#i was lying the dark doing nothing for hours

[enchantresss97]

Dark Gravity- Part Three

Characters: Au!Eric Draven (Bill Skarsgård) x reader

Description: This is a Au!Eric Draven, no Shelly involved(although is another girl involved), no Roeg and no powers, other than that is still the Eric we know. He is powerful, dangerous, and infamous for his violent reputation, he’s someone people know to stay away from. A man whose name strikes fear in the hearts of many. His presence is commanding, intimidating. He’s not the type to open up, but when he locks eyes with you, there’s an undeniable tension that pulses in the air between you two. It’s hard to ignore the way he looks at you, the subtle flirting, and the dangerous charm that seems to surround him. You never imagined to meet him, but here you are, caught in a web of questions. Where will this lead? Can there be something more between you two? Will you end up friends, or is there something darker, more complicated in store? You can’t deny the tension, the attraction, it’s palpable. Could something truly happen between you and him? Only time will tell, but you can’t help but wonder: where will this take you?

Warning: (the warnings are for the whole story, not just this chapter) language, angst, drugs, alcohol, blood, guns, sex (at this point you know me), cheating.

Word count: 4427

Dark Gravity-Part three

The second you see his name, your stomach tightens. Your fingers hover over the screen.

You could ignore it.

You should.

But instead, you swipe, unlocking the message.

Eric: Thinking about me?

A slow breath escapes your lips.

That’s it? No mention of what happened hours ago. No explanation. Just him, throwing out a line, waiting to see if you’ll bite.

Your mind flashes back.

The explosion.

The way the air had split open with fire and noise.

The gun in his hands, steady, controlled, aimed at the car like it was nothing.

You can still see him standing there, jaw tight, muscles coiled, his expression unreadable. And now, this...

A text like it’s just any other night. Like he didn’t nearly kill someone...or maybe he did? But you don't want to thing about this too much.

You stare at the screen, fingers tapping against the phone. Play along? Shut him down? Ignore him? But before you can overthink it, your thumbs move on their own.

You: Are you okay?

You don’t even think before sending it. It just slips out. Because despite everything, despite what you saw, despite knowing what he is, something in you needs to ask, wants to know that he's save.

The reply comes fast.

Eric: Oh? You worried about me, princess?

You exhale, already regretting it.

You: Forget it.

Eric: Too late. I like it.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but before you can respond, another message pops up.

Eric: How worried, exactly?

You: Not enough to boost your ego.

Eric: Liar.

Your breath catches.

Eric: Bet you’re lying in bed right now, thinking about me. Wondering what I’m doing. Maybe even missing me a little.

You roll your eyes, even as your pulse betrays you.

You: You’re delusional.

Eric: And yet, you’re still texting me.

Your stomach tightens.

He’s impossible. He always knows exactly what to say, exactly how to turn things in his favor.

You: Must be bored if you’re this desperate for attention.

Eric: Who says I’m bored? A pause.

Then—

Eric: Maybe I’m just hard.

A quick pulse of heat spreads through you. He’s not even trying to be subtle now.

You: Not my problem.

Eric: Could be.

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

You: Keep dreaming.

Eric: I do. You. On my lap. Tight little dress. No panties. Dripping for me.

Your breath catches. A rush of something dark, dangerous, and impossible to ignore floods through you.

You should end this. Right now. Before it goes any further. Before you let him get to you.

Your phone vibrates again. But this time, it’s not a message. It’s a photo.

You hesitate for half a second before tapping on it.

Eric, lying back on a couch.

One arm resting careless on the couch, the other disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. His zipper undone. Button open. His hand inside.

You can’t help but notice how hard he is.

The way his jeans cling to his hips, the bulge pressing against the fabric.

He’s confident, shameless and he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Another message follows.

Eric: Can you help me with this?

Your fingers tighten around the phone. Heat crawls up your neck.

He’s shameless.

You: You seem to be managing just fine.

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Eric: I’d rather you use your hands. Your pulse stutters.

Another message pops up before you can process the first.

Eric: Or your mouth.

Your breath catches.

You stare at the screen, refusing to react, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

You: You should get some sleep.

Eric: Not tired.

You: Goodnight, Eric.

A few seconds later, another message pops up.

Eric: Just picture it—me here on the couch with you between my legs, my hands tangled in your hair, forcing you to look up at me as you kneel. Your lips lips, soft and eager, begging for my cock. I want to see you take me in... slow, deep, working me with your mouth, showing me how much you want it, how badly you need it. I want to feel you choke on my cock, your throat tightening as you take all of me, inch by inch. I’ll be watching you, desperate for you to show me just how far you’ll go for me...how much you want it.

The message sits there, taunting, heavy with the weight of what he’s saying. The words linger, burning into your screen, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at them.

Then another message pops up

Eric: Sweet dreams, princess. Think of me.

Your screen goes dark. You drop the phone onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.

Like hell you will.

Your phone stays dark.

No more messages. No typing bubble. Nothing.

Eric doesn’t say anything else. And you don’t reply. But the words are still there. Lingering.

You stare at the ceiling, your heartbeat steady but not quite calm.

The silence in your room feels louder now, charged with something you don’t want to name.

You should just forget it. Push it away. But your mind won’t let you.

The image flashes behind your eyes, the way he looked in that picture, sprawled out, completely at ease, his hand inside his pants, hard.

The way he knew exactly what he was doing, exactly what effect it would have on you. And his words…

You swallow, shifting slightly, as if that will somehow shake the feeling off your skin.

It’s not just what he said. It’s how easy it was for him. How effortlessly he got into your head, made you picture you on your knees...his cock...made you feel it. Like he knew you would. Like he expected it.

Your fingers tighten around the blanket. You won’t give him that satisfaction. You won’t.

But then why does your body feel like it’s betraying you? Why does your skin feel hot, your stomach tight, the ghost of his voice still echoing—I want to see you take me in… slow, deep…

You exhale sharply, closing your eyes.

It doesn’t matter. It was just words. Just a game. And you’re not playing.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when sleep finally pulls you under.

______________________

The next few weeks slip by in a strange, tangled rhythm.

It starts with texts.

At first, it’s sporadic—messages from Eric at odd hours, slipping into your day, your night. Some filthy, some teasing, some completely normal, like the things he said that night never happened.

But he did.

And you remember them.

Then, the messages become frequent. He never holds back. He’s still cocky, still shameless, still pushing the line between teasing and temptation. Still saying things that make you hesitate, that make your fingers tighten around your phone before you decide whether to play along or ignore him.

But somewhere between the filth and the arrogance, there’s something else.

Longer conversations.

Moments that don’t feel like a game. Stories he tells you, pieces of himself that don’t belong to the version of him the world knows.

Like how he got his first tattoo at twelve. A shitty job done in someone’s living room, with cheap ink and a needle that hummed too loud. He never fixed it, even when he could.

Or how he used to steal his neighbor’s car before he even knew how to drive, speeding through the empty streets at night just to feel something, to prove to himself that he was untouchable.

Or how he hasn’t seen his mother in years. And doesn’t plan to.

And you tell him things, too. Not because you mean to, not because you trust him, but because somehow, between his usual cocky remarks and the way he turns every other message into something filthy, he makes you forget what he is.

For a little while.

But you never forget completely.

Because the news reminds you. You see it in headlines, in flashing images—two people trapped in a burning car. The explosion, the smoke, the bodies. The way they died, burning alive.

And you know. You just know.

Eric’s hand was in this.

And yet, hours later, your phone vibrates, and it’s him, acting like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just ended two lives and God knows how many more. Like he’s still the same Eric who texts you about the coffee he just spilled, or the fight his friend got into at some club last night, or the new tattoo he’s thinking of getting.

It’s like living in two different realities.

And that’s why you keep saying no. Not directly, never directly. But you find excuses.

Every time he asks to meet up. Whether it’s a casual “Come get coffee with me” or something more dangerous, “Come over, I want to see you”, you always have a reason.

You’re busy.

You have plans already.

You’re too tired.

Maybe next time.

And you know he sees through it. You can feel that he knows you’re dodging him. But he never calls you out on it. He just keeps trying. Keeps acting like it’s only a matter of time.

And maybe it is.

Because no matter how much you tell yourself that staying away is the right thing, it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that you don’t want to.

That despite everything, you still reach for your phone the second you see his name.

That you still reread his messages too many times before replying.

That you still feel that pull. That dangerous, reckless pull toward him. And that scares you more than anything else.

__________________

It’s late afternoon when Lily shows up at your place, knocking twice before pushing the door open like she always does.

She’s wearing a thick jacket over her hoodie, her hands tucked into the pockets, sign that the autumn is here. Her face lighting up the moment she sees you.

“Hey,” she says, kicking off her shoes. “What are you up to this weekend?”

You glance at her, shrugging. “Nothing, really.”

“Perfect.” She grins, walking straight to your couch and flopping down like she owns the place.

“So, listen. A bunch of people are going up to a cabin this weekend. Just hanging out, drinking, chilling for a couple of days. You should come with me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “A cabin”

“Yeah, a friend’s place. It’s nice, big, cozy, middle of the forest, all that. It’ll be fun. We haven’t done something like this in forever.” She stretches her legs out, looking at you expectantly, and you can already tell she’s not going to let this go.

You lean against the table, crossing your arms. It’s true, you haven’t hung out properly in a while. “Yeah. Why not?”

Lily’s face lights up. “Yes! Okay, good. We leave tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pick you up.” Just like that, it’s decided.

The next afternoon, you’re ready when Lily arrives. You chose something that sits perfectly between elegant and effortless—a fitted two-piece set, a sleek top that hugs your waist, paired with a long skirt that flows with every step. Knee-high boots complete the look, adding a subtle edge.

You even did your makeup, nothing over the top, just enough to enhance everything the right way.

Lily whistles the second she sees you. “Damn.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag. She smirks, pushing the door open wider for you. “You look hot.”

You shake your head, following her out. As you slide into the passenger seat of her car, you catch yourself checking your reflection in the side mirror.

It’s not that you dressed up for anyone in particular. But still. A thought flickers through your mind before you push it away.

Lily turns up the music, grinning. “Let’s go.” And just like that, you’re on your way.

The air is cool and crisp as the car winds its way through the narrow roads that cut through the forest.

The trees are a mix of fiery reds, golden yellows, and deep oranges, their leaves falling gently, carpeting the ground in a rich tapestry of color.

The scent of damp earth and pine fills the car as Lily drives, her laughter light as she chats with you about everything and nothing at all.

The ride feels like a break from the tension you’ve been carrying, the one that always seems to sneak up when you think about Eric, or when you find yourself staring at your phone, reading his messages over and over.

When the car rounds the final bend, the cabin comes into view.

It’s tucked away deep in the forest, surrounded by tall, weathered trees that stand like silent sentinels. A lake nearby.

Lily parks the car, and you both make your way inside, your boots crunching on the fallen leaves as you walk up to the door.

The cabin’s large and sprawling, built from dark wood that gives it a sense of permanence.

The living room opens up as soon as you step inside, a vast space with an open kitchen, where the faint smell of sizzling food lingers in the air.

A few couches are scattered around, one facing a big flat-screen TV. Everything feels cozy, intimate, even though there are plenty of people around.

A group of friends, both guys and girls, chatting, laughing, and drinking. Music pulses through the space, upbeat but not too loud, just enough to fill the air with that buzz of excitement.

Downstairs, there are three rooms, and two bathrooms, but it’s upstairs that catches your eye. The wooden staircase, worn with time, leads up to a few more rooms, each with their own bathrooms, perfect for the large group that’s gathered here.

You can tell it’s been a well-loved retreat for friends to get together over the years, but there’s a feeling of anonymity here too. It feels like no one will notice if you disappear for a bit, slip away and lose yourself in the space between conversations. And you wonder which of Lily's friend owns it.

There’s a sort of quiet confidence that comes with being here, with the smell of wood and burning fire filling the space, and the warm glow of the lights inside the cabin.

You exchange greetings with a few familiar faces, your attention as you take in the scene.

There’s food, plates of chips, pizza, and a few bowls of mixed snacks that people are picking at between drinks.

The table is piled with alcohol, some whiskey, rum, and beer bottles dotting the space like a familiar comfort. There’s a quiet hum of a few joints being passed around too, but it doesn’t seem too out of place in the friendly chaos.

And then, just as your gaze sweeps across the group, you spot him.

Eric.

He’s leaning against one of the walls near the back, looking completely at ease.

His presence is undeniable, even among the lively group.

He’s talking to a few people but his eyes flicker in your direction for a split second, and you swear you catch him smirking.

His tattoos are visible now, a few of them peeking out from under the sleeves of his shirt as he casually lounges, drink in hand.

You weren’t sure what you expected when you arrived here, but seeing him like this, amidst the chatter and laughter, as if he belongs here, like he’s one of the group makes your heart beat just a little faster.

For a moment, you hesitate.

The desire to approach him, to talk to him, is undeniable. But there’s also the part of you that wants to keep your distance, that knows what happens when the two of you are alone. It’s this pull, this tug-of-war between wanting him and knowing that you shouldn’t.

It’s easy to forget all the things that make Eric dangerous, all the things you’ve heard, when he’s just…here. With people around him.

And maybe that’s why, despite the knot of nervousness in your stomach, you can’t help but feel a small glimmer of excitement.

____________________________

You find your seat on the couch next to Lily, the air filled with chatter and laughter.

People are lounging, drinking, and nibbling on snacks, the atmosphere warm and easygoing. The conversation around you is easy, familiar.

You sip your drink, snack on whatever’s within reach, blending into the group as the night stretches on.

Laughter spills across the room, voices overlapping, the low thrum of music weaving through the air. But even as you talk, as you joke, as you listen to Lily ramble about something ridiculous, you feel it.

That pull.

Like a thread being tugged, reeling you in no matter how much you try to resist.

Every so often, your gaze drifts, across the table, across the room.

And every time, he’s already looking. It’s subtle. The way his eyes linger. The way his fingers tap lazily against his glass. The way he tilts his head slightly when you catch him staring, like he’s waiting for you to look away first.

You don’t.

At least, not right away. The alcohol makes it easier to hold his gaze.

At some point, the group shifts. A few people drift outside, curious about the lake. Someone makes a joke about taking a midnight swim, and soon enough, the energy follows, the crowd filtering through the open door.

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine as you step outside with the others.

Laughter drifts through the cold, the energy still high, fueled by alcohol and reckless excitement. Someone’s already kicking off their shoes, daring the others to jump in.

You stay near the edge, arms folded against the chill, watching as the dark water ripples under the moonlight.

The cold bites at your skin, but you welcome it. It keeps your mind clear, keeps your thoughts from spiraling into places they shouldn’t.

And then, he’s there. You don’t need to look to know.

The warmth of his presence is unmistakable, even before he steps beside you, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushes yours.

Eric doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching the water with that same ease he always carries.

But you catch it, the small flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips, like he’s enjoying this. Enjoying the silence, the cold, the way your eyes keep flicking to him before you can stop yourself.

He tilts his head toward you. “You gonna jump in?”

You scoff, rubbing your arms. “In this? I’ll freeze.”

He hums, a soft chuckle under his breath. “Didn’t take you for a coward.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s called common sense.”

That small smirk deepens, and then, without warning, he reaches for you.

It’s not a sharp grab. Not something reckless or teasing. It’s soft. Easy. His fingers curling around your wrist, just enough to pull you forward a step.

And you let him.

The warmth of his touch spreads up your arm, sinking into your skin too fast, too deep. It’s so casual, like he’s done it a hundred times before. Like it’s nothing.

But when your eyes meet, when you feel the heat lingering between you, you know, it’s not nothing.

A shiver runs through you, and it has nothing to do with the cold. You glance at him, and for the first time tonight, his smile isn’t sharp, isn’t teasing. It’s soft. Genuine. And that’s when it hits you. Eric, the Eric you’ve been wary of, the one with the reputation, the sharp tongue, the dark smirks. He looks different right now.

There’s no danger in his expression. No arrogance, no taunting. Just this.

This quiet warmth, this easy amusement, this unspoken understanding that makes something tighten in your chest.

And that’s what scares you. Not the cold. Not the water.

Him.

Because if he can be like this, if he can look at you like this, then maybe—just maybe—falling for him wouldn’t feel so impossible.

And that?

That’s dangerous.

Eric doesn’t let go immediately. His thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist, slow, absentminded, before he finally releases you.

Your breath catches, and for a split second, you swear he notices. “You’d survive,” he murmurs, still watching you.

You swallow. “What?”

“The water,” he says, tilting his head toward it. “You’d survive.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Not worth the risk.”

Eric leans in, just slightly, just enough that you catch the faintest scent of smoke and something undeniably him. “Scared?”

Your pulse kicks up, and it’s unfair, so unfair, how easy it is for him to make your stomach flip.

“I just don’t like being cold,” you mutter, looking away.

“I’d warm you up,” he murmurs again, softer this time, like it’s a promise. Your stomach twists. Your fingers curl at your sides. And just when you’re about to say something

You’re falling.

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as ice-cold water crashes around you.

Your body hits the lake, the freezing shock stealing the air from your lungs, your hands flailing for balance as the darkness of the water swallows you whole.

It takes you a second to surface, hair dripping, breath ragged, absolute disbelief shooting through you as you wipe the water from your face.

That bastard.

He’s standing at the edge of the dock, watching you with a devilish smirk, hands still in his pockets, completely unbothered.

“Oh, you’re so dead,” you manage between chattering teeth, your voice a mix of fury and laughter.

Eric tilts his head, feigning innocence. “I told you, you’d survive.”

“Eric—”

And then he jumps.

The splash is loud, water surging as he dives in, and suddenly, he’s right there, right in front of you, emerging from the lake with a shake of his head, droplets catching in the dim light.

You barely have time to react before his hands find your waist and pull you toward him.

A small gasp leaves your lips as your chest brushes against his, his wet skin burning hot despite the freezing water.

His fingers tighten, holding you steady, his grip firm but not forceful, just enough to make you feel him.

“You were saying?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, dangerously close.

You can feel his breath against your lips. Can see the droplets sliding down his jaw, his throat, disappearing into the soaked fabric of his shirt.

Your hands instinctively find his shoulders, your pulse out of control. “You’re an asshole,” you whisper, but there’s no venom behind it, just breathlessness.

His smirk softens into something else. Something slower. Something warmer.

And then he pulls you in closer.

Your legs are wrapped around his waist, your arms clutching his shoulders, your soaked clothes clinging to both of you as he steadies you against him.

His hands, strong, warm even in the freezing water are gripping your thighs, keeping you securely against him.

Your pulse pounds. His breath brushes against your cheek, his wet skin hot against yours despite the chill, every inch of you aware of the way your bodies fit together.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice lower now, slower, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

You should pull back.

You should say something sharp, something to deflect the way your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you.

But you don’t.

You just stare at him, your lips parting, your heart hammering against your ribs.

There’s no distance left between you. His hands slide up your thighs, slow, teasing, his thumbs brushing against the wet fabric clinging to your skin.

His gaze flickers to your lips, lingers there, dark, intent.

For a second, nothing else exists.

Just him.

Just you.

Just the way the world feels like it’s tilting when he leans in, so close, so close you can feel the heat of his mouth against yours, the tip of his nose brushing yours

“Yo! You guys making out in there or what?” The voice shatters the moment like glass.

You freeze.

Eric’s grip on you tightens, like he’s resisting the urge to turn around and murder whoever just spoke.

Laughter erupts from the dock. Someone whistles. Someone else yells something about how they’re definitely flirting. Heat floods your cheeks.

Eric doesn’t let go of you immediately. He just lets out a sharp exhale, his forehead dropping against yours for the briefest second, like he’s trying to compose himself, like he’s trying to fight the same war you are.

And then—his smirk returns. “Guess that’s our cue,” he mutters.

With an infuriating amount of ease, he lifts you, adjusting his grip before wading back toward the dock.

His hands don’t move from your thighs, his grip still firm, still possessive.

He only sets you down once the water is at his waist, making sure you’re steady before he finally releases you.

You miss the weight of his hands immediately.

The moment you step onto the dock, someone throws a towel at you, laughing as you wrap it around yourself, still shaken from what almost happened.

Eric, of course, looks completely unbothered, running a hand through his wet hair before reaching for his own towel.

But just as you’re about to wrap yourself tighter in yours, he does something that makes your breath catch.

He pulls off his shirt.

The ink is covering his chest, his arms, his stomach. Every time you see him like this, it does something to you.

It’s not just the way they look on him, not just the dark, intricate designs that make him seem even more untouchable, it’s the way they feel like a part of him. Like a story written across his skin that you desperately want to understand.

And then he walks past you.

You catch it this time, on his shoulder, the inked letters of a name.

A woman’s name.

You don’t see it clearly, but you see enough. Enough to realize it’s not just another meaningless piece of ink. Enough to know it belongs to someone.

Someone important.

Who?

The question settles in your mind before you can stop it.

Who is she? What does she mean to him? Why does he have her name carved into his skin forever?

The thought lingers, even as you try to shake it off. Even as you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

But as Eric slings his towel over his shoulder, his tattoos on full display, as he throws you one last knowing glance before heading back inside.

You realize it’s already in your head. And it’s not leaving anytime soon.

________________

Here is Part one / Part Two

@paraficwriterThis part three it's up.

This part is not edited yet, I will come back later to check for mistakes. There are still two parts left, although I'm really trying to put everything into one, but the parts end up being too long. I hope you like it. I will probably publish the other part today or tomorrow as well (I already wrote quite a lot because I thought I would integrate it here, but then I saw the word count and didn't want to make this part too long). Enjoy this, something very steamy is up next.

[justnatoka]

When you don't say 'I love you' back

The Lost Boys headcanons

A/n: Marko gave me a hard time not gonna lie, and I'm still not 100% satisfied with his part, but I didn't want to chew on this any longer. Hope you enjoy!

Warning: nsfw themes, allusions to smut

David

He’s not really the type to shower you with phrases of love, he much rather shows his feelings to you through his actions. So on the rare occasion when he says ‘I love you’, he expects you to say it back.

You were lying in his arms one night, your body aching deliciously, his hand stroking your bare thigh in slow, lazy motions.

“When do you think the boys will be back?” you wondered.

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re seriously thinking about them right now?”

You snorted and playfully smacked his naked chest.

“Nothing like that. I was just wondering how long the peace will last.”

As if on que, the distant sound of stomping and Marko’s hollering broke the silence of the cave. David levelled you with a flat stare, basically saying without words that this was your fault. You just shrugged your shoulders. Nothing you could do about it now.

He made a move to get up, but as he looked back at you, still tangled in the sheets, your body all soft and pliant, baring the marks of his affections from before, staring back at him with those pretty eyes, he couldn’t help himself. He leaned down, one hand keeping himself upright, the other finding the plush skin of your hips, still tender from his previously bruising grip, and giving it a gentle squeeze. His lips chased after yours, capturing them in a slow kiss. The corner of his mouth quirked up at the little sound you made as he deepened it, his tongue stroking against yours, teasing you just a bit before he pulled away. He chuckled as you let out a huff at the abrupt ending, and pressed a quick peck on your pout.

“Love you,” he murmured against your lips before he got up to find his pants.

He froze. There was no answer, nothing, just silence. Did you not hear him? Were you playing with him? You thought you could be cheeky, huh? Now this would not do.

He turned around and strode back to the bed. He towered over you, trapping you in with his gaze. Leaning down, his hand caught a firm grip on your jaw.

“Was I not clear enough, kitten? Do I have to show you again? Because I don’t care if the boys hear you this time, I’m going to make sure everyone knows how much you love me.”

Dwayne

Dwayne wasn’t as sparse with the use of those three words as David was, but he also didn’t feel the urge to shout it from the rooftops like Marko did. Instead, he reserved them to intimate moments between you two, special occasions when the mood was just right.

You were having a quiet night in with Dwayne, since the boys decided to give you some privacy. You may or may not have threatened them to make themselves scarce for a few hours. You spent it in an armchair in the cave, one the two of you specifically got for yourselves, because it was wide and comfortable, allowing both of you to snuggle in against each other.

You’ve been sitting in Dwayne’s lap for most of the night, napping against his chest, playing with his hair or reading the book he had in his hands alongside him.

He was also in an affectionate mood, one of his hands always wrapped around your waist, his fingers soothing over your skin or rubbing it absentmindedly. He even occasionally paused his reading to press kisses on your face and your lips.

Feeling a craving for some snacks, you moved to get off his lap for the first time in hours. His hand was quick to get a hold of yours, pulling you right back onto him. Marking his progress in the book he put it aside, focusing his full attention on you now.

He took in the sight of you, illuminated by the fires burning around the cave. His dark eyes shone with adoration, the corners of them creasing as a smile stretched across his handsome face. His fingers cupped your chin, bringing your face closer as his lips found yours, moving slowly, savoring each moment, his teeth nipping your lower lip playfully.

“I love you,” he sighed as you broke away from him with flushed cheeks.

You send him a warm smile, before once again moving to get up. With your back already turned, you didn’t see the frown that came over his face. You hand was still firmly in his grip, and he used that leverage to pull you back in once again, this time with a bit more persistence.

“Did you not hear what I said, sweetheart? Or do you need a reminder?” he muttered into your ear, his words a deep rumble in his chest. You felt his breath fan out on your neck just before his lips attached themselves onto your sensitive skin.

Now you were even more grateful that the boys wouldn’t be around for what was in store for you.

Paul

Paul is definitely the type of lover who shows his affection, both physically and verbally, any chance he gets. It’s well understood that he’s incredibly handsy, always touching you in some kind of way. What you didn’t count on however was how often he said ‘I love you’.

Did you just wake up? I love you. Did you just get off his bike? Love you, dollface. Did you just kill someone to feats on their blood? You’re so hot, babe, I love you!

It was a constant thing in your relationship. He didn’t necessarily expect you to say it back every single time, but he absolutely started pouting if you missed it a few times in a row. Yes, he was needy, and yes, he was keeping score.

You didn’t feel like going out tonight, so the two of you stayed in, cuddling on your bed. Paul was lying on top of you, his arms circled around your torso, his head resting on your chest. You were leaned back against the myriad pillows you accumulated over the years, your fingers running through his hair, playing with the blond strands absentmindedly.

“You would make a nice pillow, know that, babe?” he mumbled.

“Yeah? How’s that?” you asked while trying to work out a particularly stubborn knot in his hair.

“You’re soft and you smell nice,” he emphasized his words by pressing a small kiss near you collarbone, before snuggling back in, nuzzling into you, squishing his cheek against your chest and inhaling deeply.

You chuckled, gently massaging his scalp, and you could swear you heard him purring. He mumbled affectionate “I love you’s” into your skin, his arms squeezing you just a little bit tighter. When you didn’t say anything, a frown appeared on his face, and he turned to look up at you.

“Babe?” he started.

“Hm?” you met his eyes and discovered that he was pouting.

“You didn’t say it back.”

You gave him a noncommittal hum, and his eyes narrowed. You barely had time to catch on before he started attacking you with a flurry of kisses all over your face, making you burst out in giggles.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” you squealed between bouts of laughter. “I’m sorry, I love you too.”

He leaned back with a satisfied little smirk on his face.

“You better,” he replied cheekily, and the next thing you know is he moved further down, his breath tickling your neck before his lips found a particularly sensitive spot, pressing hot kisses on your skin. A moan threatened to escape your mouth when you felt the graze of his fangs.

You had no problem teasing him a bit if this is how he retaliates every time.

Marko

Just like Paul, he wasn’t shy to show his affection for you. He had a loud personality, so why not make his declarations of love just as loud?

The two of you separated from the boys as soon as you got to the Boardwalk that night, opting to spend some time together before joining them again for feasting. You were strolling between vendors’ stalls, looking at all the knick-knacks they sold, cracking jokes and just having a good time.

Your ears perked up when you walked past a shop that was blaring some cheesy popular love song, and just one glance at Marko told you he noticed it too. The corner of his mouth perked up and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes as he looked back at you.

The next moment he was wrapping you up in his arms, and started swaying with you right then and there, not a care in the world. Thankfully, there were not many people around you, so you didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone, not like Marko would care.

Before you could even take in what was happening, he started singing too. You had no idea how he knew the lyrics, it wasn’t quite his genre of music, but he always managed to surprise you. He was off-key, his dance moves not very smooth, but his hold on you was tight, his eyes full of warmth with a wide grin on his face. It was silly and loud and obnoxious, but you couldn’t help the giggles escaping your mouth at the ridiculousness of it all.

Looking back into his eyes you smiled warmly at him, and he leaned in to nuzzle your cheek, his hands squeezing you just a tad tighter.

“Love you, sugar,” he mumbled against your skin as he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You let out a happy sigh.

He drew back for a second, eyes searching your face. You didn’t say it back. The smirk that stretched across his lips then promised nothing but trouble.

Then he started singing again, this time very loudly, drawing the attention of everyone passing by. Your boyfriend serenading you a love song would have been sweet any other time, now you just felt heat rising to your cheeks at all the attention.

He ignored your little protests, bellowing out even louder. So you did the only thing that came to your mind. You kissed him square on the mouth. That shut him up quickly, his hands sneaking dangerously low on your hips, squeezing you against him. His mouth was hungry, his kiss searing and possessive, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, his tongue caressing yours. You couldn’t help the little whimpers and sighs escaping you at his heated affection.

When he finally drew back, his eyes were hooded, and you almost melted into a puddle at the intensity of his gaze.

“Next time you better say it back, sugar.” The smirk on his face grew wider. “Unless you want me to demonstrate before all these people.”

You couldn’t deny the thrill that run through your body at the thought.

Tags: @stinkydove @pandemoniavenus @000-colby @lunarwhitewolf7 @notalwaysa @binightowl @darlingnikkisixxxx @skrimblo-blumpkgo @wpdarlingpan

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[fakevariety]

today has beennnnn hmmmmmmmm

[theorist-fox]

Some more insecure Simon Riley talk, because he's precious.

18+

Word count: 1.4k

CW: nothing, just smut. Simon finds you in lingerie and has a stroke. I love him your honor.

Masterlist 🦊

Simon, who is not sure what to do with himself the first time you welcome him home in nothing but lingerie.

He’s so unbelievably tired, dropping his clothes on the floor of the bedroom without even lifting his head. Mumbling apologies to you—how he’ll clean tomorrow, how he just wants to go to bed and sleep fourteen hours straight, right now. Bonus points if you hold him through the night, too.

Yet you’re not replying, but he’s seen your silhouette in the darkness; he knows you’re awake because you whispered a soft “Welcome back” when he walked in the room. His heart pounds in his chest, his palms get clammy—he thinks he’s overstepping lines by not giving you the attention he thinks you deserve.

So, as he unzips his pants, he lifts his eyes to look at you, and fuck—

You’re lying on your side, propped on your elbow, chin tucked in your palm. Perfect tits covered in sheer fabric, burgundy and black, your nipples peeking through. The soft line of your waist is bare—he follows it with his eyes until they land on your hips. Ornated lace curves around your hipbone and thins into see-through, dark fabric over your mound. Two strips of silk clasp your knickers to a pair of thin stockings that cinch the fat of your thighs, and the sight makes his mouth water.

“Welcome back,” you say once again, this time with soft amusement.

He looks like a proper idiot. Hand still on his crotch, practically feeling how his cock comes to a stand at the mere sight of you.

He gulps. Feels a little lightheaded. “F’ me?”

You smile, chuckling softly but not derisively. Simon follows your hand as you guide it over your belly, up to the valley of your breast, as if you’re there, showing the goods he can pick and taste.

“For you.”

Simon is stunned into silence again.

Fuck is he supposed to do, uh? He’d be content just looking at you lying there and looking like you came out of a magazine, instead of touching you and potentially ruining what you did just for—for him?

He must not have noticed how his whole body (aside from his cock) has gone into standby—entered sniper mode. He's quiet, breaths reduced and silent, eyes attentive and narrowed.

It's a handful of seconds that leave you uncomfortable, as your plastic pose softens, your smile faltering at the corners.

“You don’t like it?” You ask, trying to sound steady, but he picks up the nervousness in your tone right away.

He won’t let you have it, obviously. He snaps out of it and takes you in for what you are: a fucking present, on his bed, wrapped in strings and bows and lace like gift wrap.

“Shoulda guessed it was too much, maybe. Should’ve gone for somethin’ soft—"

Simon is on you in seconds. Grabs your face in his hands and smashes his lips to yours something fierce, nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. No hesitation. Simple, tangible desire. Scorching lust. Want. Need—fuck, he’s never kissed you like this.

Your eyes lose their surprise, and they slowly surrender to him—hands wandering down to help him out of his pants and briefs. And then you wrap your arms around his neck, grazing his scalp with your nails until he shivers.

Simon thought there was nothing comparable to the softness of your skin against the harder patches of scars freckling his abdomen. But he’s proved wrong when he feels the rough texture of your lace scratch his chest and his hips—it has him leaking embarrassingly quick.

He’s all lips and tongue as he races down your chest, sloppy kisses leaving a burning trail between your tits, down your belly, settling on your cunt covered by thin mesh.

Simon looks up at you, holding your thighs between thick fingers, smushing them against his cheeks. His eyes are hooded, dark, different. He tilts his head and bites into the plump flesh within reach—not enough to hurt, but sure enough to taste. Mercifully passes his tongue over the teeth marks before biting into it again, until the sting has you arching your back off the bed.

And he never breaks eye contact, which leaves you dumbfounded and flustered to the bone—because where is this confidence coming from? You’re wide-eyed and biting your own teeth in anticipation—this is all new and all the more exciting.

His kisses travel from the lines of your stretch marks up to your sex, where he doesn’t even bother moving the gusset of your knickers, and he just dives in.

Tongue flat against your cunt, drenching the sheer fabric with his spit and your moisture. Your moans are so soft compared to the sloppy mess he’s making of you down there, his insecurity blessed by a sort of beginner’s luck. Or maybe he’s just that hungry, and that is enough for your cunt flutter around nothing anyway.

You’re speechless when he finally lifts himself up, slotting his hips between your kiss-bitten thighs. His cock lands heavy on your pelvis, painting your lower belly with speckles of sheer precum. Head swollen and red right above your belly button.

You look at him wide-eyed, on your back, stock-still—anticipating his next move with your heart rate spiking.

He takes you completely by surprise (once again? In one night? Who is this man?), when he moves your knickers to the side, and instead of plunging in, he slides his cock between your folds and snaps the lace back above it. And then he starts rutting in shameless abandon, holding you steady by your thighs, letting the sheer fabric of your panties cover his tip and half of his shaft, as he runs himself back and forth over the surface of your pussy.

“M’gonna ruin it, sorry.” He croaks, as one of his hands comes to clumsily grab your tits through the lace. “So fuckin’ pretty—fuck—bloody hell, you—”

You coax him to go on with breathless moans because he’s never looked more breathtaking than he does now. Tiny drops of sweat drip from his forehead onto your belly, cheeks flushed and long lashes fanning his cheekbones. His lips yield a grunt each time the lace scratches his shaft. Your breath hitches each time the head of his cock catches your clit.

“Gonna buy ya a new one, yeah?” He grunts, looking down at the wet patch his cock is making through the lace. “Gonna buy ya fuckin’ ten.”

He’s never been this vocal, and you don’t dare to mouth a whisper in case he catches himself in the act. Not even when you cum, a short and stinging orgasm that makes your clit burn at the friction, do you dare to moan. You tilt your head back and shut your eyes, neck corded in the strain to keep it in, flushing with warmth in unbearable silence.

You think you hear his voice crack through the cotton in your ears when you come back down from your high. “Fuck—God, fuck. Wha’ a gift, eh? F’ me. All f’me.”

He pulls back a few moments later, taking his cock out of your panties and into a thick hand. A few pumps, and he cums on your lace, painting your belly and your cunt in glistening white.

He’s panting as his hand languidly comes to a halt. Chest flushed and with a thin layer of sweat over it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, clearly dizzy—as if he needs to apologize for this. “I ruined it. I—just—gonna go grab somethin’ to—to clean y'up, wait 'ere—Jesus Christ.”

He slowly comes to stand, knees popping and legs shaking as he stumbles to the bathroom.

You look down at the spurts of cum covering your stomach and staining the lace of your panties, and then you flop your head back onto the mattress, wide eyes locked to the ceiling.

A chuckle of disbelief escapes you, still in shock from the sudden switch in behavior. And you think, when he comes back with a towel to clean the mess he’s made on your skin, that you might have to take another trip to the shop this weekend—buy yourself a new little piece.

But later, then, he falls asleep with his head on your chest, fingers lazily toying with the lace of your bra (because he’s asked you to keep it on, you know—“Like how 't feels”), and so you move up your shopping a little—already on your phone, running your thumb to skim through pinks and blues, laces and silks.

You might just order a new one right now.

It’s at that moment that he shifts in his sleep, slipping his hand under the band of your lacy bra and curling his fingers around your breast.

You change your mind.

You might just order ten.

[sun-kissy]

balm | bucky barnes

bucky barnes x reader — ★ — wc 1k

summary: bucky finds out that you got a (minor) bruise and didn’t tell him about it

tw: fluff, hurt/comfort, mention of accident and bruise, reader gets a little guilty, bucky gets a little upset

“Hey,” you feel Bucky’s hands on your hips, the soft touch of his lips to your cheek. “Hey, doll. Did you get lovelier over the weekend?”

You try to ignore the stinging sensation where his hand rests against your waist. You turn around to face him, abandoning your task of chopping the vegetables.

“Bucky,” you smile softly, arms going around his neck. He grins and kisses you again. “Hi. I missed you.”

“So did I, pretty girl,” he murmurs, thumbing at the skin underneath the edge of your shirt. He’s gentle as always, but the pain is almost unbearable. You try not to squirm. “There were so many times I almost called. But of course, Sam wouldn’t let me. You know, strictly classified location and all that.”

Bucky had gone on a mission over the weekend, and had just gotten back a couple hours ago. You let yourself into his apartment as soon as you got a text from him.

He’d mentioned craving pasta, so you started making some. The only thing you were trying to think about right now was making him feel loved after what must have been an exhausting few days.

You hum understandingly, turning back towards the kitchen platform and picking up the knife. Your shoulders almost sag with relief when Bucky lets go of your hips and stands beside you.

He eases the knife out of your hands, ignoring your protests. “Seriously, doll, it’s okay. I can do this. Why don’t you get started on the pasta?”

“Fine,” you sigh, moving to make way for your boyfriend to use the chopping board.

Bucky chuckles at your stubbornness. He glances over as you stand on your tiptoes to reach the cupboard above the stove.

One moment, you’re rummaging through the shelf to find pasta, and the next, you feel his strong hands curving around your stomach and pulling you back down.

“Bucky —“

“What —“ Bucky interrupts, spinning you around. His hands find your shirt. “— is that?” He lifts it up, lightly brushing his fingertips over the dark purple lying just above your waistline. You try not to flinch. He notices, his frown deepening.

“It’s a… um… a bruise.”

“I know it’s a bruise, doll,” Bucky sighs. He crouches to get a better look at it, and you feel your muscles tensing up. From the stress or the pain, you’re not sure. “I mean, how did you — when did you get this? How did this happen?”

You swallow. His concern makes your heart squeeze in awful ways. “I, um… I got it today.”

“Today?” his gaze flicks up to yours worriedly as he stands up straight. “How?”

“Well, so you see,” you suck in a breath, “there was this other car which crashed into mine from behind —“

“What?!”

“No! Wait,” you grab his hands desperately, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “It’s not as bad as you think it is, really. Just let me finish.”

You could’ve sworn he was glaring at you, but he kept his mouth shut.

“So, nothing major happened —“ you gulp at his deadpan look, “— really! I just got jerked a little from the impact, and the steering wheel hit me.”

“This hard?”

You confirm it with a nod.

Bucky exhales, fingers finding the rough patch again as he slips his fingers under your shirt. He presses it gently. You wince. “Did you at least get it cleaned up?”

The guilty expression on your face tells him enough. But you still confirm it with a feeble, “no.”

His eyebrows bunch together. “That can’t be good,” he mutters to himself, tugging on the waistband of your shorts to get a better look. “Can you please come to the toilet with me? I think we should disinfect it.”

You’re too overwhelmed with shame to do anything but agree. You let Bucky pull you to the washroom, manoeuvre you with his kind hands to sit on the closed toilet seat. He sits below, first aid kit in his lap.

You know he’s upset, even if he doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t show in the gentle way he wipes a washcloth over the area; the way he rests his chin on your knee as he works.

But it does show when he starts to apply the antiseptic cream. You hiss between clenched teeth, and he seems to have been reminded of the fact that you��re in pain, that you were in pain and you didn’t bother telling him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You don’t reply, opting instead to bite down on your lip. Bucky is quick to reach for your face, gently pulling it free from your assail.

He asks again, softer, like he wasn’t kind enough the first time. It makes you feel like a bitch.

“You just got back, you know,” you mumble. “You’re probably exhausted, and — and sick of me, and…”

“Sick of you?” he interrupts quietly, something akin to confusion on his features. He sounds hurt. “I could never be sick of you, doll. And… and I missed you. You know I missed you.”

Once again, you don’t know what to say. He doesn’t need you to.

“Listen,” he murmurs, tugging your shirt back down, “It’s my job to worry about you, okay? I don’t want you worrying about me worrying about you. Because I want to.”

“Are you sure —“

“I’m sure, lovely girl,” he says, getting up on his knees to kiss you. You bend forwards, feeling his affection soothe over you like a balm.

Bucky pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. “Promise not to hide things like these from me again, okay? I want to care about you.”

“You want to care about me.”

“I do,” he murmurs, smiling slightly at the awe in your tone. “I do, doll. I love you.” He presses a kiss to your nose. “I love you.”

Bucky revels in the beauty of your smile when you say it back, the first real one he got from you all evening. He was glad to be home.

[beloveds-embrace]

I miss designationless reader so here’s a throwaway thought that has indeed been talked about before:

John wasn’t expecting it.

You’d been curled up against him on the couch, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles along your back. It was nothing out of the ordinary- just another evening where he took care of you. He was warm, steady, protective. It was second nature.

And then, with a sleepy sigh, you murmured. “You’re such a good Alpha, John.”

His body locked up. His chest rumbled with a deep, involuntary purr, the praise settling over him like a heavy, addictive drug. His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer as if he could absorb the words into his very being.

“Yeah?” His voice was rough, deeper than usual, tinged with something dark and so very pleased. “That right, love?”

You nodded drowsily, your own eyes closed and unaware of the way his pupils had dilated.

His jaw clenched. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to take a slow breath, to keep his instincts in check. But fuck, hearing that from you- from his scentless darling who didn’t even understand what it meant- was dangerous.

He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling the faintest traces of warmth and home and the nest that clung to your skin. His lips brushed against your temple, voice thick and quiet when he spoke quietly. “That’s right, sweetheart. I’m your Alpha. Always.”

It didn’t end at just John, of course. You had no idea what you were doing to Ghost, either.

He had you pinned against the training mats, his forearm braced beside your head, his weight hovering just enough to keep you trapped without crushing you. Your chest rose and fell in quick little breaths, your limbs trembling from exhaustion after he’d spent the last two hours running you through drills.

He was just about to push himself up, about to offer you a hand and call it a day-

But then you exhaled, all soft and warm beneath him now, and huffed. “You’re such a good Alpha, Simon. And a good sparring partner.”

He froze.

For a full five seconds, he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. A deep, wrecked sound rumbled from his chest, his pupils blown wide. His fingers twitched against the mat, and it took everything in him not to sink down, not to press himself into you and take what his instincts so desperately wanted.

His head dipped, nose brushing against your jaw, and his voice came out hoarse. “Say that again.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted in confusion. “Huh?”

His breath hitched. Fuck. You didn’t even realize.

His body was vibrating, his muscles locked in place as he forced himself to lift away from you, to put space between you before he did something stupid. He barely managed a rough, “Nothing,” before pulling you to your feet and all but shoving you out of the gym.

He needed to calm the fuck down.

And then for Soap, it happened in the middle of a mission.

You were perched on a rooftop with him, lying low as he set up the overwatch position. The others were moving in, and he watched their backs.

His focus was sharp, fingers steady as he adjusted his scope, tracking movement below. He was good at this- at spotting danger before it could reach his pack, at keeping them safe. It was instinct.

And then your voice, quiet, cut through the tense silence. Would his reaction be like Simon and John’s, you wondered?

“You’re such a good Beta, Johnny.”

His breath caught. His hands tightened around the rifle. Heat crawled up the back of his neck, spreading to the tips of his ears, and he had to blink rapidly to keep himself from losing focus.

A slow, giddy grin crept across his face. “Aye, lass? Y’think so?”

You hummed. “Mhm. You always watch out for everyone. It’s nice.”

His chest ached. His heart pounded so hard he was sure the others could hear it through comms. His fingers flexed against the rifle as a shiver ran down his spine.

“Fuck’s sake.” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head with a helpless laugh.

He and his pack were never letting you go.

Lastly- Gaz.

It was late, and the two of you were alone. The others had already gone to bed, but you and Gaz had stayed up, quietly chatting as he helped you patch up a few scrapes from training.

He was careful, his touch gentle as he smoothed ointment over your skin and wrapped the bandages with practiced ease. His brow furrowed in concentration, lips slightly parted as he focused.

You watched him for a moment, something warm blooming in your chest. Maybe…

“You’re such a good Omega, Kyle. Thank you for taking care of me.”

He stilled, much like Ghost had done.

His fingers faltered against your arm, breath hitching sharply. His eyes snapped up to yours, wide and dark, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if trying to decipher whether you meant to say that.

And then, very slowly, a shaky exhale left his lips. His head dipped, his nose brushing against the side of your throat, and a low, satisfied purr rumbled from deep within his chest.

“God,” he groaned, thick and hoarse. “You can’t just say things like that, dove.”

You blinked, hiding your grin. “Why not?”

His grip on your wrist tightened, just a little. He took a slow breath, scenting you out of pure instinct, even though you had no scent to take in. “Because,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, “it makes me wanna keep you all to myself. Come on, up- we are going to the nest.”

Omegaverse masterlist

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ no one has to know what we do ]❜

ft. cho sang-woo x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you lay in bed with your dad’s best friend after a night of passion┊1.3k words

contains: slight smut!! dom sang-woo & sub reader┊age gap (reader is early 20s & sang-woo’s early 40s), (adopted) dad’s best friend trope, purposeful seduction, one-night stands, unprotected piv (don’t do anything the reader does, this is fiction & unrealistic, stay safe), creampie, biting, smoking, 

➤ author's note: i was thinking about this man all night, i’m not kidding, i’m doing it again tongiht too because he’s so fine idc if he’s evil, i wanna fuck him not fix him

it’s nearly four in the morning on another cold winter’s night with nothing but a yellow-tinted bedside lamp illuminating the room, completely silent aside from the rustling of the blanket from your movement. you sigh softly and nestle closer to the man lying flat on his back for more of the addicting warmth radiating off his body, your face nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder and your legs entangling with his. he doesn’t pull away like you expected him to, just takes another drag on his cigarette and ignores you for the most part with the weight of the past few hours— the weight of the sins he committed tonight— pressing into his mind.

you, on the other hand, were all soft smiles and feeling content as if you just crossed off an accomplishment on the top of your bucket list. for a situation that could ruin both of your lives if discovered, it certainly feels blissful and freeing to finally fuck the man you’ve been dreaming about almost religiously ever since you came back home from university for the holidays a week ago. you have no idea how you’ve never met him until now when you’ve heard so much about him, but perhaps it was better that way when your thoughts were less than innocent. 

despite being middle-aged, he was still very handsome with intelligent albeit weary eyes which seemed to hide some sort of darkness to them. you found yourself studying him from afar, noticing him not wearing a wedding ring and making no mention of a family other than his mother, so you quickly made up your mind that you were going to fuck him before going back to school. it’s not like you had anything better to do anyway.

it actually didn’t take much to seduce him surprisingly: accidental eye contact filled with longing, lingering touches when you handed him his chilled cheap beer, careful actions and words to play up your sex appeal— it reminded you that most men are the same even if the stoic cho sang-woo was older and prided himself in his cunning mind, starved for affection with wandering eyes that frequently followed beneath the hem of your skirt. he looked at you behind his glasses with distrust and tried to act indifferent towards you in front of gi-hun, probably already suspicious about your intentions, but you could already see him drinking up your appearance in your cute little outfit as he downed another bottle. this little game was one you knew well and you always won in the end, there has yet to be anyone you wanted who couldn’t resist you and he certainly wasn’t going to be the first.

he stayed the night in the guest bedroom because it was already dark out, your former room which was converted after you moved out (sometimes it was rented out for extra cash), and at the strike of midnight, you knocked on the door and presented yourself to him seeking his comfort for an unspecified reason with slightly teary doe eyes. it was clear that you didn’t disturb him from his slumber and that he was already awake, visibly restless, and maybe even stressed. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what was bothering him so much. he was hesitant to let you in at first, as any good man would, but his resolve crumbled after seeing how beautiful you looked in the dim light (not like it wasn’t already a breeze away from collapsing after the alcohol). it’s surprising what a little silk nightgown can do with the thin straps threatening to slip off your shoulders, the short hem revealing your soft thighs, your perk nipples straining through the thin fabric, and how small and vulnerable you looked shivering in your lack of clothes.

“you shouldn’t be here at this time.”

“are you going to turn me away?”

still, even if it all went according to plan, he’s not in love with you. you don’t think he is anyway. you don’t expect him to be. would you like him to be in love with you? it might put the aching loneliness at ease even if it won’t make it disappear entirely. he’s a man old enough to be your father after all, he’s a man who grew up with your father and considered him to be a close friend. is this how you thank your father for taking you in and sharing what little he had with you? by seducing and sleeping with his best friend? 

in all honestly, though, he certainly fucked like he was in love with you— like you two were the last two souls on this earth. he was a lot more pent up than you anticipated, or a lot more lonely, trusting into you so deeply one would think he was trying to reach your empty heart as you clawed at his back leaving red rivers of scratched skin. you barely even needed any prep for his size with how soaked you were, evident with a wet patch on your underwear which he teased before throwing it to be forgotten on the floor along with all your other clothes. 

it was difficult to keep the sinful sounds of sex to a minimum, skin against skin with moans slipping from your mouth and groans from his. he had to resort to covering your mouth with his large palm to shut you up and bit into your collarbone leaving his mark on you, finally finishing inside of you in his haze before using his fingers to help you reach your orgasm and embarrassing you for once by staring intently at how the mix of your arousals dripped all over his hand.

“when are you leaving for university?”

“why, are you going to miss me when i’m gone?”

“we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“no one has to know what we do,” you giggled, placing a kiss against the corner of his mouth and inhaling the smoke. “i’m old enough to keep a secret.”

those last words made him pause for a second. this was immoral and forbidden. if seong gi-hun were ever to find out, their relationship would be ruined forever and you would be disowned, and he could only imagine the look of betrayal on his face. yet you didn’t seem to care in the least bit about what he would think, gingerly rubbing your thighs together at the feeling of him leaking out of you and touching the area where he bit you. it drew his attention, finally turning to you and admiring the mark sunken into your skin, looking almost proud of it like art on a clean canvas. 

“i don’t want you sleeping with some other stupid boys when you go back.”

“hm, only if you promise that this won��t be the last time and that you also don’t fuck anyone else while i’m gone.”

“you know, i can’t promise that. we were lucky to not get caught this time, but who’s to say there will be a next time?”

“well, then i’ll go back to university and have sex with whoever i want, then you can do the same—”

“oh, shut up,” he scolded, pinching your cheeks to pull you towards him and kissing you possessively as if he could consume you whole by it. you were glad to reciprocate, allowing him to climb back on top of you while your arms wrapped around his neck. “fine, as long as you keep your word.”

he said it like he didn’t really want to continue this, like he was conceding to your demands and was merely tolerating you with better things to do, but the thinly veiled desperate need in his words and actions was clearer than glass to you. not that you minded, it was all working out just how you wanted it to.

[lymtw]

How To Sleep

It's way too early for you to be awake. Five in the morning on your day off... you have to stop doing this to yourself. You know it, but you can't stop, because your body thinks it's funny. It wakes up all on its own and does not allow you to go back to sleep as easily.

The good thing is that never feel alone, as the only one awake, because Toji's presence is immense around you. He's always touching some part of you, keeping you tethered to him in any way he can. This time, he's literally weighing you down with his body. He feels comfortably heavy, like a paperweight holding down the first page of an unfinished love letter. His heated cheek rests on your chest, and you know that if he were awake, he'd say something about the numbness he feels in his arms from you lying on them all night, just as you would tell him about the recurring static you feel in your feet because your legs fell asleep.

You can hear Toji's soft breathing, followed by a funny, almost snore-like sound. You know that if you focus too hard on it, you'll laugh and shake him awake, so you go back to looking straight ahead and thinking about why your body must betray you this way. His hair tickles your skin whenever he stirs in his sleep. It lures you into carefully playing with the soft, dark locks, while you continue to wonder why it's always five in the morning. Neither you, nor Toji have to be up at five in the morning on a daily basis, so, maybe you're just going insane.

"Hm?" A low hum that comes from the man lying on your chest. You deem it a sound of sleep and ignore it, silence returning to the room, until he speaks up. His voice is low and deep enough to make your heart skip a beat. "What's that sigh about, ma? Am I too heavy?"

"No, you're okay. Go back to sleep, baby," you respond, caressing the back of his head and wrapping your other arm around him.

Toji believes you, this time, because you wouldn't do this if you were in pain or uncomfortable. He keeps this in mind and goes back to sleep with ease due to the soothing motions he receives from you—the way you run your fingers through his hair and gently scratch his head, as well as the calming strokes to his back. He's fast asleep in seconds, while you stay awake, wishing you could do the same.

Your hands still on him once his soft snoring returns, luring a smile onto your face. You look out the window, seeing nothing but a sliver of moonlight illuminating the edge of the curtains. You're not scared of the dark, but knowing that Toji is there with you makes lying awake in the almost void-like atmosphere a lot better. You trust that if there is such a thing as monsters under the bed or creepy entities hiding in the closet, they can't get you. They won't get you because of him. He's safety, even in a dormant state, and you don't feel an ounce of fear as you stick to blinking the restless minutes away.

You've been awake for over half an hour, now, just letting time go by and continuing on as Toji's body pillow. Even through the stillness, you had your moments of entertainment. He drooled on your chest and there was the occasional quiet and nonsensical sleep talking—both things that lured hushed breaths of laughs from you. It's endearing to see your hulking man in such a peaceful state. It makes you want to squeeze him with all the strength you have in your body. You know it does nothing to him, but you also know that he likes the feeling of you trying to crush him, the way he crushes you.

Again, you mistake his words for more sleepy mumbling, disregarding them until he makes it more clear that he's talking to you.

"You good, ma?" He rasps, pulling his arms out from under your back.

"Mhm. You okay?" You ask, running your thumb over the corner of his lips to wipe the drool off.

"All good. Hey, let's switch, yeah?" He suggests, peeling himself off of you.

"I'm okay, baby. You can go back to sleep," you assure. "You were keeping me warm," you add, with a soft grin.

"And slobbering on you like a damn dog," he grumbles. He lifts the chest part of your camisole and uses it to wipe up the small patch of saliva that makes your skin glisten. "Come on, let's switch," he insists, already scooting over so that you can get up. With a soft, defeated sigh, you sit up and crawl towards the middle of the bed, allowing Toji to slide into the warm spot you left.

"Come here, mama," he calls, moving the blanket so that you can climb on top of him and he can cover both of you up, after. You're careful as you make your way back, feeling around to make sure that you don't plant your hand into his stomach or his ribs. Once you're laid flat on top of him, with your arms around him and your head resting on his chest, he brings the blanket up until it reaches the center of your back and his arms cover what is left exposed.

"Better, isn't it?" He murmurs, once you stop adjusting and get fully comfortable.

"Different," you respond. "Comfy, but I also like when you turn into my weighted blanket. You're always warm."

"Well, you need to be nice and take turns with me, because as much as I like weighing you down, I also like being able to hold you." His hand cups the nape of your neck, the other one rests on the exposed skin of your back, between your shoulder blades. "You're basically a teddy bear, ma."

You smile at the loving thought, and decide to let him win, this time, because after almost an hour of just being awake, doing nothing but appreciating his company, your eyelids are starting to grow heavy. It's like he put some sort of spell on you. You feel the tiredness seeping into your body, anew, with no difficulty at all. You know that after a few minutes of him stroking your back, he'll be asleep just as quickly as he was when he was lying on you and you will catch up to him in no time, because those slow, gentle motions, are fueling your sleepiness like he's manually rubbing in some sort of remedy that will knock you out.

You don't know when you fell asleep or when Toji stopped rubbing your back or when he fell asleep, again. All you know is that at some point in the continuation of your sleep, he handled you like the teddy bear he said you are. He flipped you both onto your sides and pulled you into his chest.

"Hm?" A dazed, barely conscious hum from you, when you're being adjusted so that your face is pressed against his neck.

"Shh, go back to sleep."

[peachessndreamss]

Weirwood Tree

Summery : While in labour with their second child, Cregan and his wife take s short walk to the Weirwood tree to help get things moving.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings : Pregnancy and childbirth (nothing explicit)

Word count : 3k

A/N : Turns out you never shake being a Stark girl, Ily Cregan so much.

“I’m sorry t’say it, my lady, but your labours have slowed up,” the midwife said softly as she drew the sheets back over Lady Starks bent knees before dipping her hands in a bowl of water. 

“Slowed up?” Lady Stark repeated incredulously, dropping her head back on the feather pillow, “but it's been hours already,” she added, tears burning her eyes. 

The second child of Lord Cregan stark and his lady wife was in no rush to make their way into the world. Despite the frequency and strength of her earlier pains once the midwife and maester had been sent for, everything seemed to have come to an uncomfortable halt.  

The midwife had brought her ancient grandmother along with her, known through Winterfell and the winter town as Auld Joan, she had been a midwife in her own time and had delivered Cregan's father and uncle. She was mostly blind and deaf now but still attended births but spent most of the time sitting as close to a heat source as possible and dispensing wisdom if necessary. She was currently sitting in a chair next to the roaring fire, her ancient hands clasped on her lap, knuckles bulging out of shape and fingers curled like claws. 

“I know it's been a while,” the midwife said soothingly, placing a warm hand on Lady Stark's knee, “but sometimes it's just like this,”. 

“The last one wasn't like this,” Lady Stark grumbled, her mood darkening as she tried to shift around into a more comfortable position. 

“You mustn't compare one with another,” the midwife soothed before touching a cold cloth to the lady's forehead. 

“A walk will geyit moving ,” the old woman wheezed from her seat by the fire, “no’ this lying about,”. 

The maester, who had been mostly disinterested in proceedings up until this point shot the old woman a dark look, he was standing in the far corner of the room, a leather case of vicious metal tools clutched jealously to his chest. His grey robes matched his grey and sickly looking skin. He wasn't particularly interested in births or deaths or the everyday ailments of life and resented being summoned to the birthing room of any woman. 

“This position is agreed upon as being the correct way for labouring mothers,” he said coldly in a clipped southern accent. 

“Agreed by men who know nothing about it,” the crone grumbled. 

“What does she mean?” Lady Stark asked the midwife who was now gently feeling the swell of the lady's belly. 

“Baby's not quite in righ’ place, that's why things have slowed,” she explained as she pressed on the left side of the belly, Lady Stark winced, “but grandmother thinks a little walk might get things moving again,”. 

The midwife glanced over at her grandmother who had closed her eyes and was now looking peaceful in the flickering light of the fire, she looked back at her lady and dabbed the cloth over her cheeks before putting it back beside the bowl of cold water. 

“What do you think?”Lady Stark asked. 

She shrugged, making a point not to look towards the maester before replying. 

“It helped me with mine, and it wouldn't do you any harm,”. 

The maester opened his mouth to disagree and lady stark held up her hand to silence him. 

“Just walking through the keep, out into the godswood for the fresh air should do it,” the midwife continued. 

The lady nodded and lifted herself up onto her elbows, she addressed the maester, privately enjoying ordering the sour faced man about. 

“Lord Cregan is outside the door, fetch him in,” she said. 

Cregan Stark had paced the halls outside of his wife's rooms since he'd been asked to leave them several hours before. While he wasn't accustomed to being removed from parts of his own castle he respected that father's, even lords, were not expected to be present at the births of their children,so he was surprised to hear the door opening when he was fairly certain nothing much had happened yet. 

“My Lord?” The voice of the maester echoed off the walls as the lord strode into view, “your wife would like to see you,”. 

He nodded, his face stern as he stepped past the man and into the warm, dark room. 

“Seven Hells,” he murmured as he pulled at the collar of his shirt, instantly feeling the heat of the room rolling over him like a wave, sweat breaking out on his forehead and upper lip. 

As he looked around the room he was surprised to see the midwife helping his wife into her fur boots, a long, heavy cloak already covering her shoulders. 

“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

She turned her flushed face to him and smiled. 

“Yes, we're going for a walk,”. 

Cregan’s brows rose but he nodded without further comment, knowing better than to ask questions.  He watched nervously as the midwife helped his wife to her feet, ready to spring forward at any moment if it looked like Lady Stark might lose her balance. 

Once he was happy she was safely on her feet, Cregan stepped towards them, offering his arm to his wife, who took a small step and linked her arm through his. 

“Twice around the godswood’ll do it,” Auld Joan spoke from the chair, she opened one ancient eye that could just be seen through the folds of skin that made up her face. 

“Or as far as you need’t,” the midwife added, her eyes flicking towards the maester. 

From the darkest corner of the room the maester muttered under his breath “foolishness” but no one else could hear him or pay him a moment's more attention. 

As the Lord and Lady of Winterfell stepped out of the stifling room and into the cooler corridor of the keep they both gave a sigh of relief. As they walked they instinctively drew closer to one another. Finding comfort and strength in each other's presence. 

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Cregan said as they stepped through the door of the keep and into the much colder air of the inner bailey. The ground was a mess of mud, straw, snow and grey brown slush that cracked and crunched under their boots. 

“Yes,” she agreed, her hand tightening on his arm as her foot slipped a little on a patch of hidden ice, “Auld Joan felt this would be the best way to get things moving again,”. 

Cregan nodded, “She's seen a fair few babes born in her time, she knows what she's talking about,” he paused and took a deep breath of cold air, “I think she might have even delivered my grandfather,”. 

“Surely not!” She exclaimed, looking up at her husband's handsome profile, “that would make her more than a hundred years old,”. 

“I've heard of stranger things in these parts,” Cregan said with a shrug. 

They walked quietly together, moving slowly and carefully through the slush.

“Not as easy as last time then?” He asked as they made their way past the archery butts where the young men of the household were practising and past the stables with their snorting horses and young boys shovelling straw. 

“No, this one seems to have an obstinate Stark streak in them already,” she replied with a soft laugh that sounded like music to Cregan's ears. 

“I seem to recall your own family are known for their stubbornness so I won't be taking all the responsibility for that,”. 

“Pigheadedness, I believe my father called it,” she replied with a laugh, Cregan gave his own snort of laughter. 

“Your father certainly has a way with words,” he agreed. Recalling a few choice phrases her father had used for him during their courtship. 

As the pair crossed into the godswood the sounds of the keep and the town beyond the walls seemed to fade away and they became the only two people in the world. The ground was covered in a dusting of snow which had frozen overnight and now crunched under foot. From the dark canopy of the trees small birds sang between themselves and bounced from branch to branch, leaves rusting and falling to the ground in their wake. 

“Aly is worried we won't have enough time for her when the baby arrives,” Lady Stark said as they passed under the first dark boughs, “she kept asking me if we were going to send her away when I was putting her to bed last night,”. 

“She's a sensitive soul,” Cregan replied with a soft laugh, his mind wandering to the little girl who was at that moment playing in the same nursery he played in as a child, waiting for his own younger sibling to be born. 

“I dread the day we do need to send her away,” she lamented, drawing her body even closer to his in the cold air. Her free hand resting low on the swell of her belly. 

“We've many years before that day, my love,” he soothed, “and perhaps many more babes to fill our home,”. 

Lady Stark laughed softly, feeling the dull ache of her labours growing in strength as they followed the well known path through the trees.

“You are insatiable, always wanting more,” she said softly and Cregan laughed. 

They had been married 6 years and now were as comfortable with one another as any married couple could expect to be. Having been friends before they’re union had made things easier but the months after Cregan’s return from war had tested them to their limits. The time spent apart had been long and difficult for the both of them, when Cregan had left he was already old beyond his years but on his return he was darker and colder than the longest winter night. He’d forgotten laughter, softness and gentleness and his first few months back in Winterfell had been fraught as the two learned to live with one another again and find their way back to the happiness they’d briefly shared before the dragons tore the realm apart. 

The followed a well trodden path through the woods, her arm wrapped tightly through his and his hand resting over hers, warm and solid. As they walked, Cregan listened to her breathing, noticing every change to her breath and hitch in her voice. He was ready to take her in his arms at any moment to rush her back to the midwife if was necessary. 

They turned a corner in the path and were now on course to the weirwood tree, its ancient face seemed to watch their approach and its blood red leaves reflected in the black water at its roots. 

Suddenly Lady Stark stopped, her free hand going to her belly with a sharp intake of breath, she groaned, her teeth biting into her top lip as a strong contraction wracked her body. Cregan tightened his hold on her, fear gripping at his heart and twisting his stomach. 

After a few seconds of pain her face relaxed and her eyes opened, her cheeks were flushed with colour and despite the cold there was sweat at her hair line. 

“I think this might be working,” she said with a small smile, “or perhaps the baby can feel the tree,” she added, glancing toward the weirwood. 

“A good Stark then,” Cregan replied, forcing a lightness in his voice he didn’t feel. 

She stepped toward the tree and he followed her closely, never letting her more than an arm's reach from him. Once close enough she placed her hands on the tree, feeling the rough bark rasp against her skin. 

“Do you think the old kings of the north were born under this tree?” she asked, turning her face up as a shaft of wintery sunlight broke through the dense leaf cover, “snow and leaves for their midwife?”.

Cregan raised his eyebrow in thought for a moment before replying. 

“They were certainly conceived under it,” he smiled.   

“Yes, I remember the stories,” she agreed, turning to look at her husband and seeing the playful glimmer in his eyes. 

During the long months of the war she’d found comfort in the thousands of books in the Winterfell library, starting with the histories of the North going all the way back to the first men and how those ancient kings of the North did everything important in their lives in sight of a weirwood tree, they were born, married, made oaths and died as close to the trees as they possibly could. The histories had included stories of rituals the ancient peoples had contrived to conceive their children under the boughs of the weirwood trees, they believed these children would have the gifts of prophecy or live impossibly long lives because the powers of the tree flowed through them. 

“Perhaps, when you’re healed, we should try it ourselves,” Cregan teased. 

“When this one is delivered I’ll let you know if you’ll be welcome in my bed again,” she replied with a sly smile, before adding “my lord,”. 

Cregan gave a bark-like laugh, stepping closer to her and slipping his arm over her lower back and around her waist. She turned to face him, moving her hands from the ancient and cold bark of the tree to the living warmth of his shoulders, she studied his features before taking a deep breath and letting her forehead press against his. Another contraction wracked her body, she groaned and gripped tightly at the fur and wool of his cloak, taking strength from his body into her own. 

“I think we need to go back,” she said softly, their foreheads still pressed together. 

“I think so,” he agreed without hesitation.

Keeping his arm wrapped around her waist the two of them turned, she leaned heavily on Cregan as they completed the loop around the godswood and headed back through the castle courtyard. The space now almost completely empty as most of the household had been summoned for the midday meal. 

The progress was slow but they soon made it back to Lady Stark’s chambers, the room was cooler now, the windows had been thrown open but the coverings drawn across them to keep the room dark. The two women were sitting by the fire, talking quietly while the maester was still standing in the corner of the room, glaring. 

The midwife jumped to her feet and took Lady Stark’s arm, allowing her to slip from Cregan’s hold and move toward the bed. 

“How are you feeling my lady?” the midwife asked softly. 

“It helped, the pains are coming much more quickly now,” the lady replied. 

“Baby will be here soon,” the midwife agreed, “perhaps before the noon meal is over,”

Lady Stark glanced over her shoulder at her husband pausing by the door. His broad shoulders blocked out almost all of the hallway behind him.

“I want you to stay,” she said softly as she was helped back onto the bed. 

He smiled but shook his head. 

“This is not my place” he said softly, as he felt a burning sensation at the back of his throat and in his eyes as he fought the sudden overwhelm of emotions. 

“Thank you, my lord,” the old crone said from her seat, “we’ll take care of them,”.

Cregan nodded, knowing well enough when he was being asked to leave, he gave his wife a final look before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind himself and resuming his pacing. He wondered if his own father had paced nervously or if he had taken to the woods to hunt until the deed was over with and the child was cleaned and neatly wrapped in a blanket. He couldn’t imagine being any further than the castle gate while Lady Stark laboured. 

As the midwife predicted the midday meal hadn’t finished before there was the high pitched, squalling cry of a newborn that caused Cregan to stop in his tracks and lean heavily against the wall of the hallway, his hand clutching at his heart that was beating fast enough to burst. 

The door to the chambers opened and the midwife stepped out, a smile on her face as she saw her lord in a moment of unguarded emotion. 

 “A son, my lord, hale and hearty and with plenty to say for himself,” she said, the sounds of the crying child still coming clearly from the room behind her. 

“God's be praised,” Cregan said, his voice cracking with emotion. 

“Come meet him,”. 

Cregan felt his knees turn to water when he stepped into Lady Stark's rooms, the sight of his beloved wife cradling a squalling newborn was a joy that pierced his heart like an arrow. 

“Your son, my lord” she said with a tired smile, turning the bundle just enough for Cregan to be able to see the child's face. 

He stooped and took the child, cradling him close to his chest, for a few seconds the child stopped wailing, his blue eyes opening wide and taking in his first sight of his father. The two of them looked at each other for a few seconds, Cregan's own eyes filling with tears. One hot tear was about to track down Cregan's face when the baby in his arms screwed his eyes shut, opened his mouth and started to howl, his cries even more desperate than before. 

Lady Stark laughed from her seat on the bed, holding her arms out to take the child back. 

“Give him back, you're upsetting our son,” she said, grinning at Cregan who jealously clung onto the child, rocking him gently and trying to sooth the screaming babe. 

“Sorry my boy,” Cregan said softly, “but you'll just have to get used to me,”.

[xlatrina]

Show Me

Tags: 16(+)* (*Minor kissing, nothing crazy fr), Gender Neutral Reader (despite canon), Words of Affirmation/Sweet Talk, basically fluff

Not proofread so… hopefully no typos or clunky sentences anywhere lol. Mr. Crawling is being “high-maintenance,” as always, lol. After playing this game for HOURS, I just couldn’t help but crave more content. Buuuutt, given that the game is more or less finished (as far as I understand), I simply had no other choice but to do as writers who play VNs do and WRITE. This is my first “Canon x Reader” fic (well, formally, at least) too, so… please be kind 😅 Anywho, enjoy!

$$$ $$$ $$$

Mr. Crawling leaps into your arms with such speed that the bed smacks into the wall. A shake travels through the room, jostling the single photo hanging from the gray, textured surface. His hair falls against your skin, the bed sinking in a bit as you feel his body drag over your own. Every breath that reaches your face is cool, no thanks to the room you’re in.

“I enjoy you,” He chirps. His head comes to rest in the crook of your neck. The smell of metal fills your nose, and you scowl for a moment before your face relaxes. It’s a smell you'll simply have to get used to, especially now that you’ve promised to be his.

His body ever so slightly warms yours, though the blankets do more of the work. “I enjoy you,” he says again. “You enjoy me?”

“I enjoy you, Mr. Crawling.” You loosely run a hand through his dark hair. Surprisingly, your fingers only get caught about twice, and the small knots aren’t too hard to pull apart.

“You lots enjoy me?” Suddenly, the cold draft flying through hits your neck as Mr. Crawling lifts his head. Though, you never see his eyes: only the growing festers that conveniently disappear right at his bangs. He tenses in your arms, and you’d think the air froze him or something if it weren’t for his soft, whistling breaths. Mustering up a little smile, you cup his face with your hands.

“I lots enjoy you.” He giggles like a little schoolgirl, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Show!” He shouts.

“Huh?”

“I enjoy you, you enjoy me. Am happy lots you come here. I lots enjoy you being together me. You say you lots enjoy me, Ϛօ show!” He bursts each sentence out right after the other, and the bed squeaks from his shifting body as his arms reach around your torso. Show… Ah, that’s what he meant. He wants you to prove it.

For a moment, you frown. How exactly were you supposed to “prove” something like that?

Noticing your face, Mr. Crawling frowns as well. “You ok? No want to do?”

You shake your head and smile reassuringly. “I want to do. I can show you.” This shouldn’t be too hard. In fact, it’ll be easy… so long as Mr. Crawling doesn’t decide to use those sharp teeth of his.

Pulling him forward by his face, you two stare at each other. You focus on Mr. Crawling —first, his gaze, somewhere behind that curtain of hair, and then his lips. They’re ever so slightly purple, just like his cheeks that have become a little warmer while pressed against your palms.

Your eyelids lower as your lips graze his, the small sensation alone sending a shock throughout your body. Is Mr. Crawling feeling the same way? He’s tense all over again. “You ok?” You ask.

Quietly, he responds, “Am ok.”

You close your eyes, breathing in that slightly metallic smell. You exhale, and then pull Mr. Crawling firmly into your kiss. He remains stiff for a while until a muffled sound escapes him. His arms wrap around you tighter. He finally allows his body to fall limp against yours, and just as this happens, you pull back. A little smack bounces through the room. Lying upon your chest, Mr. Crawling drags himself a little closer to your face. Seizing the opportunity, one hand reaches to brush across his hair and the other remains on his cheek. Your thumb rubs against his face in slow, winding circles. Then, you pull his face even closer, catching him into a trap as you lock lips again. Both of you hum contentedly, the sound only accompanied by smacks and the fluorescent light buzzing above. Suckling his bottom lip, you tease him with a strong pull. He sighs into your kiss, and when you finally free him, he chases you.

“… Finished?” He asks. He seems to be pouting a little, already missing the sensation.

“Finished. You now know I enjoy you?” You ask. More or less: do you believe me now?

Mr. Crawling pauses, and then he giggles —much louder than before! He plops his head into the crook of your neck again.

“I know now,” he says. You bring your hand up to join the other in stroking his hair.

The two of you lie together this way for a while, enjoying the silence and the closeness. That is, until you eventually fall asleep and Mr. Crawling leaves your embrace to watch from afar.

[darnell-la]

perchance..dry humping with logan….pretty please with all the cherries on top

𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡 '𝗘𝗠 𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬

summary: Logan had just became apart of the x men. he’s always been known to flirt with whoever he could, but when y/n came around, he realized she was the only one he wanted to smell like.

warnings: up late, public humping, embarrassed, kissing, submission, dominance, dry orgasm, love confession, etc.

note: we kind of want to write a submissive!logan… tell us what y’all think.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

“Whatcha doin’ down here, bub? It’s like three in the mornin,” Logan made his way into the kitchen. Y/n had jumped from the man’s voice. She wasn’t expecting anyone down here. She wasn’t expecting him down here.

“God — I-I’m just listening to music,” y/n placed her phone down and took her headphones out. She was lying and somehow, Logan knew that. The way she slammed her phone — He couldn’t hold back his smirk.

“Are you sure that’s what you’re up to?” Logan asked as he sat next to y/n with his eyes on her phone. “Yes, I was-“ she tried to lie but she was cut off when Logan snatched her phone.

“Hey!” She yelled and whispered at the man, praying her phone was locked, but it wasn’t. Shit. “Let’s see what we have here,” Logan leaned back in his chair as he clicked the video he assumed she was just watching.

“Why are you watching us train?” Logan asked, already finding whatever she was doing boring. “You’re not even in the video,” he laughed, trying to figure out what it was that she was looking at until he noticed the video was cropped.

It was cropped to show him closer. The man skipped the video and noticed it was almost an hour long of him fighting.

The smirk that grew on his face, raised y/n’s heart rate. She was caught and she had nothing to back her up.

“Now, what made you do this, bub?” Logan slid her phone across the table for her to look at. “If I’m not mistaken, that looks like me — for an hour,” he pointed at himself fight training.

“I-I can't explain,” she said low, so embarrassed that she got caught. How could she get caught? She knew she should’ve stayed in her room.

“I don’t think there’s much to explain, princess. Seems you get off by watching me fight,” Logan was now hunching over, looking at her with his sweet and soft eyes.

She couldn’t look at him. She swore she would pass out if she did.

“You like watching me fight?” Logan asked y/n, a right hand softly touching her thigh. He’s been teasing her ever since he got here. Tonight was the first time he touched her. She was going inside on the inside.

“I know you do, you wanna know why?” He asked, hands getting higher until he stopped under her nightgown. His fingers were grazing her panties. Y/n looked up at the older boy, eyes shy.

“Because I can smell that pretty cunt leak,” his voice was sweet, yet dark. “And you’re always like that. It’s hard walking past you because you’re always so damn wet,” he tease as he rubbed on her clothes heat.

“Logan,” she whispered, not knowing if she wanted him to do this. They’re in the kitchen, so anyone could come down here and see how flustered she is from the way he’s talking and touching her.

“C’mere, bub,” Logan pulled away before patting his lap. Y/n was confused at first, but got the idea and did was she was told. She got up and went to sit, back facing him until he turned her around to sit, facing him.

As soon as she sat down, she felt how hard he was. It felt like actual metal, but she knew a human cock had no bone — So why is he this hard?

“You feel that, princess? Got me like this as soon as I walked in,” he said, making his cock throb through his pajamas. “I-I don’t know if we can do this,” y/n spoke. She’s never been a submissive kind, but he brought it out of her.

“Why not? I’ve liked you ever since I got here. Had to work weeks to make you nervous,” Logan’s hands traveled from her back, down to her ass to grip and pull at.

“We’re in the kitchen, Logan. A-And I don’t think the girls that you talk to will-“ she went to say but he cut her off quickly. “Ah uh — I don’t talk to anyone, bub. They talk to me,” he corrected her.

“I’ve been workin’ hard to impress you. No one else. Who gives a shit if they want me. I don’t want them,” Logan lifted his hand to cup her chin.

“Are you okay with that?” He asked, now using his hand that was on her ass to move her, making her grind on his clothes cock.

The whine that left her mouth, made Logan’s heart skip a beat. She sounds so beautiful.

“C’mon, baby, tell me — Tell me you’re okay with being my pretty girl,” he said, slowly moving his own hips. He kept asking her, wanting her to reply as her mind fogged up.

“O-Okay,” her head fell onto his shoulder. Logan lifted the girl's head back up only to lean in and suck on her neck. He wanted to make sure she knew he was going to claim her.

“Lo,” y/n moaned, now moving her own hips, feeling her cunt throb on him. She was getting hot and her stomach felt funny. Kind of when she masturbated but better.

She’s never grinned at someone, but this felt so good. This felt amazing.

“Always lookin’ so pretty, baby,” Logan said as his hands lifted her nightgown up so he could touch and feel her skin. “T-Thank you,” she stuttered as she looked into the man’s eyes.

Y/n was the first to lean in and taste Logan. He was sweet. He already knew she was sweet, but finding it out for himself was the best feeling.

Y/n’s hips began to speed up as her moans got a bit louder. Logan knew she was near. He couldn’t help but smirk on her lips. She was falling apart right on top of him.

“C-Cumming,” the word was barely heard from the low she was. Her moan was broken as she shook. She’s never had her cunt throb this hard before. She couldn’t stop it.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groaned under his breath as his hips bucked. He swear he wouldn’t cum in his pants. He’s not one of those, but tonight — he was different. Y/n felt wetness grow under him, and she knew it wasn’t her.

She was confused until she looked at the man in front of her. His breathing stuttered, his body twitched and his shaky arm was holding her back into him so she’d be closer to him.

“O-Oh my god, baby — Fuck,” the man caught his breath and calmed down from his high. In his mind, he thought she was emasculated, but when he looked at her needy eyes, he knew she still felt submissive.

“You’re so good, baby,” Logan gave her a peck. “I think I’m in love,” he joked, but they could both tell he wasn’t joking. “I know I am,” y/n said as her hands rested on his shoulders.

Logan felt relief before he smashed his lips on hers, making out with her roughly but softly at the same time. He eventually took her up to his room, not being able to hold back and tell her how he was going to move everything from her room into his.

He didn’t think he wanted her this bad, but after tonight — After she showed how much she liked him back, he needed to keep her around him at all costs. He was in love and she was too.

[rqnarok]

MOTIVE | dark!old man!logan x fem!reader

summary: strangers-with-benefits!old man!logan punishes you out of his jealousy.

— sequel to bed chem but could be read as a standalone!

content warnings/tags: smut! mdni. porn with little plot. old man!logan. unspecified age gap. dom!logan. sub!reader. possessive & jealous logan. pet names (kid, kiddo, little girl, etc). unprotected p in v. power dynamics. cnc. heavy breeding kink. barely proofread. wc: 2,6k 

You didn’t think Logan would care—or notice, even. 

This thing between you and him has been going on for months now. He picks you up from the diner you’re working at, drives you home (his house), then fucks you stupid throughout the after-hours. 

The sex is everything you have craved for, really, “Ya’ need a real man to do this shit, huh?” A real man who does all the work and stuffs you up with his cock until you’re only speaking in high-pitched whines.

But aside from that fact, something is missing. Something your big heart always had craved, something he failed to fill.

The lack of attention and affection.

Outside intercourses, he barely talks to you. He departs from the bed after every time you fall asleep—or when he thinks that you’re already asleep. Sometimes, he takes you back to your house in the morning, sometimes he just leaves you in his vacant residence. 

All bare and worn out.

You’d rest your head on his chest in the dim room, drawing shapes on his naked skin, “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.” 

The tips of his fingers subtly stroke the crown of your head, a light touch you can barely feel, “Go t’sleep, kid.”  

It’s too unstable and lacks consistency.

That is when you start talking, well specifically, messaging, a friend of a friend, someone around your age. You are not even attracted to him but he’s nice. He gives you attention and affection you hardly even register. But hey, you just want your big heart loaded up. No one can ever blame you.

What you didn’t know is that Logan notices everything. He notices how you start to sleep more later than usual, playing with your phone for a while. How your lips curve upwards at the glowy screen when you thought that he already left the room. Making him utter a question into the cold air, “What’re you lookin’ at?” 

Strangled, your phone falls into the sheets that cover your bare form, “N-nothing, really. Just texting my girlfriends.”

And Logan knows you’re fuckin’ lying right to his face. Because he remembers you told him one time in the beginning: “Sometimes I feel lonely at night. None of my friends are a night owl like me, y’know?” He fuckin’ remembers it all. 

On a random Friday, he decided he had known enough. He drives his way to your diner and there you are. Sitting too close to his liking with some fuckin’ boy; the way those giggles left your lips makes his stomach turn. 

You didn’t know that he was sitting in his car the whole time because he never visited you on a Friday night: “Gotta do somethin’” 

But there he was, gripping the steering wheel too tightly his knuckles turned white. Muttering curse after curse under his heavy breath. Playing over the last few weeks and trying to find what went sideways. But something always went sideways with him. 

He had hoped you would understand that his aloofness was merely a product of his scars and the long life he had lived. But now, seeing you in your apron whilst smiling at another man and pouring Logan's favorite black coffee—he wished he hadn’t been so cold towards you. 

What would he do without you? What would he do if you decided that you didn’t want some old man n’picked that boy? He shakes his head lightly, no, Logan needs you. 

The thought of you leaving him makes him fucking sick and he decided to do something ‘bout it.  

By something, he means having you on his bed, naked and splayed bare in front of him as he laps up and down your dripping pussy. 

“Pussy loves me so much, huh?” Logan murmurs as he squeezes your thighs that clamped around his neck, making you hum a mhmm to the pillow beside you.

Logan’s thick fingers eagerly stroke your clit while he continues licking your folds, earning soft mewls as your head tilts back in pleasure, “Ah- ‘M so close..!” 

“Doin’ so good for your old man.” You’re moaning and gripping his greying hair while you squirm on the sheets, rolling your hips down on his face.

You were so so so close to getting your orgasm before he abruptly pulled away and stood back up on his feet. Taking you by surprise. Delaying you. 

“W-what?”  Your head is still overflowing with your high when you watch him drape his way into the nearest armchair and put on his glasses as he reaches for today’s newspaper. As if he didn’t just have his tongue deep inside you a minute ago. 

Just as you try to catch your breath, you slowly get up in a sitting position to gape at him with your flushed cheeks and aroused body. You were so close and you need him back now. 

After a minute, you begin to notice how he grips the newsprint too tensely, how his brows furrowed and his nose wrinkled, how he keeps clenching his jaw on repeat, and how he looks furious and grumpy.

Something’s up. 

“L-Logan?” You call out to him. He clenched his jaw one more time until he could not contain his anger anymore. 

He takes off his glasses in a harsh tug and stares directly at you, “Are you fuckin’ him?” 

The way he looks at you sends electricity into your core, you feel like a deer caught in a headlight, “W-wha—who are you talking about?”

When he gets up from his seat, you can see the bulge on his pants, his stare still burning into you as if a predator catching its prey, “Fuck. That fuckin’ boy from the diner. Did ya’ let him touch what’s mine?” 

Oh. 

Oh.

He’s talking about your ‘friend of a friend’. How did he find that out? You began to wonder in silence. 

You gulp as he gets closer and closer into the bed, making you push your back onto the headboard subconsciously, “Oh- no, no, he— he’s just a friend, Logan.”

He isn’t satisfied with that answer, you know this because the bed squeaks out a creaking sound when he gets his whole weight on the bed, latching and trapping you, “Ya’ thought about leaving me, kiddo?” He rumbles as he squishes your face cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, looking at you sternly as if he’s scolding a misbehaved child, “Thought about leavin’ your old man?”

“N-no!  Never!—” You’re being honest! You would never leave him…you just needed a little more. By sensing his rage that radiates the entire room, you try your best to stare back at him with your doe-eyes, a look that never fails to weaken down his knees.

Then, you build up the courage to cradle his face with your soft palms and stroke his beard, focusing on the greying parts. “Just a friend, Logan. ‘Would never leave you.” Your voice comes out as a whisper but it successfully eases him down. You can hear his breath steadying after a while. 

He closes his eyes as he lurks forward towards you, greedily locking his lips onto yours, “Was so fuckin’ mad.” As he pulls away to mumble, you keep pampering kisses on his face—to assure him that you do want him and him only. 

He pulls down his pants and lets his cock spring free to his stomach. A sight of pre-cum on his heavy tip and the grith of his fat cock makes you cry out. 

Logan trails his hands from your face down and down until he reaches your pussy. It’s still as wet as he delayed it a few moments ago. His calloused finger probes at your entrance, making you whimper into his mouth. 

“This is all f’me, little girl?” He keeps teasing your folds in one hand while pinching your peaking nipples with his other hand. All while still looking at you oh, so hungrily. 

“Y-yes! All for you. No one else—” You fail to finish your sentence when he enters one finger into your heat, placing kisses on your collarbones and mumbling mhmm onto your skin.

You can’t hold it anymore since he delayed your orgasm earlier—you’d do anything, “Pleasepleaseplease, need’a cum, please!” 

The squelching sound of his finger moving in and out, in and out of your cunt didn’t help either. You’re staring at him lust-filled and dumbfounded; you wish he could just read your mind.

“Such a pretty pussy, baby.” He removes his finger and brings it to his mouth, swirling it around his tongue to savor you, “Tastes so sweet too.” 

“Where d’ya want me?”

You whimper pathetically at his words while making grabby hands at him. “I-inside, pleasepleas—” At this point, you don’t even know what you’re begging for.

In fact, you don’t even know anything…

“Don’t got any rubber, kid. Can’t fuck you, y’know?” Logan is fucking a liar. He threw all the condoms he had into the trash bin this morning for this sole purpose. You mumbles a small ‘wha’ into his face because he delays you over and over just for him to delay you again? 

No, no, no—you gotta have him now. 

You look at him like he’s the only man - like nothing matters but him and he’s making you furrow your brows in sadness, in desperation. 

So then,

“I-it’s okay… you can- still-if you want to. I’ll let you.” 

Bingo. 

Just how Logan wants this to go. Because again, out of your awareness, this is how Logan punishes you. For making him so jealous he can barely get any sleep, for pulling away from him the entire week that he can only jerk his cock off to your pink ribboned panties (the one that you left on his house), and for making him think about you every second he’s awake because you’re his air.

He was so fucking pissed—but now, he feels that he had won already. 

“Mhm, no can do, princess. Don’t wan’ you to regret it.” Your face fell into disappointment, can’t he see how much you want this? How much you need him? “‘S alright, yeah?” He says and earns a whiny protest from you. 

Tears begin to build up in your eyes as you stutter over your words. All you’ve got is sobs because you’re so overwhelmed by everything that’s happened tonight. You can only call out his name, trying to get his attention and affection. 

“Logan.” You’re squirming on the bed, wrapping your legs around his hips, pressing his body against yours— making him pull an indifferent look to continue on his act.  

“Next time, alright, kiddo?” He kisses the tip of your nose as a decoy. 

“N-no! Now! Please, Logan. Now, please—” You move your hips upwards and make his tip kiss your wetness. He begins to lose his composure when you wrap your small fingers around his cock. Logan grunts and lurches forward because he’s just an old man who needs you. There’s little he can do.

“Wan’ you inside…” You whisper breathlessly as you move your hands up and down on him the way he loves it, “‘S okay, Dada, I promise.” Your thumb swirls around his cockhead before bringing him closer and closer to where you want him until the tip pushes inside your aching folds, “‘Just pull out, okay?” 

Logan grins at you, showing his wrinkles. Oh, he won’t pull out. He knows he won’t. 

This is the climax of his ‘punishment’. Yes, he’s a bad man, the worst kind of man. But this is his only way to keep you, don’t you see? To make sure you won’t leave him, to make sure shit like yesterday won’t happen again. 

He bumps his nose into yours and kisses your forehead, “Y’sure, baby?” 

And you just let out a ‘yes’ because you just need him so so so badly. He nudges forward, in in in, until he’s buried inside of you—then he kisses your lips again. It’s so hot because he has never fucked you like this before, so raw and deep. After feeling your velvety walls, he knows he will never let you go. 

He starts a cruel pace and jolts you; your cute tits jiggle every time he thrusts inside—he’s sure that you’re made for him, to be with him. Put on this place to be his pretty baby and to have his baby. 

“Ya’ll let that boy do this to ya? Mm?” You shake your head rapidly at his question, hoping he’ll understand. And he does. “T-Tha’ right. Pussy’s glad to see me - loves me.” 

Your eyes squeezed so tight but he can’t stop, not when you’re squelching ‘round him and gripping him as if he’d disappear, “My good little girl - fuck - fuckin’ love you.” He confessed while burying his face on your neck and the only thing he has on his mind is puttin’ a baby in you.

It’s the truth: he loves you. More than anything–more than himself. He just doesn’t know how to show it in a normal way.

He thrusts and thrusts and thrusts—your moan gets louder and louder and louder. Logan takes your hands, interlinking your fingers together and kissing your knuckles.

You make these pathetic little noises, ah ah ahs, and he knows you’re close. Now is the time to do his final act, “Y’know why it feels so good, kid? 

He touching you everywhere: pinching your nipples and holding you by your throat,  “‘S ‘cause you’re fucking a real man, baby.”

“Y-yeah! Jus’ need a man—need you—” Logan nearly cums right there and then when he sees how tears stream down your cheeks as you look up at him in pure admiration—like you worship him. Again, just the way he wanted it.

Your shaky voice as a newborn fawn reminds him what he’s here for, what his punishment is to you.

“F-fuck. Gonna pull out soon, darlin’”

What? It’s too soon for you and your vice grip somehow manages to get stronger around him. He can barely withdraw before you squeeze your walls so deliciously and wrap your legs tighter; ankles locking his hips onto yours.  

“N-no! Don’t- don’t go anywhere— Staystaysta—” Logan sighs in relief. You ate up all his acts. It’s working. 

His palms move to your waist to work himself deeper in you, hitting that gummy spot that he knows will make you sob.

“Wha’dya mean no? Logan asks, “D-don’t wanna knock you up, kiddo.” Oh, but he does! He does. He does. “Gotta pull out. You don’t want that, ‘kay?” 

“I-I do! I do.” You finally plead to him with your soft voice. “I wan’ it..” 

Logan can’t last any second longer but it’s okay because you’re so close to getting to where he wants you.

He snarls a ‘Fuck’ under his breath and, “Gonna get ya’ pregnant, sweets.” His mouth gets to your neck and starts leaving dark bruises on your silky skin, “S’that what you want? My baby, hm?” 

“Yeah.” You squeak up while meeting down his thrusts, “Yeahyeahyea—gimme a baby.” You continue your mindless babble, your brain is empty except for the thoughts of him. “Fill me up, fill me up…” It’s becoming a plea. 

“I’ll fill you up, sweet girl.”

And he’s gone. Lips latching onto yours as you both reach ecstasy. Logan fucks you through it—fucks his seed so deep in you so it fuckin’ takes.

He wished he’d feel guilty as a sick old man for ruining you and your life—but here you are, milking him for all he’s got and telling him that you love him too.

You’re gorgeously unaware that he’s punishing you the entire time; you’re too fucked up when he’s spilling warm ropes of his cum on your walls. He pulls out slowly, staring at the white strings that gush out of your wet hole before plugging himself to make sure it takes.

Logan thinks everything’s fine because he’s got his assurance:  that you’re never going to leave him—that now you’re fully his—and that he has won. 

[igorluvr]

Can you do some with nam gyu?

‘ HERE WITH ME

PAIRING: nam-gyu x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: when you enter the Squid Games, you encounter a particular group of people, and to your surprise, one of them takes a special liking to you.

CONTENT: heavyyyy fluff, he’s a big softie for u, reader replaces gyeong su oops, love at first sight aww, shy!reader, both fall in love too fast

AUTHORS NOTE: first fic !! i didn’t know what to write abt so i came up with my own plot i hope u enjoyyy !!

word count: [1k]

AFTER the first game, you lost all motivation to keep going. Hours felt like days, eating felt like a chore, and you felt horrible for leaving your little sister alone in the world. You told her it would be just a couple days, that “big sis would be back soon,” but now you knew that you might never reunite—at least not in this lifetime.

Everything felt disgusting. You ran to the bathroom and cried for what felt like hours, feeling like vomiting as you scrubbed the blood and guts off your skin, washing so hard you swore some of the blood was yours. The walk back to your room felt like a death sentence as the smell of bodies grew stronger.

Sitting on your bed, you stared into space, trying to distract your mind from all the carnage. It felt as if the world outside was dead silent, with nothing happening beyond your little bubble. Hunger stabbed at your stomach as everyone else lay asleep. Using the dark, quiet room as an escape, you imagined floating in space, where nothing could hurt you, finally alone with your thoughts and soul.

That peace was abruptly shattered when the lights suddenly blared on, like a siren reminding you of where you were. “Damn,” you thought, “I stayed up the whole night?” The pink-suited guards lined everyone up and loaded them into the colorful hallway, leading to the next game. You weren’t sure if it was due to hunger, lack of sleep, or pure terror, but you felt weak as you walked up the steps, each stomp taking a toll on your body.

You heard from the previous winner that you would be playing dalgona, but when you entered the next room, you were met with two circular rainbows and six lanes. The announcer instructed everyone to form groups of five. Even though you hadn't played many games as a child, it was common sense to know dalgona was not a team game. Had the man lied? Was this really it? You glanced at him, noticing a look of dismay on his face. Maybe he didn’t know either.

As the timer began, everyone formed their groups, leaving you standing alone. The minutes ticked by, and your nervousness grew. You knew waiting for someone to pick you was wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak up. Meeting new people had always been tough, and the pressure was tenfold now.

Just as you accepted your fate, a group of four approached you: a tall man with purple hair, a pretty boy with dark, long hair, a girl covered in piercings, and a boy who resembled a baby deer. The man with purple hair introduced himself as Thanos, but you zoned out, fixated on his friend. He stared deeply into your eyes as he fiddled with his rings. You tried to avoid eye contact, but every time you looked up, he was already watching you.

“Um, hellooooo? You deaf or somethin?” Thanos quipped. You snapped back to reality as he explained he wanted you on his team. You nodded, mainly out of necessity, but agreeing nonetheless.

The teams sat in neat rows, preparing for the games ahead. You overheard conversations about who would play which game, but your new team was strangely silent. Thanos and his friend chatted about a necklace, while the other two focused on the competitors. Your nerves ramped up, and you fidgeted with the sleeves of your jacket. The longer-haired boy suddenly tapped your shoulder.

“Hey, you okay?” he murmured. Usually, you would’ve said you were okay, but in this situation, what was the point of lying? You shook your head, and concern washed over his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. All you could do was shrug. Suddenly, he took your hands and kissed them gently. The warmth spread across your face, leaving you feeling flushed and exposed. Did he know how his words affected you? Were you developing feelings in a place like this?

“It’s all gonna be okay, darling, I promise,” he reassured you. Just then, the girl beside you, Se-mi, interrupted.

“Hey, how about instead of drooling over her, we figure out our games?” she scoffed. You watched as Nam-gyu shot her a venomous glare, transforming his expression entirely.

“Nobody was talking to you, bitch,” he spat, his sudden coldness making your mind whirl. Why was he hostile with her yet soft with you?

As if nothing had happened, he turned back to you. “Which game are you best at, sweetheart?” You barely whispered your answer: “Um... gong-gi, I think.” He immediately understood, and soon after, your team’s games were decided.

Se-mi would play ddakji first, Min-su would follow with flying stone, you’d go next with gong-gi, Nam-gyu would play spinning top, and Thanos would go last with jegi.

When your team was called, fear washed over you. As your knees weakened, you felt Nam-gyu squeeze your shoulder. “Don’t worry, baby, you’re gonna do great.” His words bolstered your confidence more than you could admit.

Each game passed swiftly, and your team finished with eight seconds to spare. As you crossed the finish line, Nam-gyu launched himself at you, wrapping his arms around your waist, making you bounce with excitement. You were enveloped in his scent, overpowering the stench of blood around you. The touch of his hands melted away your worries, and for a moment, you felt truly safe.

As you walked back to the rooms, a smile formed on your lips. Was he genuinely interested in you?

When you settled into bed, a few moments of silence were interrupted by the sound of the bed creaking beside you.

"You did sooo good in gong-gi. Your hands were literally moving like a ninja" he praised, beaming with admiration. You giggled, "It was nothing, really."

He crawled closer, intertwining his fingers with yours, you loved this habit he’d picked up. “I’m so proud of you. You looked nervous, but you pushed through and helped us win,” Nam-gyu chuckled. You responded with nothing but a shy smile; words didn’t feel like enough. You turned your face the other way so he wouldn't see how much his words affected you

“Don’t hide your pretty face, you’re cute when you smile,” he said, fingers lifting your chin to meet his gaze. The compliment made you smile brightly.

“There she is—there’s my girl,” he added, inching closer until he was almost spooning you. You melted against him, relieved to have someone to stay beside in this chaos. As time passed, nothing else mattered. It was unlike how time slowed before, this time it was a comfortable passing. His hand played with your hair, scratching your scalp in a soothing rhythm. 

“You remember how nervous you were when you first went up to play?” he asked, his voice low and playful. “You were a disaster, but it was the most adorable disaster I’ve ever seen.”

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling in your chest and comfortability blooming. “You were just as bad, you dropped the spinning top across the floor”

“Well, I had to make sure you didn't feel alone in your clumsiness,” he teased, his breath tickling your ear. The closeness felt intoxicating, and you turned your head slightly to catch a glimpse of him. 

“You’d better not mess up like that again. You’re the only person here I actually like” you said, nudging him with your shoulder.

His gaze softened for a bit, like he was admiring you, then quickly flashed back. “Only if you promise to stay by my side forever,” he replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Always,” you whispered, feeling an undeniable connection grow between you.

As the laughter settled, the world around you faded into the background, like you were in your own little bubble. He leaned in closer, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead that sent a shiver down your spine.

“When we get out, I’m gonna take you to my club so we can have a proper party together, get you out of that shell” he suggested, a grin spreading across his face. “Yea?”

“Yea, I’d like that, just make sure those girls aren’t all over you” you replied, smiling against him playfully.

“Oh don’t worry, Imma show you all off. Everyone’s gonna know you’re mines.” He chuckled, proceeding to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

The more than friendly banter made your heart swell, and you cuddled into his side, feeling a fuzzy warmth. You could see a future painted vividly in your mind—one filled with laughter, love, and euphoria.

Soon, you both fell asleep in each other’s arms, wrapped in a sense of warmth and possibility. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, hope flickered in your heart, igniting the feeling that maybe, against all odds, you could find light in this dark world together. In that moment, everything felt right, and you couldn’t imagine ever wanting to be anywhere else but here—with him.

[moonlightdreamzz]

Moments of Praise — Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon.

bangchan and felix

GENRE. pureeeeee smut. freaky hours. 18+

AUTHORS NOTE. i am ovulating, so either im sorry or you’re welcome :)

Good girls get whatever they want—and you’re the greatest.

jungwon

you love so many things. you love tequila, you love cool sheets, you love the spring—the list goes on and on. but recently, someone asked you what do you love most? in the moment, you couldn’t make a decision because how could you choose? but right now, as jungwon’s hands are gripped around your neck—not tight enough to hurt you, but strong enough to remind you he owns you, and he’s stroking in and out of you—refusing the break eye contact not even for a second, you realize this is what you love most in this world.

he’s always so damn cocky when he’s fucking you, because he knows how amazing he makes you feel, everytime. he knows what you want—but he cares more about what you need. and you earned the di*k you’re getting right now.

he’s so drunk off your p*ssy, but that’ll never wipe the sly smirk off his face. all this, because you were so patient all day, and the cherry on top was you helping an elderly woman carry her groceries to her car. because that’s the kind of boyfriend you have—one that got so turned on at you being good.

you can’t form a proper sentence. that’s how good it feels. and he’s loving every second of it. you’re trying so hard, and all he can do is mock you—mimicking every expression you make to verbally tell him thank you. and he’s going exactly how you love it,—love him. slow and steady.

“i know baby, i know.” he utters. “daddy is fucking you so good, isn’t he? mhm.” a whimper slips out of his pretty lips, which only adds onto your incoming orgasm.

“baby—“ you finally manage to get our “why do you—always—fuck me so goooood. oh my—“ you wanted so badly to finish, but he clearly likes you like this. slutted out and unable to focus. only able to feel him and everything he’s doing to you. his free hand places itself on your clit, rubbing gentle circles around it. as if the pleasure you were already feeling wasn’t good enough for jungwon.

“good girls, deserve good dick. and you, baby?” he chuckles before biting his lip and looking at you as if your hole is the best thing since sliced bread, “you’re such a good fucking good girl. so fucking patient. so kind. this pussy is everything I’ve ever wanted in life. you’re so fucking wet. so fucking good—ah.”

“its too good, daddy. i can’t take it. i can’t.” you’re practically hyperventilating. you didn’t know anything could feel this good. you’re seeing stars and he’s living for it.

“who can’t take it? hm? you baby? because my girl can do anything she puts her mind to. so take this fucking dick.”

are his last words before you both cum all over the each-other.

jake

his members lay asleep, their faces—as well as his and yours glowing from the tv that’s still playing the movie jungwon chose earlier. to the naked eye, you and jake look like two people utterly in love, making deep eye contact because you’re so infatuated with each other. this isn’t wrong, but it also isn’t the reason why the two of you are staring at eachother in the dark.

the real reason, is because jake’s hands are buried deep in your panties, and he’s determined to make you cum in your jeans, infront of everyone. you knew at some point tonight he’d sneak you away to be inside you, but like this? but at the same time, you’d be lying if you said this isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever done. and you weren’t rude. you were raised to always be grateful for gifts.

he’s so fucking focused. and he’s doing so good. your eyes can’t figure out if they want to be open or closed and you wish you could grind in his hand, but that would wake somebody up. there’s a part of you that wants to stop him because of the way your body reacts when you or**sm, but as always, your boyfriend is two steps ahead of you.

“i need you to.” he utters, nothing short of desperation resting on his eyes. “I won’t stop until you do.”

all you can do is nod, because you’re so close. that doesn’t stop his mouth from running.

“yeah.” he assures you—his aussie accent thick. “you’re so wet, baby. and that makes me so happy.” he places your hand on his length, that is rock solid. “you like the fact that they can see you if they wanted, don’t you? i know i do.” “can’t wait to make you lick it off my fingers.” “wake em up baby. wake em up baby.” he grunts, resting his forehead on yours but eyes refusing to disconnect. you practically burst all over his fingers, your body is shaking, and you can’t help but hit his arm over and over because fuck you, jake. now.

sunghoon

sunghoon is so full of himself. he does what he wants, when he wants, and if the world isn’t revolving around him? then the world must’ve vanished. and he’s no different right now—arms tucked cockily behind his head while you bounce up and down on his length. the only thing he’s wearing is a smug look on his face, as if to say—of course the second I called, you answered. and of course, the minute I told you to strip and cum all over me, you went straight to work. because I own you and everyone else.

“i fucking hate you.” you moan loudly. but you don’t. and he knows you don’t too. that’s why all he does he chuckle in a seductive tone before whispering, “i love you too, baby.”

when he confesses his love for you, whether it’s real love behind the words or not, it always puts you in a mode. like you have to show him that if he doesn’t, he’s about to. “you love me?” you whisper, your pleading eyes turning into something much more devious. your bouncing turns for his pleasure and his eyes widen in disbelief of how amazing you feel and look right now.

“mhm.” he nods aggressively. you increase your speed and the intensity of each movement.

“you fucking love me?” you question again—laughing at him now.

it was like he was losing consciousness the way his eyes couldn’t hold still but his body was frozen from the pleasure. “yesss—oh, baby. ugh.”

“tell me why you love me.” you demand.

“becau—because you’re so pretty. and you always make daddy feel so good! your pu**y—baby please. mmm always so wet and—tight. make me cum please please please. i love you so much. please I’ll do anything for it please don’t stop!” he squeals out, before shooting his seed inside you.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Back in the dawn of days I worked at Red Robin. It was my first real job after a brief stint at a dog kennel. Many people don’t know this but there’s a costume. A Red Robin mascot costume. I’d never seen it before I worked there.

He’s a violently red bird with empty eyes, a vacant grin, the most atrocious yellow leggings you’ve ever seen, and feet to make any Kingdom heart character swoon. His name was Red.

I was a host, and we were the only ones called upon to wear the costume. We’d don the bright yellow tights and corporate fursuit with someone leading us by the hand so we didn’t crash into everything.

The mesh screen in Red’s gaping mouth was supposed to let the wearer look out. Visibility was a joke. The restaurant was a dark gray haze of bustle from inside Red’s head. So every Tuesday and Thursday there’d be a two hour shift of a designated Bird Buddy leading the visually impaired sacrifice around.

After being forced to wear it during a heat wave and vomiting from the overwhelming temperature, I had vowed to never wear it again. But every new host always had a tiny secret longing to wear it when they first started. This desire never survived the full two hour shift.

So I was working a day shift with a newer host, Lauren, who had been openly enthusiastic to wear it. The manager hustled up to tell us that a little kid was here for his birthday and desperately wanted to see Red. We weren’t scheduled but impromptu requests could be accommodated when the restaurant was slow.

I said, “Great, Lauren can do it and I can be her buddy.”

I grabbed the hapless Lauren and dragged her to the dry goods storage where the suit was stored and where we changed. I closed the door and dragged the suit down. It had a particular greasy ground in smell to it.

Frying food, hot oil, and body odor had all permeated the faux fur with a unique reek. The management mouthed empty nothings that the suit was sent for monthly cleanings. It was common knowledge they were lying through their teeth. The smell of Red was eternal and unchanging.

“Okay, so take off your pants, put on the tights, then step into the body and I’ll zip you up. Then you get a vest and the head goes on last, got it?”

Lauren stared at me. I stared back. She made no move to change.

“Okay…” I repeated, “So you take off your pants and put on the tights?”

Lauren shifted nervously, silent. Not changing.

“Do you need me to turn around…?” It hadn’t occurred to me that she might be shy based on her personality, all the hosts were fairly blasé about changing in front of each other.

“I didn’t….” Her voice dwindled to a decimal only perceivable by bats.

“What’s that?”

Blushing vibrantly she raised her voice to the level of a tiny mouse to squeak, “I’m not wearing underwear….”

I stared at her harder. Our uniform pants were dark denim jeans. The thought of rubbing my bare pussy into denim for a whole shift was on par with dry humping a sheet of sandpaper. “You’re… you’re not wearing… anything?”

She shook her head miserably.

We both regarded the yellow tights worn by most of the host staff. We contemplated a lack of underwear being pressed into those communal tights, adding to the miasma of Red’s smells.

But I was sure as fuck not getting in that costume.

“Make sure to take the tights home and wash them.”

Her eyebrows went up. She met the bitter steel in my eyes and crumpled. I turned my back and she did what she had to, slipping naked as a babe into the neon spandex of Red’s tights. Lauren trustingly kept a grip on my hand as I navigated her through trays and tables to terrify the tiny birthday boy.

To the best of my knowledge, she never did wash the tights.

[harmonic-intervention]

Got a little inspired by Tim saying Buck wasn't spending as much time with Eddie because of his new relationship. Wouldn't leave me alone so enjoy my word vomit.

When Buck woke up, he did so gradually, slowly gaining awareness of the mattress and the frankly unholy amount of pillows under him, of the warmth settled right next to him, of the gentle stroke of a thumb over his lower arm.

Sighing, he moved, stretched like a cat in a sunbeam, and turned over onto his side, rolling right into the source of that pleasant warmth.

He didn't even open his eyes. Instead, he blindly found his way to his destination, burying his nose in the space right under a very nice jaw. He felt the vibration of the resulting chuckle right against his skin.

"Good morning," Tommy mumbled. "Sleep well?"

Buck nodded, but it ended up being more of a nuzzle. "The best."

A large hand found its way into the curls at the back of Buck's head and began gently scratching at his scalp, twirling a curl around a finger, the usual.

Buck finally found the will to move his face away from Tommy's throat and actually open his eyes. The light of the room was dim, the dark curtains keeping most of the sunlight out.

Tommy looked beautiful lying there with his hair all soft and fluffy. To be fair, Buck thought he always looked beautiful, and every time he looked at him, it was as if he became more and more so.

"Morning," Buck finally returned the greeting. He leaned in to steal a chaste kiss, but quickly found he wasn't satisfied with just one.

The same way that Tommy apparently wasn't satisfied with just a couple short ones, as a hand along Buck's jaw kept him close, and when his thumb found its place on the bolt of Buck's jaw, he opened up easily.

They hadn't been dating for all that long, but most of their mornings off were spent like this - in bed, luxuriating in the cozy, intimate atmosphere.

They both had come off of a long shift of not seeing each other, and now had the next 48 hours off together, so Buck had gone to Tommy's place after the end of his shift. He was going to spend the next two days glued to Tommy's side. A crowbar would not be able to pry him off.

Things were heating up steadily, the space between them being reduced down to nothing. Buck's hand started to make its way beneath the sheets to slide down Tommy's torso when he was interrupted by his phone vibrating on the nightstand.

Buck was determined to ignore it - whoever it was could just send him a message and he would get back to them - and sighed his relief right into Tommy's mouth when the call ended. His fingers skirted along the waistline of Tommy's boxers when the vibrating picked back up.

Still on his path of disregarding the existence of the outside world, Buck moved closer to Tommy, slotting a leg between his, and just when he was finally about to stop teasing them both and actually put his hand on Tommy's dick, his phone started acting up again.

Much to his dismay, Tommy moved his mouth away from his. "I think it's important."

Buck grumbled as he turned over to grab his phone, one hand still firmly in place on Tommy's body, "Whoever it is better have life insurance."

He ignored the soft snort that came from his boyfriend in favor of taking a look at his phone screen.

"It's Eddie."

"Better pick up."

Buck might have been ready to just turn his phone off, but Tommy's suggestion was much more reasonable. He nodded and turned back on his other side.

Tommy's eyes flitted down between them. "You gonna take your hand off my dick?"

"No," Buck replied with a wink and accepted the call. "Hey, Eddie."

Tommy shrugged and leaned in, finding something for his mouth to do. Namely go to town on Buck's throat.

"Buck, where are you? I'm at your place and it's empty."

It took a moment for Eddie's words to register, mostly because Buck was distracted by the hint of teeth against his adam's apple. "What- my place? We have a 48 off."

"Yeah, I thought we could hang out. You didn't mention any plans, did you have something?"

He didn't mention any plans because going over to Tommy's place had become the rule, not the exception.

"I'm at Tommy's." Syllables were getting harder to form when most of his brainpower was used to concentrate on hands sliding up and down his back, stopping just shy of his ass every time.

"Oh! Are both of you up, I could come by there, then."

Eddie started talking about something - probably what he had wanted to convince Buck to do with him, something about something, Buck would full-heartedly admit that he was not listening to a single word. Not when his super hot boyfriend was being a tease.

"Listen, man, that sound's great," probably, "but I'm kinda busy at the moment."

"What?"

Tommy chuckled against Buck's jugular, clearly having heard Eddie's confusion through the phone.

Buck was about to say something that would probably traumatize his best friend forever, when seemingly, he connected the dots by himself.

"Oh, ew, Buck! What the fuck?"

"Don't 'what the fuck' me, you wouldn't stop calling!" Buck exclaimed.

This time, Tommy let out an actual laugh, definitely loud enough to be picked up by the phone. Eddie groaned on the other side, sounding very much like he was regretting all of his life choices.

"Listen, we'd love to hang out, but maybe a bit later, yeah? Give us ..." Buck looked down at Tommy and raised an eyebrow, "like, an hour?"

Tommy's reply of, "Two hours," was muffled against Buck's collarbone. He had quickly gone back to ignoring the phone call in favor of biting at the edges of Buck's body.

"Two hours. Then you can come over."

Hands free and mind not pulled in two different directions, Buck immediately buried a hand in Tommy's hair and pulled him off. He narrowed his eyes at the spark of mischief in Tommy's own ones.

After getting Eddie's confirmation and the beginning of him lamenting his life, Buck simply hung up and tossed his phone onto the nightstand, uncaring whether it actually landed there or not.

"Having fun?" he asked with a put upon frown.

Tommy didn't even have the decency to look bothered by the grip that Buck had on his curls. "So far, yes."

Buck hauled him back in into a biting kiss, using the momentum of his own body to turn them over into the pillows.

He ignored the smug grin pressed against his mouth for now. He'd take care of that soon enough.