweet and it makes you soft for him.

“Mm yeah,” you hum, smiling more naturally, ���Laura was supposed to meet me but she said something came up.”

“Oh, is that the friend from the grocery store?” He pulls out a chair and sits next to you, sliding a book out of the way to rest his elbow on the table. 

“Yeah,” your brows pucker in annoyance, “I think you spooked her when you ran into us that day.”

“Ah, I’m sorry baby,” he soothes, rubbing his hot palm across your knee.

You nod but don’t say anything, thinking back to that day. Laura convinced you to make a snack run where you both accidentally met up with Leon. But now you’re not so sure it was an accident. You stepped away to grab something, leaving Laura to chat with Leon for a few minutes. 

Hoping they got along, you came back to a tense situation that seemed to break up when Leon saw you. Laura didn’t really speak much for the rest of the day and now that you’re thinking of it, she’s avoided you pretty consistently ever since. 

“You okay?”

Leon’s low rumble pulls you back to the present. 

You nod and rub your eyes with the heel of your hands, “Yeah, I think I’m just burnt out.”

“Take a break, start fresh tomorrow. C’mon I’ll walk you home,” he stands up, helping you from your chair. 

You smile up at him again, “Thanks, Leon. You’re so sweet.”

You grab his hand and stand up on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. As you turn back to grab your things off the table, you don’t notice his blue eyes heatedly staring at you like he wants to eat you alive. 

You toss your pencils in your bag last and throw the strap over your shoulder, “All ready to go.”

Leon slips the strap off of your arm and over his, “Let’s get you home, sweet girl.”

The sweetness of Leon’s actions makes you feel light and giggly, “Okay. Thank you!”

He smirks to himself while you walk beside him filling him in on your school schedule. The walk home seems to go by more quickly with Leon beside you. Once you’re outside your front door, you take your bag from Leon. 

“Thank you for walking me home,” you smile shyly, biting your bottom lip. 

“It’s no problem, sweetheart,” he trails his fingers down your jaw, underneath your chin, to tick your head up higher. 

You sigh softly as Leon presses a kiss against your lips, quickly turning heated when he presses you against your door. You moan high in your throat, hands grasping the front of his shirt, fingertips catching on his badge. 

You pull back, to confirm that yes he is wearing his uniform. How did you not notice? Your eyelashes flutter shut when he sucks a bruise on your neck, making your legs tremble. 

“If I had the time, I’d take you apart right here, pretty girl,” he murmurs, kissing across your jaw, “make you cum all over me.”

“Leon!” you gasp, pussy dripping slick at his voice, “want it, please.”

“Fuck,” he grunts, slipping a hand underneath your skirt and panties to touch your bare pussy. 

“Can you cum for me? Get my fingers nice and wet?” He growls, slipping his ring and middle finger in your clenching hole to fuck up hard into your pussy, palm smacking against your clit.

You gasp, hips rocking down into his palm, pussy clenching around his fingers. He rubs his thumb across your swollen clit in rough circles. 

“Leon,” you whine, hands grabbing at his forearms, tendons flexing as he keeps finger fucking you against your front door. 

You pant, eyes half lidded as you look up into his hungry gaze. Your pussy squelches with every movement, getting wetter at the thought of doing this in broad daylight where any of your neighbors could see. 

His deep voice rumbles in your ear, “Love to just fuck you open on my cock, but we’ll have to save that for later.”

Slick leaks from your pussy all over his hand, dripping down his wrist. 

“You’re gonna get my uniform all dirty, sweetheart,” he laughs, tongue dipping in your ear before he places a wet kiss on the shell. 

You whine high in your throat, hips grinding down harder on his fingers stretching your drippy cunt open, “Leon!”

“Who’s gonna make you cum?” he growls in your ear.

“Daddy,” you buck your hips down into his hand and moan as his palm smacks your clit harshly.

“There we go,” he chuckles meanly, “my pretty girl needs to cream my fingers so daddy can go to work.”

Mewling, you roll your hips down into his rough finger fucking, “Daddy, please.”

He presses hot open mouthed kisses along your neck and jaw before licking into your panting mouth.

Your pussy pulses around his fingers, more slick wetting his fingers. 

You feel your orgasm ramping closer with every steady thrust of Leon’s fingers in your aching pussy, “I’m close.”

“Cum for me, soak my fingers, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear, voice low and smoky, “you can do it, be a good girl and cum for me.”

With one final swipe against your swollen clit, your back bows off of the door, thighs clamping tightly around his wrist. Your pussy clenches down on his fingers, trying to milk them with soft pulses as your walls flutter around the digits. 

“So good for me,” he kisses your cheek then your lips. 

He gently pulls his fingers away from your suckling heat, bringing them up to his mouth to lap up your creamy slick. He stares at you, eyes hot and heavy. 

“I really need to go or I won’t leave,” he kisses you again, deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You good to go out tomorrow night?” He pulls back and straightens his shirt, adjusting himself in his slacks. 

Your mouth waters at the thought of dropping to your knees for him, but you shake that away. 

Still high on endorphins, you smile happily at him, “Sure, tomorrow is good.”

He drops a kiss to your head and you sigh, “Thank you, daddy.”

“Oh my pleasure, sweetheart,” he kisses you once more, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You watch him walk back the way you both came until you can’t make him out anymore. Turning, you unlock your door and shakily step into your house. 

You walk over to your couch and drop your bag down before slumping onto the couch cushion next to it. Leaning your head back, you sigh into the empty room. Your body’s still tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm and you bite your lip, embarrassment crashing over you at letting Leon finger you on your front stoop. 

He just alters your brain chemistry, making you too horny to think clearly. You shift and can still feel how wet your panties are from a moment ago making your nose scrunch in discomfort. As you get up to go take a quick shower, you’re thankful this went more smoothly than when your friend Brad walked you home and Leon was waiting for you at your door. 

Your mood dips as you gather your clothes to change into, remembering how angry Leon was and how he almost hurt Brad; you’re pretty sure there’s going to be a scar across his face, but you hope not. Leon was awful in that moment, attacking Brad like he was some sort of rabid dog. 

Afterwards, he explained that he thought Brad was trying to hurt you, or worse, and he was only trying to look out for you—take care of you. You apologized profusely to Brad, but you haven’t heard from or seen him since that evening. Maybe you should check up on him after finals. 

Entering the bathroom, you set your clothes down on the counter and look at yourself in the mirror. You press the bruise forming on your neck from Leon’s mouth, the twinge shooting straight to your cunt. Lips thinning, you tell yourself you’re going to have to set some boundaries with Leon. It’s the healthy thing to do. 

Your mind flashes back to that night in the shower when Leon bruised your neck so badly you had to wear scarves for weeks on end. That dark look that came in his eyes as he held onto your neck still troubles you, but at the same time you think maybe you were just seeing things. He’s been nothing but a gentleman to you; being so sweet to wait on you, not saying anything about your flaky attitude as you keep canceling plans with him. 

You sigh, moving over to the shower. You’ll just talk it out on your date tomorrow night and work everything out. No harm, no foul. Right?

The next day passes by in a blur; you turn in your assignments, head home a little early, and get ready to meet up with Leon later. 

You dress modestly, a simple blouse and skirt with a pair of cute flats. In no time at all, Leon’s showing up at your door with a lovely bouquet of flowers. He waits for you by the door as you quickly put them in water, then follows you as you walk out, locking the door behind you two. 

He opens the door for you and you climb into the front seat of his car. After he slides into the driver’s seat, he makes sure you’re buckled in before starting the car. 

“Where are we going?” You watch him drum his fingers on the steering wheel as he pulls away from the curb. 

“You’ll see,” he grins at you and winks.

Butterflies dance in your chest as you peer out the window, trying to mentally guess where he’s taking you. After several minutes of comfortable silence, you feel a knot of unease forming in your stomach as he drives out towards Lover’s Lane. 

It feels like forever before he turns into an overgrown dirt road and eases the car down past a copse of trees. He drives a few more feet before parking the car and shutting off the engine. 

“Thought it would be cute to take you to our first date,” he grins at you, eyes dark and watchful. 

Taking in the thick foliage, you recognize the pull off Leon used so long ago to take you apart in his backseat. You can feel your pulse beating in your neck as you smile shakily at him.

“Oh, I, uh, didn’t realize you considered that our first date,” you laugh, hoping to ease the tension you’re feeling. 

His eyes narrow at you, smile ticking up into something mean, “Of course, I would,” his voice drops into a low octave, “it was the first time I got to taste your sweet pussy.”

You feel flush and jittery, “O-oh.”

“Why so tense?” He brings his hand to brush back your hair, eyes tracking your expressions. 

You try to smile but it falls flat, “Leon, w-we need to talk.”

“About?”

You take in a steady breath, “We need to set some boundaries. I’m j-just feeling a little smothered.”

He hums and you slowly let out your breath. 

“Okay,” he nods. 

You light up with a real smile, feeling proud of yourself, “Oh, so you understand? I—“

He returns your smile but it’s empty, making your belly swoop with fear, “No, baby. See, I’m only trying to take care of you, so I just don’t get how I’m smothering you?”

Your eyes widen as you press yourself against the door to face him better, “I m-mean you attacked my friend Brad outside of my house. Y-You scared off Laura when we were just chatting in the grocery store. You keep me from interacting with anyone!”

You pant, realizing in the ensuing silence how much you raised your voice. But you don’t care; you’re trying to make a point—make him understand your point of view.

“If we can’t agree on this,” you fidget and wring your hands, bile rising in your throat from nerves, “then I don’t know if I can see you anymore, Leon.”

He laughs then, loudly, tinging on crazed. You only stare at him, fear making your hands feel like static. 

The laughing dies off and he stares at you almost fondly, “Stupid girl, you really think you’re going to leave me? We’re made for each other.”

He grabs your hands, staring into your eyes—his gaze manic. 

“I just need to show you, teach you, that we’re meant to be. You’re my perfect girl. One I never thought I’d find in this shithole town,” he sighs, “and now you’re trying to leaveme?”

The grip on your hands tightens making you wince. 

“I’m not going to let you leave me. You just don’t get that you’re mine. Mine to love, to take care of, to fuck stupid,” he’s squeezing your hands so hard now your joints creak, “but that’s okay, this is a teachable moment. I taught that sweet little mouth manners, that pretty little pussy to cum for me, so I can teach you this too.”

Anxiety flares in your chest even as you feel yourself getting turned on from his crude words. 

“Leon—“

“No,” he growls, eyes sea dark and angry, “that’s not my name, pretty girl. Maybe I need to take you over my knee and start fresh.”

Your clit throbs as you clench down on nothing. At that moment, you’re truly torn between your want for Leon and having your line drawn in the sand. You feel like if you let him have his way, there won’t be any turning back. 

“I-I’m sorry, I just want—“

“You don’t know what you want,” he coos, “but that’s okay, I can teach my dumb girl til she knows better.”

He lets go of your hands to pull you by the arms and in that split second your brain goes into fight or flight. You twist the door handle and fall out of the car backwards, landing on your ass. Quickly, you stand up to face Leon, who’s still sitting in the drivers seat, watching you with an unreadable expression. 

“I’d think twice, sweetheart,” he warns, voice deepening, “don’t make me chase you.”

You feel a thrill of fear trickle down your spine as your heartbeat pulses in your cunt, making the gusset of your panties wet at the idea of Leon running after you. 

You shake your head, feeling mixed up with all these conflicting ideas and emotions. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, turning to run back to the main road—away from Leon, awayfrom the hot arousal at being at his mercy, away from that dark part of you that likeshis obsessive nature. 

While regretting your choice of a cute skirt and flats for tonight as you run, you hear a car door open and slam behind you. Your anxiety spikes again at the noise of his boots behind you. Leon’s footsteps are slow, but getting quicker and quicker until you know he’s running behind you—after you.

Another dark pulse of want flares in your body even as the anxiety blooms in your chest, making your fingers tingle and breathe quicken. Sadly, although you give it your all, you don’t make it that far. Leon’s broad form bear hugs you from behind making you lose your balance and trip.

Your knees sting as they break your fall, dirt and rocks digging into your skin. The adrenaline pumping in your body makes you lightheaded, veins thrumming with energy and endorphins. 

Leon’s body is on top of yours, shoving you further into the wet leaf strewn ground. You hate that you love this, arousal rushing through you. 

“Why are you acting like such a bitch?” He snarls in your ear, “all I’m trying to do is take care of you.”

Tears blur your vision as you arch your back, trying to buck Leon off of you. 

“Stop! Please, I just want to go home,” you cry out. 

“Baby,” he croons, “you should’ve thought of that before you wanted to act like a brat. Now, I’m gonna have to show you your place.”

You hiccup a sob, thrashing underneath his bulky build but not getting anywhere.  Realizing you can’t move, your panties fill with slick as your clit throbs with want. 

“You’re just making it worse for yourself,” he sighs, hot breath fanning the hair by your ear, “gonna just have to show you what I mean when I say you’re mine.”

You feel hot all over, pussy getting wetter at the thought of Leon taking you right here and now where anyone could see. To give yourself one last fighting chance, against him and yourself, you jerk your head back and feel it connect with his nose. He lets go of you with a low curse, hands going to his face on instinct. Trying to gain some sort of footing, you haphazardly crawl forward on your hands and knees, feet slipping on the foliage. 

You get out from underneath Leon and try to stand up when you feel a large hand clamp down around your ankle. 

“I don’t think so,” he growls, yanking you back towards him. 

Fingers scrabbling at the dirt as he drags you backwards leaves cuts and scrapes across both palms. You’re crying harder now, snot leaking down your nose as you gasp for breath. Dark arousal curls in your belly, nipples tightening to hard points in your bra. He’s so strong that it takes very little to manhandle you back down, face first in the dirt and ass in the air. 

“Just keep making this harder and harder on yourself,” he sighs, put out, like you’re some unruly child. 

“Leon,” you whimper softly, “please.”

One of his calloused hands presses your neck down to keep your upper body still, “Let’s not move too much, okay?”

He squeezes down when you don’t answer, “Okay??” 

“Okay!” You squeal, pain pinching your nerves making your rub your thighs together to alleviate the pulsing in your cunt. 

“Good girl,” he mocks, dragging his free hand along your ribs to your hip and around to fondle your ass under your skirt. 

“You’re sick,” you bite out, voice muffled, trying desperately to quell the want thrumming in your body. 

“Oh I know I am, sweetheart,” he coos down at you, “but so are you.”

He cups your pussy with his palm, fingers rubbing your slit through your wet panties. 

“Damn,” he chuckles derisively, “fucking leaking all over my fingers, pretty girl. Like when I get mean with you?”

You mewl as his fingers pinch your soaked clit. 

“Mmm got you real hot for me,” he rumbles. 

His fingers pause as he leans further over your body, “Say, I have an idea sweetheart.

“What would you think,” he taps his middle finger against your sensitive clit on every word, “if I raped this hot little cunt of yours? No one’s around to stop me, right?”

You moan, hands clawing at the dirt and drenching your panties further making him laugh in disbelief. 

“What a nasty fucking girl,” he chuckles, “getting soaked at that.”

He slips his fingers past the band on your panties and trails his fingers across your leaking hole and up to rub your clit. 

“Thought about it,” he muses out loud, fingers slipping back to press into your cunt, “just shoving my dick into your tight pussy whether you wanted it or not.”

You moan, the fight slowly leaving your body as he tells you about his sick fantasy, one that makes you clench on his fingers and drip down your thighs. 

“Yeah,” he growls, scissoring open your hole with his middle and ring fingers, “you make it so easy too. Walking home alone all the time. Don’t even notice me tailing you, pretty girl.

“Can just sneak up on you, drag you down that little alley next to the library and fuck this tight cunt until I’ve had my fill,” he fucks his fingers up into your clenching hole, “just leave you a dripping, cum filled mess right in the alley.”

You suddenly clamp down hard around his fingers, eyelashes fluttering as the orgasm hits you fast. 

He laughs at you, pulling his fingers from your drenched cunt, “So fucking nasty, knew you’d be perfect for me, just had to get you to see it.”

“Hope you learned your lesson, pretty girl,” he helps you to your feet, turning you to face him and pressing your back against the closest tree. 

You jerkily nod your head, feeling wrung out like an old dish cloth. 

“Good,” he pats your cheek, eyes dragging down your body taking in the state of your clothes. 

“Looking a little messy there, baby,” he grins, pulling out his pocketknife. 

Fear clogs your throat making you speechless. 

“W-wha—“

He grabs the hem of your shirt and slices through the material, going from the bottom all the way up to your neck. The blouse falls open showing Leon your bra. He lifts it from you chest and slices through it too, breasts spilling out into the cool night air. 

Leon pockets the knife and grabs your breasts, fondling them and pinching your nipples. 

“Oh I hope you didn’t think we were through,” he smirks, eyes glinting in the dark, “gonna let you run one more time, sweet thing. If you get away, I promise to be a little less.. intense with you. But if I catch you, I’m gonna ravage this sweet pussy again and again.”

You whine, cunt feeling swollen and sore between your legs, “M-my legs— my knees hurt.”

He looks down and pouts, “Oh poor thing. Okay, how about this.”

He grabs you by the neck and presses you even tighter against the tree. Your hands scrabble against his forearm but he doesn’t budge. 

“Let me try to rape this pussy,” his eyes are dark, voice deep, “fight me, bite me, scratch me, do everything you can to keep me from fucking you. Fight me hard enough and I’ll stop.”

He crowds against your body, hard nipples pressed against his shirt, “But if I feel you giving up, giving in, I’m gonna take you again and again on this dirty fucking ground til your swollen with my cum.”

You try your hardest against him. You bite, kick, scratch, spit (which he loved, spitting it back into your mouth making you wet), even clawing at his arms and back until you drew blood, but Leon still pins your weak body down on the ground. 

He lays between your legs to lick and bite at your nipples until you’re thrashing in his grip. 

“Aww tits too sore?” he grins at you, “too fucking bad.”

While his mouth concentrates on your breasts, he rips your skirt down your legs and tosses it away. You hear as he undoes his belt and unzips his pants. Using his hands, he wrenches your legs open and moves your panties to the side without slipping them off, feeding his cock into your dripping cunt. 

“That’s it,” he groans as you punch his shoulders and try to kick him, “fight me, gets me so fucking hard.”

“Help!” You scream out, pressing your head back into the ground.

“Yes,” he groans, humping deeper into your silky heat.

“Help me please!” Your voice breaks on the last word, a low cry slipping out as Leon plays with your clit. 

“Won’t be long, sweetheart,” he laughs at you, “got me really fucking worked up  this time.”

You whine, tears slipping down your face, pussy clenching and milking his cock while he rubs your clit just the way you like. 

“Please!” you cry out, no longer sure who you’re calling for. 

“We should do this every date night,” he laughs, a low rumbling growl leaving his throat afterwards as you clamp down at that suggestion. 

“Perfect, you’re so—,” he groans, “got me a nasty fucking slut.”

He spits on your mouth making you hiccup a moan, back arching. You let him tug your chin down so he can spit in your open mouth. You whine, tongue lolling out, silently begging for more. 

“Fuck me,” he grits out, leaning over you to drool all in your mouth. 

“Swallow it you little brat,” he rasps, eyes hungrily watching you as you do as he says.  

He fucks into you a little deeper and grinds his fat tip against your cervix making you completely tense around him. He rubs harsh circles on your clit as he keeps grinding until you scream out and cream all over his cock, your slick making his thrusts easier. 

“Yes, fuck yes,” Leon groans, letting himself cum inside you, hot jizz kissing the entrance to your womb as he fills up your cunt. He finally pulls out, painting the inside of your thighs white with the rest of his cum. 

“You’re so dirty for me, pretty girl,” Leon praises, making you whine, “gonna slip right back in this sweet pussy.”

You keen, hole fluttering around nothing. He grabs your hip and twists you until you’re face down in the dirt, knees digging into the rough ground. Tilting your hips up higher, the fat head of Leon’s cock presses against your opening. 

He slowly presses inside making you moan loudly—the angle stretching your pussy almost painfully. He finally bottoms out inside of you, the head of his dick kissing your cervix making you constantly clench around him.

“You can be such a good girl for me if you just learn to behave.”

“Leon,” you slur, drunk off the feeling of being so full. 

A sharp smack lands on your ass, “My name’s not Leon right now. Don’t make me tell you again.”

You clench down at the sting, pussy eagerly milking the thick cock stretching you wide, “Daddy!”

“Such a tight hole,” he hisses. 

Your legs spasm as your feet kick out, a low moan slipping from your lips. 

“Mmm, you like that? Like knowing how tight you are?” He laughs down at you, one hand gripping your neck as the other grabs your hip. 

He pulls out and thrusts back in, grinding against your cervix to make you squeal. 

“Y-you’re gonna— my pussy’s— you’re gonna ruin my pussy—“ you’re drooling in the dirt, body held down as Leon uses you how he wants. 

He growls, “Ruin your pussy? Fuck, baby. Yeah m’gonna ruin this sweet cunt for anyone else but me.”

Without realizing it, you press back, rolling your hips against his thrusting to make it easier for him to fuck you nice and deep. 

“How does it feel getting your juicy little pussy raped in the middle of the woods, huh?” He coos, fake sympathy coloring his tone, “sounds like it feels good, sweetheart. Sounds like you like daddy raping your cute cunt.”

“Daddy,” you keen at the truth in his words, walls fluttering around his fat cock, “daddy, please.”

“Tell me,” he slows until he’s barely grinding into your squelching pussy.

“Feels good,” you whimper, tears dripping down your face, “feels good when daddy rapes my cute pussy.”

He laughs and smacks your ass a few times as he picks up the pace, humping his dick deeper into your cunt, “Yeah it does.”

Leon grabs your hair and pulls until your back’s flush with his chest. His other hand cups your jaw before dropping down to your neck and gripping tightly. 

Gasping, you feel his hand tighten a fraction more causing you to drip at the sensation. Your hole greedily clenches down on the cock slowly fucking you into submission. 

Leon gives a low growl, “Want me to make you my own personal hole, pretty girl?”

You press back eagerly onto Leon’s throbbing dick as he thrusts harder into your tight hole.

Leon nips at your earlobe, “Gonna breed this wet cunt til you’re full.”

You mewl pitifully, clit throbbing, “Daddy, daddy.”

He snarls and shoves you face down into the earth again. You can’t really see anything, completely pinned down by the hand on your neck. 

However, you feel the thick cock stretching you, filling you more than you thought possible. You kind of hate it, hate feeling so full—so good. Your pussy clenches and spasms on his thick cock, slowly fucking into you. You feel yourself getting  even wetter, easing the way for him to fill your hole over and over again. 

Leon moans and grunts with each slow thrust inside your pussy, his deep baritone sliding over you leaving goosebumps in its wake.

He adjusts the angle and presses against your g-spot on every thrust, grinding against it making you moan loudly into the night air. The fat tip of his cock stretches your cunt so wide, it makes you clench tighter around his dick. 

His hips stutter before he begins deep, rolling thrusts that has you drooling in pleasure. You feel so debased and it only makes it hotter. You want more. Want Leon to stuff you full—stretch you out on his fat cock, cum inside you until it’s dripping down your thighs. 

“Daddy,” you mewl. 

“Fuck,” he grits out, “don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck you good.”

You try to beg, but only whine in pleasure as his fingers caress your clit with light touches before gliding over your slick pussy lips, spreading you further open for him.

“Such a good girl.”

He starts a rougher tempo, pounding his cock into you with abandon. You know you’ll be bruised around your knees and hands where the dirt and rocks dig into your skin from being pinned to the ground. Your tits sway with each thrust of his fat cock in your squelching cunt, hard nipples grazing the forest floor. You want to shout—yell at him but only moans and pleas slip past your lips. 

With a low tearing sound, you feel Leon rip off the rest of your panties leaving your pussy completely exposed. His hot hands caress what they can reach before grabbing handfuls of your ass to thrust harder, deeper into you. 

“Always so good,” he groans, “love fucking your tight pussy.”

You begin to cum, pussy walls pulsing and clenching around the thick cock stretching you to your limits. Whining and moaning as your orgasm crests, Leon fucks into you harder—his fingers  dipping between your legs to tease and pinch your clit. 

“That’s it,” he grunts, “cum all over my cock, sweetheart. Get it nice and wet so I can fuck you hard. Breed this hot little cunt.”

Keening, you keep cumming as his fat cockchead rubs at your g spot and pounds against your cervix. The pain coalesces into pleasure making your eyes roll back. 

“S’too much,” you slur, legs kicking from the overstimulation, “too much!”

Leon ignores you and rabbits his hips into your hot, wet pussy. You squirm, but he has you pinned with his strong arms so it only makes you whine as he rails you into the dirt, slick leaking down your thighs. 

“Ready for me to fill you up, pretty girl?” he groans. 

Without waiting for any answer, he buries his cock deep, shooting his thick load straight into your clenching pussy. You cum hard, body tensing all over, pussy walls eagerly milking his cock as rope after rope of hot cum fills you to the brim.  

He keeps thrusting, cock spurting continually until he finally pulls his half hard dick out, cum trickling out of your swollen cunt and dribbling down your thighs. 

His cock kicks and begins to fill out again at the sight, so he slides back into your willing hole. 

“Yeah, going to keep you here. Breed you until your full,” he smirks to himself, “you love it, don’t you sweetheart?”

You moan at the feeling of him thrusting  back into your cum filled pussy. His hands reach up to grope your tits, flicking your nipples roughly until your pussy pulses and clenches around his cock buried deep inside you. 

You mewl and whine as he keeps twisting and pinching your sensitive nipples.

“Dirty little slut,” he rasps, slowing down to deep rolling thrusts so his cock drags against your fluttering pussy walls. 

You moan, eyes watering, “Daddy, please.”

You try to squirm and move away from the overstimulation, but Leon holds you in place as he fucks your gooey cunt. 

“Fuck, gonna cum again,” he chuckles meanly, moving his fingers down to flick and pinch your swollen clit, “pussy so good, gonna milk me dry.” 

He cums in you again, just as your walls clamp down on his thick cock. You scream so loud it echoes back to you from the surrounding trees. Your pussy gushes out slick like a fountain as he fucks another hot load deep into your willing cunt. 

Leon pulls out slowly and watches his jizz drip out of your spasming cunt and down over the swollen, fat lips of your pussy. He quickly flips you over onto your back and pushes his middle and index finger into your pulsing walls to rub against your g-spot. 

“C’mon, squirt again, baby, really want you to soak me,” he bites down on your hip bone.

Your legs and arms are jello, no fight left in your body as Leon fingers your cunt. His other hand rubs circles into your clit while he slides three fingers in and out of your sore pussy. 

You feel it slowly ramping up higher and higher, thighs trembling, “G’nna cum.”

Leon fucks his fingers up into your pussy even harder, nailing your g-spot until you’re screaming again and gushing slick from your hole. He keeps up the harsh pace, prolonging your orgasm and making you squirt over and over, soaking his jeans and shirt. 

He gently eases up and slides his fingers out, giving your mound a light smack that has your hips jumping. 

“Daddy,” you whine up at him, body buzzing and head empty, trying to pull him down, “kiss, please.”

He huffs a low laugh as he licks past your drooling lips, tongue fucking deep into your mouth. You lazily make out on the cold ground until you start to shiver. Leon slowly pulls away, a strand of spit connecting your swollen lips.

“Think we should go home, baby,” his eyes rove over your spent body, taking in the mess he made. 

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shot and hoarse, “need help up.”

“I’ve got you,” he smiles crookedly, “I’ve always got you.”

You must be as sick as he says because instead of the usual anxiety, you feel a hot bolt of arousal shoot to your aching pussy. 

“I know, Leon,” you sigh, feeling something settle disjointedly in your mind as he picks you up, “thank you.”

[st-danger]

Dew: paint me like one of your french girls (joke)

Swiss: okay (not joke)

Dew: embarrassed and flushed and hard as hell as he sits while Swiss draws him. Nothing more than an object to be captured on paper (he’s never been more turned on)

He's never hidden his pens and art books, but he's never advertised it either. It's just something Swiss does, the sketching. Scenes from the tour bus. Scenery. Sometimes nothing at all but shapes and squiggles filling an entire page just because he can.

To be the centre of his attention in general makes Dew preen. To be the sole focus like this is an overwhelming and decadent kind of thing, he thinks.

Inspected, observed. A vehicle for Swiss to use as a creative outlet.

"Legs spread," Swiss says, again. "Don't hide. Let me see it."

Dew leans back on the bed, locking his arms behind him, and parts his legs.

"Good. Hold that," Swiss murmurs, sounding almost distracted alongside the push and pull of the pencil. Long, loose lines Dew can't wait to see. Under the approval, Dew feels familiar heat low in his belly.

"Like the view?" he can't help but ask, tilting his head and gifting Swiss with a wry smile.

"It's nice," Swiss agrees and Dew rolls his eyes.

"It's more than nice," he corrects. He knows what he looks like; he doesn't feel it egotistical in the least to acknowledge that the form he wears Above Ground is an attractive one. Swiss allows a knowing smirk, a brief flash before his concentration is back, face carefully neutral once more.

"Stroke it for me," he says, like it's a normal request, casual. Dew draws a breath, pleased. His left hand moves from the bed and comes to rest on his chest. Slowly, slowly, Dew lets his fingers trail down his sternum, his belly. Showy and unnecessary, but Swiss is here to observe and enjoy; far be it from Dew to deny him. He sees the way Swiss's eyes follow the lines he draws, down further, brushing over a hint of hair below his navel, down to the patch of hair at the base of his cock. Finally, curling around his shaft, holding himself in a loose fist. It's teasing, his movements. Light. At odds with how heavy he's leaning back in his right hand to hold him up.

The pencil scratches against the paper and Dew plays with himself.

He feels less like he's under a spotlight in stage and more like he's under a microscope. The intensity with which Swiss is staring at him, at every turn of his wrist- he always gets flushed when aroused. Always. And it will spill down his neck, onto his chest as it always does. He wonders if Swiss will shade him darker there.

"You can go faster," Swiss says after a few minutes of Dew's lazy toying. He agrees, of course, but,

"Is that a suggestion or is that what the artist requires?" he drawls. Swiss looks up from the page with dark eyes.

"If you're gonna sit for this, I need full cooperation." Dew feels a frission of pleasure zing down his spine.

"Of course," he agrees, hand tightening, working himself faster, dick filling out quicker. "Wouldn't want to disrupt your...creative process."

"'Course not," Swiss replies. The sketchbook is held steady in his lap. "You're a good boy."

If Dew were to, say, let out a hint of a pained moan, Swiss doesn't acknowledge it.

He pulls at himself in even, measured pumps, fully hard in little time at all and chewing on his lip. Swiss avoids his eyes, looking only over his naked body or the paper in his lap. Not seeing him for him. He's an object to be appreciated, and Dewdrop so loves to be adored.

It's a thrill.

He knows under the sketchbook, Swiss is hard. He's thick and heavy in his pants, and he's adjusted his posture twice in the chair, subtly uncomfortable. Dew enjoys this particular brand of suffering for himself, and it's made all the sweeter for knowing he isnt the only one. He can't stop himself from pushing his hips into his fist.

"Stay still," Swiss chides.

He stops stroking, lets go, and his stiffy sways. Swiss raises a brow.

"It's hard," Dew shrugs. "You want me still-"

"Hold it."

Dew stares for a moment, and then wraps his fingers around the base, squeezing.

"Hold it still?"

Swiss does not respond, merely goes back to short strokes on the page and Dew waits for any further instruction. It doesn't come. A long, silent minute passes.

"Tip wet yet?" Swiss asks, not even looking up from the page. Dew swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

"Not yet," he says.

"Let me know when it is."