#did it the last time i put up a tree too and honestly

[chibilllama]

Ah, yes. The Angel at the top of the Christmas Tree

[jamminvroomvroom]

second time around.

ln x fem!reader

in which he’s quite desperate to have a second kid.

staying in my active era! there is honestly no excuse for this one, i just simply couldn’t help myself. it’s porn, yes, there is plot, but it’s just. porn.

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! where do i even begin? smut, more smut, breeding kink (kinda the whole point), choking, overstimulation, general sex acts, public sex, car sex, shower sex, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of the kid they already have, lando being a little shit, sex somewhere unhinged in the mtc, a brief moment of angst, dom!lando, rough sex? yeah.

3.9k words

take: 1

the season is coming to an end.

somewhere between italy and singapore lando decides he wants another kid.

it’s a warm day in the middle of september when he proposes the idea to you. you’re watching your daughter toddle around the garden, soaking up the last remnants of sunlight before the darkness of autumn encapsulates the warm beams until march.

she giggles, pushing her toys around in the grass. you let her play, lost in her own little world of wonder. lando turns to you, scanning your side profile, watching you watch the little girl. he’s awestruck, enamoured totally by the family he’s created, by the woman he loves. he doesn’t think, he just opens his mouth and let’s loose his big idea.

“want another one?” he cooes, sliding closer across the bench, until he’s nosing at your cheek. kisses are pressed to your puffy face. it’s still early.

at first you think he’s offering you another coffee, so you hold out your almost empty mug to him. you’d been nursing the drink, letting it go cold in the naturally cooler air. he laughs at you, and that’s when you clock what he’s actually asking.

you turn to him, facing each other now. lando looks excited. you wonder if you can find a way to mirror his expression.

“lando…” you start. his face drops at your tone, letting him down easy. “it’s not that i don’t want to, it’s just-“

“i’ll be home more. i’ve worked it all out. if we get to work now, baby will be here around the summer break.”

you mull over his words.

your first baby was a shock to you both, and you didn’t fancy doing that again. you loved lando with every fibre of your being, just as you did your daughter, but being away from him so much in the lead up to her arrival shot every one of your nerves to pieces.

but another baby would be on the agenda eventually - you both desperately wanted to add to your beautiful family - and you supposed that if he’d done the math…

“by get to work now, you mean…?” you cock an eyebrow at him. he lights up like the christmas tree you’d be putting up in a few months.

“she’s going down for her nap soon.” lando smirks, voice edged with that excitement once again.

-

his head is between your legs mere moments after he shuts your bedroom door.

you’d been waiting for him, stripped bare in anticipation. your baby girl would be down for a good few hours, more than enough time for him to draw out everything you had to offer and fill you back up.

his tongue runs over your flesh; he’s messy with it. you’re choking out whimpers as he licks and laps and tugs with his teeth. your pussy clenches around nothing and he notices, sliding his fingers all over where you ache. they’re quickly wet enough to slide inside of you, and he grinds them deep, luring traces of an orgasm into the pit of your belly. it’s familiar, the way he winds you up, and you want him like this every minute of the day.

“getting you ready, honey. gonna get you so fucking ready.” lando is slurring words into your cunt, letting them get lost to your sodden folds. you hear every word perfectly. they make you shake and shake until you’re undone.

when he looks up at you, his mouth is glistening. his fingers are, too. he hates wasting a drop of you, so he laps up the mess you’ve made while he shuffles up the bed. when he’s finally hovering over you, he’s desperate, but you’re worse. you could cry from the urge.

something carnal is taking place; he’s staring into your soul, finishing up the remnants of your taste, and you’re begging with your eyes, hands slinking all over your own body. you must be dripping by now. your body is restless and you raise your hips, inviting him close, deep.

when he thrusts into you, he’s pinning you down into your shared mattress. you’re completely at his mercy and he fucking loves it. you love it more. you go slack underneath him, and he starts a slow grind. he’s not thrusting, not yet, he’s just rolling into you, deeper, deeper, deeper. you feel the first tears threatening to fall. he feels so good, it’s unbearable.

he nudges at your most sensitive spot, over and over and over. you whine carnally and he swallows it, licking into your mouth. his curls tickle your forehead, you’re pressed so close together. he sees the pools in your eyes and then he looses it completely.

hand on your neck for leverage, he starts thrusting, harder and harder, faster than you can ever recall. he knows you can take it, knows how bad you want it, and that thought alone spurs him on. you have the same goals, the same shared instincts. you feel nothing but pure fucking bliss everywhere.

“you want me to fill you up? you want my baby, honey? want me buried nice and deep?” you hear him grunt, but he sounds so far away.

you are lost to the void when you come. you can’t even try and resist, not when you can hear how wet you are, not when you can hear the quiet whimpers he tries to fight at the way your pussy convulses around him. you cannot see anything but the stars in his eyes.

you go limp and he spills, fucking it even further into you. his eyes are trained on where you’re still joined, and where he’s still fucking you. you’d be screaming if not for the hand wrapped around your throat. the most delicious piece of jewellery you own.

lando needs to know he’s gone as deep as he can, that you’ve come as hard as he can make you. he feels unhinged when his fingers find your clit, switching between short spasms of his finger on the nub, and grinding down on it with his palm. you’re both overstimulated, soaked with sweat and other things. you’re gripping his cock so fucking tight that he can’t stop the rush of moans, your name mumbled like a prayer between expletives.

but still, he needs to know it’s deep enough.

an hour later, you can finally move, and you sink deep into the bath.

your head is on his chest, he washes you gently. you wonder if it’ll be a boy or a girl.

-

date night

almost a month passes. no sign of baby number two.

it’s fine, you tell yourself. you tell lando, too. all the more reason to keep practicing.

every opportunity he gets to bury himself to the hilt inside of you is a win in both of your books. he grabs every single one of those opportunities with both hands.

you’re dressed up nice for dinner, little black dress hugging you well. you watch the scenery flick past you. lando’s in the drivers seat, making small talk, his left hand heavy on your bare thigh. you’ve just dropped your daughter off with her grandparents, your mother hugging lando tight. he’d been gone a while.

fingers skim higher up your thigh. you want to let him carry on but this car is new, untainted by his adventurous personality and your willingness to comply. your legs snap shut and you watch him smirk out the corner of your eye.

“later.” you whisper.

his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel.

“i know. don’t you worry, honey.” he doesn’t sound convincing, no, he sounds like a man with a plan and you dread to think of what he has in store.

the restaurant is tiny. a hole in the wall. it’s intimate, exclusive, slightly extortionate, but lando likes to treat you. you order, and he behaves. you sip wine, and he behaves. you drag your heel up his leg, and still, he behaves. you know something is brewing behind those stormy eyes.

he launches his attack during dessert.

vanilla ice cream hits your tongue when he strikes, leaning back in his chair. his thick neck captures your attention, the dim light accentuating him just right.

“would your prefer we take this to the car or the bathroom? it’s pretty spacious back there, you know.”

lando speaks so casually, and slightly too loudly. your cheeks are aflame.

“lando!” you hiss in warning. you’re sputtering over his boldness, catching some ice cream with your tongue. he watches the way it moves over your lips intently.

“actually, as tempting as the bathroom is, we still need to break in the new car.” lando sounds like he’s talking about the weather, or a shopping list, not the location of your next sexcapade. you swear you see the old lady at the next table over wink at you. “your choice, honey.”

you’re staring daggers at him. he leans in closer, elbows resting on the table and a shit eating grin contorting his pretty face.

“i’ve been gone too long, i need to remember what that pussy feels like.” his voice has dropped an octave but it’s still too loud. you inadvertently grind against the chair. the candle on the table flickers from the force of the shaky breath your expel.

“if you shut up now, you can have me anywhere you want me.” you mumble, bringing your napkin to your lips. the ice cream is melting and you have more important things on your mind.

“i’ll have you anyway, honey. because no matter what happens, we’re gonna go back to the car and you’re gonna crawl into my lap, aren’t you? you’re not gonna be able to help it.” he keeps going and you want the ground to swallow you up. maybe you want to crawl over the table and jump on his lap right here. you fight every natural instinct.

“lando.” you try to scold him again but it comes out breathier, a feeble attempt at shutting him up. it’s hard to be convincing when you want nothing more than for him to bend you over in the middle of this restaurant.

“and after i’ve had you shaking on my lap, i’m gonna fill you up, yeah? you’ve been waiting for weeks, poor thing.”

you usher over the waiter, and ask for the bill.

-

he’s got you home in one piece and all the way up to the shower.

you’re still delirious from the car. he’s still dripping out of you.

he pushes you against the shower screen, your cheek resting on the fogged up plastic. the combination of yours and his first orgasm is enough to slick him up and he slides right back inside of you, as if he’d never left.

your head is spinning, car lights and nail prints in leather seats flashing through your mind.

he’d been right in the restaurant. you’d crawled straight into his lap and he’d been waiting, seat pushed back, cock slapping up against his tanned belly. he’d swiped his fingers through your folds, determining that you were wet enough already, and then you’d sunk straight down on him.

at first he’d just watched you lose control, bouncing and grinding and whining on his lap. you were growing tired when he stepped in, pushing you back against the steering wheel, the angle change making your eyes roll back. you came twice with his fingers on your clit and his other hand holding you down so he could grind up into you. he’d released deep into you, all you could do was shudder, collapsing into his chest.

now, he’s taking you again, the hot water cascading over you both. you’re almost limp, caught between the cold screen and his hot, restless body. this it was three weeks apart does to him, and the urge to claim every part of you is at the forefront of his mind.

you’re writhing. there’s no room to move; he’s pressed so tight against you, breathy moans sounding straight into your ear and you want him impossibly closer. you always missed him so much it hurt, but that pain had increased tenfold lately.

you try to roll your hips back into him, needing him deeper, somehow. you’re so wet and tight around him, and your attempt at moving on him has you clamping down on him.

lando whimpers when he lets go, marking you as his.

he washes your hair and you fall asleep together naked.

-

the fear

lando is due back from qatar.

any minute now, he’ll be walking through the door.

he’s taken a podium, so you are expecting somewhat high spirits, despite the slight issue that had been the sprint race.

a podium is a podium, you’d tried to tell him on the phone late on saturday night. you knew that a podium was never just a podium.

you’re cleaning the kitchen up, your sweet daughter tucked up tight in her bed upstairs. a random playlist is sounding from the speakers and you flit around in just his hoodie. it hits mid thigh and it’s keeping you shielded from the biting october air.

you hear keys in the lock somewhere in the distance. you grin stupidly. god, you always fucking miss him. you turn to face the doorway, eagerly anticipating his face, longing for one of his speciality hugs.

instead, a storm enters your kitchen in the form of your boyfriend.

you raise and eyebrow.

“lando?” you question.

your hips are in his hands before he can answer. he’s walking you backwards until the granite of the counter is digging into your lower back.

“turn around.” his voice is gravelly, commanding. you do as you’re told.

the hoodie is bunched around your waist, your panties are tugged to the side. you can hear the rustle of fabric, assuming he’s getting himself ready. two fingers gloss through your folds while he pushes you down, bending you over for him. he’s rubbing circles into your clit and you’re keening into his touch.

“you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” you manage to choke out. he grunts in response.

“just need to get inside you.” is all he replies. well, okay then.

lando rearranges you, hiking one of your knees up so that’s it’s resting on the countertop. your other foot barely touches the floor when he fucks into you, ruthless. you cry out, reaching blindly behind you for him. you graze his hip and he shivers, pushing into you even harder.

he’s frantic, messy with it, thumbing at your clit. there’s hardly any room to move his hand, so he’s grinding the pad of his thumb as best he can. the pressure builds in your belly embarrassingly fast. you love when he gets like this, but you will pry what’s wrong out of him later when he curls up into his chest.

“gonna give you another one. s’all i can think about. fucking you full.” he mutters. your back arches into him.

“please.” you whimper, slurred. it’s all you can think about too.

your plea ushers along his orgasm, and he drops his head against your back. you’re shaking when you finish; he stays buried deep for a moment, silence washing over you.

when he helps you stand up, he kisses you deep. he brushes the hair from your face, says hello properly.

“wanna go see her.” he mumbles.

-

when you finally manage to climb the stairs, you see straight into your daughters room.

lando is stood over her crib, watching her sleep in the lamp lit room. he’s cooing something to her that you can’t make out. your knees are weak at the sight. you want to fill this house with children that look like him and laugh the way he does.

he catches you watching, sending you a wink, a promise that he’ll meet you in bed. when he finally does, drawing back the sheets and dropping into bed beside you, he wraps himself around you instantly.

“talk to me.” you command, toying with his hair in a way that you know turns him into mush in your hands.

“can’t win a race, can’t give you another baby. just- fuck.” he sighs, voice so small. you tear up but you push that aside for now.

“stop, lando. don’t do this to yourself.” you try to sound firm, attentive.

“just- am i good to you? am i good to her?” he needs to hear you say it, that’s the only thing that will talk him down from this spiral. he’s exhausted, and this is often a consequence.

“sometimes i think you hung the stars in the sky.” you hum, kissing his forehead.

gentle snores lull you to sleep.

-

quickie

you go with him to austin.

it seemed logical, after the events of qatar. your daughter has been stolen away by lando’s dad, who is showing her the paddock and introducing her to mechanics. you watch on, momentarily, because then lando is stealing you away.

“haven’t you got fp3 in a minute?” you ask, coy smile on your face. he’s pulling your jeans down and kicking them away.

“this won’t take long.” he smirks.

you crave the upper hand for a change. his race suit is already undone, so you make your move. you tug down his fireproofs, taking his cock in your hands. he’s hard already, glistening for you. he groans, but doesn’t make you stop.

you’re watching him through your eyelashes, his head tipping back in pleasure. you work your hand around him, up and down, applying pressure at the base and around the tip. it’s flushed red, wet in your hand and he looks too pretty to stop. he can have you later, in your hotel room, you think. right now, you’re having him.

lando is panting, thrusting into your hand when he comes for you. you’re soaked through, and he can probably see the damp patch on the panties. his release hits your stomach, painting your flushed skin white. your eyes scan the room for something to clean yourself with, but he beats you to it.

thick fingers swipe through the mess he’s made. your panties are tugged to the side and then he’s fucking you with said fingers. you cannot produce a thought, mouth gaping open in the shape of an ‘o’. the sight before you has you gushing, and he uses that leverage to speed up.

“you think i’m gonna let it go go waste, honey? silly girl. pretty, pretty girl.” he mutters.

your hips are bucking into his hand when he pulls out of you, collecting more of him from your belly, and then he’s thrusting them in again. you tear up from the pleasure coursing through you, white hot. he’s crazy, you think, but he’s so fucking beautiful, teasing glint in his eye as he curls his fingers deeper.

“want it so bad, don’t you? gotta keep you full for me, don’t i?”

you’re sure you can be heard from the garage when your orgasm hits.

-

office party

a burnt orange dress clings to your hips and a curly haired man clings to your hand.

the mtc is lit up for another gala that you and lando have to attend. the season is over and they’ve had a great run, so a toast must be made to celebrate that.

you watch him get passed around the room between sponsors and other important people, proud of what he’s achieved. you hate sharing him, but it’s a necessary evil, so you drink champagne with oscar’s girlfriend, lily, and natalie pinkham.

when lando comes back to you, his PR smile is dropped and that genuine, boyish grin returns that you have so missed in his momentary absence. he introduces you to some people, proudly showing you off, sinking drinks as he does.

it’s nearing 10pm when his actions become questionable. his hand stays on your ass, his words whispered in your ear are filthy and his sly kisses on your neck stop being quite so sly.

you remove him from the main event, just for a moment, just to try and get him to compose himself before you jump him against one of the vintage racing cars. he sees this as an invitation, however, and then everything goes awry.

he’s dragging you into the lift, kissing you against the closed doors. when you stumble out a floor up, you can still hear the function in full swing. he’s pulling you down a hallway and into what you assume is an office. when he has you sat on a desk, you realise where you are.

“is this zak’s office?” your eyes pop out of your head, bewildered.

“maybe.” he shrugs. he’s smirking like a bastard.

“you’re insane.” you shake your head, standing from the desk, but his lips ghost your ear and you’re putty in his hands.

“you’re driving me insane. coming here in this tight fucking dress. can’t stop looking at you, thinking about this.” his hand rubs over your lower belly as he speaks, and then you’re back on the desk.

lando’s on his knees, peeling the silky material over your thighs until your barely there panties are in his face. he mouths over them briefly, and then they’re gone and his tongue is buried to the hilt in your cunt.

it doesn’t take him long to get you off, the alcohol and the thrill of being in the one place you should never have sex pushing you quickly towards your orgasm.

the glass wall of windows is too inviting for lando to pass up, so on shaky legs, you’re pressed up against them, looking out over the pond and the fairy lights when he pushes into you.

he’s kissing over your shoulder, your neck, holding your down on him while he thrusts up into you. you turn your head to kiss him, to let him swallow up your noises that could give you away.

“you’re so fucking good for me, honey. letting me have you here like this just so i can give you a baby.” he slurs against your lips, pussy drunk and ravenous.

he finds your clit, fast fingers making small swipes against it and you want to cry.

“gonna make this time count, yeah, honey? gonna keep it all inside of you until we get home?”

you try to nod, try to say something but you’re choking on air and dripping all over him. a couple more thrusts and you’re the perfect vessel for him to release into, throbbing and hot around his cock.

“beg for it, honey, come on. tell me how much you want it.” lando mumbles right in your ear.

“lando, please. please, please, please.” you whimper. “come for me, baby, need it inside of me.”

you leave the office a lot more composed than when you entered it. well, aside from the remnants of him that are running down your inner thighs.

-

a month later, lando’s laughing. he’s actually laughing, while you cringe, burying your blushing face in his chest.

you’re holding a pregnancy test in your hands, finally a positive one.

when you do the maths, you realise where baby norris was conceived, and you try and make him promise never to tell anyone that it was in his boss’s office.

“it’s a funny story.” he tells you. there are tears in his eyes.

“you’re so lucky i love you.” you roll your eyes. you are also dangerously close to crying.

but truthfully, you’re the lucky one. he carries you to bed that night, claiming that now you had a baby on board, you had to be careful!

you dream of him, that night. the man that hung the stars in the sky.

-

once again, idk what came over me i’m sorry lmfao

-

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removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed <3

[adreamfromnevermore]

Headcanon that the Bats must be the most infuriating members of the justice league. And it's got nothing to do with what they do or don't know or even their general skills and egos. Everyone is very used to Batman and the expectation that him and any of his spawn are somehow going to be three steps ahead of any issue they bring to the table ever.

No no, the infuriating bit? The stalking.

Listen, this is a family of freaks and weirdos. They work so well together because none of them were normal to start with and then they ended up traumatized. It's practically common practice in that family to accept that nothing is what it seems at face value and that all of your siblings are attempting to pry into your private life and cases at any given moment. I think for them it's honestly weirder if you take what they say at face value. They speak a language holy separate from any normally socialized person and it is a language of lies and half-truths that relies on the assumption that all parties are aware of that.

They're the most infuriating bitches around.

They'll tell someone something and appear to do the opposite and when confronted will have the most convoluted but sound reasoning of why they actually did exactly as they promised too.

They regularly pick people's pockets and hack into personal information because for them? That's practically a love language. They're obnoxious and they aren't even aware of it. Someone asks them to just tell the truth and they react like they've been shot. They're probably offended when they realize that someone hasn't been at least attempting to dig into them back, like come on man. I thought we were friends but you didn't even Google how long Nightwings been around? We've already put the bar on the floor for you guys? My siblings already have a full dossier ready on you because they caught us on camera in your home city during that 2 minute conversation we had 3 months ago. They sent it to me a few hours later. I think they got Oracle to help cause usually it takes them at least 12 hours.

You think they're being nice and friendly and then you realize that they have a nice little file compiled of everything you've done in the last five years, where you went to school and every note your teachers ever made about your behavior a decade ago when you were still a high schooler and fairly normal. If asked they'd probably be willing to bring out the family tree they built for you. They know what you did last summer better than you know what you did last summer. They have pictures, pictures that should be impossible because there's no way they were stalking you then and those sure don't look like security camera footage.

In reality Bats and Superman get along so well because that man is an investigative journalist and when they first met he could not leave it alone. Bruce was charmed the first time Clark Kent started doggedly attempting to ask him if he knew anything about Gothams new cryptid. It was cute how off base he was. But he was trying!!!! Bruce was sold for life! He dropped an dossier on lexcorp off in Clarks apartment a few days later. As a gift.

[happy74827]

He’s Got The Fire

[Johnny Lawrence x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: To your surprise, Johnny shows up at your window unannounced, but it doesn’t take long to realize it’s not for kicks {GIF Creds: pilvimarja}.

WC: 2076

Category: Slight Hurt/Comfort, Slight Fluff, Introverted(ish)!Reader

Honestly, I’m surprised I haven’t started writing this franchise earlier given how it’s about equal with my love for BTTF

『••✎••』

The sun had already gone down a while ago, the air was crisp, and the sky was starry. It was the perfect evening to watch the moon rise. The wind carried a chill, and the trees were almost bare, swaying in the breeze.

With a sigh, you closed the book you had been reading and stretched your legs, looking out the window of your room. By now, everyone had been asleep for a few hours, and you worked on upcoming assignments to pass the time. But when you had gotten to your last one, you just couldn't be bothered anymore, so you set it aside.

The quietness was nice, and the light from the moon cast a blue-ish glow on everything around you. You were so calm, but there was still something that had you feeling off.

Johnny.

He was never around much lately. It wasn't surprising, but it was disheartening. Ever since that championship loss a while back, he had been training even harder, and when he wasn't training, he was out doing god-knows-what.

You understood how important Cobra Kai was to him, but the fact that he was putting everything else on the back burner really had you worried. He had a tendency to go down the wrong path and not think about the consequences until after the fact. You hoped that wasn't what was happening this time.

Pulling your knees up, you rested your head on them and looked out at the night. There was a full moon, and you wondered if Johnny had noticed. He used to love taking walks at night just to see the moon and look up at the stars.

He had changed so much since then. That fire inside of him burned so brightly that sometimes you wondered if it would burn him, too.

Sitting like that for a while, you lost track of time. It was easy to get distracted and drift away from reality when your mind wandered. It was something you were trying to work on, and you were actually doing pretty well.

Until you heard a pang on your window.

Sitting up, you looked around, wondering if a bird had flown into it, but you saw nothing. Your mind immediately went to a branch falling or something like that, and you were ready to dismiss the strange noise and go back to daydreaming.

But the pang came again, and your heart leaped in your throat. You stood and cautiously moved toward the window. At the same time, a face popped up from below, and you shrieked.

He motioned for you to open the window, along with attempts to hush you. It was a very frantic gesture, and you felt your heart rate rise. You quickly opened the window and stuck your head out.

"Johnny?!" You whispered-yelled, and he was pulling himself up. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh!" He held a finger to his lips and looked behind him, and your eyebrows furrowed.

"Johnny-"

"Do you want the whole neighborhood to know I'm here? Let me in!"

You stared at him for a moment longer before helping him through the window. It didn’t go as smoothly as one would expect, like the movies, but he managed to tumble in. You stood there, arms folded, as he dusted himself off.

You haven’t seen him in so long, and the day you choose to miss him, he shows up out of nowhere. You would’ve called yourself psychic if it weren’t for the fact that Johnny always did the unexpected.

He looked… good, to say the least. The red jacket still fit him perfectly; his blonde hair was combed and fluffy, and his eyes were still focused and alert, even if his body language seemed a little sluggish.

To be honest, Johnny was the most beautiful person you had ever laid eyes on. His sharp jawline, his toned muscles, and that cocky smile of his. The way his eyes crinkled when he laughed and the way he always looked at you like you were the only girl in the world.

For a while, you didn’t understand why he chose to pursue you, of all people. He could have anyone he wanted. You weren't exactly a social butterfly, and you always got nervous and shy in the presence of others.

Johnny was the opposite of you. He was outgoing, and his charisma attracted everyone to him. And the way his voice was so smooth and deep. He could be the most annoying person on the planet, but when he said your name, you would melt.

So when he asked you out, you thought it was some sort of joke. I mean, he was the hottest guy in school. And you were just… you.

But then you realized there was more to him than just the bad boy exterior. He had a sensitive side, and his vulnerability was endearing. His family was… well, a lot. His mom was nice, but she had her fair share of issues, and his stepfather was a piece of work.

It only took one date to realize the Johnny you were accustomed to wasn’t the real him. The real him was like you… except he could kick ass and had some pent-up anger issues.

And yet, here you were.

"Johnny-" You began, but he stepped toward you and wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head. You stood stiffly, arms at your sides.

"God, I've missed you."

That was the last thing you expected him to say. You felt your face heat up, your chest warm up, and your shoulders slumped. You melted into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him.

"I've missed you too."

You could feel him grin against the top of your head, and he squeezed you a little tighter. He was so warm, and it made you forget the fact that he was literally climbing through your window at almost midnight.

After a minute or so, he pulled away and held your face in his hands. You were looking into those piercing blue eyes, and you could feel butterflies in your stomach.

"Why are you here?" You asked, your voice a little above a whisper.

He hesitated, and that was the moment you knew something was wrong. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I, uh… I needed to see you."

You raised an eyebrow, but you didn't say anything. You were waiting for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, you sighed and grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the bed. You sat on the edge, and he followed.

"Johnny," You said, turning toward him and placing a hand on his knee. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just… wanted to see you."

You didn't say anything. You knew better than that. So you waited.

"Okay, okay," He sighed. "Look, I'm not gonna lie to you, but I can’t tell you why."

"That's reassuring."

"It's just… things are… well, I just needed to get away. It's nothing, I'm fine, don't worry."

You were silent. You didn't really know what to say. There was so much going on, and it was hard for you to believe him when he told you not to worry.

"Is it… Is it Sid? Your mom?"

"Just…” He shook his head and stood, rubbing the back of his neck. He started pacing, and that was when you knew he was really upset. “Just drop it, alright? Everything's fine."

“You ignored me for the past two weeks, Johnny. Something is wrong."

He stopped and glared at you, and you froze. You were taken aback by the expression on his face. He seemed frustrated and almost angry.

The look… you knew it wasn’t directed at you, but you couldn't help but feel a little intimidated. He was always so hot-headed and stubborn, and when his mood shifted, you had a hard time knowing what to do.

He seemed to realize his expression and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh.

"Sorry, God, I'm sorry, it's not you. I'm just-" He sighed and plopped back down on the bed next to you, running his hands over his face. "I'm a fucking mess, okay? Just forget I came."

It was weird how, in certain situations, you could completely shift into a different person. You’ve seen it in movies and TV, and it was a cliche. You didn’t think it would ever happen to you.

And yet, the second you heard the words come out of his mouth, you were hit with an overwhelming urge to turn his head towards yours, grab his face in your hands, and kiss him.

So you did.

You couldn’t really tell him why you did it. It just felt like the right thing to do, and it was an impulse. You figured it was the best way to let him know that you were here and he wasn’t alone.

The second your lips met, he was leaning into you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. You could feel the passion and desperation behind the kiss, and it took you a moment to match his energy.

He was rough and intense, and he pulled away after a few moments, moving to your neck. You gasped and gripped the collar of his jacket, feeling the heat of his lips on your skin.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, they say. And it was true. You had missed him more than you had thought. You had almost forgotten how much of a force he was to be reckoned with.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to form words, but failing. Instead, you tugged on his jacket and pulled him towards you, hoping he would get the message.

And he did.

His lips found yours again, and he was pushing you back, holding himself above you with one hand. His other was moving up your shirt, his fingers grazing your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his fingers danced across your ribs. His lips were rough, but they moved with such grace and delicacy it was hard to keep up.

He pulled away for a moment, and you looked up at him, catching your breath. His blonde hair was messy, and his eyes were a little hooded. He looked like a mess, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

You reached up and brushed his hair back, giving him a soft smile.

“Is that…” His eyes peered away from you, and you raised an eyebrow. "Do you still have that damn elephant?"

Your eyes followed his, and you spotted the elephant in question. It was a gift Johnny had given you back when things were different. Come to think of it, you weren’t even sure you were together at that point.

"Why wouldn't I?" You asked, and he chuckled. “Ozzy's special."

"You named it? What are you, ten?"

You swatted his arm, and he laughed again. His eyes found yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. It felt like old times.

"Don't make fun of him. You gave him to me."

"Yeah, whatever," He rolled his eyes, but his smile remained. "Can't believe you kept him."

"I keep a lot of stuff, Johnny. Especially when they're meaningful."

He was silent for a moment, his eyes still focused on you. The moonlight was shining through the window and casting a shadow on his face.

"I keep a lot of things, too."

Before you could say anything, he was leaning down and kissing you again. You could tell this one was different, more meaningful, like he was pouring his heart and soul into the kiss.

And he was.

He wanted you to know how he felt about you without actually saying it. And although you weren’t really sure what was going on, you had a feeling this was what it was.

The fire inside of him was burning again, but finally, after so long, he realized that he needed to take a breather every now and then. Add some water to the flames.

It was a delicate balance. And although he may be bad at showing his feelings, talking about them, or acknowledging them, you were there to make sure he didn't lose himself in the heat.

And maybe, just maybe, the flame was a little more subdued, and the burn a little less harsh.

[ma1dita]

said he likes crazy

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 2.1k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's been avoiding you since your first kiss. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: SAID HE LIKES CRAZY GIRLS, BUT HE HATES WHEN I ACT CRAZY guys i didnt sleep for this pls tell me its ok

(posted 1/29/24, beta’d by the lovely ellie @lixzey )

—

He’s been avoiding you. 

To be specific, Luke’s been running away from you. Typical son of Hermes, and a typical teenage boy at that. But if anyone’s asked you what’s up (which, they all have, after almost 4 years of seeing you two not go a day without bickering), it’s just easier to say you’ve been busy.

Okay, so perhaps you’ve been avoiding him too.

Annabeth clocked you as soon as you turned tail after almost bumping into him after archery practice. Damn children of Athena; it’d be nice if they weren’t so perceptive sometimes.

“What did he do this time?” she pipes up, filling the silence of the Big House. It’s late now, and the cabin counselors’ meeting just ended.

“Seeing as you’re the one helping me with the paperwork tonight and not him, you can take a good guess, Annie,” you sigh.

Honestly though, who the fuck kisses someone senseless and then runs away? (Luke Castellan, that’s who.) You weren’t sure what to make of it. You’re a daughter of chaos, after all, not love. But if there’s anyone who can read your emotions better than yourself, it’s him. 

Annabeth stares at her idiot brother through the window as he wanders in the grass outside the Big House.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s just…being Luke,” you say, blinking slowly as you shuffle through the last of the files you need to put on your dad’s desk before you mutter, “I’m just having a bad day.”

A noise of concern makes its way up Annabeth’s throat. You haven’t had a bad day in a while, in all honesty, not one that makes you act like this, admittedly not one that makes you act like you— the daughter of Dionysus, god of insanity, and not the daughter of Mr. D, camp director.

It was just a bad day until it turned into a bad week, and the voices in your head were starting to get loud without Luke distracting you. Because that’s what he ultimately is, a distraction from your camp duties. 

There’s so much to do and so little time, however, that you hide away your microexpressions that seem to be clawing at you from the inside. The anger, the mania, the hurt. If you unleash it, only the gods can predict how much of camp would be affected by your ‘outbursts’, as your dad likes to call them. Not like you had a choice in the matter. Your days of wreaking havoc are behind you, now presenting yourself as the stellar star of the Camp Half-Blood show. It’s almost a one-woman production with you picking up after your father and trying to tame the traits he passed down.

Thanks for that, D. 

So you give and you give and you give—all your attention and time and effort into keeping camp upright, into being the perfect daughter, that at the end of the day, you’ve drained yourself of who you are with who you try to be.

You look at your tired reflection in the window, before your eyebrow raises at the sight of Luke blending in with the shadows of the tree he’s leaning against. Idiot.

“Annie, would you mind…”

“Yeah, I’ll do cabin checks myself. Might drag your brother to do them with me,” she smiles, patting your arm before grabbing her bag.

“If he complains, let me know. Pollux has heard me bitch enough today.” The small girl raises an eyebrow at that, biting her tongue from responding. You chewed out a lot of people today, acting extra uptight and demanding of the counselors to “just do the right thing.” It was almost insufferable, but despite you trying to hold it in, your emotions bled into their own. Everyone was agitated by the end of the meeting, filing out quickly with biting words and hot tempers. You couldn’t help but notice Luke led them all out of there, and they also somehow got the feeling that he was to blame. 

Smiling at Annabeth in thanks, you watch her walk out to Luke before punching him in the stomach as he grimaces, meeting your violet gaze through the window as he raises a hand. It’s hard to tell if it’s to signal a truce or his embarrassment, but he trudges the way up the path and the door creaks open.

“Heard you were having a bad day,” he mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. You look at him from the corner of your eye as you continue to write down the weekly to-dos and organize papers for your dad to sign and send back to Zeus.

“Why are you still here, Castellan?”

“So we’re back to that? I thought…” his voice trails off at the sound of his last name, not Luke, not angelface, or anything in between, and both of you are unsure how to proceed. Neither of you have done this before, at least not with each other. You tilt your head to the side, daring him to speak, and it reminds him of a week ago, you bathed in sunlight when he leaned in and kissed you. Though if he did that right now, he’s not sure how you’d react. 

“It’s just a bad day,” you whisper in defeat, lilac eyes wilting in front of him like an overwatered flower.

He realizes then that he cares for you more than he knows how to. And Luke knows what it means when you’re having a bad day.

There’s a deranged look in your eye, a subtle eye twitch and clench of your jaw that is almost insusceptible to the average demigod, but he knows you’re on edge, having taunted you mercilessly until you scream, cry, laugh, or all of the above. But most of all you look tired and in need of someone who knows how it feels to be underappreciated. 

“D’s a great dad to the twins. But I just feel like… maybe he wasn’t meant to be mine,” you whisper, rolling your tongue against the front of your teeth to push back the sob a 14-year-old version of you would let out deep in the dark of cabin 11, having been there for months and knowing Dionysus was your father and waiting for him to see you. To know you. 

“Giving me a hard time about all of this,” you say, hands gesturing to the things you have to prepare for him by morning. You’re overworked, underpaid, and definitely not appreciated— and Luke decides he hates your dad for what he puts you through, not just as a shitty camp director but as a shitty dad. He’s learned to live with the hurt—to use it to fuel his vengeance for how he plans to make the world better. But your ambition makes you change yourself constantly to try to be better. Both fatal flaws are fueled by the ignorance of your fathers. He knows the feeling all too well.

He knows you.

“What do you need?” he asks simply, stepping closer to your form hunched over the desk.

“I can do it, you know. D’s wrong about me,” you whisper, and the words come out sounding so desperate for him to believe the performance you always put on that you avert your eyes.

He doesn’t need to be convinced; instead, he holds his arms out waiting for you to let you make the next move. Luke is neither a fool nor a knave— there are no tricks here, no hidden agenda as he watches you try to compose yourself with a deep breath instead of showing him the real you. The one who’s beneath the mask of being head counselor, your father’s saving grace, and the one who carries her responsibilities like Atlas carries the weight of the sky.

“I know you can. You always have. You really think I’m here to help you file paperwork?”

“Will you let me?” Whether he meant sharing the workload or being there for you, you wouldn’t dare to ask. It’s all the same, anyway—laying yourself bare for someone to peek into your mind and have them not laugh at it.

Suddenly you speak, and the intensity of your tone makes him straighten his posture. 

“Sometimes… Do you ever feel the need to just…”

“What?” He reaches out to tug your hair, and in the dim light, he can see the bloom of your cheeks. You’re shy, and Luke thinks you look soft like this, wary of how he perceives you.

“I shouldn’t.” Fuck the gods. He can see the thought form in your eyes, the heat of your stare tearing through his, and his lips pull into a smirk.

“What was that, Trouble?” 

“Luke, don’t be an asshole…” You say warily, biting the inside of your cheek. There’s no way you’re going down in the history books for cursing the gods because Luke Castellan of all people made you. 

“I thought you liked me like that,” he’s grinning now, and grabbing your chin lightly, mouthing the words to echo your thoughts. 

Fuck the gods.

“Fuck.” you whisper, before your voice fails you, your eyes closing both from his touch and the genuine fear of the heavens falling down from the sacrilege falling from your lips.

“Louder,” he whispers, pulling your face up close to his, “come on, you used to be more fun, Trouble. I believe in you.”

“Fuck!” you say louder and he’s whispering in your ear, urging you to toe the line between perfect child and degenerate.

“Say it again.”

“FUCK! FUCK THE…” you yell before you sigh exasperatedly, eyes widening as you feel the breath release from your chest before your head lolls onto his shoulder. 

“Gods, you’re fucking insane, Castellan.”

He laughs lowly, and it sounds as sweet as sin. Your smiling lips make an imprint on his collarbone, and he wishes they would sear themselves on there for the rest of eternity.

“Hey, I get it from you. Feel better?”

To be seen is a fickle thing. But to be known is something more intimate, and nothing will be able to erase the connection you both share—fatal flaws and all. There are things you can’t change about people, what they are at their core, and so he takes what you hate about yourself with both hands and pulls you towards his chest until you settle against him with a sniffle. Luke tilts your chin up again, a rough thumb wiping away evidence of your watery smile. He thinks he sees a glimpse of a past you—a younger one that dyed his socks purple to make him feel like he belongs here. And he knows now that he does belong with you, right here as he holds you in the quiet of the Big House.

“Ugh, I’ll kiss you later, I still have to finish up here. You’re not off the hook, angelface.” You sigh, pushing away from him before he tugs you back, your feet stumbling as you roll your eyes at his impish expression.

“Let me make it up to you then, Trouble.”

“What, so you run away again?” you scoff, snickering at the sight of his ego being taken down a notch.

“I’ve just….I don’t know how to do all of this with you. Guess I’m worried it won’t meet your expectations, Miss Head Counselor.” A boyish sort of bashfulness crosses his features, and he’s twirling a piece of your hair in his hands like spinning silk.

“I just hope you never stop surprising me. That’s all I ask.”

Your hand touches his wrist lightly, and he sighs like you’ve already taken his breath away.

“I keep my promises. Do you?”

“Who said a kiss was a promise? I meant it as a threat,” you laugh before he’s pressing your hips into the table, nose nudging against yours and suddenly work is off the table for the rest of the night.

You on the table, however, well... that could be negotiated.

“I knew something was wrong with me when your so-called threats got less scary and more sexy,” Luke teases, running a finger on the side of your cheek. His breath tickles your lips, and you can imagine the rage your father would feel if he caught the two of you in his office like this. Besides the blatant defiance, you briefly wonder if your rebellion would get him to respect you more. An interesting thought.

“You’re absolutely terrible. I need to get this done… The gods don’t wait for us.”

A weak sigh leaves your mouth as your brain is already riddled with thoughts of him and he closes the gap between your lips.

“They can wait until morning. For now, you’re mine.”

—

“You can’t love someone unless you love yourself first — bullshit.

I have never loved myself.

But you —

Oh god, I loved you so much I forgot what hating myself felt like. (via swxrn-in)”

ask to be added to general/luke taglists!

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[yuwuta]

JJK OLYMPICS OHHH YOURE A GENIUS

head spinning w sooooooo many athlete aus rn….. 

satoru honestly isn’t half as cocky as the media makes him out to be but he could be because you bring up world champion men’s freestyle swim times and it’s his name on the scoreboard ten times before someone else shows up. he’s faster than himself by fifteen seconds all around, he’s earned a bit of cockiness. mentioned in the last post that whenever he’s at a competition and he finishes a race, he looks at the camera and signs a little infinity sign and then blows a kiss to you. some bitter old coach always calls him out on it, and gets him fined for unsportsmanlike conduct, and he’s happy to pay the fees if it means getting a message home to you, but eventually you two come up with a new code; and at his next race, he places gold, turns to the camera, crosses his middle finger over his pointer finger and smiles. when he’s in his post-race interview, he makes sure to explain that he does it for you with the widest smile on his face.

megumi nepotism baby but not in the same sport. toji was a multi gold medalist back in his heyday for shooting, so it’s not really a surprise to anybody that megumi has scary good aim, but he takes to archery instead of shooting. actually the idea of megumi being an emo little kid and throwing rocks at a tree when his dad pissed him off his hilarious, and even funnier is toji watching him, slightly amused and a little scared because megumi is maybe six and hitting the exact same spot every single time. he grows to be very blase about it—it’s more of a release/hobby for him that he happens to be really good at, and well, now good enough to earn a few olympic medals. megumi is not a fan of having his dad ruffle his hair on international television after he’s won, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

i don’t know where to put yuuta…. tennis…. tempting….. him in his little white shorts…. little grunts after he serves…. cries….. a complete 180 in his personality when he’s playing vs doing anything else. so charming and sweet and kinda shy when he’s being interviewed, and the second he steps on the court his eyes are so cold it’s scary…. need him… extremely nerdy about his rackets, and shoes, and clothes, and rambles to you about aerodynamics and posture and torque whenever you ask him to teach you, and you always have to shutup him up with a kiss and remind him that yeah you sort of want to learn to play tennis for him, but mostly you came bc he looks hot doing it. once he got asked in an interview if he ever thinks about you while he’s playing and his response was very concise, “no, never. it would be a big distraction,” and did not realize the implications of his heavily televised words. 

also…. not to make this post 40% yuuta but we could pull from canon a bit and make his sport fencing. he doesn’t excel because he’s the strongest, it’s because he’s learned to treat the sword as an extension of himself and a good strategist… also because i like the image of him pulling the helmet/mask off and shaking his hair out………..

don’t even know where to put yuuji…. volleyball? basketball? track and field??? the irony of him easily being the most athletic but canonically does not want to play sports 😭 but i can see him playing a sport because someone scouts him and it turns out to be a way to make steady money to support himself and his grandpa :( by the time he’s qualified and made it to the olympics, wasuke is doing much better (thanks to yuuji having landed some preemptive sponsorships and being able to afford better medical care), but not so well enough that he can travel across the world to watch yuuji play. wasuke tells you that you should travel and be with yuuji, but yuuji is so touched by the idea that you would stay with his grandpa and be by his side when he’s away :(( he wins gold, of course, and he doesn’t even wait until the closing ceremony—which, he’d mentioned in all of his interviews, so nobody can be too upset. he’s on record saying, “i’m excited to play, but i’m even happier to be going home. my girlfriend and my grandpa are watching me and i miss them!” several times— he’s on the first flight home with flowers, and tears in his eyes. puts his gold medal on his grandpa’s neck as a thank you, and spends probably thirty minutes straight hugging you and kissing you and honestly don’t put it past him to propose now that he’s got nike ambassador money 

nanami started judo as a way to relieve the stress of his overbearing job, and someone at the gym/training center notices he seems to be a natural despite being a beginner. he starts to draw a crowd, which annoys him at first because the point of judo was discipline and release from having to deal with too many people at his office job, but nanami supposes he can’t be too mad when you introduce yourself as a talent scout and offer him professional training. there’s irony in him accepting your offer, because it was definitely not based in professionalism at all… quitting his job as a salaryman to become a professional athlete in his mid-twenties was not on his bingo chart, but if it means he will have met you, then so be it. you’re with him all the way, through his training, competitions, world championships, qualifiers, all the way until he’s on the podium. you’re the first to congratulate him, but he interjects by telling you he’s quitting. you ask him why—he just won at the olympics for crying out loud, but nanami just shakes his head, puts down his flowers and his medal so his hands are free to hold your face and tell you, “it would be unethical to kiss my manager, so i am quitting.” (later, when everything is said and done, and you two are cuddling, you mention to him that he could just hire a new manager, and not quit his new career, to which he blushes because yeah… that’s probably more rational, but rational was not in his train of thought at the time)

[blushweddinggowns]

I can't stop thinking about Eddie having a massive bitch fetish for mean girl Steve, especially after they get together.

Like before, sure, he was just as much in King Steve's thrall as every other high school girl was, even if it was a secret he had planned on taking to the grave. Every time he'd hear him make a snappy comment to one of his friends or say something particularly cutting when he talked back to the teachers was enough to make Eddie flush.

But now that they're together it's even worse than high school Eddie could imagine. Because Steve Harrington is protective as fuck and when you mix that with being gay in small-town Indiana with a boyfriend whose the town pariah for murders he didn't commit, you get a lot of opportunities for bitchy Steve.

The check-out lady at the grocery store scoffs when she sees them holding hands? Steve's jumping in, "Wow Linda, guess you're not a champion for love huh? Is that why your husband left you last year?"

An ex-jock and current gas station attendant makes a comment about how Eddie should be in prison? "Weren't you the guy who shit his pants at Carol's party freshman year? Honestly, I feel like that's a worse social crime than anything my Eddie ever did."

An old teacher comments on how he's not "surprised" that Eddie never graduated when they run into him? "I guess that just goes to show how shitty of a teacher you were doesn't it? He passed his GED test on the first try, maybe you should just think of a different career option?"

He has an arsenal of embarrassing stories and tidbits for almost every person in Hawkins, courtesy of his near-daily gossip sessions with his mom. Even when they move in together, those don't stop, they just switch to weekly three-hour phone conversations. (The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?)

And Eddie loved how willing Steve was to stand up for him, he did, really. But every time Eddie had to bear witness to Steve tearing someone down for his benefit, it felt like he was losing his mind.

He'd flush, go bright pink, get weak in the knees, everything you would expect from a love-struck sixteen-year-old girl, not a twenty-one-year-old drug dealer. Half the time he had to drag Steve to the nearest unoccupied space just to kiss him, and the other half he was too busy trying to hide a humiliating hard-on.

Eddie keeps that specific obsession to himself, but he knows he doesn't have much time left before he figures it out. There are only so many impromptu make-out sessions mixed with snide comments before Steve puts two and two together.

And Eddie just knows that he will never let him live it down, which will only add fuel to the fire if he starts doing it on purpose to tease him. Steve already had him wrapped around his finger enough as is, he didn't need another thing to make him realize just how gone for him Eddie was.

No, this one was going to stay with him, a secret that he'd actually manage to take to his grave.

Or so he thought.

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Great Balls Of Fire

Bradley Bradshaw x fem!reader 9k words (ik. i did it again. im sorry)

summary: It’s been four months since you last saw Bradley Bradshaw. Today's the day he finally comes back from his mission and you have more than one ace up your sleeve to surprise him with.

a/n: smut ahead. 18+ im serious theres smut theres a lot of smut. okay. as usual i will now list everything you may have to look out for

fancy ass lingerie, oral sex fem!receiving, unprotected sex (dont be like them, just know theyre in a committed relationship theyve had the talk and all), a lot of begging, hair pulling, good girl's because yes, in general again bradley is a talker, otherwise that's it

top gun masterlist

It had been so long. It had been too long.

With the sun beating down hard on the pavement of the parking lot, the sunglasses on your nose doing their hardest to protect your eyes from the worst of the light, the sound of your heels clicking against solid ground as you took a few steps into the shade of the tree next to Bradley's Bronco. You had been waiting for ten minutes now, checking your phone what seemed like every five seconds, too nervous to actually pay attention to it but too nervous to keep calm either.

You had been so scared you would crash into a grandma on the way over here that you had honestly considered taking your own car instead of the Bronco - but Bradley had trusted you with it, had trusted you to keep his lady running, you, even though he never let anyone else as much as touch the steering wheel, and you would be damned if you didn't pick him up in it.

You hadn't seen him in four months. Four months.

You had been by yourself, had been on your own, had been lonely for four fucking months.

But today was the day you would see him again. Today was the day his oh-so-secret mission would finally, truly come to an end, the day that you would finally, truly see him again. Not over some low-quality video call in the middle of the night, with only your kitchen lights on in the background and your mind hazy and tired because he was nine hours ahead of you and seemed to be at the other end of the world - no, today you would finally, finally, finally see him in the flesh.

You'd been anticipating this moment for the past four months.

So this had to be perfect.

This would be perfect.

You had done everything possible to make this the most perfect day of his goddamn life. You had spent the last four months moving things from the old apartment to the new house - those things that you and him hadn't already moved anyway - and the past week, you'd been cleaning, decorating, anticipating.

He had told you so often how much he missed you. How much he wished he had been there for you, to help you pack the things, to help you take them apart and put them back together, to do more than just the paperwork and set up the bed and the couch.

But he couldn't. And now you were bubbling with nervous excitement, with the joy of sharing all of it with him, to show him the desk you'd put up in the bedroom, the pillows you'd bought for the couch, the paintings you'd hung up on the walls, the kitchen table you'd replaced, the kitchen tiles you'd painted. To show him how much better this new home was than the old apartment had been (even though you'd been very happy there for the past four years as well).

And Bradley would love it. You were sure of that.

You just wanted him to see it so desperately.

You looked up as another car approached - it wasn't Bradley, you knew that, Bradley would come out of that door opposite you, not out of a car, but... There was still some tiny little sliver of hope, the same way there had been every single goddamn time someone had rung your doorbell. It had only ever been the postman or your food.

The car stopped next to you. You watched the engine being turned off and the driver get out because, well, what else was there to do except nervously shift your weight from one leg onto the other and go insane?

So you watched the stranger hop out of their car, nodded politely at them and then refocused your attention on the tips of your sandals. At least you weren't the only one waiting here anymore.

You got out your phone again, checked the time (it'd been a minute and a half since you'd last looked at it) and let out a sigh.

It wasn't that Bradley was late. There wasn't really a "late" anyway, he'd only been able to give you a vague time he'd arrive on, but still. You'd been buzzing with nervous energy for over a week.

You took a deep breath to steady yourself, wiped your sweaty palms off on the sundress you'd put on - the tiny yellow sundress that Bradley had picked out for you on your birthday last year. The tiny yellow sundress that hid the sinful white lingerie under it just perfectly. The sinful white lingerie that you had bought for this very moment.

Bradley would go feral for it, you knew that. He loved white. You thought it was because it looked innocent, chaste. Like something untainted, something waiting to be ruined. Not that you minded. One day, he had promised himself, he would admit to you that it was because it looked like something you would wear on your wedding night.

But either way, you had gone shopping for the perfect set of lingerie and you were more than happy with your final choice.

Bradley could unwrap you like a present. You were desperately hoping he would unwrap you like a present.

You had spent the last four months not doing anything other than hoping. Imagining. Remembering.

So you weren't surprised that you felt like you'd soaked through those pretty (and expensive) panties already.

Your breath hitched. You shifted your weight again.

Bradley would carry you in his big, strong arms over the doorstep, would push you against the wall, would take everything he wanted from you and give everything you needed - he'd pull your dress right off and, at the sight of your lingerie, would fuck you raw.

You had to bite down on your lip to keep you grounded. Four months away had been a long, long time. Four months in which you'd only had yourself, your fingers, your vibrator to keep you company - four months in which you'd only heard Bradley's moans spill over the phone, had only heard him call you honey and good girl through a low-quality mic, had only seen him on pictures he'd left you, on a tiny screen at best.

You were depraved. And pretty sure you'd fall apart at the first touch.

You were so immersed in your thoughts, in that lovely imagery you had created in your head, that you almost missed the door opening. Finally. Finally. You straightened up at once.

It wasn't Bradley who stepped out first - it was one of his colleagues, you guessed, with blonde hair and much shorter - but it was Bradley who stepped out second. You'd know him from miles away.

He strode out of the door and into the sunlight, all familiar brown curls and broad shoulders and Ray-Bans on his nose and an Hawaiian shirt on and his bag lazily slung over his shoulder and that moustache - by god you'd have killed him if he'd shaved that off!

He turned his head and looked at you and a grin broke out on your lips, so wide, so incredibly wide that it felt like it'd split your face in half and before you could think, before you could form any coherent thought you were already moving, your legs with a mind of their own. You were sprinting towards him. Sprinting all through the parking lot, your heels click-clicking on the pavement, and Bradley grinned, grinned and let his bag fall to the ground carelessly, opened his arms instead. Wide, so wide. He was so tall. So broad. So inviting as you ran at him, as you jumped at him, as you wrapped your arms and your legs around him at the same time, as he caught you effortlessly, as your lips landed on his.

As you crashed into him, completely, and he didn't even stagger an inch back.

You had missed four months of this.

And now his lips were on yours. Your legs around his waist. Your arms crossed behind his neck. His breath against your mouth. His lips parted. His tongue against yours.

You were desperate. And you could feel just how desperate he was, too.

You could feel all the passion, all the fiery, red passion, all the force and firmness put into this kiss as his tongue ran along yours, as your breaths met and mingled, as his hands dug into your thighs to keep you upright, to keep you snug to him.

You pulled back incredibly reluctantly. You didn't want to let go of him. You never wanted to let go of him ever again. You wanted to have him, all of him, right here, right now, and then for eternity. But you couldn't, you couldn't because this was the middle of the parking lot, and also because you at least wanted to say hello first.

So you blinked open your eyes and took him in and allowed yourself to grin as broad and as wide as you needed to right now.

"You're back", you whispered, just because that realisation still had to sink in. "You're really back."

Bradley nuzzled your nose with his and let out a hum - god, how you'd missed him. The feel of him, the sound of him.

"Yeah, I'm here, honey", he muttered, that smile of his dripping down onto his voice. "I'm here and I won't leave any time soon."

You couldn't help but lean in again, couldn't help but capture his lips again because how else, how on earth would you let him feel all the joy you were experiencing right now? You didn't even know if you could actually feel all of it. You definitely wouldn't be able to put it into words. So you dug your teeth into his bottom lip and sighed into him and pulled him closer, closer and closer, even further into you.

"I missed you", you breathed against his mouth. "I love you and I missed you, Bradley."

He chuckled, kissed you again, drew back just enough to still touch you somehow, to still have his lips on your skin somehow and be able to talk at the same time.

"I love you so much, honey", he muttered. "And I missed you so much."

And then his lips were on yours again, his fingers digging even harder into your thighs, his breath and his tongue and his moustache scratching against your skin and you moaned, because there was no more anything you could possibly have done, because you couldn't help yourself, because you couldn't stop yourself, because you didn't want to either. You wanted to let him know just how goddamn fucking much you'd missed him.

Bradley had to bite back a laugh, pulled back and looked at you through his sunglasses.

"Sounds like we should get home, honey", he said, his eyebrows raised and his smile deepening with every word. "Been waiting for that for four months."

You let out another soft moan, pushed yourself even closer to him, dug one hand into the back of his hair and scratched the other down his shoulders, down his shirt. You wanted to feel him. All of him. God, the ride home would take ten minutes. Ten minutes. How were you supposed to survive that?

"Please", you whispered onto his lips, and you didn't think you had ever meant it as much as you did now.

Bradley groaned and kissed you again, quickly, heatedly, his tongue running along your bottom lip and then pulling back again. This wasn't enough. This wasn't enough.

He set you down on the pavement again softly, your legs a bit wobbly, unsteady, and trailed one hand from your thigh to your back - anything to keep touching you as he bent down to pick up his bag again. You smiled up at him, smoothed down the front of your dress and beamed as his eyes traveled down your body.

When they snapped back up to catch your gaze, the grin on his face had turned into a much more intense expression.

"You look gorgeous, honey", he muttered, tugging you further into his side, letting his eyes drop down to your chest again. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from jumping at him right this second. He should not have been allowed to just look at you if you couldn't have him touch you too. "Did you pick out new nail polish just for this dress?"

Your grin broadened. Of course he'd notice. Bradley Bradshaw was the only man in the whole universe who would notice. And he was yours.

"Yes, I did", you smiled, looking up at him as he walked with you back to the car. He hummed softly.

"It works great together", he said. Your breath hitched. He was gorgeous and he was here and he had noticed your nail polish. He was perfect. And you wanted him to fuck your brains out. "Reminds me of your burgundy silk dress."

You had to bite down on your lip again - god, you hadn't done that nearly as often when he'd been away! - to keep yourself grounded and to keep your grin in check before it could truly split your face in half.

Your burgundy silk dress was the one you'd worn to Penny and Mav's wedding two years ago that you had spent three weeks hunting down matching lipstick and matching nail polish for. Bradley had worn that lipstick on the base of his cock for most of the night.

"You're incredible, do you know that?", you asked, your voice a bit breathy. Bradley stopped in front of the Bronco, turned to you and pulled you close again. You brought your hands up to his chest.

"I've been told", he muttered, tilted his head down to look at you and then leaned down even further to brush a kiss to your nose. "Open up the Bronco so I can put my bag in the trunk?"

You let your eyes flutter close for just a tiny little moment (he was close, so close and you would literally die if he didn't start touching you any time soon) and breathed in as Bradley chuckled. You'd put the key in your pocket and were scrambling to get it out now, taking one, two seconds too long before you heard the familiar click of the car unlocking.

"Thanks, pretty girl", Bradley mumbled, letting go of you to pull open the trunk and you had to push down a sigh of disappointment, even as anticipation rose up in your stomach. You hadn't heard him call you pretty girl in months.

When he turned back around to you, you were still frozen in spot, still smiling dumbly at him, still waiting for him to touch you, to kiss you, to fuck you. He smiled back and you knew that he knew just what you were thinking. But you couldn't even begin to care. You wanted to get him home as quickly as possible.

"You need to stop looking at me like that, honey", he said, his voice an octave deeper and you just so managed not to let another dumb, pathetic moan slip. He closed the trunk and took a step back to you. "You know I can't help myself when you look at me like that."

At that, you did let the moan tumble from your lips after all.

He'd been away for four months. And he was looking at you with his eyes all dark and his jaw clenched and his chest rising and falling heavily. How on earth were you supposed to be normal about this? You were falling apart already and he hadn't even got you home. Four months had been a long, long time.

His hands were on your waist then, forcing you against the side of the bronco, the door handle digging into your back, the metal warmed up by the sun and your arms crossing behind his neck as his body crowded yours, one leg between yours and no more space to touch, to feel, to see anything that wasn't him - he turned his head to check if the other car had driven away and then his lips were on yours, his knee pressing against your centre.

"Bradley", you moaned into his mouth, before his tongue brushed yours and rendered you speechless. You rocked against his knee, bare skin against your thighs and you wanted to sob, you really actually wanted to sob, because this was the most contact you'd gotten in four fucking months.

Bradley pulled back an inch.

"You're soaked", he groaned against your lips, his breath on your skin, his hands on your waist and you thrust your head back against the car, against the window, squeezed your eyes shut, kept on rocking against his knee.

"I know", you whined. "Been soaked for months."

Bradley let out another groan and pulled back, pulled away from you and you whimpered, blinking your eyes open again because you'd been so close to finally getting what you wanted and now he was taking that right away from you again. You looked up at him and the only reason you didn't straight up voice your disappointment was that he looked just as debauched as you felt - running his hands through his hair, running them over his face, his curls all messed up and a considerable bulge already visible in his jeans.

"Get in the car", he rasped, taking another step back from you as though he had to physically put distance between the two of you so he wouldn't give in and take you right in this parking lot. Not that you would've minded. That other car was long gone. But that he had to restrain himself so much, that he looked so positively exhausted, that his voice was so hard and so rough and so raw, that he had already, so easily begun giving you orders drove you crazy. Orders that you knew you had to follow because this was him, this was Bradley, and if he wanted something from you.... he'd get it. You'd give it to him no matter what. You'd give him everything.

So you pushed yourself off the car with a hard breath and trailed around to the passenger side, keeping your eyes on the ground even as you heard Bradley shuffle and open the driver's door because you knew that if you looked at him, no matter how much you wanted to follow his commands, there was a high chance you wouldn't be able to help yourself.

It wouldn't be the first time.

The seat felt hot and your skin sticked to it immediately and you would have cared in any other situation, but not in this one. Not when Bradley put his hand to your thigh, to your bare skin, to just below the hem of your dress. You could have cried.

He was here, finally, and he was touching you, finally, but he wasn't touching you enough, not nearly enough. This would be a long ten minutes. You pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, turned your head and rested it against the head rest, smiling at the image before you - Bradley in the driver's seat of his Bronco, the steering wheel in one hand, the sun on his face, his curls longer than when you'd last seen them. Had he got more tan? Was that possible?

God, how you'd missed this man.

And he was here now, here, next to you, with one hand on your thigh and a grin playing on his lips and you couldn't help but smile. Big and broad and all-consuming because he was here again, this man that you called yours, he was right here next to you after four months. You loved him. You'd missed him so incredibly much.

His hand moved a little higher up on your thigh, his thumbs brushing, stroking over exposed skin, raising up your dress the slightest bit. Your breath hitched.

"Bradley-", you sighed, jaw clenching as you melted, melted at every little touch because you didn't have to only remember it anymore. You could just push up into him, watch him, breathe in his familiar scent, run your fingers along his arm. This was no more imagining, no more picturing, this was real, this was happening.

"God, I missed you saying my name like that", he groaned, tightening his grip on your thigh and you bit down on your lip, wrapped your fingers around his biceps, his wrist, forced yourself to keep your eyes open so you could keep watching him. You wouldn't miss out on a single second of watching him.

"Bradley", you repeated softly. "I'll say your name as often as you want me to."

His fingers dug even harder into your thigh as he let out some strangled sounding moan.

"You're gonna be the death of me", he muttered - how often you'd thought the same about him! "I'm lucky if I can hold out these ten minutes."

You watched him quietly for a second. You could sense the heat radiating off of him, could see his clenched jaw, could feel his deathgrip on your thigh, could hardly ignore the blazing arousal in your own veins. But if he'd wanted to fuck you in the back of his Bronco, he would've. (As picky as he was about who drove his car, he'd never had a single problem railing you into oblivion in the backseat.) There was a reason he was holding out. You could only guess that he wanted to do this properly - with time and room and no risk of getting caught by the authorities. Should you have minded? Should you have begged him to take you as quickly as possible? You were sure he would have, if you'd pleaded prettily enough. But you were quite alright with time and room and no risk of getting caught. At least for right now. The both of you would manage a ten minute ride, right? You had managed four months. Ten minutes were nothing in comparison.

"Okay", you said, trailed your fingers down to his and intertwined your hands. "I'll help. I'll tell you something. Distract you."

"You can try, honey", he chuckled, sneaked a quick sideways glance at you. "Tell me about the house."

You lit up at that. You had been dying to tell him about the house. So you pushed your arousal deep, deep down (which was easier said than done) and smiled up at him.

"I don't even know where to start", you said honestly, giving yourself a second to think about it. You had ten minutes, after all. And you had to fill them all if you wanted both of you to survive this drive.

So you told him about everything.

The short version, of course.

He'd heard some of it over the phone already, but he hadn't been able to call often and you'd spent most of your time crying and telling him how much you loved and missed him when he had answered, so...

The ten minutes went by more easily this way. You went on and on and on and on about the house, his fingers between yours, your eyes locked on his, with the occasional comment about how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to help. It had been unfortunate, of course, but at the same time it had given you something to put all your time and effort into, which had greatly helped you through his deployment. Plus, there had always been help when you had needed it - Penny and Amelia and Mav, Phoenix and Bob and Jake. The rest of the squad had been scattered, called off to their own missions, but those six you had been able to count on whenever.

Bradley's hand on your thigh was still highly distracting. He moved it up and down a few times, and each time your breath hitched, each time you stumbled over your own words, each time he grinned again.

At one point, his fingertips brushed so close to your underwear that you pushed his hand forcefully back down to your knee. He had been the one so worried he wouldn't manage a ten minute ride and now he was the one teasing you.

Not that you really minded.

But you truly felt like going insane.

Then, finally! you caught sight of your driveway. Bradley was out of the car the second he'd parked it, pulling his hand from your thigh and the key out of the ignition and you had barely unbuckled yourself when he was already opening your door, taking your hand and tugging you out, sending you stumbling into him, into his arms.

He pressed his lips to yours as he pushed the door close, pushed you up against it again, pushed the hem of your dress up to grasp at your bare thigh. You wrapped your arms around his neck, forced him even closer.

"Bradley", you gasped softly. You hadn't moaned his name like that in four months, you'd do it so often today he would get tired of it. Even though you knew that he wouldn't, of course - he would never get tired of you whispering his name into his mouth, into the nothingness of an empty room, into his ear, into the pillows.

He didn't pull back from you, even as he took a slow, careful step away - making sure you'd catch on, making sure you'd follow, making sure to keep you safely, steadily against him. Not that you'd have done anything else. You trusted him with your life, you would trust him to keep you upright. So you did just what he wanted, followed, stumbled with him, eyes closed, lips on his, fingers brushing along his shoulders.

He did pull back then - just an inch or two, to turn you around, to look over your shoulder once, to tear his hand from your thigh and wrap his arms around you instead. And then his lips were back on yours again and his tongue running along yours. He pushed and you followed his wordless command, your legs working quicker than your mind, stumbling, tripping backwards, backwards, backwards and you barely cared, barely even acknowledged the ground beneath your feet because you were wrapped up in his arms, because you were tugging at his curls, because he was here, kissing you, finally.

You weren't needy.

You were desperate. You were depraved, frantic, starved. He was the air you needed to breathe and you hadn't taken a single breath in the past four months.

So you weren't pretending in the way you pulled him close, closer, closer, or in the frenzied way you kissed him, or in the desperate way you sighed, groaned, moaned against him, into him. You needed him. You needed more of him. All of him. You needed to get inside so you could have him.

You bumped into the door then, just short of digging the doorknob into your spine - Bradley pushed you right up against it and you gasped into his mouth, into the kiss. He crowded you against the door much like he'd crowded you against the Bronco, pulling his arms from around you to grasp your waist instead, to press your hips up to the door as well, and used one hand to fumble for the keyhole. He did so blindly, with his eyes still closed, his lips still on yours, with one of your legs coming up to wrap around his hips, your heels digging into his shorts.

Needless to say, he needed quite some time to turn the key.

You didn't mind. Not in the slightest.

You were making out with Bradley Bradshaw right on the doorstep of the house you shared with him, in the bright afternoon sunlight and truly, you couldn't have minded less. You didn't give two fucks about any of your neighbours or any passerbys spotting you - should they, by god! Bradley had come home from deployment after four months, you would make out with him on your doorstep for as long as you wanted to. You wouldn't ever stop making out with him ever again.

Not when he was here again, in your arms, with your fingers tugging at his hair, brushing along his neck, stroking along the collar of his shirt, sweeping along his shoulders. Not with your leg around his hips. Not with your lips on his. Not with anticipation, with arousal in every fibre of your body, of your soul. You were going mad with it. You were getting drunk on it.

You were euphoric when Bradley finally opened the gods damned front door.

He kept you safe and steady even as the support at your back broke away, as you almost crashed onto the floor of your own hallway. He walked you back into the pleasant cold and for once, for the first and probably the only time, you were the one to break away. You gave yourself a second to catch your breath. Then you pushed off of him completely. You took a step away, pulled the key from the door, pushed it close and when you turned back around, Bradley had set his sunglasses down on the little table you had put next to the coat rack a few weeks ago.

And you looked him in the eyes for the first time in four months.

He motioned at the table.

"Looks great, honey", he said, his voice a little too rough to sound quite normal. "Nice touch."

You shook your head softly.

"I couldn't care less about the table right now", you muttered, and with that, you were on him again. Actually, truly, fully on him again. You pushed yourself right up onto him, into him, pried his shirt off his shoulders, off his arms, let it drop down to the ground and then reached for his jaw to drag him further down, to deepen the kiss even if you knew that was impossible. So you bit down on his lip and allowed him to finally push your dress up over your hips, over your chest, over your head - you had to let go of him for a moment then, had to pull away from him so he could drop your dress on the floor and before you could even come close to reaching out for him again, he was taking a step back.

You could feel his eyes raking down your body. You could feel him taking in the white lingerie on your skin - the strings of the thong high up on your hips, intricate lace around your waist, the small bow right in the centre of it, the bra cups almost transparent, the floral white pattern covering up your nipples, the other few, small bows sown onto the straps.

You sucked in a breath at the look on his face. You hadn't seen that look in far too long.

"God, honey", Bradley groaned, reached for your waist, brushed his thumbs along the lace, ran his fingertips along the lingerie. You bit down on your lip as he pulled you, slowly, carefully, into him - gave you enough time to rest your hands on his chest, your palms against his tank top. "You look sinful. Did you buy that just for me?"

You nodded, swallowed.

"Just for you", you admitted. "Wanted to surprise you."

Bradley tugged you another inch closer, so close that your chest bumped into his, your breasts pressing against him. He let out a hum, his eyes dropping down to your cleavage.

"You did that, pretty girl", he muttered, his fingers digging into your sides. "You're incredible."

Then his lips were on yours again and you were melting, becoming putty in his hands, turning to goo in his arms. Your breaths met, lips parted. You couldn't quite believe you were finally touching him again.

He walked you back to the bedroom, narrowly avoiding the doorway, his hands on your hips, his fingers digging into your bum. You reached for the hem of his shirt, forced him to stop right on the threshold so you could get rid of it - get rid of that one layer of fabric still in the way. You drew back for a second to pull it over his head, to drop it to the floor, to let your eyes travel all over his bare torso.

God, how you'd missed this man and his broad shoulders and his washboard abs. How you'd missed his touch and the sound of his voice.

"Bradley", you gasped softly, your fingertips trailing over his naked skin, down to his shorts. "I need you."

He let out a groan.

"I've waited four months for you to say that again", he muttered. You could hardly take another breath before he was on you again - lips on yours and hands on your hips and your back hit the bed a moment later, the cushy mattress, the fluffy pillows softening your fall.

You raised yourself up onto your elbows so you could watch him as he stood in front of your bed, the sunlight dripping down him like drops of water hitting the floorboards, his torso bare, his curls messed up, looking down at you with a heaving chest, his fingers on his belt, unhooking it, opening the button on his jeans, pulling down his zipper - you swallowed hard as you watched him drop his shorts on the floor, step out of his shoes.

A whine rolled off your tongue.

"Bradley, hurry up", you whimpered, your fingers cramping in the sheets, your legs pressing together all of their own accord, trying to get some kind of friction as he undressed himself in slow motion while you just lay there, your panties long soaked through and your fingers itching to trail down your own body.

Bradley chuckled.

"Don't worry, honey", he muttered, kneeling down on the ground to drop kisses to your calves before pulling off your sandals. "I'll make sure you forget about the past four months, alright?"

Your breath hitched as your heels hit the ground.

"Please", you begged softly. "I've missed you so much."

He wrapped his hands around your hips, pulled you to the edge of the bed - his breath ghosting over your underwear, over that tiny white piece of lingerie you had bought for him, for him to take you apart in. His fingers dug into your skin, spread out wide, to touch as much of you as he possibly could. He pressed a kiss right to that wet spot on your thong.

You let out a moan. God, how had you survived four months without him? You were barely surviving fifteen minutes of not having him fuck you.

Bradley grinned, raised his head to meet your eyes and seriously, you were close. Too close. He hadn't touched you yet, not really. You'd die today, you were sure, die and go to heaven.

"You look almost too good to undress, honey", he muttered, brushing his thumbs below that lace around your waist, not making a move to pull it down your legs.

"Bradley, please", you whined, your hands brushing over your own chest, running over your bra cups, tracing the flowers, desperately holding back from just ripping everything off yourself, pushing him onto his knees and riding him into oblivion. "Don't tease. I need you."

He groaned into the skin of your thigh.

"Anything you want, honey", he muttered - and then your thong was gone and he was burying his tongue inside you, dipping, tracing, licking, circling your clit, breathing you in, devouring you. Taking and giving everything. It had been four months since he'd had you like this and he wanted everything, every inch of you he could get. He wanted to taste you, every last drop of you, wanted to eat you out until you couldn't think anymore, until you had truly, fully forgotten all the time he had been away, all the time you had been forced to be on your own, alone.

You thrashed, moaned above him - your fingers clenching around your bra, brushing over your nipples. You were close. Close after the entirety of three seconds, close to tears, close to coming.

"Bradley", you choked out, tearing your hands off yourself, burying them in his hair instead - tugging him off, tugging him away from you. You took a deep breath as he let go of you, as he loosened his grip on you, looked up at you with desperation in his eyes.

"I need you to fuck me", you whimpered, already too sensitive, too tense. "I need you inside me."

You hadn't had him in four months.

Four months had been enough goddamn foreplay. As much as you loved when he ate you out, you needed him, you needed his cock, you needed to feel him inside you, you needed him to take you apart and make up for all the time lost.

Bradley nodded, nodded because he knew, he understood - he saw the frantic look in your eyes, had felt the desperate drag of your hands at his clothes, his arms, his shoulders, his hair. He'd give anything to you. Everything. He would do whatever you wanted of him.

Maybe in another situation he'd have made you beg more, would have teased you more, would have edged you a few times. Maybe in another situation. But not in this one. Not after four months of being away from you, not when you were so beautifully, so desperately spread out beneath him, looking up at him with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, your lip pulled between your teeth, your gorgeous white lingerie still concealing too much of your skin.

As he'd said, you were almost too gorgeous to undress. But just almost.

So he rose up from the ground, pulled you up with him, pulled you in, his fingers brushing along your sides, your spine, your bra clasp. He let it fall open. You worked fast, worked your bra down your arms and off your hands and drew back from him to fling it against the wall and lay down on the bed, lay down all pretty and waiting.

You needed him to fuck you. Now.

He let out a groan, closed his eyes. The look on his face had you pressing your legs together again. Wetness was coating the inside of your thighs now. It glistened on his moustache. And you were sure you could have tasted it on his tongue too.

He was making you go insane.

"How do you want me, pretty girl?", he asked, pressing his knees into the side of the mattress. "Tell me how and I'll do whatever you want."

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your nerves were bubbling up. Four months. You'd waited four months for this one question.

"Behind", you whined. "Need you from behind."

Bradley had known, of course, because that was what you always said when he stood at the front of your bed and asked you this question. His hands were on your waist, grasping, grabbing, turning you over before you had fully finished speaking, your cheek pressed against the pillows, your breath coming short and shorter, adrenaline pumping through every single one of your veins. You felt hot and sticky and needy and nervous.

Nervous because Bradley stilled.

Nervous because he sucked in a sharp breath.

Nervous, even though you had been here a million times before, in his bed and in yours, bent over desks and bars and couches, with the heat of him behind you, arousal flowing through your body like oxygen, anticipation clouding your mind.

"Shit, honey", Bradley breathed.

You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw.

How you'd have loved to see his expression. But you had known you wouldn't. You had prepared yourself to be satisfied with the sound of his voice, with the feel of him so close to you.

"Shit", Bradley repeated. He took another deep breath in. "You got a tattoo?"

A tattoo.

Your tattoo.

You nodded into the pillow, scraped your cheek against the fabric, so eager, so quick to agree. Four months you had waited for this. Four months since you had begun planning this - the very day after he'd left, in a conversation with none other than Phoenix. Four long, lonely months.

Bradley ran his thumb along the soft expanse of your skin. Along that strip of skin right above your hips, just where they met your back - right above your ass, right where he could see so very perfectly.

He was gentle. Almost not touching you at all. As though he was afraid he could somehow, even after all this time, hurt you, as though he was afraid he could wipe it away.

"It's healed", you whined, breathlessly, trying your hardest not to squirm, not to push back further into him even though you felt like you were going insane. You'd known he'd take his sweet time staring at that inked expanse of skin. But you hadn't known you would be so goddamn desperate for him to fuck you into delirium while he did so. "It's fully healed."

Bradley was quiet, silent behind you. His thumb stilled, stayed still. You sunk your teeth into your lip.

You would truly go mad here. For more than one reason now.

Bradley was always loud. Always moving, always doing something. He was forward and honest and loud and it was a miracle, really, when he wasn't. When he was calm and quiet and still. It didn't always mean something good.

It surely didn't always mean something bad, either.

But it didn't always mean something good.

And you hadn't been nervous. You hadn't been nervous about showing him, because you knew he loved you and he'd love this - this show of him, this show for him. Just for him. But you had still been fidgety. You had still been excited, flustered.... nervous, after all. In a good way. Now, good was turning to less good because he was quiet, for once, quiet and you didn't know what to do, what to say. You had expected him to go feral, had expected him to fuck you raw, to go absolutely ballistic. You had imagined, pictured, visualised it, four months long. Every night that you hadn't been remembering him, you had been imagining this - this moment right here, where he read the words inked forever into your skin, and every time, again and again, your fingers hadn't been enough, your vibrator hadn't been enough, nothing had been enough. Not in comparison to him, to his fingers and his tongue and his cock.

And every time, again and again, when nothing had been enough to replace him, you thought to yourself just how right it had been to have lain on that leather table bed in that tattoo parlour four months ago. Just how right it was to have him marked on your skin like that. Forever.

Great Balls Of Fire.

"Bradley, please", you whimpered, your fingers closing around whatever piece of fabric you could manage to grab at - the covers, the sheets, the pillows. "Say something. Please"

Bradley let out a long breath.

"Great Balls Of Fire?", he asked quietly, his fingers brushing over your skin again. Some kind of reassurance, at least.

"Thought you'd like it", you mumbled into the pillow, stumbling, tripping over your words a bit, still breathless around the edges. You couldn't be expected to talk now. Not when he was so close to giving you what you needed.

"Like it?" His hands wrapped around your waist, his left thumb still stroking over those unfamiliar familiar letters on your skin - Great Balls Of Fire, in his handwriting, taken from one of his sheets of music, from his piano. His song. His father's song.

Your song.

Your song.

Your song.

"Honey", Bradley rasped, pulling you an inch back to him and you let a whine fall from your lips. You were soaked, you were dripping, you were desperate and still so very unsatisfied. "Do I like it? I love it. I love you. God, you got a tattoo. You're incredible. You're-"

He stumbled over his own words, trailed off, left his sentence hanging unfinished in mid air. Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss right on top of your tattoo. Right on top of those letters, on top of that song, on top of your song. On top of the very reason you had met, six years ago in a stuffed navy bar.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me", he muttered, dropping another kiss onto your skin.

You whimpered again.

"You've been so good to me, honey, haven't you?", he went on, as though he wasn't hearing those little whines, those little moans rolling off your tongue. He was. You knew that. "You waited so prettily for me to come back, didn't you? You were so eager for me to be home again, so eager for me to be with you again that you even got a tattoo?"

You nodded along, nodded and nodded and kept on nodding because yes, yes and yes - yes to everything, yes to him.

"You got a tattoo just for me, honey. You can't even see it. Probably had to twist and turn in the mirror every day to take care of it, didn't you? And all just for me."

You nodded again - never really stopped nodding, not with his fingers brushing along your back, over your skin, with his voice so deep and rough and real.

"Just for you", you whined.

Bradley chuckled.

"Just for me", he repeated, his voice deeper than before - if that was even possible - his fingers stroking along your sides, roaming over your back, your spine. "Such a good girl."

A shiver went through your entire body at that - through your legs, your arms, your shoulders, through every single one of your fingers and toes. He knew just what he did to you when he said that.

He knew.

"Bradley", you moaned, unashamed now, the nerves in your veins long subsided, replaced once more by that all-consuming heat that you could never get enough of.

"Yeah, honey?", he asked. You could hear the grin on his lips. "What do you want?"

You let out a sort of sob that sounded pathetic even to your own ears. It wasn't that you minded begging. Because you didn't. You really didn't. But you had already done so, had already begged him miserably, had told him so prettily how you wanted him to fuck you. And he was starting all over again.

"Just once more, honey", Bradley whispered, dropping kisses to your spine, climbing higher and higher. "Tell me once more and you'll get whatever you want."

"Fuck me", you cried out, burying your face in the pillow, not letting even half a second pass by. Bradley always made good on his promises. And you needed him more than anything right now. "Please fuck me."

He was on you within a heartbeat.

One hand around your waist, pulling you into him, as the other one guided himself into you. He pushed into you in one smooth movement, pushed his hips right to yours, stretched you out like he hadn't in four goddamn months.

You were clenching around him, moaning his name, tears brimming in your eyes at the feeling of him again, finally. He was grunting, groaning behind you, his hands clasping around your waist as he settled deep inside you and let out a breath.

You hadn't felt so stretched out in so long. You hadn't felt him in so long. You needed more. You needed to feel more of him.

"Bradley", you whimpered. "Move."

His fingers dug even firmer into your sides. You bit down on your lip. He felt so good, so heavenly with his hands on your skin and his cock deep inside you, but you needed him to move, you needed him to move now, you needed him to fuck you and make you fall apart for him.

"Need a second, honey", he grunted, running his thumbs along your skin - along your new tattoo, just for this, just for him. "God, pretty girl, you're so tight. Missed you so much."

You whimpered underneath him, whimpered as you forced yourself to keep still for him, even as your thighs burned with the need to move, the need for more, the need to finally come undone around him. You knew you were close already. You could feel it, had been feeling it, dancing around the edges of your perception, melting in your blood, scorching in your stomach.

"Missed you too, Bradley", you moaned into the pillow, breathless and desperate for him. "Want to be good for you. So good."

"God, honey, you are", he groaned. "So good. Perfect."

And then he was moving, finally, and you let out a sobbed kind of prayer, your eyes falling shut, your fingers digging into the sheets as he thrust in and out of you in a slow, steady rhythm - enjoying the feeling of you around him, letting you enjoy the feeling of him inside you.

Just that you couldn't enjoy this.

You couldn't enjoy this because you were wound so tightly, wound so goddamn tightly that tears were pricking in your eyes, threatening to run down your cheeks and drop onto the covers. You needed him to make you fall apart, to make you come, you needed more. Just a little more.

You were teetering on the edge and he had you spiralling with how slowly he was fucking you. You needed him to send you over that edge, not build it higher and higher and higher up.

"Bradley", you whined, stumbling clumsily over his name as he ran a hand up your back. "More."

"Dunno if I can-" He broke off, his breath hitching, his fingers resting on your neck, brushing through your hair. "Fuck, honey, dunno if I can do more without coming."

You bit down on your lip at that, let out a moan so absolutely filthy that you were sure you would have been embarrassed of it if you'd had any more capacity to think - to think of anything other than him, anything other than how this god, who could fuck you for hours on end without tiring once, with so much stamina he could have you sobbing, coming for him four, five times on his cock alone, how this god was so desperate for you after four months that he was worried he'd come if he went any faster.

You were almost pushed over the edge just by that alone.

"I don't care", you cried, because you really didn't. "I don't need long, I need you. I'm so close."

Bradley grunted, his fingers brushing even higher up on your scalp.

"You're gonna be the death of me, honey", he muttered, just before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you up onto your knees - into him, into his arms, your back flush to his chest. You dropped your head against his shoulder with a moan, let your eyes fall shut again.

He thrust up into you with vigor then, with more urgency, with less fear of coming undone, less fear of cutting this short. His hands smoothed over your sides, over your chest, holding you up against him, brushing along your breasts, along your stomach.

And all you could think was yes, this, this was it. This was what you had been imagining, what you had been picturing in a cold, lonesome bed every night, what you had been so desperate for.

His fingers trailed down your thigh, trailed up again, caught on your clit, drew a circle against that little bundle of nerves and you fell forward, doubled over, only held up by him, by his arms around you as you came undone, as you clenched around him.

Four months.

Four months and a tattoo.

And he hadn't even had you there for two minutes, had barely touched you, and now you were falling apart for him, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut, legs burning, fingers cramping. You'd waited four months for this.

You could feel him spilling inside you, noticed it somewhere dancing around the edges of your perception as you gasped for breath, tears stinging your cheeks and your nails digging into your own thighs.

This.

Him.

Bradley's finger had stilled on your clit. You blinked your eyes open, refocused on your green wallpaper, on the pictures, the old vintage polaroids of you and him right above the bed until you could see them all clearly again, until you could see them and realise what they were, until you could manage to tilt your head back and rest it, once more, against Bradley's shoulder. Until you had come back to reality again.

"I missed you so much, honey", he muttered into your ear, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss onto your exposed neck. "Missed this so much."

"Missed you so much too", you mumbled, reached for his hands. He pulled his finger from your clit, let you intertwine your hands with his, rested them carefully on your stomach. "Love you, Bradley."

He pressed another kiss to your neck, his lips warm, oh so warm on your skin, soft and warm and you needed him to kiss you now, to press his lips to yours.

"I love you too, honey", he whispered, halfway to brushing another kiss onto your skin when you turned your head, met his lips with your own, cut him off by surprise.

This was a weird angle, you had to strain your neck to even slot your lips together somewhat well and you were sloppy with it, too, your chest still heaving and your mind returning to clarity just now, but you didn't care, couldn't care, not when he'd just made you come, when he was holding you in his arms, when he was finally here, right behind you again, as though the last four months hadn't happened at all.

When you pulled back, you were feeling more normal again - as normal as you possibly could feel, with him behind you, with him inside you still.

"You got a tattoo", Bradley breathed, a grin dancing around the corners of his lips. You chuckled.

"Just for you", you nodded, brushing your fingertips up his arms, up to his elbows.

Bradley kissed you again, all parted lips and breathing into each other. You felt almost melancholic when he drew back. But he was smiling - and when he smiled, you had to smile too.

"I'm never letting you go again", he said, loosened his grip on you to trail his hands slowly, softly down your body, giving you enough time to steady yourself without him holding you up anymore. "And I'm not letting you leave this bed until the sun comes up, alright, pretty girl?"

You had to bite down on your lip to keep from grinning, anticipation already bubbling in your veins again. You knew he could make good on that promise. And that he probably would.

"Yes, please, Bradley", you muttered, already bending down again, splaying out your hands to catch yourself on the mattress as you showed him your tattoo again, just for him to see, just for him to touch. Just for him. "Whatever you want. As long as you want. I love you."

[korizzybee]

Clarisse’s younger sister has feelings for Percy Jackson

Pairing: Percy Jackson x black!fem!reader (romantic), Clarisse La Rue x black!fem!reader (platonic)

Synopsis: the new boy, Percy Jackson, shows up to camp, Clarisse’s younger sister Y/N falls for him.

Warnings: Y/N & Clarisse have different godly parents, Clarisse grabs Percy Jackson, Y/N is daughter of Apollo

I feel bad for the newbies that come to Camp Half Blood, my big sister, Clarisse, always feels the need to ‘break them in’ as she says. So when she told me she was going to be doing the same to the new boy, Percy, I felt bad for him.

Imagine my surprise when I saw her and her half-siblings storming out of the bathrooms, soaked. I looked to find the cause of her state walking out just a few minutes after her. I stared at him and he stared at me.

“You’re Percy Jackson, the boy who killed the Minotaur, correct?” I asked him, unlike Clarisse I wasn’t that skeptical to not believe him. Sometimes things just happen and you get that adrenaline rush.

“Uh..yea, I am.” He said, he seemed cautious of me. “Aren’t you Clarisse’s younger sister?” He asked me.

I stepped closer to him and held out my hand, I noticed the boy was slightly shorter than me. “Y/N La Rue, daughter of Apollo, best bow user at camp. Pleased to meet your acquaintance.” I said with a confident smile.

“Percy.” He said, shaking my hand and letting it go. For a boy, he had really soft hands. “Percy, did you somehow do that to Clarisse?” I asked. “I mean if you did, I don’t hate you for it or anything. It’s finally time someone here stood up to her, someone who isn’t Luke.”

“I don’t really know how to explain it..” he said to me, looking down at his hands. “Honestly, I’m not even sure I understand how it happened.”

I hummed and looked at the sky for second before looking back at him. “Well it was nice meeting you, Percy. Let’s chat again sometime, okay? Okay.” I said, not giving him the chance to respond as I walked back to my cabin.

The next day was capture the flag, and as usual, the Apollo kids were on the red team with the Ares kids. Mainly due to the fact Clarisse didn’t want to hurt me since I’m her younger sister.

After the conch blew, the red team let out a war cry. I didn’t of course, I didn’t want to accidentally scream too loud and bust everyone’s ear drums.

I looked at the other side of the stream where I locked eyes with Percy, I smirked and sent him a wink before walking away with the rest of my team. Clarisse was barking orders and I could tell she had a plan up her sleeve, must’ve had something to do with last night.

She turned to me, “you already know what to do, lil’ sis.” She said, ruffling my hair with a smug smile. I put on my helmet then ran into the part of the woods where Clarisse would hunt.

My job was to stay in the trees and shoot down anyone who just so happened to stumble in there. If I was captured, use my sonic scream to let them know where I am and to distract my enemies.

I climbed up high in one tree, part of me couldn’t stop hoping I would see Percy though. In my honest opinion I thought he was kinda cute.

Over the last ten or fifteen minutes I was able to take down ten campers from the blue team. What I love about my cabin being on the red team is that, that means the blue team barely has any campers that are good with bows.

They have the Hermes cabin, of course, but most Hermes kids prefer swords. I could clanking and other noises out in the distance, one distinctive voice I could make out clearly was Clarisse’s.

I like watching her fight so I climbed down from the tree and ran to the direction of the noise. I could see the lakeshore, once I got there, Clarisse let out the most shrilling scream I had ever heard.

A scream of pure anger, and the expression she wore on her face was murderous. Her spear. Her spear was broken. The only thing she felt was the closest she could get to having some sort of connection with Ares, now it was broken.

My eyes flickered over to Percy, I felt my heart beat speed up. I couldn’t tell if it was because I saw him, or because Clarisse stormed over to him and lifted him off the ground slightly by his armor.

Before I could go and stop her, the horn blew and the blue team ran down to the shore carrying our flag. I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding when Clarisse dropped him.

She stormed passed me, nearly bumping me in the shoulder. Percy and I locked eyes, I wanted to talk to him and ask him what happened. I wanted to also congratulate him on his first win, but I knew I needed to talk with Clarisse. So, instead, I just gave him a small smile and walked off.

Maybe tomorrow I could get the chance to meet up and talk with him.

[celestialprincesse]

More Simon X Single mom!Reader💕🌙

Based on this drabble😚

wc: 1.1k

You're so, painfully reluctant to ask Simon for help. He offers, frequently, to help you get bedded in to your small flat, which only now, finally free from the clutches of your desperation, do you understand why it was so cheap. The first time he comes over for dinner he notes the way your kitchen faucet takes ages to put out hot water, and honestly, it took a fair bit of blindly tapping (smacking) random pipes to get any water at all. He seems to take issue with not only the lack of amenities that could help you get settled, but also the fact that the few basics that you do have access to don't work. You're a single mom, with a three year old daughter, and his sense of justice has always been at war with his longing search for peace and isolation.

Simon doesn't have much to do when he's not deployed, Price putting him on some kind of mandatory break after the last mission went south, as did his mental health. Because of said lack of hobbies, work and education, Simon finds himself doing literally whatever he can think of to occupy his mind, to forget about what happened in October - if that means helping you string a wreath on the front of your apartment door and lugging a christmas tree up the stairs for you, that's what he'll do. You'll be the first to admit that you're cash poor - buying this house ate up the majority of your savings, and the rest you're currently blowing through supporting your daughter whilst also trying to get a job, very contradictory to the fact that you're also trying to lay low.

The man that lives next door to you is no fool, not as blind and imperceptive as you wish he'd be. You see the way his eyes occaionally shoot to the fading tan line on your left ring finger and the small, raised scar on your bicep. Occasionally, he himself wishes that he wouldn't see the bags under your eyes or the way you clutch onto your daughter like she'll be ripped away from you - maybe then he wouldn't feel such a sense of duty to you. Maybe he wouldn't lie awake at night thinking of the fact that he's spent his life plagued by gunfire to protect innocent women and children, and now faced with the people he vowed to lay down his life for, all he can do is offer to fix your blocked hot water pipe.

So, when you stand on his doorstep, sniffling down fat tears threatening to spill, apologising profusley when you look up to see his confused expression, he can't help but to engulf you, and your wailing daughter at your hip, into what he can only hope is a comforting embrace. "Y' a'right? Whats goin' on?" He murmurs, a hint of panic in his voice. Simon knows the feeling of your past coming back to haunt you all too well.

"I'm sorry I just - the oven is broken, and I need to make her dinner and bath her and put her down to bed -" Is all you can manage before you're hiccuping into the hand not supporting your equally as distraught baby girl.

For a second he just stops, his brain short circuits as he struggles to comprehend the fact that you're coming to him for help. He can't understand the way you lay your soul bare before him, not when he's so distant, so intimidating, and you're oh so soft, lovely as a morning songbird and as warm as sun soaked sand.

"Would you mind looking at it?" Even you recognise how pathetic you sound, standing here practically grovelling at your neighbours door, but apparently it works when he's guiding you back to the front door you stupidly left open in your panic, pulling out a kitchen chair and easing you down as you sit between utter misery and the panic which filled your lungs like a puncture in a life raft when one little part of your routine you'd become so reliant on fell out of place.

"Gas's out." He tells you softly, like any more bad news might make you shatter completely, and the thought of delivering that blow makes him feel physically sick. "Right - Right, no gas." You murmur, brain whirring at a million miles a second in order to work out what to do next.

"You could use my oven? I'll call the gas company in the morning and have them install a new bottle."

His words make you stop, processing his offer, his generosity, the generosity of a man who's never once been cruel or rough or mean to you, and you give a little grateful nod, cooing to your daughter about how you're going on an adventure to Simon's place. The way he scoops her up so that you can stuff a bag with all of the things you need to make dinner, bouncing her on his hip to stop her wailing makes your insides warm in an unfamiliar way, one that you promptly shake off as you follow him across the threshold of his undecorated apartment, trying not to stare at your surroundings as you're guided to a kitchen that you're sure is far more functional than your own.

The way Simon doesn't have any cartoon channels on his TV, so he grabs his laptop instead, plopping your daughter down on the couch with a blanket around her shoulders and some kind of kids show playing on the screen makes you ache, and you can't imagine how a man with no kids of his own could be so good with yours. There's a softness to him despite his physical body being comprised of muscle and sinew and scars, his soul is gentle. He's gentle with you, and he's gentle with your daughter, and that's all that you can ask for.

You make enough dinner for the three of you, mostly to thank Simon for his hospitality, but also because you're starving and the meat needs eating. When you ask where the cutlery is, he gives a little chuckle, grabbing out two sets for you and him, as well as your daughter's little blue Peter Rabbit spoon and tray. He helps you dish up dinner, and when you go to sit at the table, he steers you into the lounge.

"You're not worried about food on the couch?" You squeak in utter confusion, to which he gives a laugh and plops down on one end, placing your daughters tray before her where she sits in the middle of the two of you, happily scarfing down her dinner and watching whatever Simon could find on such short notice.

When you inevitably fall asleep on his couch, your daughter doing the same, Simon sets a blanket over the two of you before going into the kitchen to call the gas company, putting down his card details to pay for the new bottle. He's happy to cough up fifty quid that he's sure you don't have if it means not seeing his girls cry again.

[raysrays]

Jealous! Kyojuro Rengoku X Fem! Reader NSFW

CW: NSFW content, possessiveness/jealousy, Oral sex.

Minors Do Not Interact! 18+

Y/N perspective

I settled down under the tree, overlooking the training grounds while chugging water. It’s the hottest day of the year, and all the Hashira are taking advantage of it by training.

Just finished my hand-to-hand combat training with Tomioka. The man’s quiet, but he sure is fast. That last move had me completely pinned to the ground. I’m definitely going to be sore tomorrow.

Honestly, it was pretty embarrassing; it felt like everyone was watching. Tengen hyping up Tomioka from the sidelines definitely didn’t help the situation. I didn’t even get to see Kyojuro's reaction to my loss. I didn’t have the heart to look. As his Tsuguko, I’m a representative of him, and I feel like I probably embarrassed him too.

Just then, I feel someone sitting next to me. It’s Tomioka… I didn’t think he’d be the type to come over and brag about winning. This sucks.

“You didn’t do bad, you know,” he said in that monotone voice. He’s as stoic as ever.

Well, I definitely wasn’t expecting him to come over and comfort me.

“Uh, thanks. I just need to train a little more. I’ll get you next time!” I try to smile. If he’s not going to rub it in my face, I shouldn’t dwell on it.

I feel him looking at me, so I turn to face him. Is he smiling? Well, kinda? He’s not exactly frowning as usual.

“Yeah, until next time,” he puts his hand on my shoulder reassuringly and then stands up to leave.

“Oh, and one more thing-“ he began.

“Rengoku isn’t mad at you. You should probably go watch him go against Tengen.”

“I’ll watch from here where it’s shaded,” I reply.

He just nods and walks back to where the others are standing.

I watch as the two begin their sparring. Why does it seem more vicious than usual? Kyojuro looks like he’s really going all out this time. He looks very attractive right now.

Their sparring match goes on for another few intense minutes. Kyojuro is smiling; he must be fine, not mad at me at all.

I must have managed to catch his attention as I noticed him glance over at me, his smile dropping.

Oh, maybe not.

Damn it, I really didn’t want to listen to him lecture me about training more.

I finally make my way back down to the group, and we all talk amongst ourselves. I see a tall shadow hovering over me.

I turn around, locking eyes with Kyojuro.

He’s smiling, but I can tell this is just an “I’m not going to scold you now but I will later” type of smile.

I let out a sigh and make my way back to my quarters. I know he’s following me, but surely he will wait to talk after I’ve cleaned up. We both probably smell terrible.

As I’m about to shut the door to my room, a hand suddenly blocks it from closing. I look up, being met with a very stern-faced Kyojuro.

What’s his problem? Was me losing to Tomioka really that big of a deal?

He then pushes my door back open, walking in. “We need to talk, little flame,” his voice doesn’t sound like himself. This definitely isn’t the Kyo I was used to.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

“I know I shouldn’t have lost to Tomioka, and I promise I’ll train harder so I don’t make you look bad next time.” I’m praying my apology is enough.

It was only a second later I feel his lips on mine. He’s kissing me? But this time it’s different. It feels rough, urgent. What’s going on?

I feel him push his tongue into my mouth, deepening the kiss.

I pull away, breathing heavily. Why is he doing this?

He leans in and whispers in my ear.

“Did you enjoy it? Being pinned down by him?” He sounds so angry.

“What? What are you talking about?” I feel my face turning bright red.

I then feel a small pinch on my ear. Was he biting me?

“Tomioka. Did you like him holding you down like that? Enough for him to find you after and touch you some more?”

Is he being serious? This is so out of character for him.

“Kyo, are you jealous?” I ask with a hint of tease in my voice.

He then pulls me back in to kiss me again. I feel him walking me backwards, pushing my back against the wall.

He’s running his hands all over me, squeezing my breast, kissing me more passionately.

After a few seconds, I feel his hands moving down. He’s touching me there? Now? It feels like this is happening so fast, but it just feels so good.

I start to moan against his lips, and I put my hand over his.

“Kyojuro, wait… I need to wash up first.”

He then gets on his knees, looking up at me more sweetly than earlier.

“I don’t care about that right now, sunflower. Right now, I just want to please you. In a way he cannot,” he says, undoing my belt.

I feel my legs start to shake; this is so much. All of this just because Tomioka had to reassure me I didn’t fight terribly?

He knows what he’s doing, kissing me down there so softly.

I throw my head back, feeling him run his tongue all over me. Kyojuro was definitely a skilled swordsman, but he was also a professional in making me feel good.

I can’t help but cover my mouth with my hand. It’s not like these walls are super thick. I use my free hand to grab a fistful of his beautiful flame-colored hair.

I arch my back against the wall. I’m really starting to feel it now.

I can’t stand his teasing. He’s doing this to punish me.

“Kyo, please…” I manage to breathe out.

He pulls back a little. “Please what, sunflower? What is it you want?” He says softly, his voice full of arousal.

“Please, just let me finish,” I whisper.

He grins up at me. “After what you did?”

He leans back into me, going even slower than before.

I hit my head against the back of the wall. This is absolute torture. I’ve never wanted to cum so bad.

I tighten my grip on his hair that I still had in my hand.

I feel like my heart is about to beat out of my chest and like my legs are about to give out.

Finally, I feel him start to pick up the pace, and I don’t think I can stand it any longer.

I grip both of his shoulders as tightly as I can.

And finally, I feel it. The release is better than I could have imagined. It felt like it went on forever, and it was what I needed.

I feel my back slide down the wall, causing me to be eye level with Kyojuro on the floor.

We are both out of breath, staring at each other.

Kyojuro then pulls me into his lap, kissing my head.

“So, little flame, did I make you feel good?” He sounds so innocent, as if he didn’t just completely overpower me a second ago.

I shake my head. “You really got that jealous over Tomioka? It was just some hand-to-hand training.” I laugh.

His face turns bright red. “Well, yes, I know… but I just don’t know how to explain it. Seeing you being held down by him really just struck a nerve with me, and then him coming up to you after the match. I just couldn’t control it.” He sounds so embarrassed.

I cup his face in my hands and kiss his cheek. “Kyojuro, I love you. I would never crave the attention of anyone but you.”

I brush his hair out of his face, leaning into his ear.

“Nobody can make me feel good like you do,” I whisper.

He smiles brightly and laughs, pulling me into a tight hug. “That’s wonderful news, my little flame! I love you!”

There he is. There’s my sweet Kyo.

“Maybe I should make you jealous more often,” I tease.

“I’d advise against it,” he replies, kissing me one more time.

“Shall we get cleaned up now?” He suggests.

I nod, and we both finally make our way off the floor.

Well, that’s not exactly how I thought my “lecture” would go, but I guess I’m not complaining.

[vintagexherry]

"I saw mommy kissing santa!"

Miguel O' Hara x Wife!Reader

//Mentions of kissing, Suggestive, fluff, OC sibling of Gabriella

A/N: This is just to let out some stress, Might make a Nathan Bateman version of this if i feel like it

■■■

Miguel was in the living room, sitting on the couch tapping on the hologram screens, checking any report emails from the other spiders. Thankfully, the villains in other dimensions were probably in the christmas spirit since all the reports he gets are broken buildings or affirmations that a villain got sent back to its rightful dimension.

Curtains are drawn back to let the view of snow fall over and pile against the glass. The snow wasn't that heavy today since the next-door neighbour christmas lights are visible enough, although that doesn't mean he probably needs to shovel the driveway the next day.

"All things sorted Miguel, no anomaly in sight for the last one hour."

Miguel heard Lyla pop up and talk next to his shoulder.

"Alright, that's for today Lyla."

"Aight! Merry Christmas, Miguel!" With that cheery tone, she disappears in a flash. And with that, Miguel also turned off the screens and laid back on the couch with a heavy yet relaxed sigh.

Honestly, he doesn't remember the last time he actually enjoyed a holiday without getting called for action. The warmth of the fireplace with its crackling noises could even put him to sleep.

That is until he hears an echo of small feet trying (and failing) to be quiet and sneak up to him, not to mention the hushed giggles and whispers along with it.

He decides to entertain them, cus why not.

After a few seconds, two gremlins children tackle him from behind the couch, a pair of hands covering his eyes, and one tries to wrestle his arm as if it had a life of its own.

"Gahh! You got me!" Miguel exclaimed.

His children laugh and giggle as Miguel try to pry them by grabbing their pajamas as if there unruly kittens.

After a minute of wrestling, the kids' laughter died down to huffs for breath, and Miguel couldn't help but chuckle.

"Alright, you two, what got you so energetic today? You didn't drink any coffee, did you?" He swear, the last time the two had coffee, you and Miguel had to chase them around the house. As much as athletic Miguel is, he got his limits.

"Ew! Too bitter, " Gabriella says as she cuddles next to her dad.

"Psh as if you didn't drink some yesterday" Mateo accusingly points at Gabriella

"Your just jealous I drank more than you did!" Gabriella fights back

Miguel huffs a laugh, and as much he finds the fight funny, he's more curious what got the kids all energetic. Usually, they would be eager to help their mom, who is by now preparing dinner in the kitchen.

"Alright, alright, break it up, you too. Santa already wrote you on the nice list. Don't make him change it."

With that, the kids succesfully stopped well.

Maybe too well...

Miguel looked down at them and saw them giving looks to each other as if their talking telepathically.

Weird.

"Something wrong?"

Mateo and Gabriella glanced up to Miguel and back at each other as if urging at least one of them to speak up.

Whatever they got going on telepathically, it seems like Gabriella won since Mateo gave a defeated sigh and looked at Miguel.

"Papa. You better not tell mama I told you this..."

"Alright...?"

Mateo looked at him and to Gabriella who gave an encouraging nod.

"Mama kissed santa last night."

What.

Wait...

Miguel tried holding his laugh, but before he could, he was already choking on his saliva and only choked and raspy laughs came out.

Mateo and Gabriella seemed confused at first but quickly faded to anger and determination.

"C'mon Papa, we really saw Mama kissing him while he was putting gifts under the tree!" Mateo exclaimed, determined to state and conclude his point.

"And I thought Santa only stopped for the cookies and milk." Gabriella added

And with it, Miguel snorted and laughed more. His stomach clenching from his laughter and his children unimpressed.

Oh kids....

If you only knew.

"Ok, ok...." Miguel said when he finally caught his breath.

He looked at Gabi and Mateo, who only looked at him in disappointing looks. (Which he tried not to laugh again)

Before he could speak again, the three of them heard your voice coming from the kitchen.

"Mat, Gabi! Dinner's ready, call your dad to come too!"

Gracias a Dios.

You were always there to save him perfectly.

He looked at the kids again and gave them a final look.

"Look, Your papa is gonna look at the cctv later at night and I'll see if mama really kissed santa."

And with that, the kids agreed to have mercy on him at least this night and headed straight to the dining room, excited for dinner.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

"Amor, you can't believe what the kids told me today."

"Hm?" You were on the bed reading a book, and you looked up to Miguel, wearing a towel around his waist as he picked sweatpants to sleep.

"Is it something funny? I swore I heard you laugh just before dinner." You recalled the sound of his laughter filling the space as you cook.

"Well, that's because the kids accussed you of something, Mrs. O'Hara."

"Oh?" Your interest is now piqued, and you bookmarked your book and put it on the nightstand.

"Now tell me Mrs. O' Hara..."

Miguel slipped next to you, laying on his side, his head resting on his hand.

"... Is it true that at 11:42 pm. on Christmas Eve, you had gone out of your bedroom to kiss the one and only Santa Claus?" He smirked at your confused face.

What.

Wait....

You bit your lips to stifle your laughter.

Miguel smiled wider at your reaction, even chuckling along.

After gaining your breath and steadying your thoughts you speak up.

"Well, Mr. O'Hara, I can assure you that I would never do that and that Santa only stopped to drop presents and eat cookies and milk."

"Cookies and milk hm? What if..."

Suddenly, you felt his other hand slipping beneath your night dress.

Oh, now you see where this is going.

"What If...?" You inquired, making eye contact with him.

Miguel smiled

"What if.... Santa decided to stop by to taste something.... Sweeter? Hm?"

His hands were now playing at the hem of your underwear.

"Sweeter? If that's what Santa wants, I'll be glad to give him a taste." You smiled, feeling Miguel's fingers tug down your underwear.

"Don't mind if I do." Miguel smirked, and with that, he lifted himself up and took your underwear off fully, throwing it away randomly on the floor, you could even see the print of his dick just pressing agaist his sweatpants.

Safe to say, Miguel had to do breakfast tomorrow morning for the kids.

The End

[luimagines]

Honestly would be funny to see wind hitting puberty. Voice cracking and that kinda stuff. Scenarios like that would be fun!

Oh dear XD I hope I can come up with something good.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

Wind yawned and stretched, running his hand over his face. While his hands had hardened over the course of his adventures and battles, it still managed to snag on something scratchy coming off of his chin.

A little more awake, he scratched it again. It was thin and pokey. Weird.

He tried to pull it but it seemed to be stuck on his face. the more he scratched and prodded, he could feel more of them at the base of his chin and jaw. They were small enough where they didn't quite bother him, but he could still feel them on his hands.

"Need a shave?" Time muttered from his side. Wind looked over to the man with a tilt to his head. Time had an amused smile on his face as he watched the younger boy fiddle with his new discovery.

Wind, still too tired to catch up to the context, yawned again and rubbed at his eyes. "I don't know how."

Time chuckled and stood up with a pat on his thighs, beckoning the young hero to follow him. "I'll teach you. Come on. I need a shave too."

Wind stood up and followed the man to a smaller clearing where they had put their items. time gathered a short brush, a bowl and what Wind recognized a straight edge blade.

Quietly, the two of them moved around their still waking up team member until Time set the items down. Carefully, he picked up the mirror shield and hung it on a tree. Within moments, Time had picked up the bowl and the brush, put something into the bowl with some water and mixed it all together. He had a nice thick foam afterwards.

Wind watched with great interest.

Time picked up the foam with the brush and put it on his face with practiced ease. He did so slowly, letting Wind watch so that he could do the same.

Time handed him the bowl. "Your turn."

"ThAnks." Wind froze and flushed, taking the bowl with a little more force that strictly necessary. Time snorted but didn't say anything.

Wind felt embarrassed and ashamed. Shouldn't he have more control over his voice? And in front of the Hero of Time of all people!

"Don't worry." Time took the blade and carefully slid it across his skin. "I did the same. Made a fool of myself in front of the love of my life more than once. Figured that I couldn't control it even if I wanted to. On the bright side, my lover laughed and smiled and it was better than any embarrassment that I felt in the moment. Corny, but true."

Wind realized that Time was sharing a bit of his past with him. Something he didn't do often even when the other boys asked. Wind started putting the foam on his face, hoping that it would cover his blush. "...Alright."

Time looked over to him, pointing out the places that he's missed with gentle guidance. "It won't last forever. No matter if it feels like it does."

Wind smiled a little easier.

Time cleaned up his face with the blade, running a hand full over his face and slinging a towel over his shoulder once he was done drying off the last of it. "Alright. Your turn. I'll show you how to hold the blade so you don't cut yourself. Remember to go slow."

Wind nodded and took the place of the older man. Time lowered the shield so Wind could see himself better.

"And remember that you're going to cut yourself at some point as well." Time added teasingly. "It's all part of the learning process."

Wind sighed, beginning to slowly copy the movements like Time did. "The others will make fun of me though if I do."

"I'll handle them if they do." Time winked.

At least Wind thought he did.

[milliesfishes]

imagine billy or coryo with a reader that’s quite literally insatiable like she just doesn’t want to stop and keeps going

this would be me with either of them

𝓑𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂:

Honestly, Billy would prolly be sooo receptive to this: you like kissing him and you do it a lot, which is good because he happens to love it too. Imagining him kissing you like under a tree, and it started very innocently but quickly turned into something else.

He hardly has time to remove his jacket and put it on the ground behind you for you to lay on because you're tugging at his clothes. But he isn't going to take you against the hard ground; it's just not his way.

Billy's fonder of slow intimacy that takes time, but he isn't opposed to something hard and fast, especially if you're feeling needy and you ask. In all truth, he just loves how much you want him.

Nearly every time afterward you'd sit up after a few minutes and rest your chin on his chest. "Again?"

It'd make him laugh. "Didn't I wear ya out 'nough?"

And you'd shake your head and go to sit on his hips. His hands would automatically come to your waist, bordering on your ass. "Damn, you're real pretty. Alright, lemme-" then Billy would sit up to kiss you, his hands wandering your body again.

When you requested a third time, he'd shake his head in astonishment, a lazy grin drawing his lips upward. "Baby, don't know if I've got another one in me. 'Sides, ya might not be able to walk tomorrow."

"Please?" you'd take his big hand and press it to your breast, bouncing a little in his lap. Both actions had his eyes moving to your chest, watching them go up and down.

"Naughty." But he'd oblige- he always did. And if Billy was too tired to give it to you that way anymore, he'd pull you up so your thighs were on either side of his face, his fingers leaving little bruises as he held you down, right where he wanted you.

When you finally became tired, he'd pull you so you were right up against him because he loved to hold you after making love, your sweaty bodies nearly melding as one again.

(𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓟𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓷) 𝓒𝓸𝓻𝔂𝓸:

Before meeting you, Coryo probably would have thought he was insatiable, but he quickly realized after the first time he slept with you that it was nothing compared to your appetite.

He'd whisper dirty things to you at parties you went to together, enjoying the way you'd look at him coyly after, knowing it would be a long night in the best way.

Once you were back at the penthouse he'd tease you as you undressed each other. "How many rounds do you think this time, hm? Or will you give out before I'm done with you?"

"I haven't yet, have I?" you'd pull on his loosened tie to bring him into a kiss.

Smirking against your lips, he'd say, "Rounds don't include my fingers or my mouth. We'll see if you can put your money where your mouth is."

It was a game for the two of you; seeing how long either of you could last before you were worn out. Though Coryo would always talk a big game about not helping you, he'd always hold your hips up if you were too tired or take a few minutes pause to give you a break before going at it again.

There would be one night where you were particularily riled up, and when the door was shut behind you, you'd pull your hair over one of your shoulders and turn so your back was facing him, waiting for him to unzip your dress. But he didn't.

After a minute you turned around and he was stripping himself of his clothes, taking his time folding them neatly. When you asked what he was doing he looked at you, blue eyes piercing. "Getting ready for bed."

Frowning, you'd go over to him. "But...but..."

He gave you a sharp grin. "Let's see how long you can go without me touching you, sweetheart. I bet you'll be shaking by morning."

It was a cruel game. Your mouth opened slightly in disbelief, and you squeezed your thighs together, frowning as Coryo fully got in bed and rolled on his side, facing away from yours.

That night was a long one.

When he came home the next day, whistling annoyingly and rolling up his sleeves, you nearly tackled him, sending him tumbling to the floor of your bedroom with your legs on either side of his.

Just as you'd thought, he'd been wanting you just as badly.

Coryo let one hand fall over his head as he lazily looked up at you. "Couldn't even make it a full day."

"Shut up." You covered his mouth with yours and he finally touched you, giving you lots of attention that night where you really wanted it.

The joke was on him; he couldn't last twenty-four hours without touching you either. Because he was just as insatiable as you.

come talk about billy and coryo here!

[kissofthemis]

hii! can I request the nxx boys with a reader who used to be in an abusive relationship (now an ex) and an example situation when one of the boys raises a hand the reader thinks their going to git them so they flinch or when the boys cook the reader a table full of food the reader starts to sob because they're not used to eating in big amounts (ik I have that problem) all separate pls c:

srry if it's a bit too much u don't have to accept the request!

Hi friend! Sorry for the wait! This type of request is not a problem for me, but I will put it under a "read more" to be safe!

TW abuse mention; implied abuse; PTSD

❤️ Artem ❤️

Your first instinct upon seeing all the delicious dishes that Artem placed on the table was for your mouth to start watering.

Your second instinct was to consciously shut down that response before Artem could notice, and you managed to cut it off before even a drop of saliva could escape your lips.

You'd trained yourself how to do that in your last relationship, a long time ago.

When Artem finally sat down to join you, you didn't make eye contact with him. You just dipped your head politely and began to eat from the plate he had placed in front of you. If you avoided looking at the other dishes he'd placed on the table, from colorful grilled vegetables to aromatic jasmine rice, then you wouldn't crave them as much.

Artem needed more food than you anyway. He was larger, smarter, busier. He needed the energy, and you should be grateful he whipped up a plate for you at all.

That was what you had learned a long time ago. To be grateful for what you had and not to beg for what you didn't deserve.

Perhaps you ate too quickly, however, because your plate was empty within minutes. You sat quietly, waiting to see if Artem would stir up conversation. (He wasn't a highly talkative person, so you were equally content with sipping from your water glass in silence.)

Finally he spoke, and nothing could have prepared you for the concerned murmur of, "If you're still hungry, you can take more. Everything here is for us to share."

"... Huh?"

Now you couldn't help yourself from gawking at him, wide-eyed and perplexed. "N-no, I'm fine. You already made me a plate!"

Artem pensively prodded at a pepper. "Only to start you off," he explained. "I wasn't sure what your favorite foods are, or what you would enjoy most, so I gave you a little bit of everything and decided to put the rest here in their original dishes so you could decide on your own what you wanted to eat." His brow knitted in consternation as he added, the worry in his tone subtle but unmistakable, "Did you think that was all I would let you eat?"

The worry on his face dramatically increased in mere seconds. He nearly jumped out of his seat as he leaned over with a napkin to dab at your eyes. "You're crying. Are you crying?"

Clearly he hadn't expected this reaction from you, and honestly, you hadn't expected to react this way either. The only person more confused than him right now was you. All of this? For you to eat as you please? Any dish, any amount?

"I... You... You're so kind, Artem," was all you could manage to mumble out between your tears.

"I'm nothing special," he insisted, his deep ocean gaze gentle but firm. "I care about you. A lot. So please... eat up and take care of yourself, alright?"

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

💛 Luke 💛

"Luke, we're going to be late!"

Running on the same wavelength as the brunet sometimes did more harm than good. You had both arrived way too early for the escape room that you planned to do today with some friends, so you had camped out underneath a shady tree and watched ducks floating by on the lake.

Who knew counting ducks could make you fall asleep just like sheep?

"It's like a 5 minute walk! The building is right there!" Luke protested, but even his amused grin couldn't hide the hint of concern in his voice. "That's nothing for me!"

"Okay, then you will be on time, but I don't follow the Luke Pearce cardio regimen!" you whined. "And if you leave me in the dust, I'll never forgive you!"

You knew he wouldn't run off without you, so your "threat" was mostly in jest, but the fear that flickered across his eyes almost made you feel guilty.

Almost, but not guilty enough to stop you from sprinting ahead.

"Wait, wait!" Luke cried out suddenly as you began to dart off without him.

His words stopped you in your tracks, and you spun around as fast as you could to turn back towards him.

The heat coursing through your adrenaline-pumped veins immediately froze as a large hand came flying towards your face.

No. No! I messed up! I'm sorry!

With a shriek, you dropped to the ground, arms raised defensively above your head.

I took it too far. I wasn't funny. He's mad. He's mad he's mad he's mad and I deserve this. I deserve this.

Cowering on the ground with your eyes squeezed tightly shut, you braced yourself for impact. Maybe it'd be a smack, maybe a slap, maybe a punch. You weren't sure, but you knew it was coming.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

... why wasn't it coming?

Hesitantly you opened one eye, expecting to see rage ablaze in Luke's passionate coral eyes.

But instead you saw pure fear on his face, as his skin had gone white as a sheet and his hands pulled in close to his chest, shaking.

"Did I... scare you?" he asked carefully, his voice hoarse.

Why was he afraid? Wasn't he mad? Wasn't he...

Maybe your gut reaction was... wrong?

"I'm sorry," you whispered, and you slowly lowered your arms.

Luke looked as though he wanted to step forward, but he held himself back so as to avoid startling you. "You had a leaf in your hair," was all he said. "I wanted to get it out."

"I'm sorry," you repeated. You felt like a broken record, but as shaken as you still were, what else could you say?

Luke lowered himself onto one knee and tentatively reached a hand towards you, like he were coaxing a small animal. He seemed relieved as you inched a little closer to him.

When you finally got close enough for him to remove the leaf, he instead pulled you into his arms.

"Who do I need to kill, [Y/N]?"

"Luke, no."

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

💜 Marius 💜

You tried to keep your eyes off the clock, but the more time that passed, the more difficult that became.

While you had no doubt that Marius von Hagen, of all people, could easily get another reservation at a high-end restaurant, you knew he had been looking forward to taking you to this particular spot for weeks now. But luck had not been on his side this week, as Pax was swamped from left to right with deals to close and disputes to settle. Marius had been sleeping even less than usual; he wouldn't admit it to you, but even if he covered the bags under his eyes with makeup and chugged coffees, you could see the fatigue in the way his eyes had lost a lot of sparkle.

You loved the mischievous gleams and artistic sparks in his eyes, and if this date was only going to cause him more stress...

"Hey, Mar--"

"You will see me at 2:00 tomorrow, or you will find another buyer! Capice?"

Everything else in the room melted away all at once. The clock. Vincent's apologetic face. The Pax sign behind the desk. The huge windows revealing the sunset. All of it, all of it faded into oblivion as soon as that deep, loud, angry voice hit your ears.

Like a thunderstorm had let loose a ferocious flash of lightning and deafening clap of thunder just above your head, all your senses kicked into high gear to focus on one thing:

Stay alive. Stay alive. Get low, get quiet, stay alive.

You weren't sure when Marius hung up the phone. You weren't sure when Marius walked over to you. You weren't even sure where you were.

Perhaps it was for the best that you couldn't see what Marius saw right now: the person he loved most in the world, crouching behind a couch with hands clapped over their ears, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and murmuring quietly and rapidly in an effort to stay grounded.

Marius von Hagen had money, power, and influence beyond what most people could dream, but even he couldn't stop a trauma response in its tracks.

You flinched as you felt a large weight drop on top of your head, but slowly you unclenched your jaw as you realized it was a large but gentle hand, stroking your hair rhythmically.

You dared to open your eyes, slowly fluttering your eyelids open until Marius' concerned, exhausted face came into clear view.

"I'm sorry I yelled," he murmured.

You shook your head, and as you pulled your hands away from your ears, you tried to reach out and pat him on the shoulder. But your hands were still shaking, and you cursed yourself silently as you realized you wouldn't be able to comfort him like this. "You've been under a lot of stress."

Marius let out a low, self-deprecating chuckle. "That's no excuse. I can't fulfill my very important role if I lose my cool like that."

"The President of Pax isn't allowed to get upset?"

Marius snorted. "Not that role. Nobody cares about me as president, anyway. I mean as your lover."

Before you could even fully process his words and tell him how touching and sincere they were, Marius gently flicked your forehead.

"Besides, I'll be less stressed now that I called off the deal with that old curmudgeon. Ready for dinner, babe?"

~♡~♡~♡~♡~

💚 Vyn 💚

Stealth. Stealth. You were the embodiment of stealth.

Phase 1 had been easy. Since you were staying in Vyn's guest room tonight as he had to get up early (or at least attempt to) tomorrow, he hadn't noticed you tip-toeing out at midnight. That room was around the corner from his own bedroom, after all, and his closed door meant he couldn't see you sneak over to the stairs.

Phase 2 had been a little more challenging: the stairs themselves. In order to avoid any creaking that could give you away, you had decided to crawl along the side and test each step to figure out where the sturdiest part was. (You had also made a mental note to inform Vyn that the third step from the bottom definitely needed to be repaired, because it squeaked like a rusty hinge.)

Phase 3 was almost complete and going off without a hitch. You had just turned the corner into his kitchen, and now the refrigerator door was in plain sight. The hardwood was a bit of a pain compared to sneaking around on carpet, but your socks should be sufficiently muffled on the kitchen tile. You inhaled deeply and gave your stomach a reassuring pat.

'Soon. Soon we will be appeased.'

Gingerly you stepped across the tile, gently you opened the door, and with a victorious smile, you inspected the glowing contents of Vyn's refrigerator.

Jackpot!

As you debated whether to grab yogurt, cheese, or some celery to scoop up peanut butter, a low voice sounded behind you.

"If you want a midnight snack, might I recommend something low sugar so that you can fall asleep shortly after?"

You nearly screeched as you slammed the door shut and whirled around with your back pressed against its cold metal surface. Suppressing a whimper, you raised your arms defensively in front of your abdomen and face as you looked up to an amused pair of glimmering golden eyes.

"I... I'll go back to bed. I'm sorry. I didn't..."

Excuses swarmed your head like a mess of bees, but you doubted any of them would spare you from your inevitable fate.

They had never saved you in the past, after all.

"Please don't be mad...."

You regretted the words as soon as they came out of your mouth. That would just make Vyn angrier! You couldn't bear to look at him, so you turned your head away and held your breath as you waited for his response.

"Why would I be mad?"

Surprised by these words and how genuine they sounded, you dared to take a peek at Vyn. He didn't even look sleepy as he gazed at you with knitted brow and a fretful frown on his pale face. "If anything, I'm... disappointed." He sighed softly and extended a hand to you. "Let me help you up, darling."

You weren't sure your quivering legs would support you even with Vyn's help, so you kept one hand on the refrigerator door as Vyn helped you to your feet. "Disappointed?" you echoed, unable to quash your curiosity.

"Of course. I am, after all, an excellent pastry chef, if I do say so myself." His gaze softened as he guided you slowly to one of the seats behind the kitchen counter. "The thought that you'd rather snack on cheese instead of a fresh tiramisu, matcha tart, or mille-feuille... well, that is quite the blow to my self-esteem."

Was he... trying to lighten the mood? You couldn't be sure if he was serious or joking. "I... shouldn't be hungry. You gave me plenty to eat."

Vyn didn't seem bothered by that. "No 'should' or 'shouldn't' applies here. You are hungry, and I simply cannot allow that." He chuckled and opened the refrigerator, tutting softly as he reviewed its contents. "I'll have to regretfully inform you I am low on eggs, but perhaps next time I can make you a crème brulée."

As relief flooded over you, you allowed yourself to smile. "... I don't think I trust you with a torch at this hour, anyway."

Vyn drummed his fingers against the counter. "Harsh, but understandable." He sighed. "Now then, please select a dessert, unless you want me to psychoanalyze everything that happened just now instead."

"Strawberry shortcake, please!"

[pasdasin]

Wicked Game

wolverine x vampire!reader

an: wowowowow im so so happy yall are liking this, i found a discrepancy already from previous chapters so pls don't think too hard about the time line bc honestly idk where we are even at either!!

ch 4

warnings: cussing, Logan is mean to Charles, blood mentioned, idk what else

previous -- next

~~~~~

The feeling of the blood sticking to your body made you feel dizzy. It had been so long since you had fed from a person, let alone Logan and you wanted more. You needed more. Frenzied was the only true way to describe how you felt. You needed to eat.

A hundred and fifty years of denying your primal instinct finally caught up to you. You had a taste for warm, orgasmic blood and you were willing to do anything you could to get more. 

You wandered the walls aimlessly, thankful for the final exams happening the next day. You stumbled around, pupils blown wide as you frantically searched for your next meal. Anything with a beating heart would do, you just needed that sweet, metallic liquid. 

Where are you going y/n? You turned your head, the voice startling you. Come to my room.

Desperately you chased the soundless voice. You chased it, listening to the beating hearts of the children sleeping peacefully in the dormitories. Finally you reached him, Charles.

You entered the room and paused, suddenly aware of your appearance and mental state. 

“Oh my god. I’m-”

“Enough y/n. Sit.” He mentioned to the end of his bed. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you”

You listened to his instruction, shakily sitting and playing with your hands. 

“There you go. You are very loud tonight, drowning out the sounds of everyone else. I can now see why.” You stared at him silently, bringing your hand up to wipe your mouth of the dried blood. “Have you thought about my offer? Are you willing to go?”

“I think I have to go” You told him, thinking about Logan. 

“Are you sure? You know where you’ll end up don’t you?” You stared at him and nodded.

“If I don’t, this will happen again. I’ll drain him dry.”

“I understand why you feel shame. What happened to those girls were not your fault. You are not a monster.”

“We both know that's a lie, Charles.”

“Then avenge them” You let the words sink into your soul. This would be the only way you could truly live with yourself. “Kill the man who did this to you. Alex doesn’t know. Just us.”

Charles wasn’t comfortable with the death of mutants. You knew that all too well. Killing this man would give him piece of mind. Using your hands to do it would give him deniability if anything were to go wrong. 

You understood what this meant to him. But to you this was closure. You will kill the man who tortured you. 

---

The next morning you sat in  the passenger seats of the blackbird and watched as the ground grow smaller. Alex was controlling the jet for the most part, occasionally asking you to flip a lever or press a button. He didn’t talk much the flight over, noticing how you were in a completely different headspace than him. 

The flight was relatively quick considering the distance traveled, you’d have to remember Hank for upgrading the jet’s engines. As Alex landed the jet in the private airfield owned by the Xavier family estate, you stared out the window recalling the last time you were in London. 1913, right before the first world war. By then, Logan was taken by the scientists for the weapon x project. It was just you wandering the streets, searching for any trace of him. 

“Did you hear anything I just said?” You snapped your head to Alex. “You’re lucky you’re hot” You frowned at his response. “I said that the hotel is just a fifteen minute walk from here. I already put the jet in conceal mode, so are you ready or are we gonna stare at that tree for like thirty more minutes?”

“You don’t have to be such an ass about it.” You told him, unbuckling your seatbelt and joining him off the jet. 

“I just like to tease you okay? Lets get going” He said, holding out his hand to you. Raising your eyebrow at the gesture, he sighed. “We are supposed to be a couple on their honeymoon. Did Charles tell you anything?”

You grabbed his hand but it felt wrong. It wasn’t as warm as Logan’s or big. Alex was soft and comforting, but not in the way you found Logan’s hand. You weren’t sure why this feeling was creeping into your heart, but maybe it was because this was the first time someone other than Logan touched you like this, ever. 

Chalking it up to the fake intimacy of it all, you put on a brave face and walked in step with him, heading to the hotel.

---

“You better speak up you wheelchair fuck. Where the hell did. you. send. Her?” Logan was stuck in his own frenzy now. Angry at you for up and leaving. Angry at Alex for being a dick head flirt. Angry at the bald man in front of him for not explaining a thing.

“Logan, calm down. y/n is safe with Alex. They are just doing recon on a uprising mutant cult in London.”

“You should’ve sent me, not her” He growled. 

“Why do you care so much Logan?” Charles wheeled closer to Logan, not afraid of what he was capable of. 

“I don’t care!” Even Logan couldn’t believe himself. It was pathetic really. Denying himself the pleasure of her love, but indulging in every intimate interaction they had. He had been in love with her for so long, but something was holding him back. 

Maybe it was the fear of not having his feelings returned. Or maybe even the fear of loosing his oldest companion, the one person who had never judged him. 

“London. She is at 578 Trekshile road, the hotel. Room 327.” Charles told Logan, hearing his inner dialogue. “I have tasked her with killing Morgue.” 

His eyes snapped to the Professor. “What?”

“Go to her if you must.” With that, Charles left the room. Logan was stunned. Morgue was the cruelest person he had ever encountered. You had spent years with him until you had found Logan after the weapon x program ended. From your stories, Logan should’ve killed him years ago. 

All he had to do now was find a way to London. Luckily for him, the silhouette of a blue, devil tailed boy had walked passed the door.

“Kurt, come here I need a favor”

~~~~

Tag list: @captain039 @twinky-wink @fuckmachine42069 @honeybeedrabble

an: kurt my baby <3, also Morgue is my oc, based on Morgz 💀(only in name)