#low bridge glasses

[bibleofficial]

well. there goes the 1d reunion nobody asked for

[rigels-nigels]

Are you tired of your glasses always sliding down your nose? Constantly having to readjust them? Falling off your face when you bend over or go upside down?

Well do I have the solution for you!

Cable temples!

With a properly fitting pair of glasses that have these bad boys, you can leave all that muss and fuss in the past, unlike this classy style of temples!

You can buy a pair like these, or get just the tips exchanged if your frames are compatible like these below

Especially useful for the athletic lifestyle, so you don't have to have a possibly uncomfortable and not always the most fashionable cord wrapping around your head to hold them in place.

(small note that they will probably be held closer to your face than you may be used to. Also if you get the metal cable temples, depending on material, due to chemical reactions with your skin they can experience oxidation and get a lil grody, so a bit more upkeep for those versions, though there are covers that can help prevent that, ymmv)

Hope this helps some ppl ^_^

[robotpussy]

forced myself to go to the opticians to get my prescription but they make u buy new glasses after the check up so now I have glasses I don't like but I shan't worry... because I'm going to get the glasses I really want online 🫶

[allright]

it’s that time of year where daydreams of nanami wearing a white linen shirt slightly unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tan trousers/shorts infiltrate my brain

[phantomrose96]

If anyone wants to know why every tech company in the world right now is clamoring for AI like drowned rats scrabbling to board a ship, I decided to make a post to explain what's happening.

(Disclaimer to start: I'm a software engineer who's been employed full time since 2018. I am not a historian nor an overconfident Youtube essayist, so this post is my working knowledge of what I see around me and the logical bridges between pieces.)

Okay anyway. The explanation starts further back than what's going on now. I'm gonna start with the year 2000. The Dot Com Bubble just spectacularly burst. The model of "we get the users first, we learn how to profit off them later" went out in a no-money-having bang (remember this, it will be relevant later). A lot of money was lost. A lot of people ended up out of a job. A lot of startup companies went under. Investors left with a sour taste in their mouth and, in general, investment in the internet stayed pretty cooled for that decade. This was, in my opinion, very good for the internet as it was an era not suffocating under the grip of mega-corporation oligarchs and was, instead, filled with Club Penguin and I Can Haz Cheezburger websites.

Then around the 2010-2012 years, a few things happened. Interest rates got low, and then lower. Facebook got huge. The iPhone took off. And suddenly there was a huge new potential market of internet users and phone-havers, and the cheap money was available to start backing new tech startup companies trying to hop on this opportunity. Companies like Uber, Netflix, and Amazon either started in this time, or hit their ramp-up in these years by shifting focus to the internet and apps.

Now, every start-up tech company dreaming of being the next big thing has one thing in common: they need to start off by getting themselves massively in debt. Because before you can turn a profit you need to first spend money on employees and spend money on equipment and spend money on data centers and spend money on advertising and spend money on scale and and and

But also, everyone wants to be on the ship for The Next Big Thing that takes off to the moon.

So there is a mutual interest between new tech companies, and venture capitalists who are willing to invest $$$ into said new tech companies. Because if the venture capitalists can identify a prize pig and get in early, that money could come back to them 100-fold or 1,000-fold. In fact it hardly matters if they invest in 10 or 20 total bust projects along the way to find that unicorn.

But also, becoming profitable takes time. And that might mean being in debt for a long long time before that rocket ship takes off to make everyone onboard a gazzilionaire.

But luckily, for tech startup bros and venture capitalists, being in debt in the 2010's was cheap, and it only got cheaper between 2010 and 2020. If people could secure loans for ~3% or 4% annual interest, well then a $100,000 loan only really costs $3,000 of interest a year to keep afloat. And if inflation is higher than that or at least similar, you're still beating the system.

So from 2010 through early 2022, times were good for tech companies. Startups could take off with massive growth, showing massive potential for something, and venture capitalists would throw infinite money at them in the hopes of pegging just one winner who will take off. And supporting the struggling investments or the long-haulers remained pretty cheap to keep funding.

You hear constantly about "Such and such app has 10-bazillion users gained over the last 10 years and has never once been profitable", yet the thing keeps chugging along because the investors backing it aren't stressed about the immediate future, and are still banking on that "eventually" when it learns how to really monetize its users and turn that profit.

The pandemic in 2020 took a magnifying-glass-in-the-sun effect to this, as EVERYTHING was forcibly turned online which pumped a ton of money and workers into tech investment. Simultaneously, money got really REALLY cheap, bottoming out with historic lows for interest rates.

Then the tide changed with the massive inflation that struck late 2021. Because this all-gas no-brakes state of things was also contributing to off-the-rails inflation (along with your standard-fare greedflation and price gouging, given the extremely convenient excuses of pandemic hardships and supply chain issues). The federal reserve whipped out interest rate hikes to try to curb this huge inflation, which is like a fire extinguisher dousing and suffocating your really-cool, actively-on-fire party where everyone else is burning but you're in the pool. And then they did this more, and then more. And the financial climate followed suit. And suddenly money was not cheap anymore, and new loans became expensive, because loans that used to compound at 2% a year are now compounding at 7 or 8% which, in the language of compounding, is a HUGE difference. A $100,000 loan at a 2% interest rate, if not repaid a single cent in 10 years, accrues to $121,899. A $100,000 loan at an 8% interest rate, if not repaid a single cent in 10 years, more than doubles to $215,892.

Now it is scary and risky to throw money at "could eventually be profitable" tech companies. Now investors are watching companies burn through their current funding and, when the companies come back asking for more, investors are tightening their coin purses instead. The bill is coming due. The free money is drying up and companies are under compounding pressure to produce a profit for their waiting investors who are now done waiting.

You get enshittification. You get quality going down and price going up. You get "now that you're a captive audience here, we're forcing ads or we're forcing subscriptions on you." Don't get me wrong, the plan was ALWAYS to monetize the users. It's just that it's come earlier than expected, with way more feet-to-the-fire than these companies were expecting. ESPECIALLY with Wall Street as the other factor in funding (public) companies, where Wall Street exhibits roughly the same temperament as a baby screaming crying upset that it's soiled its own diaper (maybe that's too mean a comparison to babies), and now companies are being put through the wringer for anything LESS than infinite growth that Wall Street demands of them.

Internal to the tech industry, you get MASSIVE wide-spread layoffs. You get an industry that used to be easy to land multiple job offers shriveling up and leaving recent graduates in a desperately awful situation where no company is hiring and the market is flooded with laid-off workers trying to get back on their feet.

Because those coin-purse-clutching investors DO love virtue-signaling efforts from companies that say "See! We're not being frivolous with your money! We only spend on the essentials." And this is true even for MASSIVE, PROFITABLE companies, because those companies' value is based on the Rich Person Feeling Graph (their stock) rather than the literal profit money. A company making a genuine gazillion dollars a year still tears through layoffs and freezes hiring and removes the free batteries from the printer room (totally not speaking from experience, surely) because the investors LOVE when you cut costs and take away employee perks. The "beer on tap, ping pong table in the common area" era of tech is drying up. And we're still unionless.

Never mind that last part.

And then in early 2023, AI (more specifically, Chat-GPT which is OpenAI's Large Language Model creation) tears its way into the tech scene with a meteor's amount of momentum. Here's Microsoft's prize pig, which it invested heavily in and is galivanting around the pig-show with, to the desperate jealousy and rapture of every other tech company and investor wishing it had that pig. And for the first time since the interest rate hikes, investors have dollar signs in their eyes, both venture capital and Wall Street alike. They're willing to restart the hose of money (even with the new risk) because this feels big enough for them to take the risk.

Now all these companies, who were in varying stages of sweating as their bill came due, or wringing their hands as their stock prices tanked, see a single glorious gold-plated rocket up out of here, the likes of which haven't been seen since the free money days. It's their ticket to buy time, and buy investors, and say "see THIS is what will wring money forth, finally, we promise, just let us show you."

To be clear, AI is NOT profitable yet. It's a money-sink. Perhaps a money-black-hole. But everyone in the space is so wowed by it that there is a wide-spread and powerful conviction that it will become profitable and earn its keep. (Let's be real, half of that profit "potential" is the promise of automating away jobs of pesky employees who peskily cost money.) It's a tech-space industrial revolution that will automate away skilled jobs, and getting in on the ground floor is the absolute best thing you can do to get your pie slice's worth.

It's the thing that will win investors back. It's the thing that will get the investment money coming in again (or, get it second-hand if the company can be the PROVIDER of something needed for AI, which other companies with venture-back will pay handsomely for). It's the thing companies are terrified of missing out on, lest it leave them utterly irrelevant in a future where not having AI-integration is like not having a mobile phone app for your company or not having a website.

So I guess to reiterate on my earlier point:

Drowned rats. Swimming to the one ship in sight.

[ofourlee]

megumi x reader

principle 1: date a guy with glasses so you can straighten them after a makeout session!

your lips pull away from his, and for a second, the only sound is the shared, uneven breaths between you.

megumi’s glasses are completely askew, sitting crooked on his nose, one side pressed higher against his cheek while the other hangs low.

the lenses are fogged, blurring the warmth in his eyes that still linger on your face.

a laugh bubbles up from you, soft and a little breathless, as you reach up to straighten them.

your fingertips brush his skin, delicate as you adjust the frames back into place.

you nudge them up the bridge of his nose, and he stays still, letting you take your time like it’s a part of the intimacy, the way you touch him even in these small moments.

“there,” you murmur, inspecting your work, thumb tracing along the edge of the frame. “better?”

megumi blinks, the world coming back into focus, and gives you that familiar, lopsided grin, the one that always makes your heart skip.

“much better,” he replies, his voice low and soft, still thick with the closeness you just shared.

his hand slips to your waist, pulling you in again, but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips as you teasingly push his glasses up one more time for good measure.

“just making sure,” you say, but before you can say more, his lips are on yours again, and this time, the glasses stay perfectly in place.

[k-hotchoisan]

backseat serenade

<mingi x fem!reader>

Getting stuck in the backseat of your friend’s car after a night out with your drunk friends wasn’t how you thought of ending the night, especially not on Mingi’s lap.

Genre/warnings: smut, pwp, forced proximity, technically exhibitionism but not because no one ends up noticing, fingering, light choking and wrist pining, riding, cream pies, orgasms, something is going on in the backseat…, furcoat mingi

word count: 3.3K (what the fucK)

a/n: y'all be eating fucking good fr. Also shout out to my loml @bro-atz for helping out with the plot a little <3 shout out to mingi brain rot!

taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie  @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess  @woojirang @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @jeon-ify @itza-meee @miss-fallon @hwallazia @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @liyahbug05-blog @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn  @voicesinmyhead-rc @woojirang @wlv-asteria @jjoongstar @comicnerd557 or @kpopwrites @vic0921

networks: @atzhouse @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet

“Who else is here?” You ask. 

She shrugs. “My boyfriend and a couple of his friends. You know them.” Well, you’ve definitely met a couple of your friend’s boyfriend’s friends before. Your eyes scan the crowd and sure enough, you spot familiar faces. 

And then your eyes rest on a particular male—his hair dyed platinum and slicked back, already drawing attention because of his height alongside his fur coat that hung over his shoulders. You never thought someone could pull off a fur coat that well actually. A pair of glasses sits on his nose bridge, which seems to somehow accentuate how sharp his eyes are. He’s been on your radar since he appeared on a mutual friend’s Instagram. 

“He’s pretty cute isn’t he?”, your friend’s date pushes, lightly bumping his arm against yours. 

You cast him a glance. “Just surprised that there are people who still wear fur coats in this economy.”

“That’s-“

“Song Mingi”, you reply, not taking notice of your friend’s boyfriend’s surprised expression. 

“You know him?”

“Came across him”, you reply a little too quickly. You sure as hell were not about to spill the truth. 

He definitely looks and is intimidating for sure, especially when he opens his mouth to speak, his voice so low that it tickles your ears. You could hear him talk forever, you think. You could imagine how he moans in your ears.

You blink. The fuck?

And so, for the past hour or so, you’ve been stealing glances at the blond male, but unfortunately, there was only so much staring could do, and it was not helping you get the male’s attention. Sure, the both of you actually followed each other (you were surprised when he followed you back), and the way he liked your stories sometimes made your stomach grow butterflies, but you never actually interacted with him in real life. 

It wasn’t until the party was slowing down, when you came back from being distracted by another friend, was when you realise Mingi was gone. A ping of disappointment fills you up, but it’s not as horrendous as the feeling of regret—for not just going up to talk to him. You wonder when you’ll see him again.

You decide to find your friend and call it a night.

“Do you wanna hitch a ride with us?”, your friend asks, uselessly trying to balance herself, her partner holding onto her waist. 

“The driver didn’t drink, I promise”, your friend’s partner assures. 

You open the car door and your eyes widen when you spot Mingi. 

You whip your head to your friend to ask her sincewhen Mingi came with the friend group but you realise you wouldn’t be getting any concrete answers from a tipsy person. 

You glance back at the male donned in the maroon fur coat, who seems rather surprised when he sees that you were the one who opened the car door. 

But Mingi’s expression remains indifferent—god knows what he’s thinking about but you swore you saw a tint of something in his eyes when your friends told you to just sit on his lap because “the car had no space”. 

“Hi, y/n”, Mingi’s deep voice calling your name is kept in a bottle and stored at the back of your head. 

“Hey Mingi”, you greet back, cautiously approaching him. 

“Are you okay with this?” You ask, testing the waters by putting your weight on his left thigh. 

“It’s fine. I’m just worried that it’s gonna be uncomfortable for you since it’s gonna take a while to reach your place right?”

Right. You nod in defeat. 

Your body jolts slightly when you feel Mingi’s touch burn against your skin—especially your thighs. 

His friend on the passenger seat has the aux cord and he’s picked out a song to blast in the speakers. You feel goosebumps bloom across the nape of your neck when Mingi’s voice hits your ear from behind. 

“Sorry, you might need to move in a little more, Princess. We have three more squeezing with us at the back.”

You blink, processing the information before internally thanking the universe that the car is dark so the red flushing against your cheeks gets hidden. 

Soon you find yourself fully on Mingi’s lap, and although you try not to lean too much against him, you realise the position feels awkward, and when Mingi personally shifts you with his hands instead, you decide to stay put. 

The energy in the car is high, even after all that partying, which you easily deduce to be due to the alcohol. Unfortunately, you couldn’t be singing along at the top of your lungs, not when you’re subconsciously aware that Mingi is just behind you. 

Sitting on someone’s lap was definitely not as comfortable as sitting on a car seat, and that was a given, so you find yourself shifting constantly, not realising Mingi closing his fists every time your ass shifts against him, particularly his crotch. 

Suddenly you feel the weight below you shift. Mingi’s arm wraps around your waist, his weight pressing against you. You stay put the moment you feel his lips barely inches away from the shell of your ear. 

“I strongly suggest you try to stay still, y/n, or it’ll become a problem for the both of us.” 

You turn your head slightly, barely enough to capture him within your peripherals. At first, you wonder if you’re starting to annoy him, but when you feel his hands slide down to your thighs and something hard pressing against your ass, you get your answer. 

And you wonder how far you should take this. 

Your face is heating up, at the idea you’re just sitting on Mingi’s thick erection, separated by the fabric of his pants and the ridiculously thin fabric of your body con dress. You wonder about his size, which only gets more vivid since you’re literally sitting right on his fucking cock—how thick he would be, how much he would stretch you open, and it’s making you slowly drench your panties. 

The more his erection is blatantly pressing against you, the more you can’t help but fidget on his lap. You’re wondering why Mingi hasn’t said anything, you wonder if he even felt it at all. The moment that thought forms in your brain, you pick out what sounded like low groans from behind you. Then you feel Mingi’s fingers press against your bare thighs, just this fucking close to lifting your dress. 

Mingi shifts against you, his hard cock now even more prominent against your ass—directly below your pussy if it wasn’t for the fact that there were layers of annoying fabric keeping them apart. 

His deep voice is like a melody in your ear,  “I’m closing an eye if you’re just doing this on accident, but there’s only so much more grinding I can take princess.”

You glance over to the company seated just right beside you—they are still singing their hearts out thanks to the self-assigned DJ of the car. The music was still blasting, and you realise you and Mingi are slowly forming another world—one growing of hot and heavy air. 

You’re trying to weigh your options and risks, but the constant friction of Mingi’s cock just poking you through his pants mixed with the light buzz from the alcohol earlier is keeping you less than logical. 

You lean back, the back of your head resting on his shoulder, feeling the thick coat tickle your cheeks, taking in the scent of his cologne that you swear only he could pull off, the boldness rushing into your veins like adrenaline.

“And if I said it wasn’t an accident?”

You don’t know what he might do next, but it’s making your legs tremble by the second. Your clit is fucking throbbing from the sheer anticipation. 

Mingi’s eyes dart to glance at you while his head remains positioned straight, before he presses himself onto you with a smirk against your ears, “Right. Glad we cleared that up, princess.” 

His hands press on the sides of your throat, two fingers tipping your jaw to turn your head to face him as he clashes his lips against yours, and you’re ready for him to just take whatever the fuck you have left. You’re doing your best to muffle your moans through the kisses, but as every second passes, you’re ready to give into it—mostly scream his fucking name into the night at this point. 

Your eyes are so glazed out, your pussy throbbing and drenched, your mind so sexually frustrated the more Mingi keeps you waiting. Mingi’s fingers trail along your bare thighs, his legs forcing yours to stay open, easily letting the gather of your dress push upwards, while his fingers push your panties to the side. You hear him mutter fuck when your wet cunt drenches his fingers. He barely drags his fingers over your clit, yet you already feel like you’re about to burst. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl and stay quiet for me?” Mingi asks, sinking his gaze into yours. You swallow hard and nod, so fucking entranced by his sharp eyes behind the glasses, and alongside the fact that his fingers are rubbing circles on your clit. 

“Fuck me. You’re so fucking wet for me”, he hisses, eating up your moans as he fits his thick fingers into your pussy, filling you up instantly. Oh god. You feel your mind completely blank out at the sensation of Song Mingi stretching you out. 

You swear that the wet sounds of Mingi’s fingers fucking your sopping cunt were louder than the music, but for some reason, and thank fuck, no one else seemed to notice. Yet. 

His other hand clasps over your mouth as he watches your eyes roll back, your desperate and satisfied moans muffled every time his thumb presses against your clit while his fingers fill you up again and again. 

You shouldn’t have agreed to stay quiet. 

Mingi’s legs are strong as fuck because his knees keep your legs from snapping shut as you let the feeling build in your stomach. Your hips are involuntarily bucking against his fingers, craving for him to fuck his fingers deeper. Shit. You can’t seem to get enough. He releases his hand off your mouth for a while, letting it wander to your tits, rolling your nipples over your dress with his fingers, listening to you pant and whimper.  

“Can’t wait to fuck your tight cunt once we get off”, he mutters into your ear, increasing his pressure on your clit. 

“Please… fuck! Mingi…” you trail, not even sure what you’re begging for at this point. But the knot tightens hard and taut. You’re about to snap anytime soon. 

“Cum on my fingers for me, y/n. Show me how your cunt is gonna feel like when my cock is gonna stuff you full.”

His hand goes back to clamping over your mouth to muffle your cries while your orgasm rips through your body. Your eyes roll back, and your back arched against his abdomen, the pleasure spreading through every nerve while he’s still fucking you with his fingers, enjoying the way you’re completely undone because of him. Your cunt can’t seem to stop spasming and it’s only from his fucking fingers. 

But it slowly wears off, and he releases his hand from your mouth, letting you catch your breath. 

His fingers slowly leave your spent and creamy cunt, and for a split second, you’re almost disappointed. You turn your head, watching Mingi slide his stained fingers past his lips, licking them clean, and his eyes locked onto you. 

“You taste so fucking good, Princess”, he whispers, before his hands are on your throat again, pulling you in for a wet kiss, and you taste yourself on his tongue, your face heating up at his words once more. 

The split second you pull away from him is when the music stops, and you hear your name being called.

“Y/n!”

Your eyes widen, and Mingi lowers his knees, letting you quickly shut your legs, letting his arm rest close to your legs, blocked by his fur coat. Thank fuck you’re in the dark. 

“This is your stop right?” Your friend asks before she turns on the interior car lights. You glance at the apartment building and sure enough, it is your apartment building. 

“Right”, you manage to answer with a forced smile. 

And as you are about to leave the car, Mingi suddenly announces, “I’ll send her up. Don’t wait for me.” He takes off his fur coat, draping it over your shoulders, quickly turning away as he pushes the car door open, ignoring the suggestive looks his group of friends were giving him before curtly saying his goodbyes and shutting the car door. 

Mingi is pretty much gentle with you as the both of you head up to your apartment, asking if you’re feeling cold, even though he’s only in a black tank top. You can’t help but gawk at how he looks even under shitty elevator lights—still so fucking hot. His fingers haven’t let go of yours yet since the both of you left the car, and he sure isn’t letting you go when the both of you reach to the door of your apartment. 

You feel so ridiculous in this oversized fur coat, but the fact that Mingi’s smell is just all over it makes you turn a blind eye to it. 

You unlock the door, pushing it open, the post nut clarity hitting, but the realisation of Mingi in a private space with you sending you mind into the gutter. 

And suddenly you feel your cunt throb again. Fuckin hell. 

“Cute place you have there”, he comments, slipping his shoes off. 

“I try to make the most out of it”, you return, taking off the fur coat, handing it back to him. 

Mingi pauses, staying near the door.

“I got no clue why I left the car like that, y/n. If you want me to leave, I can just call a cab and-“ 

His mouth runs, watching the way you’re walking towards him, and his lips snap shut when you pull him in for an open mouth kiss, his thoughts completely disappearing like they never existed. 

“Finish what you started, Minki”, you whisper when you pull away. 

For once, you like the way red looks on his pretty face, the red that disappears when he catches on, eye fucking you while thinking how fucking hot you look under normal apartment lights than the dim lights. 

His hands cup the back of your neck before his fingers are on your scalp, tugging your hair to face him, letting his lips collide with yours. You taste him so much more intensely now, and fuck does he taste like heaven. 

You feel his hands leave your head, going for your wrists instead, and he backs you up against the wall, deciding to pin your fucking wrists against the wall while stealing all of the oxygen you have left in between pants. 

His fingers trail down so lightly across your skin, you feel like you’re about to combust. 

“Is the couch fine for you?” He asks. You nod, just internally begging him to do anything to you. 

His hands slip down to your thighs, carrying you up in his arms, kissing and sucking against the skin of your neck while he navigates through your apartment. When he does find the couch (rather quickly), he lets you fall onto it, watching the way your dress rides up higher to your hips, your soaked panties coming into view, and his cock growing hard once more. 

“You know, you’re honestly killing me with that dress”, Mingi comments, his fingers tugging off your drenched panties, almost salivating over your glistening cunt. “Had to hold back from just pulling you out and fucking you.”

Oh, fucking gods. 

“That’s why we’re here now, aren’t we?” You tease, watching his satisfied grin grow bigger. 

You can’t wait for him to fuck your brains out. 

Mingi squats, letting his face press against your bare cunt, giving licks up, his tongue pressing against your clit while holding your legs apart. He thinks your whimpers and begs are like a fucking symphony—and he could listen to them over and over again while he breaks you, over and over again. 

It doesn’t last long, unfortunately, because he feels like he’s about to burst the longer he waits, his cock bulging against the fabric of his pants. 

So Mingi unbuckles his pants, pushing them down along with his underwear, his thick and long cock springs from his apparel, wet and decorated in thick precum. He gives himself quick strokes, amused by the way your face is turning a soft shade of pink. 

His thick fingers once again hold your wrists above you, lining his cock up to your pretty hole and pushing himself in, his girth taking up all space instantly. You see stars splatter beneath your eyelids as his cock stretches you out—thick and heavy. 

“Fuck. Song Mingi-“ you cry out, struggling against his grasp. 

“So fuckin tight, princess. Fuck, you feel so fucking good”, he sighs, letting himself bottom out in you, relishing in the way your face completely contorts into pleasure when he’s fully seated in you. 

And when he starts fucking you, your eyes roll back—the feeling of his cock pumping in and out of you switching off most of your senses. 

You sense his arms pining your wrists are growing tired, so you do your best to tap his arm, and Mingi lets go, watching you slide his wrist down to your throat. 

You sure know how to push his buttons. 

He applies pressure and it hits all the perfect spots. A choked moan escapes you while he fucks you dumb. 

“I’d love to choke you more, princess, but I really need you to ride me right now”, Mingi whispers, his fingers leaving your throat, and he pulls his cock out. 

You climb onto his lap, lining his cock before you push yourself down, his fullness knocking the wind out of you once more. 

“Are you gonna take all of my cum like a good girl?” He hums, wiping away the tears from your eyes. You nod weakly, biting your lip. 

“That’s my good girl”, he compliments, and it makes your heart fucking soar. Mingi bounces you on his cock, groaning at the way you’re squeezing around him. “Fuck, squeeze me just like that. God, your pussy feels so fucking amazing, princess.”

“Mingi, I’m so close. Oh fuck I’m gonna-“

Mingi only holds your thighs down, watching you shake, feeling your cunt just clenching down and flutter on his cock, cream seeping down his shaft, and he groans in your ear, keeping himself deep in your pussy, his thick cum flooding into your tight cunt, listening to you curse while he forces you to ride out your high. 

“So fucking good. Mingi…” you mutter through tears and hiccup, letting Mingi kiss your tears before he slowly pulls his wet cock out of you, satisfied at the way his cum slowly trickles out of you while you catch your breath. 

Mingi waits for your mind to slowly clear, and you climb off him, but your fingers stay interlocked with his. 

“We can wash up and order food if you want”, you say, trying to avoid the fact that you’re still flushing slightly considering Song Mingi made a wreck out of you. 

But he pulls you along with him. 

“An invitation to shower together? I’ll gladly fuckin take it, princess.”

[rebelfell]

made for lovin’ you

older!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

A bad Tinder date gets a whole lot better…

18+ MDNI┃9k

cw: age difference (30s/40s), alcohol, smoking, light choking, softdom!Eddie, face fucking, light hair pulling, fingering, piv sex, finishing inside, and aftercare ‘cos we deserve it ♥️

I’ve been in a Mood and now you all have to suffer.

eddie edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Holy shit, was this guy boring.

Not terribly surprising, unfortunately. Your expectations weren’t all that high to begin with. Most of your recent forays into online dating had been yielding overwhelmingly middling results and this one was no exception.

He had seemed perfectly nice on the app, when he was nothing but a handful of generic pictures and a smattering of inoffensive text bubbles. But any appeal he held had been in steady decline the moment he took his seat next to you at the bar.

He looked more scared of you than anything—fumbling his words and constantly having to push up his glasses as they slid down the bridge of his sweaty nose. You did what you could to help him relax, coaxing him into the conversation, asking all of those tedious first date questions.

And every single one, he answered with nothing but curt, clipped responses. Making no attempt whatsoever to follow up or ask you literally one single thing about yourself.

Then you made the fatal mistake of asking about work, and suddenly longed for the wall of silence. As soon as he got the chance, he launched into a long and droning explanation of his research on the behavior of crickets.

Acheta Domesticus, not that you asked. And he didn’t so much as smirk at your gesundheit joke.

You might have called it quits entirely by now…if it wasn’t for the guy at the end of the bar.

He had arrived not fifteen minutes after your date did, and slid smoothly onto a stool directly in your eyeline. Which was good, considering you would have snapped your neck trying to get a look at him otherwise.

In a word, he was beautiful. 

Slightly older, with long dark hair that was wavy and ruffled. A short and scruffy beard that only further accentuated the hard line of his jaw where it met the thick, muscular column of his neck.

He was quite literally littered with accessories—a silver hoop that glinted in his nose, leather cuff and chains on his wrists, chunky rings on his fingers that rapped rhythmically on the bar.

Then there were the more permanent accessories in the form of black ink tattoos that covered both his arms and scrawled upwards to peek out from underneath the collar of his t-shirt. A mix of all different styles and designs, ranging in quality from the kitchen scratcher bats on his elbow to the larger and more artful pieces clearly woven in later to complete the tapestry.

You’d certainly never seen him here before, and that was sort of a feat for this place.

West End was one of your favorite places for this sort of date. It was close enough to your place to be convenient, yet far enough that there was no chance of a guy trying to invite himself over to “use the bathroom” or “wait for an Uber” or whatever other excuses they dredged up.

It was actually two businesses in one, sharing the same name, running out of opposite sides of the same building. Causing only mild confusion.

To one side was a wine bar with cozy seating nooks furnished with plush loveseats, sofas and overstuffed armchairs, all a mishmash of vintage styles from thrift shops and flea markets.

But the other side was all modern and industrial—a billiards hall with high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and a large, glossy horseshoe bar that surveyed the tables from the center.

You tended to frequent the wine bar with your roommate Robin whenever you found yourselves in need of a moody atmosphere and some low, soft lighting, your evening scored by the crackle of some great vinyl record. But the other side was better for dates because it automatically gave you the out of an activity in case you found the conversation lacking.

And boy was it lacking tonight.

He regarded the pool tables more like they were live alligators and quickly dismissed your offer to play before launching right back into his overly-detailed explanation of the differences in the eating habits of crickets and grasshoppers. You sighed, no longer attempting to disguise your boredom as you propped your elbow on the bar and rested your chin on your hand.

It wasn’t just that his research was boring—though it was. Really, the problem was all of his technical explanations were so dry and devoid of any emotion that it made you wonder if he even enjoyed it. You had more stimulating interactions with the bartender, for crying out loud.

He was new to you too, but he moved behind the bar with such ease it seemed like he’d worked there for years. He’d introduced himself as Steve, a row of pearly white teeth winking at you as he flashed a smile you were sure had won him his fair share of superlatives in high-school. 

His look read more upscale mixologist, sporting a dark gray vest over a crisp white button down. Sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms that flexed with the pour of every drink, and the collar left open to reveal the glint of a gold chain resting on the soft down of his plentiful chest hair.

The hair on his head was shorter and lighter than the other man’s, but it was long enough to curl slightly around his ears and along the nape of his neck. The ends of it were kissed with caramel highlights that shone in the light when he flipped his head back or ran his large hands through the feathered locks whenever a piece fell forward into his bright hazel eyes.

Most importantly, he also seemed to be friends with your current fixation.

They had greeted each other jovially, hands meeting in a tight clasp over the bar before Steve grabbed a bottle of whiskey and started to pour without the other man even having to order. You watched with morbid fascination as those plush lips wrapped around the rim of his glass and his eyes fluttered closed as he took his first sip, the tattoo on his neck bobbing with the swallow. 

Jesus Christ on a cracker…

Suddenly, as though he could sense you watching, his eyes popped open and immediately locked on yours. You started at the sight of the deep brown, almost black, vortexes in the middle of his face, nearly choking on the sip you were taking of your own drink—an excellent Malbec Steve had recommended when you first arrived.

A rush of warmth exploded on your face and you looked away, doing your best to pretend like he hadn’t just caught you blatantly staring at him.

Or that you hadn’t felt that egregious burst of excitement when he did. Did he care that you were looking? Was he looking at you now?

Doesn’t matter, you reminded yourself, trying to return your attention to the man in front of you.

The one you had made an actual plan to come here and meet; the one who was…still talking.

The next bit of your date felt like it took an entire year. You mostly phoned it in, reluctant to admit defeat too quickly. But over and over again, you found your focus drifting either to the stranger at the end of the bar, or to the bartender. And often, those two went hand in hand.

Again, they were either very old friends or both of them were extremely friendly. They talked and joked back and forth in between Steve helping other customers, bouncing from end to end of the bar with ease, charming smile never faltering as he enchanted every person he served.

As for the other man, you’d caught his eye enough times by now that there was no mistaking he was watching you. Though, you suppose that meant he knew you were staring at him as well…

At the end of your first glass of wine, you excused yourself from the bar—needing a break from this guy’s droning voice more than anything.

He nodded, finally taking a sip of his beer he’d barely made any progress on he’d been so entrenched in his recent soliloquy.

The bathrooms at West End were towards the back, down a long hall that obscured them from view of the rest of the bar. It gave the impression of being in an alleyway with black beadboard paneling that came a little over halfway up the wall and an eclectic gallery of pictures.

There were two bathrooms side by side, just single-room stalls adorned with brass apartment numbers rather than gendered signs, and you slipped into the one with no light coming out from underneath the door. And maybe you took a little longer than you probably needed, milking your break for all it was worth. Not stalling, just…taking care of some things.

Things like touching up your lip gloss that needed no touching up since you hadn’t said more than two words in the past half hour. Or like pulling up Tinder on your phone and setting your location to the absolute minimum distance. You know…just on the off-chance someone in the immediate vicinity happened to also have the dating app installed.

No such luck, you found.

A bit more deflated than you had any right to be, you tucked your phone back into your bag and rolled your eyes at yourself as you reached for the doorknob. You didn’t look up until you were almost at the end of the hall and when you did, you found brown eyes looking back at you.

He was headed for the bathroom as you were coming back and he caught you at the start of the long, narrow hallway leading to them. Your eyes met his as you approached and you paused, already anticipating that awkward shuffle of both of you trying to get out of the other’s way.

There was no awkwardness, though. 

Heat pooled low in your belly as he held your gaze, and rather than breezing right by when you came to a stop, he stopped as well and leaned against the wall to let you pass. He was close enough now that you could see his hair was streaked with slivers of silver and more grays tinged the edges of his beard, particularly under his ears behind the hinge of his jaw.

Your shoulder just barely brushed his chest as you passed, eye contact holding until you were looking back at him over your shoulder as you returned to the bar.

He stood there, watching until you’d rounded the corner and were out of sight before he moved. Pulse thrumming, you slid into your seat with his cologne still in your nose, tickling your brain.

By the end of your second glass of wine, you were more than ready to go. Frowning as you took your last sip, you gave Steve a regretful shake of your head when he asked if you wanted another.

And beside you, Dale just requested your checks as he pushed away his beer.

You didn’t bother with feeling annoyed he hadn’t offered to get even one of your drinks. To be fair, you had not been remotely good company as it was, and especially not once the guy at the far end of the bar decided to call it a night.

Your heart sank just a little as you watched him stand and pull on a creased and faded leather jacket. He then headed for the door, his eyes locking with yours one last time as he went.

Beside you, your date cleared his throat loudly to get your attention and your head jerked up as you realized Steve had placed your receipt in front of you to sign. If Dale—wait, was it Dale or Dave?—noticed your fixation, he was too polite (or too chicken) to mention anything about it.

Tabs closed and coats thrown back on, you followed Dale (Drew? Dirk?) outside. The wintry air cut through your tights and you hugged your coat a little tighter around you.

“So, which way are you headed?” you asked, rushing out the words before he could ask the same thing and float the idea of sharing a ride.

“Uptown?” he replied.

“Ahh, I’m the other way.”

A derisive snort made your head whip sideways and your eyes darted to the source, landing first on the glowing orange dot of a cigarette and then on the plush pink lips wrapped around the filter at the other end. The snide comment locked and loaded on your tongue abruptly stalled.

It was him.

He leaned against the brick facade, foot kicked up behind him, watching your whole interaction. It made your cheeks burn with indignation, but the hungry look in his dark eyes made your entire lower half throb. His lips curved like the blade of a knife into a smirk as he stubbed his cigarette out on the wall and dropped it in a planter filled with sand next to him. You stared at him, your mind sort of blank, and his eyes remained fixed on yours as he strode back inside the bar.

“Okay, well…I guess I’m gonna go,” Dale sighed, a little petulantly.

You brought your eyes back to him and plastered on your most professional smile, shaking his hand formally like this was the end of an interview for a job he was never gonna get.

“Sounds good,” you said. “Nice to meet you.”

He frowned as he turned away, but you felt relatively certain you’d navigated that fine.

Surely he hadn’t felt the date warranted any other sort of follow-up or lie about doing it again—you certainly hadn’t been on your A-game. And you shuddered to think that was his.

Once he’d gotten in his Uber, alone, and you had assured him the one you had yet to call was on its way, you tugged your phone out of your coat pocket and checked the time.

Right now, you had two choices. It was still early enough that Robin could probably come pick you up with minimal begging required.

Maybe you two could get fries and milkshakes and watch some garbage reality tv before falling asleep in a little cuddle pile on the couch.

It was the reasonable option.

The logical, safe choice.

But all your dates lately had been so painfully reasonable and logical and safe. There had been no horror stories to regale Robin with at Sunday brunch, nor any explosive sexual exploit the two of you could squeal and giggle over while curled up on your overstuffed sofa.

It was downright boring. And you were growing pretty weary of it.

You glanced down one more time at your phone, still thinking. Your thumb hovered over Robin’s contact info, needing only a single tap to dial, while your index rested on the lock button.

With a subtle flex of your hand, you clicked the screen off and headed back into the bar.

One more drink couldn’t hurt…right?

“Back so soon?”

Steve was already smiling smugly at you as you approached, his eyebrow cocked as you slid back into your original seat and returned his smile with one of your own.

“I decided I couldn’t live without another glass of that Malbec,” you sighed dreamily. 

He nodded, amusement still tugging at his lips as he uncorked the bottle you’d been steadily draining all night and took down a clean glass from one of the wire racks suspended overhead. You pulled your card from your bag and held it out for him to reopen your tab, but Steve waved it off as he placed down the newly filled glass in front of you and slid it smoothly across the bar.

“It’s taken care of, honey,” he said.

“Oh, really?” you chuckled. “By who?”

Steve smirked at your incredulous tone, his muscled forearms flexing as he leaned on them.

You leaned forward as well, crossing your arms under your chest, knowing how nicely it propped up your cleavage. It made the bartender’s eyes flash as he lowered his voice to a leading hum.

“The dirtbag at the end of the bar.”

He nodded his head backwards, making those caramel-kissed locks of his flop across his brow. Your gaze followed Steve’s nod, landing on the wild head of hair and all-consuming brown eyes you’d been distracted by all night. The “dirtbag” in question was staring straight back at you, the corner of his mouth curled as he raised his rocks glass of brown liquor and tipped it to you.

“Is he really a dirtbag?” you asked him, your eyes never dropping the stranger’s gaze.

“Nah,” Steve shook his head. “Just looks like one.”

“Good to know.” 

You hummed to yourself, feeling almost a little cocky as you brought your glass to your lips and took an excruciatingly slow sip. The eyes of the man across the bar watched you intently, a fire burning in them that ignited your very being.

As Steve moved on to another customer, you pulled your eyes from those of the handsome stranger and let them fall briefly to the empty stool beside you. It was about as bold as you were willing to be at the time, but it did the trick. He promptly swiveled in his seat to slide off it and you smirked to yourself as you looked down, pretending to be fascinated by the garnet liquid swirling in your glass as he came around the bar.

“That’s a great Malbec,” he said.

God, his voice.

It made your cheeks (among other things) tingle, smooth and smoky as the whiskey in his glass you could smell as he placed it down beside your wine. The scent of it mixed with his cologne that was dangerously close to becoming your new favorite aroma—something woodsy and heady with a tinge of lightness like a salty sea breeze.

“It is,” you agreed, brow arching as he took the seat beside you. “You’ve had it before?”

“Nah,” he smirked. “You made it look so good, I had Stevie give me a taste. I told him to put your next one on me.”

Both of your brows raised at that. “And how’d you know I was coming back?”

“I didn’t,” he said, taking a cheeky sip of his drink. “I just hoped.”

You felt a smile burgeoning on your lips and pulled your bottom one back with your teeth trying, unsuccessfully, to fight it. He watched it spreading, the tip of his tongue running over the edges of his teeth as he offered you his hand.

You slid your own into his, feeling the exquisite pressure of chunky silver rings pressing on your fingers as he gave them a gentle squeeze.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” you purred right back, offering him your name after a beat.

He repeated it once, all low and rumbly, taking his time with the sound of it in his mouth like it was a piece of chocolate melting on his tongue. Holding your hand a bit longer than necessary.

“So I’m assuming Desperate Dan out there wasn’t your boyfriend?” Eddie asked, chuckling into his next sip. The sound of it spiraled down your back, electrifying your spine.

“Nope,” you sighed heavily. “Just another drop in the Tinder bucket.”

Eddie’s dark eyes gleamed with something like mischief and he made a tsking sound with his tongue. “Well, if that’s the case, I sincerely apologize, sweetheart.”

“Oh, yeah?” You smiled at him. “What for?”

His eyes flickered again, this time taking a long moment to do a sweep up and down your body. Landing on your knees in your tights, flitting back up to your face as she shook his head.

“If someone like you has had to resort to dating apps…we’ve clearly failed as a gender.”

You actually shivered at the words, forcing your shoulders still not to show it as you propped your elbow on the bar and swiped the tips of your nails across your chin and along your jaw to play with your earring. Deepening your voice to a sultry murmur he had to lean in close to hear.

“No argument there.”

You rushed into the bathroom, flapping both your hands back and forth to fan your face and then under your arms. Safely hidden behind the door, your air of detachment could fall away and you could finally let out all the patently un-cool reactions you had been fighting the last hour.

With trembling hands, you pulled your phone out of your bag and fired off a text to Robin.

hey, I’m gonna share my location with you the rest of the night.

wait WHAT? Losera Annoyingus is getting a bang pass?

no he left…

…about an hour ago.

A blue bubble with three blinking dots immediately popped up on the thread and you imagined Robin’s thumbs actually smoking she was typing so furiously fast. But she must decide to abandon her message, because within a split second, a picture of you and her with your faces smushed together came up on the screen as she called you instead.

“Hey,” you whispered, praying your voice didn’t echo too much off the tiled walls.

“Explain,” she demanded. “Now.”

The excitement in her voice only increases your own, your cheeks still impossibly hot as you stand over the sink and fan yourself some more before another layer of sweat can form on your face.

“It’s this guy I met at the bar. He was like, making eyes at me while I was on my date and we started talking after and I just—I don’t know for sure, but it feels like he’s gonna take me home.”

“Is he hot?”

“Yes,” you breathed out a heavy, lustful sigh. “He’s so hot I wanna rip his appendix out.”

“Holy shit,” Robin whistled. “What’s he look like?”

“He’s…I don’t know,” you laughed. “He kind of looks like a Harley that came to life.”

“Alright then, you better go ride him.”

Robin’s snorted laugh makes you cover your own face with your palm. It’s searing hot now, your blood pumping furiously beneath the surface of your skin.

“Well, I have to get back out there to make that happen.”

“Go, go, go—have fun, use protection! Wait, hang on, not in that order!”

You laughed at her warning coming through faintly over the receiver as you mashed the button to end your call. With one last steadying breath, you leaned on the sink and nodded decisively.

“Okay,” you exhaled. “Let’s do this.”

Sage and sea salt filled your nose as you yanked the door open and nearly ran straight into the source of the scent. Eddie leaned against the wall across from the bathroom doors, shoulders shifting subtly as he twisted one of the large rings on his fingers. 

You stood face to face now, hands hovering at your sides as you edged into the hallway.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, tucking his chin to his chest as he looked up at you from under long lashes. “Someone’s in the other one.”

You glanced suspiciously at the second bathroom door, seeing no light coming from underneath it. Eddie winced, still smirking adorably as you turned the knob and pushed it open to reveal it was empty on the other side. He chuckled, holding up his hands in a mock surrender.

“Fine,” he sighed. “You caught me.”

“Thought I was making a break for it?” you asked, pulling the door shut. Eddie’s tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek, his eyes roving over you slowly.

“I’d hate to think I scared you off,” he said as he kicked off the wall to stand up straight.

You crossed your arms under your chest, giving him a smile. “I don’t scare so easy.”

He nodded at that, his eyes still taking you in, scanning you like he was reading invisible stats. They lingered a few places you expected, like the curve of your hips and the swell of your chest. But then they landed on other things too, things you weren’t used to people noticing. 

Things like your shoulders, or your calves in your boots, even your fucking ears.

“So…everything alright?” he asked, his voice lowering as he took a step closer.

“Yeah, I was just letting my roommate know I might be gone a while.” You held up your phone and tucked it back inside your bag with another coy smile. He chuckled.

“A while, huh?” Step.

“Yeah, you know...it’s pretty late.” Step. “Might be tough to get an Uber.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Eddie shrugged. “I live close.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You were nose to nose now, barely a whisper of space between you, the air thick with the heat radiating off your bodies in the narrow space.

The well worn leather of his jacket sleeve creaked softly as his hand came up to rest on the wall, caging you in with his arm.

“How close?” you asked, breath shuddering as you leaned on the door for support.

“Up the street,” he sighed. “But it’s still too far.”

His warm breath ghosted over your lips as they parted, the smell of the liquor coating his tongue making you feel woozy. Or maybe that was just the effect he was having on you.

He was so close now you could hear the bristly sound his beard made as he scratched at it with blunt fingertips. He’d barely inhaled to ask if he could kiss you when you surged forward to press your lips to his—the roughness of his beard on your chin a welcome abrasion.

Scratching the itch that’s plagued you all night.

It’s a hungry, lawless sort of kiss. Quick and clashing and difficult to tell if it’s actually mean or not—like two dogs play-fighting, both trying to see how much they can get away with before light snarls and soft snaps of their jaws turn to whimpers and whines.

Eddie parried with you for control, his tongue darting in and out of your mouth as he plied you with teasing, playful kisses you fought to deepen, tugging at his shirt. He pushed off the wall and reached down to grab your wrists, pinning them over your head to keep them in place.

The thrill of him trying to restrain you only made you unravel further, straining impatiently against his grasp. Breathless, you stretched out your neck and pushed your face past all his hair to place your lips beside his ear and pant into it.

“Can we go back to—”

“You wanna come back to—”

The both of you chuckled and exhaled with relief as your words and his overlapped, and you felt a sudden rush between your legs from the way Eddie’s eyes blazed with intention.

He released his hold on your wrists and your arms fell limp at your sides. In an instant, he had your hand wrapped tightly in his and was pulling you along as he angled towards the exit.

As you hurried after him out of the hallway and across the bar, you distantly registered music playing, picking out the chugging guitar and bass riffs of some 80s dance song. From behind the bar, Steve caught Eddie’s eye and you saw him offer his friend a two finger salute as the two of you burst through the door, your departure narrated by Paul Stanley’s deep, silky croon.

And tonight, I want to lay at your feet. Cause girl, I was made for you, And girl, you were made for me…

Eddie wasn’t kidding about living close.

Your boots clacked on the sidewalk as he ushered you along under his arm, the quick pace of your walk driven both by the chill in the air and the desire to resume what you started at the bar.

“This is me,” he said, indicating a four-story brick building just a block away from West End.

His place was on the top floor. It was a large studio with high ceilings and many features similar to the bar you’d just left. Half of the space was raised like a platform with a steel wire railing running along the edge. He had his bed up there and what looked like an office, but he’d created a divider of sorts with cube shelves filled with sweats, hoodies and t-shirts.

Promptly, you recalled him telling you he owned a company that designed and distributed merch for independent artists, and how he was constantly receiving samples from suppliers.

The kitchen was simple, sleek cabinetry and stainless steel appliances without a single smudge. A massive butcher’s block with a wooden top and wire racks underneath serving as an island. And a steel rack hanging down from overhead laden with cast iron cookware.

You took a few more careful steps inside, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath from being kissed stupid in the elevator while Eddie flipped some switches that illuminated the space with recessed lighting. Large black-paned windows revealed a view of the city and the night sky outside, some amber light from the street filtering in and casting across the oak floors.

In his living area was a massive brown leather sectional with extra-deep cushions and a chaise at both ends. It faced a plain wall with a screen you assumed went with the projector hanging down from one of the exposed beams overhead.

Every inch of your skin crackled with excitement as he came up behind you and reached around to grip the lapels of your coat and help you out of it, letting his fingertips skim your bare arms as he did. It made you shiver in spite of the warm air you could feel pumping out of the vents.

He hung up your coat next to his on a hook by the front door and you turned to face him as he sauntered back over. His gait was relaxed and casual, like he had all the time in the world. 

Like he wasn’t driving you up the wall with every second you went without his mouth on yours.

“Did you want another drink?”

He gestured in the direction of a liquor cabinet, glass shelves lined with a modest array of wines and spirits, but you shook your head at the offer.

“Not particularly,” you said with a coy grin.

Reaching out and hooking a finger in his belt loop, you whirled yourself into him and slotted your mouth against his, licking into it to taste the smoky remnants of whisky there. He breathed into it deeply, his broad chest expanding with it and chuckling when he felt your hands on his belt.

“Easy there, tiger,” he teased, your lips breaking apart and taking hold of your wrists to still their efforts. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

“Hopefully the kind that knows how to fuck.”

You smirked, the tip of your tongue flicking out between your teeth as your face veered in again. Your hips pressed with his and you began to sway back and forth, gently grinding them on him, resuming the dance you’d begun. His face came close, his hands settling on your waist.

“C’mon, honey,” he drawled. “Haven’t you heard good things come to those who wait?”

His lips trailed along the column of your neck, sending a riot of shivers down your spine causing you to release a breathy sigh.

“Sorry, what? All I heard was come.”

Eddie chuckled at that and his breath rushed across your neck as he smiled into your jugular.

“You’re funny,” he sighed. “We’ll see how funny you are when I get done with you.”

It was a miracle your knees didn’t buckle on the spot. Your eyes rolled back in your head, almost seeing the inside of your skull as his hand came up and he placed it around your throat.

“You want this?” he asked, his tone cool and precise, his eyes wandering across your face.

“Yes,” you gasped, all desperate and panting now you were so eager for him to start.

His thumb and middle finger pressed the sides of your throat, slowing the flow of blood just enough to make your head go fuzzy and your body to go just barely limp in his arms. 

“Yes, what?” he growled. You drew a shuddering breath, unrestricted by his expert hold.

“Yes, I want this,” you answered. “I want you.”

Eddie took his time undressing you, softly kissing the new expanse of skin he unveiled with the removal of each piece of clothing.

He nipped lightly at your collar bones as he shed your blouse, canines catching briefly on the chain around your neck. He dragged his lips torturously slow over your stomach as he undid your skirt and it fell to the floor with a soft plop. His breath rush across your thigh as he kneeled to drag down the zippers of your boots, kissing your inseam though your tights all the way down to your ankles.

Every second was a kind of exquisite torture. Your heart hammered behind your ribs, the bones almost rattling with the force of it. And as much as you were dying to grab him by the back of the head and take over, you let yourself slip steadily under the spell of his affections.

You believed what he seemed to be whispering with his eyes in between every indelible kiss he dropped to your buzzing skin. He had you. He would take care of you. You could trust him.

And once you were totally bare in front of him, he held out his hand for you to take and he spun you in a slow circle like a ballerina in a music box, his eyes feasting on every inch of you.

If it was anyone else, you might have shied away. You might have felt some level of shame or concern about being stark naked in front of him while he was still fully clothed. You might have worried he would see something he didn’t like, some flaw or defect you preferred hidden. But the look on his face was nothing short of rapturous.

He walked you over to the couch and kissed you deeply as he removed his clothes. Showing not an ounce of the kind of care and consideration for his own as he did for yours, he stripped them off hastily and discarded them, tossing them away like they were garbage.

Your naked bodies came together in a full press, his arms curling around your form and his hands stroking your skin like he was trying to make sure not a single part of it went untouched.

At last, he sank down onto the sofa and his knees spread apart, his hard cock standing stiff and ready for you. He took your hands in his like he was going to pull you forward onto his lap, but you dropped to your knees instead, tucking your feet under your ass.

You looked up at him expectantly, your eyes darting between his face and his cock, the corners of your mouth curling upwards in a smile as your brows raised with a silent question.

“You sure?” he asked, circling his base with his thumb and forefinger to give a gentle squeeze. “I can take care of you, you know? Fuckin’ love to.”

“Don’t worry,” you said cooly, lashes fluttering as you scooted closer. “You will.”

You placed your hands on his knees and pushed them further apart so you could lean forward to kiss up the inside of his leg. Trying to give him a taste of his own slow, teasing medicine, you worked your way all the way up to the crease of his thigh and turned your head inward.

Eddie’s breath stuttered as your lips met his shaft, poking your tongue out to run it up the length. His head tipped to the side, his ear touching his shoulder to get a better view of you licking at him, halting grunts and gasps tumbling past his lips as yours puckered to kiss it more.

When you were satisfied you’d gotten him sufficiently worked up, you reached out and wrapped your hands around him fully, your fists stacked and twisting gently.

You stroked him off slow and even, your hands squeezing tight around his shaft, mixing your spit and the beginning of his spend that leaked from his tip. He watched you reverently, eyes hooded as he enjoyed your show. And looking up at him, a gooey sort of warmth filled your entire body.

You felt yourself slipping further into that sort of headspace you craved—all pliant and willing, your knees digging into his plush area rug as your legs tingled with numbness.

Your heart raced as you imagined giving yourself up to him completely. 

Letting him take whatever he wanted from you.

As though he sensed it, as though he could read the desperation in your eyes, he cradled your jaw in his large hand and dotingly stroked the side of your face as he tilted his head at you.

“What is it, baby?” he cooed encouragingly. “What do you want? You can tell me.”

“Want you to use me,” you pleaded, fingers still sliding around him. “Use my mouth.”

Eddie gazed at you where you kneeled in front of him, your eyes having gone all big and round and glassy, shining with the tears you were dying for him to make spill down your cheeks.

Begging for it.

“Of course, baby, of course,” he sighed, gripping your chin and swooping in to kiss you deeply.

His firm hold gave you permission to go limp and you let your hands fall from his cock to rest on his muscled thighs, palms coasting over his tattoos and sparse leg hair. He pulled back, keeping your chin grasped in his fingers, holding your face still as he instructed you.

“You slap me three times in a row if you want to stop, okay?” he ordered in a husky rasp. “Do it for me now, so I know you can.”

You obeyed instantly, delivering three strikes to his thigh. His lips curled in a devilish grin. 

“That’s it, just like that,” he hummed in approval. “What a smart girl you are, huh?”

The praise rippled down your back, his words making you tingle all over, much like your calves that were starting to go numb from sitting back on them. He reached around the back of your neck, gently guiding you into position so his cock was pointed directly at your lips. 

His large hands nearly covered your entire head, holding it in his firm grasp, his fingertips digging into your scalp and causing even more shivers. Eyes locked with his, you let your mouth hang open and your tongue loll out fully, reaching almost all the way to your chin. 

Eddie moaned loudly, mesmerized by the pool of spit you’d let collect in your mouth and the way it dribbled past your lips, running down your tongue and dripping onto your chest.

“Fuuuuck,” he chuckled low and rough, touching just the tip of his dick to your wet tongue. “You really want me dead, huh?”

Your eyes danced as you nodded, the motion causing your tongue to brush against his sensitive slit and spread his precum across the flat of it. A sharp gasp punched from his chest, not ready for the sensation, and his whole body shuddered with need. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared as he gripped tighter around the back of your head and thrust fully into your mouth.

Lewd sounds filled the room as he pushed his cock past your lips, your mouth flooded with spit that poured out of you and pooled in the wiry thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You felt your body going lax and floppy as you gave yourself over to him, letting him hold your head up as you melted into little more than a puddle.

“That’s it, baby. Just let go, let me take what I need,” he drawled in that smoky voice, beginning a gentle thrust of his hips that pushed him deeper still into your mouth. “You’re doing so well…”

The salty tang of him covered your tongue as your jaw slackened to accommodate more of him, the sounds you were making coming out garbled.

“Christ, you sound so fucking sweet choking on my cock” he groaned. “What a good slut you are, huh? Giving me this mouth, letting me ruin it?”

You gagged loudly as his cock pushed in further until his tip met the back of your throat. He held the back of your head and your nose was nuzzling against the hair at his base, breathing in his thick and heady musk. Far earthier than his cologne, this was a smell that could only be him.

His eyes flitted to your hand clutching at him, your nails digging into the meat of his thigh.

But you made no move to tap out. Another tight spasm of your throat had him throwing his head back, his eyes pinching shut and his lips falling open in a desperate gasp.

“Shit, that feels so good,” he whined softly, his domineering mask slipping ever so slightly—the broken sound only making you go more feral.

Bracing yourself on his thighs, you began to push your head down to meet his thrusts, fucking your own face with his cock so hard that his grip on the back of your head was extraneous.

“Okay, okay—okay,” he grunted, chest heaving as he pulled you off him before he could blow.

His fingers held fast in your hair, squeezing it at the roots. You drew in air in great heaving breaths, panting from the effort, your tongue still hanging out of your mouth and head bobbing as you tried to chase the cock he had to drag you off of.

“You’re a greedy fucking girl, aren’t you, baby?” he chuckled, yanking your head back sharply so you were staring at the ceiling, eyes straining to look at him over the curves of your cheeks.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped back, chest still heaving.

“You want my cum that bad?” he teased lowly, pushing his face against yours and smearing the wetness of your tears across your cheeks.

“Yes, please,” you whined pitifully. “I need it.”

“Oh, you’ll get it,” he assured you, reaching down with his free hand to rub between your legs. “But only if it goes in this needy little pussy.”

Your entire body writhed as his fingers toyed with your swollen clit and dripping folds, scalp stinging where he gripped your hair with his other hand.

A pleasurable wail burst out of you as his thick fingers thrust inside your warm, wet hole and started to scissor relentlessly.

“YES, fuck—come in me. Please, please…”

More tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you begged him, drip, drip, dripping off your chin and onto your heaving chest, rolling down your naked body, leaving wet trails in their wake.

Eddie had to fight the urge to lick your clavicle. 

He hauled you up onto his lap, scooting down so he could plant his feet properly on the floor. Your knees sank into the worn leather of his cushions on either side of his hips and you used all what little strength you had left to reach down and align yourself with him.

“Don’t you hold back—haah—alright?” he said, hissing softly as you sank down on his length. “I want that fucking loser from Tinder to be able to hear you from here. Understand?”

You nodded, hips beginning to slide back and forth, relishing the way his thick cock prodded at your insides and stoked your desire. Eddie let you keep control for a moment, his hands squeezing at the softness of your stomach, molding it with them. He watched you raptly, mesmerized by the undulations of your body, the way you let it writhe and rock and squirm on him until he thought you might come solely from your own movements.

A loud, exhilirated moan burst out of you as he suddenly thrust his hips upwards, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he slammed into your g-spot on the first fucking stroke—as if he could see straight through your flesh to aim for it.

The room filled with sounds even more lewd than before—the wet clap of his thighs with your ass cheeks, his balls slapping your soaking pussy, your mound squishing into his pelvis.

Eddie threw his head back, overwhelmed by the sight of every part of you bouncing so prettily on him. And as he exposed his neck, everything in the room went hazy except that thick, taught, muscled column. Sending you feeling.

You clawed at it desperately and drew hot, red streaks down it with your nails that trailed all the way to the middle of his tattooed chest.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Mark me up. Show everybody who owns me—”

He slid his hands back to grip your ass, spreading the fleshy globes wide and stretching your holes further open as he continued to slam his length inside you. He let one side go and delivered a single stinging slap that reverberated throughout your whole body. 

The burn made you keen, arching your back until your chest was flush with his. He reached up to grip the back of your neck, taking your earlobe between his teeth and raking them over it.

“Now that that mouth is free, I wanna hear how good you feel,” he growled.

And if you thought you were loud before, it was nothing compared to now. The combination of his words and the perfect pace being set by his cock sent you instantly toppling over the edge, with Eddie’s own release following right behind.

In that moment, you vowed to send a fruit basket to every single one of his neighbors—an apology for making them think that a woman was getting murdered in the middle of the night two or three stories above their heads. The orgasm he brings you to makes you scream, practically sobbing as you cry out in immeasurable relief while searing hot pleasure ravages your entire body. 

It’s an ascent you’ve never dreamed of reaching the peak of, the feeling spreading to the tips of every extremity, filling you with fire. It feels so good, it almost makes you sad to know you might never feel like this again. And if your brain hadn’t already turned to mush, you might have cared.

As you dwindled down from your high, you slumped forward limp and spent—your body still rippling with the effects, Eddie’s arms coming up to hold you against him as he peppered your shoulder with soft, sweet kisses.

“That’s it,” he breathed out in your ear. “That’s it, baby, just feel it…such a good girl f’me…”

He ran his fingers slowly up and down the column of your spine, creating waves of shivers waiting for your trembling to subside.

His length grew soft inside of you, but he made no move to slide you from his lap or to rush you in the slightest. He let you cling on to him, your face buried in his sweaty neck, his long hair tickling your face, losing yourself in his touch.

Slowly, your breathing grew deep and even, your racing heart slowing in your chest. Eddie turned his head and spoke to you quietly with his warm breath fanning across your cheek.

“You ready to move?” he asked.

You gave a weak nod.

Wobbling on unsteady legs, you stood and his hands quickly moved to the curve of your waist to keep you steady. He took you to the bathroom which looked more like it belonged in a spa than someone’s house, sitting you on the toilet.

From a hook hanging on the back of the door, he produced two bright white waffle weave robes, offering one to you. And as you wrapped the soft material around your shoulders, he turned on one of the faucets and held his fingers underneath it to test the temperature.

Once he’d deemed it warm enough, he took a fluffy washcloth from a little pyramid of them that were rolled up next to the sink basin. He held it under the stream, saturating the cloth and then giving it a gentle twist. You watched his hands every step of the way, mesmerized by the way his veins bulged under his skin and the muscles in his arms flexed as he wrung out the excess water.

He rubbed the warm cloth gently across your face, wiping off the residue of tears and spit and cum and what little was left of your make-up until your bare face shone in the soft lighting. 

Once he had finished, he dropped the cloth into a hamper and cradled your face in his hands, his thumbs gliding easily over your slippery skin.

“So pretty,” he hummed, the words so soft you wondered if you were even meant to hear them.

From one of the drawers in the vanity, he brought out a pot of moisturizer and offered it to you with a smile. You frowned up at him, jutting out your bottom lip in a comical pout, not ready for him to stop taking care of you. It made him chuckle and a bemused smile spread across his lips as he tapped the tips of his fingers in the gel and started to smooth it over your cheeks.

“Come lay down with me?” he asked when he’d finished, head tilting back in the direction of the short set of stairs leading up to where his bed sat.

You nodded and he held out his hand to lead you out of the bathroom. You curled up on top of his dark duvet, your head sinking into the softness of his down pillow that held the faint scent of what you guessed was his tea tree oil shampoo.

The thick mattress dipped as he climbed onto it with you and draped a beige knit blanket over the both of you before he sidled up against your body.

It was…nice. More than nice. Shit, it was as close to perfect as you had felt in a long time.

The feel of his chest expanding and contracting against your back; his steady breath on the nape of your neck; the soft robe wrapped around your body and the comforting weight of the blanket on top of you. Not to mention Eddie’s arm curled securely around your waist. 

Your eyes felt heavy, like your eyelashes suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, and you drifted fully into sleep, succumbing to the relief that had washed over you not twenty feet away.

When you woke, it was still dark out. 

The street noise had lessened significantly and if you had to hazard a guess, it might have been close to one or two in the morning. Eddie’s place was darkened, lit only by orange street light that filtered through his windows and a half-dimmed reading light in the corner.

It was an arc lamp, suspended over a leather Eames chair where you could see that your coat and all of your previously discarded clothes were arranged in a neat little pile. But laid out at the foot of the bed right next to your feet were a pair of black fleece pants and hoodie, both about your size and emblazoned with the names of bands you didn’t recognize.

You sat up slowly, fingers hovering over the thick material as you debated. Were they for you? They looked a little big for Eddie, but maybe he had laid them out for himself? Was it a sign he was about to go to bed and you needed to get moving?

In the end, you slid out from underneath the blanket still draped over you and redressed in your clothes. After pulling your tights and skirt back on, stepping into your boots and zipping them up your calves, pulling your coat back on, you looked around the loft searching for Eddie.

From up here, you could see the bathroom door was open and the light was off…eliminating the only place he could actually be. And then your eyes fell on one of the windows that was cracked open with a short step-ladder built into the wall that had been pulled down in front of it.

You pulled your coat around you tighter the closer you got to the window and tentatively climbed the steps leading up to it. You pushed the large glass pane the rest of the way open and poked your head outside to find Eddie sitting on his terrace, resting with his back to the brick, head tipped back as he exhaled a cloud of smoke from his lips that drifted up towards the stars.

“Hey,” you said softly. His head turned at the sound and a wide smile spread across his lips.

“There she is,” he said in a gentle cheer.

You climbed through the window and a breeze carried the scent of the joint he was holding. You took a seat across from him, leaning back against the metal railing and letting your legs stretch out alongside his. He dropped his hand to rub your calf and he frowned at the realization you had redressed in your tights and boots. His brow furrowed adorably.

“Something wrong?” you asked.

He shook his head and took another drag of the joint before passing it into your waiting fingers.

“The clothes were for you,” he said. “Y’know, if you wanted something to sleep in.”

You paused, the joint just shy of touching your lips. “Like…if I was staying?”

“Would you stay?” he asked, a ribbon of smoke curling in the air as he exhaled.

Your mouth hung open, clouds of your hot breath escaping. “Oh, um…I mean, only if you—”

He cut you off with his lips, slipping his hand around the back of your neck and pulling you into a long kiss. Tiny embers scattered from the joint, being taken by the wind that blew and made the ends of Eddie’s long hair tickle the sides of your face. You pulled apart and he answered solidly.

“I want you to,” he said.

wasn't expecting this to be so long (that's what she said), but I hoped you liked it if you made it this far 🩷 love you, mean it!

[eupheme]

k04. daddy kink | the way you want to

old man logan x f!reader

rated e - 2.5k

tags: situationship, possessive!soft dom logan, daddy kink, teasing/begging, logan taking an educated wish, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, mutual unspoken pining, vaginal sex, creampie

“Daddy, huh?”

“She was joking,” You’re quick to answer - that eye contact breaking, “It’s just an expression.”

He hums knowingly, an eyebrow cocking, “You sure about that, princess?”

(or - logan overhears something he shouldn’t have.)

You can’t help the jolt of anticipation as you watch the limo pull up to the pump.

Always the same. Two times a week - sometimes more, if you pick up extra shifts. Waiting for the text to chime in your pocket, as it always did.

Feet already taking you over to the coffee machine. Filling a styrofoam cup full - black roast. The strong stuff.

Your back pocket buzzes.

Need a ride?

It’s always the same. Been that way for a few months now. His shift ending just as yours did. Offering you a ride home, something that started kindly but twisted into more the moment you bridged that gap between you.

Almost as if he had just been waiting for permission. Almost as if he thought of you the way you did him.

Wishing thinking, perhaps, but you’ve always been a dreamer.

You fire back a reply. Sometime extra, tacked on at the end.

Yes, please ❤️

The flick of your thumb scrolls through old messages, as you wait at the counter. His replies always short, but you think that’s just him.

He does reply, after all. Wry comments about the photos you send him. The baby raccoon you helped out of the dumpster, the icee incident from last week.

Some even instigated on their own, and not the result of the slow rotation you’ve found yourselves in.

The morning shift arrives, just as he comes in. Holly’s early today - her elbow leaning on the counter, content to let you finish out these last few minutes before taking over.

Logan’s eyes find yours first, with the push of the door. Already fishing out a wallet, and you know what he’ll pass you.

A crisp ten. Enough to fill his tank - always stopping when he’s half-empty.

Tells you it’s because he doesn’t want the tank to get too low, incase a client has a far drive. You wonder if it’s because it means he gets to stop by a little more often.

The sight of him still sends a thrill through you, even after the weeks have passed. Built strong - the buttons of his dark suit hanging loose, though the shoulders still pull tight as the wallet fits back into his pocket.

Beautiful, in a way that always sends your mind reeling. Mentally mixing the gold and bronze and green to match the shades of your personal muse. A stoic man, with kind eyes.

Fingers always aching to paint him, as much as they had ached to touch.

That flicker of softness in them disappearing quickly, with a narrowed glance at your coworker. The rough clearing of a throat when you nudge the coffee and a pastry his way.

Something for him. And then something for his father, Charles. Even if it was more sugar than sustenance.

Shooing away his gruff offer to pay, as you close the space between you with a grin. Giving him a glance down the deep cut of your shirt.

His dark eyes flick back up, as he finally relents.

Stubborn.

“Be out in five.” You tell him - the pastry tucked under his arm. The coffee cup small in the thick curl of his hand, another watchful glance your way as he heads out to wait.

Still passing through the glass double-doors when Holly pipes up next to you.

“God, is that him?” She tips forward, to get another look, “You’re right, he is so daddy.”

You suck air from between your teeth, regretting your overshare. A groan sent her way - her voice far too loud in the early morning.

Even if she wasn’t wrong.

There’s the sharp bite of coffee when your mouth finally presses to his. His hands working at his belt buckle - the glint of metal in your dark room, light still spilling in from the hallway.

They’re - he’s - all you’ve been able to think about. The long hours at night behind the counter. Ringing up energy drinks and hotchips with a smile. A way to help pay the bills, while you wait for the layers of oil paint dry.

Your mind running wild when you’re alone, after. The drift of your hand beneath the blankets.

Imagining those strong, scared hands twisting in your hair. Guiding you - always guiding. Showing you just what he liked, as that rough voice told you just how good you’re doing.

It itched at something inside you - winding tight when you pressed your fingers deep, until you’re muffling a moan into your pillow.

The bed dips, as he follows you onto it. His mouth finding yours again, the press of his lips familiar. The smell of cigar smoke and leather seats and the crisp autumn air as you inhale him.

His hands tilting your face so his tongue can sweep into your mouth.

You part for him.

When you draw back for breath, he is half-undone.

Loosened buttons on his shirt. A tight white tank beneath, the ribbing melding to the broad planes of his chest. A peak of dark hair at the waistband of his trousers. The silver teeth of a lowered zipper.

His hands ghost at your sides. Slipping beneath the hem of your sweater, brushing bare skin. A thumb, teasing at the edge of your pants.

“Take these off for me, baby.”

You’re quick to listen. Layers peeled away, as you shift back against the pillows. His eyes following each piece, sweeping over the revealed skin.

His own hand slipping down. Cupping himself, tugging down the elastic waistband. Swollen - hard already, as his cock bobs free. Fitting himself between your thighs, the moment they part.

Hands ghosting up, fingers denting skin.

Something weighs on his mind - you can feel it in the searching way he looks at you. An inhaled and held breath, eyes dark with want.

Wonder if it will loosen, in time. With the press of your mouth, or as he sinks inside you.

It’s become part of your routine, as well.

Little questions or confessions weaved into the moments of borrowed time he runs on. Easy to distract you - with the snap of his hips, the curl of his fingers - if you nudge too close to something tender.

His thighs inching wider, hands curving against your hips. A tug pulls you closer to where he kneels on the bed, your thighs thrown over his.

Spread open beneath him - your fingers trailing up the velvet length of his cock, where it arcs against your abdomen.

Another shift of his hips skims the underside against your clit, dampening with your arousal.

He’s taking it slower than usual tonight. Drawing things out, with the way his thumbs smooth circles against your skin.

Those dark eyes flipping up to yours. That question, slipping free.

“Daddy, huh?”

It catches you off guard. Your hips buck against his without meaning to. A sharp, inhaled breath as the way it rolls off his tongue, your body betraying you.

His eyebrow lifts with interest, expression darkening as mortification laces through you. Wasn’t supposed to hear that - a mooning admission after one too many drinks, after-hours at the bar next door.

“She was joking,” You’re quick to answer - the eye contact breaking as your head tilts, “It’s just an expression.”

He hums knowingly.

Another rut of his hips, pressing against your folds. You squirm - an attempt to flip over, to avoid having to look at him - but his hands only tighten on your hips.

An eyebrow cocks, “You sure about that, princess?”

Another bitten-back sound. You’ve never minded being like this beneath him - bare, open to the drift of his hands and his mouth.

It turned you on, this needy and messy joining. But it feels different now. Vulnerable, with the way he watches you so intently.

“Don’t tease me.” It’s a plea, as the corner of his mouth ticks up.

A shift of his hips, a hand loosening his grip so he can press his thumb against the flushed head. Guiding himself to where you drip for him.

Hips rocking slowly, eyes fixed on the way your part. How your pussy grips him, swallowing the tip as you moan.

Your breath held.

Waiting for the stretch. The sweet burn that curls into pleasure, when he seats himself deep inside you. The way you always have to make room for every inch of him, your muscles already strung tight in anticipation.

He holds himself there. Inched inside you, thumb tugging you open. A huff of a breath as you push up to your elbows, your gaze flicking between his cock and his face in question.

“Ask me for it.”

His voice is a low husk, eyes fixed on yours. Something sparking between you - a heavy, charged tension.

You’re used to begging. It comes easily - a futile wiggle of your hips, as he holds you in place.

“Logan, please.”

“Not like that.” His tongue clicks, “Ask me the way you want to, sweetheart.”

It steals you breath for a moment. Eyes narrowed as you try to discern if he’s making fun of you.

Teeth white and sharp as he smiles - voice dropping lower.

“You really think I can’t tell?”

Logan starts to withdraw, but you clench down around him. Hands overlapping with his and pressing down, to keep him where he is.

“You want Daddy’s cock, don’t you?” He rasps, “Want him to take care of you?”

He picks over the words carefully, as if trying them out for himself.

As if he’s doing this for you, and it’s enough that that tight string of worry and tension inside you frays, and then snaps.

And surely he must feel you this time, the way you clench down around him. No escaping what he does to you, not like this.

“Yes,” You breathe, “Want you to fuck me, daddy.”

The word pitches high, as his hips punch forward. Your nails biting into his hands, leaving half-moon marks.

“Atta girl.” Logan grits, enveloped in you.

Every inch nestled deep inside. A needy and pretty little thing, with the way you gasp and moan and squirm for him.

Even more so when his hands travel down. Hitching one leg, and then the other, over his broad shoulders, as he leans into you. One hand planted next to your head, the other curving around your ankle, pinning you in place.

A experimental thrust, and it feels like he’s in your guts. Your moans strings out, as he bends you in half.

Until all you can see is him, all you can feel is the way he keeps you full with the shallow shifts of his hips, as he ruts into you.

“Feel good, honey?” He grits, as if he needs to know.

And maybe he likes doing this for you. Hearing what it does to you - from the praise that slips from you, to the slap of his hips against yours.

Proof that he exists inside your mind, for longer than these brief moments - that in some way, you need him as much as he needs you.

Knowing that no one can fuck you like he can.

“Yes, daddy.” You sigh, leaning into it now.

Blissed out, as his cock nudges against a soft and sensitive spot inside you. Tightening around him, as his weight presses you into the mattress.

All the worries and stress off the day ebbing, as he makes you forget about everything else.

“Should have known,” Logan rasps, with the pump of his hips, “Always so fucking wet for your old man.”

His words twist inside you, a moan loosening in your throat.

He’d said something like that before. The first time you’d invited him inside, and he had come so willingly.

Only pausing as his lips had ghosted against yours, just inside the door. Something low, rumbled out.

“'m an old man, sweetheart.” Strong hands gripped your hips - you hadn’t been sure if it was to pull you closer, or push you away, “Sure a sweet thing like you wants this?”

“Not that old.” You had huffed against his mouth.

Not too old to show you a good time, you’d been sure. Been proven right, night after night. Spiraling into something more, his presence tinting your life like a rose-colored campitura.

Logan had laughed as if you’d said something funny, right before he had kissed you - that low rasp that still makes your toes want to curl.

Your fingers fit between your thighs now, the tips pressing circles against your clit. A grunt pulled from him as your breath hitches, your other hand fisting in the pillows under your head.

“Filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

The pleasure spikes, “Only for you.”

Your answer makes him growl. Makes him fuck you harder, eyes greedy as he watches the bounce of your breasts, the mark between your eyebrows deepen.

Possessive.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” He rumbles, “Only for me.”

He’s grinding against that spot inside you. Your folds slick beneath your fingers, your hand moving faster as something bright burns inside you.

A flutter of a laugh is pulled from you, eyes going half-lidded, “Gonna make me come.”

His hips stutter once against yours. Fingers tightening around your ankle, as his eyes drag from the needy press of your fingers to your face.

“That right?”

Hips snapping just a little harder, as you whine. Your grip tightening in the pillowcase as you pant, your drawn-out hum of assent quickly unraveling.

“Come on daddy’s cock, sweetheart,” Logan coos, “Been thinking about this all night.”

And it’s this that sends you over. His words, that admission he thinks of you. The coiled tight spring inside you snapping, as you writhe and squirm beneath him.

Unable to do anything but take him. The deep grind of his cock, as he feels the way your cunt flutters around him. The pulse of your clit beneath your touch, fingers curling up against your abdomen when it becomes too much, when all you can do it try to rock back against him.

“There you go. That’s my girl.”

His low growl filters through the white noise that buzzes in your head. Blending with the moan that pulls from you - pitching high, his name lost in your pleasure.

“Let me hear how good it feels.”

It’s bliss. The way ankles slip from his shoulders as he leans to kiss you. Hungry, as his thrusts turn shallow and sloppy.

Teeth nipping against your shoulder, your neck, as his mouth wanders - as if he can’t help it. Broad hands coming to grip at your hips, tugging you to meet him.

“Fuck, baby. Got me close already.” It’s growled against your skin, an open-mouthed kiss pressed against your throat, “Tell daddy you want it.”

It comes out desperate - a low rumble when you clench around him, legs hitching higher around his waist. Ankles crossing behind his back - driving him deep and keeping him there.

“Want you to come in me, daddy,” You echo him, sweetly. “Love feeling you inside me.”

You can feel the way he shudders, as your arms loop around his shoulders. His breath hot against your skin, strong muscles stringing tight beneath your touch.

Logan won’t admit it, but you’ve learned to read him, too.

And with the way he moans - fingers biting into your skin, as he spills himself inside you-

You’re willing to bet he liked it as much as you did.

always so weak for men calling themselves daddy, so here we are!! thank you so much for reading 💖

[seraphdreams]

ARE YOU AFRAID OF THE DARK? | GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. the campus power outage gives your sly classmates a proper chance to get to know you.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. fem!reader, college au, dark content, kidnapping, use of toys, one (1) mention of “you cryin?”, vibrators / dildos, fearplay, eiffel tower position, blindfolds / restrictions, dubcon, squirting, double pen if you squint. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 4.0k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! happy friday thee 13th !! i know y’all remember me saying i wouldn’t write jjk anymore but i caved! so here’s my comeback to writing them , i literally can’t get gojo out of my head. as always, comment / reblog if you like it ! i’d muchly appreciate it ♡.

“isn’t she lovely, satoru?”

“fucking beautiful.”

a pair of crystalline-like eyes followed your bare figure down from your heaving chest to your lower abdomen where they settled on your glistening folds. you were spread open, laid against the armrest of the couch you were splayed across, hands bound taut by what felt like cheap, abrasive rope.

of the softer voice you had heard, its owner pulled out a silk piece of cloth from the pocket of his sweatpants, carefully binding it over your eyes, eluding your already subdued line of sight.

their mannerisms were recognizable, the two men who’d gotten you into that pathetic situation.

they were none other than gojo satoru and geto suguru from your foreign affairs class. prior to, you hadn’t shared much of a striking moment with them for their names to be ingrained in your memory, other than the times suguru would ask for a pencil, and gojo, a copy of the notes. it wasn’t until the start of the fall semester that you had grown closer to them.

they’d invite you to the campus’s library on account of needing you, /and only you,/ to tutor them, along with accompanying them to parties held by the school’s fraternity, and back to their dorm when things got boring — they took quite a strong liking towards you, despite your persistence on rejecting each advancement they made on you.

it wasn’t like you found them unattractive, or even unbearable. they just had more rumors than they could keep up with hanging off their reputation; rumors consisting of them switching girls much like they switch clothes simultaneous with how they weren’t particularly shy about their hookups, were among the ones you’d grown familiar with.

but, as the end of the semester grew nearer, you felt a need for excitement and a change of direction; especially in the form of gojo and geto.

“y/n?”

walking back from your overtiring night classes, the call of your name from a familiar voice whipped you straight out of fatigue. it was none other than the duo that seemed to follow you step by step, like puppies with their owner, as you turned around to catch a finer glimpse of them.

“hi,” your voice came out dulcet, and slightly hoarse. “why’re you guys out so late?”

“could be asking you the same thing.” suguru retorts, strands of long, inky black hair framing his mirthful expression. he had always been handsome to you, over six foot tall with sharp facial features that involuntarily caused him to exude an intimidating presence yet, he had a tame personality to back it up. there was a reason he was popular on campus.

he was also remarkably attentive when it came to you. suguru would make it a habit to check up on you from day to day, under the guise of morning texts and showing up to your dorm with limited edition beverages from your favorite cafe.

it wasn’t considered flirting if he was constantly referring to you as a “friend,” right?

satoru quickly came up behind him, resting his arm over the shoulder of the black haired man. he was donned in his signature style of attire, tinted glasses low on the bridge of his nose despite the sun being hours away from rising, which you had presumed was just his fashion choice. he looked better like that, anyway.

“i was just coming back from my night class. it let out early,” your words flowed airily into their ears, the tone cordial as ever.

it was the thing they loved most about you — your doe eyes, plump lips, and sexy curves that they’d fantasized about tracing every inch of with their tongues. you were too perfect, and far beyond naive. The ideal victim.

“pretty girls like you shouldn’t be out so late. it’s dangerous.” gojo held an emphasis to his last vocables, the warning you should’ve taken, yet brushed off as concern. because, of course it was. your friends were only “concerned.”

you nodded your head, lips involuntarily jutting out in a soft pout. “i know, i know.”

gojo was the rather flirtatious half of the duo, often opting to remind you of his undying attraction towards you that never seemed to get through to your glitter-filled mind. you were wrapped around his finger whether you knew it or not — you were but the final reward for him when having the others back to back failed to feed his salacious desires.

“you should swing by, though. satoru and i aren’t doing much,” geto spoke, looking at the blue-eyed man hanging off his side. “right, satoru?”

gojo perked up, a sly smirk making its way to his lips while he beckoned you closer with the movement of his fingers. “yeah, it’s friday. you deserve some time off, pretty thing.”

he wasn’t wrong. most of your time was spent dealing with school in which you barely had a moment for yourself. not to mention the fact that it was convenient, the commute to their dorm held less distance than it would’ve had you walked all the way back to yours. it worked out perfectly, for both parties involved.

with the mindless nod of your head and an “okay”, you made your way towards the two, and began to stride along in the direction of their place.

things were off about the duo, though, but not quite strange enough for you to think anything of it. the route was the same, some vacant corridor that always kissed your skin with its glacial breeze, leading to their hall, and down just a few steps was the doorway to their dorm.

as you patiently wait for geto to scan his keycard, the sensation of featherlight touch ghosting along the mast of skin that your tiny cropped top allowed to be exposed, shook you from your veil of comfort. you had come to realize it was gojo who took it upon himself to rest his hand on your lower back.

the world around you felt recognizable, yet you couldn’t shake the suspicion that deep down, something’s wrong.

the latch of the door beeped, signaling that it had been unlocked successfully, and with a sturdy hand, geto opened the door to allow for you and gojo to slip past while he kept his distance, treading leisurely behind.

satoru flipped up a light, the whole place illuminating immediately after. it looked different from the last time you came over, posters that littered every wall in the living space seemingly replaced by minute frames of artwork, all cohesive with the neutral nature of their dorm.

lit at the coffee table across from the couch where you decided to settle yourself at, was a single-wick candle that filled their air with its hints of fresh sage and amber musk.

“lemme take care of your bag,” suguru extended his arm out to you with a soft smile on his face. gojo sat down beside you, ridding himself of his glasses while you gave geto your tote. “i need to get something from my room so i’ll just put it on the bed that way you won’t have to worry.” he continued.

“thanks, sugu.” you returned his warm smile with a beam of your own.

gojo’s tongue clicked as he rolled his head back against the headrest of the couch. “marry her while you’re at it too, huh?” his tone is painted in vexation that wasn’t clear enough to distinguish between mirth or solemnity.

you heard geto chuckle as he made his way to the bedroom, waving off satoru’s comment. “wouldn’t hurt you to be nice every now and again.”

“you jealous, ‘toru?” you taunted to the ivory-haired man, relaxing further into the couch as his arm took purchase around your shoulder, pulling you in closer. “and if i am, baby? what’ll you do t’me?”

it wasn’t hard to get lost in his eyes, especially when they seemed to draw you in with that playful expression of his and kept you craving more of his attention. he’s so annoying.

you brushed off his query with an eye roll, turning your focus back to geto as he sat on the other side of you, a small box taut in his grip.

oddly enough, the soft whirring of mechanics died down along with the luminescence that filled the dorm shutting off, leaving the three of you in pitch black darkness, with only the faintest sliver of light emitted coming from the candle.

it painted an eerie picture, one that caused the pace of your heart to quicken as your body involuntarily tensed.

“oh?” suguru was the first to voice his mystification. he set the box aside, taking a haste look at gojo; which was more of a silent cue to the latter, reminding him of their true intentions.

what you assumed was geto’s hand over your thigh, diligently ran along the expanse of your lower half until its fingers curled at the hem of your bottoms. “aren’t we lucky?”

his touch was unfamiliar, nonsynonymous to you as the chivalrous suguru you knew. the sensation was weighty with lust, hungry against your skin, enough so to cause you to wonder.

“suguru, your—“

just as you were about to question the man before you, his eccentric best friend cut in.

gojo created the slightest gap of distance between your bodies, mainly to take advantage of the sight before him — geto working diligently to rid you of your garments, stripping you bare, safe for the thigh high socks struggling to contain the spill of your plush thighs.

“what? you afraid of the dark?” satoru’s teasing aided in affirming your suspicions. and the fact that you were utterly helpless, only sprung on his arousal as well. “we’ll take good care of ya.”

geto’s left hand found its place back on your thigh, more-so to spread your legs for the two. “you trust me, don’t you?” he smiled, that same smile that was painted over by an ulterior motive. he stood up, finding his knee in between your thighs, centimeters from your heat. “satoru, the rope?” he held his hand out for gojo, feeling satisfied once his request was fulfilled by his best friend, handing him the cord from the opposite end of the couch.

the words you wanted to say struggled to bubble up in your throat, rendering you speechless and anticipating. in one hand, suguru took both your wrists, tying them taut by the cable and stepping back to get a better view of your helplessness, specifically the way it leaked from your cunt and soaked into the cushions.

all the same events that explained the predicament previously mentioned.

after the unfortunate affair of being blindfolded, you felt lithe fingers drum at your clit. it was a teasing, rhythmic sensation that made it clear to you in the strongest way it could, that gojo was the one with reigns over your body now.

“our feelings are so hurt, babe,” his voice feigns offense, and although you couldn’t see him, you sensed that his signature smirk was etched over his features. and that, it was.

he toyed with your heat, running his index and middle fingers along your slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he could before sinking them into your hole. “you kept rejecting us in the past, but,” as his words trailed off, the pace at which his fingers pumped inside of you quickened. “we’re treating you fucking good, right?”

even though it was just two of his digits, the stretch that they’d allot to your hole was delicious, the tips of his fingers deliberately curling against your gummy walls, right at your g-spot which only made the shaking of your thighs worse.

“god—” you rasped, nodding your head. your heat made no effort in slowing the way it greedily sucked in his fingers. it was almost as if you were waiting for this, fantasizing how it’d be like to be one of their girls.

with every foolish thought came foolish actions.

satoru awaited your answer, speeding up to an impossible pace when you didn’t respond within his time bracket. “wanna hear you say it, baby. tell me how good I'm making you feel,” he demanded.

it felt as though your mind was going to break, the pleasurable mixture of sensations causing your head to spin and orgasm to build within you. you only allotted the fortitude for soft babbles, trying your hardest to conjure up something coherent. “f-fucking good! ‘s so fucking good!”

the pad of his thumb finds your clit, rubbing vigorous circles over the bundle of nerves. “attagirl,”

wet squelches were sonorous in the air, so much so, that the students inhabiting the dorms just across the hall could probably hear the filth taking place at that very moment. not that it was something new to them — it was just another satosugu friday night.

you couldn’t take anymore, your thighs threatening to close around his arm, yet his free hand kept you spread.

“i think she’s gonna cum, satoru,” geto coos, leaning down beside you while watching as gojo edges you closer and closer to sweet release. “can you squirt for us, princess? make a mess?”

before you could retort, your release rippled within you, sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body. evidently, geto’s questions were answered instantaneously the moment you soaked satoru’s fingers with your essence. your chest heaved, your breath growing ragged just moments after.

if only you had the reins to see them — touch them.

gojo slipped his soiled fingers into his mouth, moaning at the saccharine flavor you left him with. if he could live off the taste of you alone, he’d know for sure that he’d die happily.

“are you really that sensitive?” suguru queried. in his hand was the concealed box, filled with toys; some that could vibrate, along with others that were clearly meant to stretch you out. he pulled out one of the thicker dildos, running it along your slit in paintstroke motions.

“do you think this could make her squirt just as fast?” his inquiry to gojo made it undoubtedly clear that they’d been plotting against you from the very start; it wasn’t just some spontaneous idea.

gojo’s focus was unwavering on the dampness seeping through his sweats, his palm rested atop his hard-on as he watched the pleasant sight of geto sinking the silicone into your hole. amidst satoru, he was concerningly gentle. he had kept one hand at your thigh, draw soft patterns while he kneeled between your legs to give himself a better view at how hungrily your cunt sucked him in. “‘toru’s always so rough, isn’t he?” suguru cooed,

you mindlessly nodded your head; it wasn’t like you agreed, but you were stuck between heaven and bliss, not knowing which felt better. whereas gojo was, albeit, impatient and loved to get the good parts, suguru was refreshing, like a cold glass of lemonade on a warm summer’s day. suguru started up a thrusting motion with the toy, building it up to a speed that had your back arching and thighs quivering under his hold.

“you’re so tight, darling. you a virgin?” his soft voice speaks out.

as you were about to respond, gojo’s large hands found themselves at your tits, kneading the flesh while his fingers tweaked at your stiffened nipples. “this virgin’s pretty hot,” satoru commented.

“n-not a virgin!” your reaction came in the form of a cry, seemingly at the increase of stimulation within your gummy walls, the tip of the silicone cock nudging so sweetly against your gspot that the nothingness of your sight morphed into white hot pleasure.

you had fallen perfectly into their trap — what would’ve taken a considerable amount of effort, and even thinking, was handed to them easily though the power of the gods; they’d be sure to thank them later for their service .. or maybe you will.

suguru removed one hand from your thigh, relocating it to dig aimlessly through the box. he was satisfied when he pulled out a tiny bullet vibrator, switching it on to the most mild level and gently circling it against your clit. “mm, i don’t think i believe you,” an amused smile etched on his features watching you squirm in his hold.

with pleasure stemming from the most sensitive parts of your body, it’s difficult to chase away the feeling of yet another, messy, mindnumbing orgasm. “geto..!” your whines fell to deaf ears, suguru hyper-focused on the way your puffy clit twitches underneath the toy. he knew you were close; anyone within a mile’s radius could tell that, and perhaps he was covertly evil, because the loss of stimulation that came soon after he pulled the toys from your heat was pure work of the devil.

he spoke up just as he switched his attention from your aching cunt to your heaving chest. “if you’re not a virgin you shouldn’t have any trouble taking us both, right?”

oh?

they were like that. you should’ve known — the two did everything together, it’d be foolish to deny the possibility of them fucking together.

your obstructed vision was finally restored when gojo took off your blindfold. he figured it’d be much better if you saw how you were about to be obliterated — and obliterated you were.

he took your hand in his, standing you both upwards.

you wobbled beside him, your legs feeling like jello from the insane amount of stimulation your cunt had to endure. “look at her, suguru. she can barely stand,” gojo teases. “and we haven’t even got to the good part yet.”

he wastes no time in freeing his hard cock from the prison that was his boxer briefs. his length was long, bulbous head flushing a soft pink as beads of pre-cum dribbled down his shaft. he gave himself a few experimental pumps before turning you around and bending you over.

without the stability to keep yourself bent completely, you crashed into geto, who was no more than an inch away from your face. you looked up, sheepishly as he rid himself of his hoodie, faced with his toned abdomen.

“we haven’t done this position in a while, huh?” there’s a cocky smirk on geto’s face. one that was his own, yet it wasn’t the suguru you’d known.

since when was he the conniving type? did all his time with gojo finally rot his brain? or were you staring at a man you truly never knew?

suguru’s hand slipped just under the waistband of his sweats to free his cock. the tip tapped harshly against your lips before he took a firmer grip at the base to smear pre-cum over your already saliva drenched lips. “open up, pretty baby.”

instinctively, you slid your tongue around the head of his cock before suckling the sensitive area, only gradually taking in more. on the other end, gojo pushed himself into your core, letting out a low hiss at how eagerly your needy cunt took him in.

“she’s fucking tight,” he groans, squeezing at the plush fat of your hips while rocking his own into you.

“don’t get greedy now, ‘toru,” geto’s voice is soft as his hand in your hair gently guides you to take him deeper, up and down his cock. it’s evident you’re pretty damn good at giving head from the adoration in his eyes when he looks down at you, silvery orbs with hearts for pupils locked onto your vacant ones.

“what a well trained whore you are.” he praised, beginning to buck his hips up into your mouth, not rigorously, but enough to prod at the back of your throat and scatter tears to your waterline.

gojo slipped his thumb into your puckered hole while his thrusts became harder, with fervor. he wasn’t one to be patient nor hold back, especially when it came to someone like you, with a pussy so tight and moans so sweet, he’d have to break you just a bit. where’s the fun in that if he doesn’t?

his balls slammed against your clit, creating a potent string of pleasure to course through your body. throbbing was pertinent within your walls, each drag of his cock along the ridges inside you posing you weak from the shocks of euphoria. a hard slap came crashing down at your ass, gojo’s sizeable hand repeated the motion occasionally to watch the way the flesh rippled.

your moans were muffled by the intrusion of cock getting fucked into your mouth. the room reverberated in an array of messy skin slapping in tandem with groans and whimpers. it was music to their ears, a song they’d want on repeat if it were possible.

“shit.. ‘m gonna cum,” geto’s dulcet tone alerted. you watched in pride at how the muscles of his lower abdomen flexed in the onset of his orgasm. his rhythmic thrusts faltered, morphing into a resonance of scattered heavy thrusts that led him closer to his orgasm until he eventually jettisoned his seed into your mouth. the taste wasn’t as bitter as you were used to, it was almost pleasant and you swallowed every drop before he pulled out ever so slowly, his chest rising and falling while his cheeks were dusted in a soft rose flush.

“you were so much better than i imagined,” his fingers wrapped around your jaw, gripping ever so gently as he bent down to messily kiss at your lips, groaning at the taste of his orgasm on your tongue.

“yeah, yeah. good for you,” gojo started up in his usual bratty tone, sounding more guttural than his typical self. “can finally cum in her without you messin’ me up.”

suguru was used to gojo’s sharp tongue, his complaint not seering as deep as it would’ve had it been their younger years.

whorish moans slipped past your lips, your balance wavering as gojo picked up speed. he was far deeper inside your plush cavern, hitting at the spongey spot with precision that had your whimpers turning into babbles. “s-sho good .. you fuck me sooo good,” gojo took amusement in your slurred speech, pulling you up by the waist until you were completely upright.

it felt as though he couldn’t reach any deeper, yet he did, the feeling spreading all over your body, you were almost 100% certain that you could feel it in your ears. tears had filled your waterline and came cascading down your cheeks before you could even establish what it was. satoru held you close, your bare back pressed against his chest. it was an overwhelming feeling, one that made you lax enough to rest your head on his shoulder.

he smirked, gripping your chin with his fingers to get a better look at you.

“you cryin’?”

that familiar sensation bubbled up within you, what had felt like your nth orgasm had come in blissful surges, his cock coated in the translucent milky essence of your release.

with haste, you were fucked through aftershocks and overstimulation as satoru chased his high.

he had stamina for days, having built it up through multiple one night stands, and yet, he wasn’t quick to pull out like his counterpart, no. there was something of love that came with cumming inside you.

the skin of your thighs clung together with a mixture of your cum and his as he pulled out of your twitching hole. you stumbled a bit, getting back grounded on your feet, the two men tucking their third legs back into their garments.

a flickering noise was sounded from the building, different from the soft flickering of the candle that was beside you. quickly, the surgance of electricity illuminated the dorm, bringing much needed light to the situation at hand. you looked down at your bound wrists before the rush of embarrassment washed over your being once you had taken your naked, used body into account.

gojo carefully whisked you both back onto the couch with you sitting on his lap. “guess our fun’s over, huh?” he pouted, unbinding the rope that rubbed uncomfortably against your wrists. you weren’t exactly sure of who his rhetorical query was aimed to, and you would’ve spoken up had your throat not have been aching from the constant whining or even the pounding of a thick cock fucking bruises in the cavern.

geto was now situated behind the couch, leaning over the both of your figures.

“over? she’s spending the night.”

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — @valentinevampyr @oneofthesevensins @ryukatters @dabibreeder

[mondaymelon]

₊⊹ "𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐨, 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝…" | xiao, childe, alhaitham x gn!reader

「 "𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐚𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮!!"」

— in which you've gotten drunk... drunk enough to fail to recognize your own lover.

— silly fluff. soft xiao, had this one in the drafts for far too long and its about time i choke it out... happy white day !!

the moment your slurred words reached his ears, XIAO knew that he never should've let you get your hands on that cursed rice wine.

in a way, he supposed it could be his fault. the one time he had decided to indulge in trivial mortal matters like alcohol due to your constant insistence... well, just look at you.

red-faced, the tips of your ears and cheeks stuck in a helplessly drunken flush, you babbled incoherently with half of your face smushed against the table. xiao could only stare in contempt as you feebly reached towards the already-emptied bottle,

( xiao had taken one sip and refused any more indulgence, claiming it was bitter, when in fact, you had gone out of your way to find a sweeter drink ),

and sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose with a certain disillusionment.

"come on, you're getting to bed." the man was just about done with your hopeless actions. he grabbed your wrist and tugged, only to be met with resistance. you're pouting like a child, brows furrowed lazily as you stare upwards at him.

"nnno. m'not going with you."

"...excuse me?" what in the archons was the problem now? he tugged again, this time with a small margin of force, and was met with an even larger pull back, this time paired with a low whine. "hey, it's late, and all the wine is gone, so just comply with me won't you?"

"i already told you... i have a husband..."

your complaint met the cool night air and the adeptus' silence. his lips were slightly parted as his round eyes blinked once, then twice, in a sort of stunned stupor. "...love, i am that husband."

archons, how had he found himself such a foolish mortal to love?

"don't lie to me!" you shook your head profusely, wiggling around in his grasp relentlessly until the adeptus had no choice but to let go. "i know my husband when i see him... and he's way handsomer than you, stupid..." you stared him up and down with squinting eyes, eyeing the way his ears were beginning to turn pink, and sat heavily in thought as you pondered the man before you.

definitely not your husband.

idiot. with a huff, he easily hauled your body over his shoulder as if carrying something as trivial as a sack of potatoes. you hung loosely over, landing a couple weak punches on his back as you proceeded to prattle on, your defiance seemingly having little effect.

then, you were silent, and xiao had to look back to make sure you hadn't gotten hurt. sure, he had considered once or twice leaving you out there all passed out on the balcony, but not without reason, yet he'd decided against it. you seemed fine, mouth hung slightly ajar as you snoozed peacefully, your eyes shut and cheeks still warm from what you'd downed. the audacity to fall asleep... xiao couldn't deny that his sigh was one of fondness.

"night, this husband of yours loves you."

strange, wasn't the wine from liyue supposedly far less intense compared to the vodka CHILDE had tried back home?

that, or the people here simply were more susceptible when it came to the topic of intoxication. you were no exception — he'd taken you out drinking, his mistake, thinking it'd be an easy, splendid time.

and don't get him wrong, it was! not just, well... conversation was rather hard to make when the other person was practically unconscious. you're practically splayed across the mahogany table, eyes nearly drooped close and fire across your cheeks.

you giggled. it's a muddled sound, when you're mostly mumbling into the table. "hhhey, pour me another glass~"

childe scans your less-than-ideal state and procures an answer in a little under a second. "love, you've had too many."

you seem shocked at his words, leaning forwards a little with narrowed eyes. your figure sways as you shake your head lazily, from side to side. "wwhhhat? nnno, that can't be right..."

the man holds back an amused chuckle. it's entertaining. "and how many fingers am i holding up?" he holds up just one hand, displaying a reasonable amount of three.

there's a beat of silence. "...nineteen?" you blink a couple times, as if to shake you out of your stupor. "...nineteen," this time, with confidence.

childe claps his hands together, a sudden sound that makes you startled, and he moves to apologize immediately. "we're getting you to bed, love. clearly you've had more alcohol than you can handle."

"what, was i wrong??" there's tears forming in your eyes, and your lips tug downwards in a frown. "u-uhm, fifteen? nno, four...?"

"still incorrect, love. i'm afraid it's time for you to go to sleep. you'll wake up with a hell of a hangover tomorrow morning, but..." he sighed, thinking back to his time in shneznaya, then made a mental note to prepare you a hangover drink in the morning. his hand found its familiar place in your hand, unnaturally warm with your skin rosy from the alcohol. he smiled, turning to glance at you, but ceased when he saw you on the ground, tears now falling from your eyes, quietly sobbing as you shook your head back and forth.

panic immediately sets in. what has he done wrong?? "love, what-"

"nnnno, don't call me that..." you squinted upwards at him, looking quite displeased. "no 'love', 'kaaay? i'm not your love, mister."

he paused. wait, you didn't possibly think that... "love-" oh, old habits died hard, and the word had already left his lips before he could process what you'd said.

"i have a husband, you!!" in some sort of fit, or perhaps better worded as a tantrum, you stood, wrenching yourself from his grip and then hitting him repeatedly in the shoulders, chest, anywhere your fists could reach, really. the alcohol had surely affected your capabilities of combat — you missed half the time, and what punches did land caused no pain at all.

as your anger subsided, your step faltered, body swaying in the open air before childe reached over to catch you in his arms. he was concerned, naturally. "lov- are you alright?" his worry only grew when he heard no response, but it ebbed with a chuckle when he saw you were already fast asleep in his arms, snoozing without a care in the world.

"a husband, hm? whoever it is, he must quite be the gentleman..."

ALHAITHAM knew his night was fated to end in idiocy the moment you knocked on his door.

it didn't even strike him that you were holding wine, of all things, when you waltzed into his house like it was your own. sure, it wasn't as if these occasions weren't frequent, but really anyone would be surprised to glance up from a quiet reading session only to see their (annoying) lover pressed against the door, repeatedly calling out his name in a sing-song, satire-like voice.

like... calling a cat. it was a realization he made with not too much contentment. silently, he thanked the archons that kaveh was not home — they knew that he could not handle the both of you.

it was only when you sat down at his table, where he'd been reading up to the point when you barged in, that he noticed. green-tinted glass, a little wind motif on the front... dandelion wine from mondstadt. now, just how did you get your hands on that?

"connections," you had stated. with a note of pride, he might add. what, was he supposed to congratulate you on being able to talk to other people? even he, a person who generally hated people, could do that.

ah, but he didn't hate it. your voice, that is, when you rambled on for hours on end. he didn't have the heart to interrupt you, especially when you were so heated on a topic — be it work troubles, an especially annoying sailor, or you accidentally dropping your pita pocket into the water when walking along the port, he didn't mind.

"...mmbottle. haaithammm, the bottle..." your drunk complaints reach his ears, and he his irritation is more so disrupted with inward amusement as he watches you in the predicament you've landed yourself in.

"the bottle?" he questions, raising an eyebrow. his hands are crossed over his chest; he's clearly getting a ruse out of this. "just what would you need the bottle for, love?"

your eyebrows scrunch together. he can tell your brain is working at its max capacity. "...im. thirsty?"

"you've already drunk two thirds of this bottle." he holds said bottle high above your head, hopelessly far from your reach. "if you're so thirsty, drink water."

"i don wanna."

"..."

"just... one drop?"

"hah..." he pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply, and places a hand on your shoulder. you barely react, and don't even glance at the sudden weight. "love, you're staying over. you're going to bed."

"bed...?" horror crosses your face, paired with evident irritation. "y...you, who do you think you are, to suggest such things!?" your face is bright red, and you're hugging yourself with one arm and pointing an accusing finger towards the male with the other. "i have a husband!!"

ah. "...what's his name?"

"and why do youuuu want to know?" you narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, but seem to come up with an answer to your own question, for you answer him anyhow. "haitham."

"do you love this 'haitham'?" alhaitham's enjoying himself. when he teases the sober you, all you do is retort back, but now... he can see your flustered expression on full display as you stammer out an answer.

"o-of course! a-and, if you wanted to know, he's waaaaay handsomer.. than ... you..."

just like that, you topple over and sink into the couch, knocked unconscious. a trace of a smile crosses alhaitham's lips as he looks at your sleeping form.

"fortunately for you, this 'haitham' you speak of loves you too."

(a/n) bye i was gonna add kaveh to this one too but i realized oh fuck its white day i said id post a month ago what the fuck am i doing so i just like regurgitated this out and spat it onto your dashboard. ahodfjlds

tags (id paste the aesthetic thing but i cant find it so we're just gonna roll w this):

@manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @ @falors, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader,@fiannee, @aether-darling, @ceneid, @avensuersa, @solxima

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Could you write about being fingered by Ford? The idea is just rather titillating.

A/n: 10/10! Love this idea! I apologize if this sucks.

Ford had the date all planed out.

Cook you your favorite meal✓

Go for a nice little hike✓

Then finish the night off watching a meteor shower and some star gazing.

He honestly had no clue how it lead to this, you a whimpering mess on his lap, Ford's calloused hands caressed your thighs with reverence, his touch igniting delicious sparks of pleasure within you. He gazed upon you with unbridled desire, hungry to bring you the delightful fulfillment you craved.

Lowering his head, Ford nuzzled the sensitive skin of you neck, his stubble grazing your delicate flesh. A low, rumbling growl escaped his lips as he felt her part her legs further, silently begging him to take you.

"Patience, darlin'," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. Slowly, tantalizingly, his calloused fingertips trailed up your inner thighs, inching ever closer to your most intimate place. He relished the way your breath hitched, the way your body instinctively arched toward his touch.

Finally, he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of your skirt, caressing the silky heat he found there. Your muscles clenched around him as he stroked your slick folds, sending jolts of ecstasy racing through you. Ford swallowed your soft moans with a searing kiss, determined to savor every delicious sound you made.

"That's it, love'," he growled against your lips. "Let me hear how good I make you feel..."

Ford's calloused digits worked skilled magic, coaxing breathless whimpers from your lips as you rode his fingers,a gasp leaving you as the man slipped another finger in your warmth, his sixth finger slowly rubbing your clit. He drank in the sight of your flushed, rapturous expression, his own pulse thundering with unbridled desire.

Lowering his head, Ford nuzzled the delicate curve of your neck, his stubbly jaw grazing her soft skin, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. A rumbling growl of approval vibrated in his chest as he felt you clench needily around his plunging fingers.

"That's it, love'," he rasped, voice thick with lust. "Let it all out for me." His thumb brushed your swollen pearl in a maddening rhythm, coaxing ever more delicious sounds from your trembling lips.

Ford's free hand slid up to caress your cheek, guiding your face back to his. He captured your mouth in a searing, possessive kiss, swallowing your cries of bliss. He wanted to savor every last shudder, every spasm of pleasure that wracked your body.

Letting out a whine against his lips, your fingers clutched his tie as you rode his fingers. A shudder running down your spine as you felt your impending orgasm.Ford groaned in pure satisfaction as your slick walls clenched rhythmically around his plunging fingers. He swallowed your cries of bliss with a searing kiss, determined to prolong your ecstasy for as long as possible. His calloused palm cupped your cheek tenderly, his thumb caressing the soft, flushed skin.

The sight of your rapturous expression, the feeling of you trembling in his arms, ignited a primal hunger within him. He wanted nothing more than to worship every inch of your supple body, to explore your most intimate places until you were utterly spent.

Slowing the pace of his ministrations, Ford peppered your neck with reverent kisses, murmuring words of praise and adoration against your skin. His touch was equal parts soothing and sensual, coaxing the last tremors of your from your quivering form as your orgasm hit you.

" You're so goddamn perfect..."

Ford tenderly gathered you into his embrace, his calloused fingers caressing your flushed, quivering form. A satisfied rumble rose from his chest as he felt the last tremors of your climax shudder through you.

Pressing featherlight kisses along your temple, he murmured words of praise and adoration, reveling in the way you melted against him. Ford knew he would never tire of seeing you like this - utterly spent and happy in his arms.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand, gently trailing his fingertips along your sensitive flesh. He chuckled lowly as you shivered at his touch, his heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of pride and possession.

Cradling you close, Ford peppered your face with tender kisses, his rough stubble grazing your soft skin as you let out a small but tired giggle.

"You were absolutely perfect, darlin'." His fingers caressed your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Ford's eyes gleamed with unbridled adoration, his heart brimming with the knowledge that he had pleased her so.

You were his, and he'd make damn sure you never forgot it.

[nymphoniah]

one of these nights | logan howlett

pairing: old man!logan x afab!reader

AN: just a little drabble while i work on an ask! i can’t stop thinking about lazy evenings with old!man logan. he loves to rough up his girl, whether she likes it or not <3

content/tags: NSFW, minors DNI (18+ only!), suggestive content, hair pulling, teasing, old man!logan, kinda dom/sub vibes if you squint, daddy kink, assplay (spanking, but gently), pet names (princess, darling, sugar, etc.), dirty talk, mark leaving (hickeys)

you’re sprawled out on the couch, cozy with your head rested on his lap. he’s seated, reading a book, elbow propped up against the armrest, prescription glasses slowly drooping down his nose bridge.

with his free hand, he’s playing with your hair, ruffling it up the same way you do with his. his fingers intertwine lazily with your hair, twisting at the strands that frame your face

“c’mon logan!” you whine, pushing his hands away playfully, “i just curled my hair, wanted to look nice for you”, you quipped, emphasizing the last word by nuzzling your face deeper into the plush of his thighs in frustration.

“don’t worry,” he coos, letting out a deep chuckle. you enjoy the way his chest vibrates against you, a wistful sign of his affection; a small tell that only you can decipher.

“you look absolutely pretty this way, doll,” he lulls, folding the corner on the page of his book, placing it on the nightstand.

his firm hands move to the curve of your waist, slowly creeping their way downwards. you grunt in response, your impish way of saying as if!

he pats the flesh of your ass with a rhythm—gentle and slow, the same way you’d pat a baby’s back to help them fall asleep. it was soothing, calming, it kept you grounded.

you loved being pampered by logan. it never mattered to him if he was busy reading, working late in his study. he always made time for you.

he played with the hem of your skirt, tugging ever so slightly—teasing you back. he knew of your intentions, knew how needy you were the second you laid down next to him.

he gives you one last gentle smack on the ass, serving as a punctuation of some sort. “c’mere darling,” he murmurs, his tone low and sultry with the natural timbre of his voice.

you slowly crawl your way into his lap, gently slotting yourself between his thighs, his thick muscles now caging you in.

logan was an absolute sight— tired, disheveled, tie half way loosened. despite his age, he filled out his button-up shirt quite well, his muscles barely contained by the cotton.

“you really think i look pretty like this?” you ask innocently, tilting your head to the side. your hair still a tangled mess from his absentminded fiddling.

“’course you do, doll,” he responds with no hesitation, placing wet kisses along your neck, his salt-and-pepper beard tickling the sensitive skin.

his hands run along your sides, slipping them underneath your nightgown. you moan at the way his cold hands work at your sensitive nubs, graciously molding your mounds.

he playfully tugs at them, and you let out a little his. the corner of his mouth curls, a tight smirk now forming across his face.

“need to ruin you, sugar”, he groans against you, now planting kisses against your collarbone, sucking ever-so slightly to leave those purple bruises you both desired.

“fuckin’ need to make a mess outta you,” he drones on, intoxicated by the way you react to his touch; a simple whimper or small whine that escaped your lips made his cock twitch.

he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging slightly to make sure your eyes meet his. his stern gaze meets your lust blown pupils, and she shakes his head in dismay.

“now let your daddy rough you up a lil’ bit more, princess…”

[silverskyeline]

ੈ♡˳ grinding on old man logans thigh. 18+

logan takes great pleasure in watching you grind on his jeans, his thick thigh planted between your legs as you roll your hips on top. his glasses slide down the strong bridge of his nose, but he doesn't care, he's too preoccupied with the image of you coming undone before his very eyes to give a damn about that.

he runs his hands soothingly along your thighs, almost coaxing you to completion, squeezing your plump flesh every so often. sinking his old bones back into the sofa, he enjoys the show you're so graciously presenting to him, a show he's seen so many times before but will never grow tired of.

the friction is so good, the coarse material of the denim rubbing against your wet folds, sending sparks straight to your clit with every grind. your hands are planted on the base of his thigh, gripping, dangerously close to his thick, hardening cock. said he was too tired to give you what you wanted, but you both do this same dance every night. it starts with you on top of him, mewling like crazy and dripping like a faucet - in no time he's pumping his cum deep into you like his life depends on it.

but for now, he watches.

"feels so good, baby," you whisper, exhaling shakily as you try to keep at least some composure, "love it when you let me do this. . ."

he grumbles, a low grumbling at the back of his throat as he gives your thighs a tight squeeze, "can tell you're enjoying it," his eyes drift down to between your legs, "look how soaked you got me, darlin'."

and he's right, his jeans are damp, your wetness coating it so deeply it's become a darker shade of blue. logan can even feel it beneath the denim, you're soaking his skin so perfectly. he has to suppress a hungry growl at the sensation, how wet you are for him, how easily you become a mess for him, all pretty and drenched on his lap.

snaking a strong hand between your thighs, he gently pulls back your folds with his thumb, earning a whiny gasp from your lips. "hmm," his eyes drift across your glistening pussy, a deep stirring in his groin at the smell of how aroused you are, "would you look at that, such a messy girl, just for me. . ."

you nod, of course you are. how could you not be? especially with those words, those hands.

he looks up at you over his glasses, you have to resist cumming on the spot just from that look alone. there's a silence for a moment as you lock eyes with him, ". . .want me to take care of you?"

fuck.

you throb at the thought, aching for him to fill you - with his cock, even his fingers would do, anything. "please, please, fuck, logan please," you whine desperately, shifting faster on his lap against his jeans.

logan can't help but smirk, his hand on your thigh rising to cup your chin, pulling you down to his mouth, "since you're asking like a good girl, suppose i can give you what you want. . ." his salt and pepper beard brushes against your skin before he captures you in a deep, passionate and hungry kiss.

and then, a growl, an impatient command against your lips.

"get on the fucking bed."

-

logan promptober day 7 - denim

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates pt. 3

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : life on campus with a killer on the loose, the FBI makes an arrest word count : 2k warning : canon-typical violence, swear words (one use of the f-word) A/N : thank you so so much for all the love on this story !!! I'm so glad you all enjoy it <333 I'll probably do a part 4, it may be the last part, idk yet :)

part 1, part 2, part 4

"Spencer, I realise your concern, but lots of women look somewhat like this." It wasn't lost on Spencer what Hotch was trying to do by calling by his first name. "Hotch, she- she could be right next to them. She fits his type right down to the colour of her eyes!" "Spencer, man, you need to think rationally." Derek placed a hand on Spencer's shoulder. "Lots of women have that hair colour and length, it's in style right now, right Emily?" "Yeah, definitely." "Look, I just- I need to make a call."

When Spencer had called you sometime in the evening, you'd been expecting him to tell you he was going to come home late and to not wait up for him. What you weren't expecting was for his voice to be the most serious and stern you'd ever heard it. "Don't go outside until I come home, okay?" He knew it was entirely irrational. The unsub only took women in broad daylight, you weren't facing any more risks than usual. But he couldn't take a chance. Not with this. Not with you. "What? Why?" "Just- I'll explain everything when I come home, I'll be there in a couple hours, but please, don't leave the apartment. And make sure everything is locked." "Spencer, what's going on?" "Can you just-" He paused, forcing himself to remain calm. "Look, do as I say, please. I'll explain everything later, I promise." You hesitated for a moment. Luckily for you, you weren't working at the bar tonight. Luckily for Spencer, you liked him enough to indulge him. "Okay." "Thank you."

"Oh my God, no, absolutely not!" "Y/N, it's for your safety, don't you understand that?!" "My safety? What about my life?"

This was the first real fight you'd ever had. You'd had disagreements, of course, he didn't like you leaving your empty cups and glasses all over the place. You told him off for waking you in the morning by making too much noise. Sometimes you'd get jealous if Geoffrey slept in Spencer's bed rather than yours. Yes, you'd had your fair share of arguments, but none quite like this.

"I'm not asking you to give up your life, you're being totally-" You scoffed loudly, interrupting him. "Spencer, you might as well! Do you realise what you're suggesting I do? You want me to give up on going outside, not go to any of my classes, not see any of my friends, not go to work, don't you see what bullshit that is? It's putting a cross on my social life, my education and my work!" You gesticulated angrily as you speak, feeling heat rising to your face. "I already told you, it's for your own safety." He sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He wasn't even looking at you. A tiny, tiny piece of you wanted to slap him. "I will not stop living my life because some psycho thinks it's fun to kill innocent girls! I won't!" You crossed your arms over your chest and resisted the urge to stomp your foot.

"You're being incredibly childish right now." You hated how he managed to stay calm. You wanted him to get just as angry as you were, livid even. It wasn't fair that you were the only one getting upset. "Are you making all the girls who look like me give up everything for the sake of their safety?" Your tone was mocking and mean but you didn't have it in you to care at the moment. He met your eyes at last, lips turned downwards into a frown. Finally, some sort of emotion. "Don't do that, Y/N," he warned in a low voice. "No, I think it's a valid question. Is your boss making an announcement to the press that all the girls in Mary Washington University who look like the three last girls should stay inside? Is he?" you pushed. Spencer looked away from you again, shaking his head in disbelief at your attitude. "No, he isn't."

"Then why do you expect me to do that?!" You threw your hands in the air, beyond frustrated. For a logical person, Spencer's behaviour wasn't making any sense at the moment. "I don't expect you to do it. I want you to do it, I need you to do it." You could feel his calm facade breaking, piece by piece. "Why, Spencer, fucking why?!" "Because!" He finally exploded, jumping to his feet and slapping his palms onto the table. You didn't jump. "Because it's you, Y/N! I can't work this case if I know you're in danger every single day! If I know yours could be the next dead body students ogle at on the university's front lawn! If I know it's your picture they're going to hang up next to the other victims! I just can't do it!"

Oh.

You let yourself fall down on the couch, running your hands over your face. You were both stepping into uncharted territory. You'd tip-toed this line before but had never crossed it yet. And this was not the way to do it. You were not going to cross the border from friendship into something more by screaming at each other. Spencer seemed to read your silence as distress.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell." He softly trudged over to the couch and sat down next to you. "No, it's okay, I- I kind of wanted you to. I'm sorry for getting so upset." You take his hand in your lap and intertwine your fingers. "I understand, I'm asking too much of you, it's selfish." He gives your hand a squeeze. "I just can't stand the thought of anything happening to you." You sit in silence for a little while, processing.

"I just can't hide while I wait for other girls to be killed, Spencer, it wouldn't be fair." Sometimes, Spencer hated how good of a person you were. If your morals and personal ethics were some of the things he liked about you the most, he couldn't help but curse them in this moment. "I don't care about fair," he mumbled, hating how puerile he sounded. You cooed and laid your head on his shoulder. "I know, I'm sorry."

"I won't promise you anything, but I'll try to always be with someone around campus. I'm usually with my friends anyway. And I can share my location with you all the time if that's reassuring for you." "I'd like that, thank you. And... what about when you're at work?" "I can ask Paul to walk me to my car." Paul was the manager at the bar you worked at, Quantequila. His past was a mysterious blend of prison, MMA fighting and crochet clubs. He liked you plenty and you knew he wouldn't mind walking you to your car for a while. "Thank you."

Over the next week, you did just that. Many students started moving in groups and avoiding being alone at all costs after the FBI released the profile and the pictures of the last victims.

"We're looking for a local white man, early twenties. He may have moved here a year ago, we figure he's either in his first year of BA or MA. This is someone you don't notice, he's shy and introverted, he doesn't participate in class and he won't talk to people if he can help it, especially not women. This man is a loner and does his best to be invisible. We think he stalks his victims for a while before attacking them, so if you start seeing someone you've never seen before in strange places, please notify us. My name is Aaron Hotchner and you'll find the hotline on the screen you're watching this on."

You always had at least two friends with you whenever you were roaming about on campus. Though no one really spoke about the situation, the energy had changed. People were becoming tense and suspicious. Friends were fighting over who should accompany who, when and where. A place which had once gathered so many motivated and joyous students now had those very people looking over their shoulder.

You hated it.

Truly, you didn't want to underestimate this killer, but you were getting tired of it all. You'd wish the BAU would just catch him, but, as Spencer had explained to you multiple times, they had incredibly little to go on. What you knew without him telling you was that they needed another victim to predict his next move. Still, you were a person who appreciated alone time and you had gotten none in the last 10 days. So, when two of your friends who were supposed to walk with you from your class to the subway bailed on you, you weren't that upset.

You put your headphones on, listening to your favourite song of the moment and started walking. You had a tendency of getting lost in your thoughts and didn't notice the sound of heavy footsteps following your own over your music. What you did notice though, was the reflection of someone walking close behind you in a cafe window. You looked over your shoulder, frowning. The sun was in your eyes, blocking your vision, but you managed to perceive an average-sized man with long-ish black hair which hung around his face in greasy strands. Not thinking too much of it, you continued on your way.

You didn't think too much of it when you saw him sitting a few tables away from you when you were studying one afternoon at the library. You were captivated by the Middle English poem under your eyes, wondering what the author had meant with the particular use of the kenning "earth-cave". When you looked up and caught his eyes, cold and unnerving, you didn't overthink it. There were some weird people on campus. Who were you to judge?

When you saw him at your grocery store, though, that was when you started worrying. You were picking up a box of After-Eights for Spencer when you saw him looking at oatmeal raisin biscuits. What really tipped you off was that no one really liked those, so he must have been pretending to look occupied. A chill ran down your spine as all the other places you'd spotted him came back to you. Your lecture hall, the cafeteria, sitting in the lawn under a tree, the main hall,...

You decided that the next time you would see him, you'd tell Spencer. You didn't want him to worry if this turned out to be nothing. Maybe the man was just an exchange student? Or had joined during the academic year?

Two days later, the FBI made an arrest. A man named Ben Colton fitted the profile exactly. In his dorm room, they'd found pictures of women who looked exactly like the last victims and of resembling women on campus, you were part of them. You didn't know that, Spencer had felt you didn't need to be aware of that specific detail. The only problem was that the BAU had no physical evidence tying him to the crimes yet. The arrest had been sanctioned by higher authorities while physical proof was searched for. Police dogs and officers had been tearing through all of his possessions while Garcia had gone through his entire online life. Nothing tying him to the murders had been found.

The general public knew nothing of this, of course. To them, someone getting arrested meant they could go on with their usual lives. The man you'd been seeing left and right had left your mind entirely as you celebrated your regained freedom with your friends.

Of course, Spencer had warned you. They were 99% sure this was the unsub, they just needed the evidence. That didn't eliminate the 1% chance it wasn't him. But 99% chances were good enough for you. You trusted the BAU. Specifically, you trusted Spencer. With your life.

So you started living your life normally again. You left for class a little later because you didn't need to walk with your other friends. You stopped sharing your location with Spencer. You put the volume of your music higher again. You started leaving your pepper spray at home. You started texting while walking again.

Needless to say, you were wholly unprepared for the violent blow to your head as you walked to class one morning. How ironic, you thought as you blacked out, that Mary Goldman had probably experienced the same thing exactly two weeks prior.

Taglist : (all of you who asked for a part three <3) @princess-ofthe-pages @usuck @theylovemelody @empressgraytea @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillianacristina @venomsvl @user-3113s-blog @pumpkin-cake @redros3y @faunrasthewinterelf @puppykinsthepotato @bookishnerd1132 @bonza-bear @teeshamcbeesha @hades-disappointment-child @princesssparkle2024 @darlingcharling-blog @yasmin12312 @khxna @jamieeboulos

[harunovella]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ love language; s.g.

synopsis: when gojo satoru first fell in love with you content: teen gojo era, fem!reader, gojo is head over heels (love at first sight), hopeless!romantic gojo, 1k+ words of gojo just being an absolute fool in love, not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: I've been wanting to create a sort of anthology series for some of my favs so here's a test run! I rlly wanna do lil drabbles/oneshots that can both be standalone but also can be read as something continuous revolving around Gojo's story with his soulmate... pls lmk if you'd like to see more of gojo and his mochi (aka you!)

Gojo Satoru didn't entirely know what love was; what with being raised by other people who weren't his actual mother and father, how could he? All he ever knew was a life of being the Honored One, since the day he was born. Nothing but a weapon. Living as the strongest and treated like a god... he never knew what real love felt like. He never knew what it was like to give or receive it. At least, not this way.

Geto Suguru and Ieiri Shoko were his best friends, the closest thing to real family. It wasn't like he didn't have any, at least not while growing up, but were they really family when all they ever did was train him and treat him like the eighth wonder of the world? Unlike everyone else, at least Suguru and Shoko treated him like a human. They loved him for who he was, but didn't hesitate to snap him into place when his ego was too inflated. They were there for him, even when expressing whatever demons that he held within him was hard to manage. If it wasn't for them, he wasn't sure exactly how he'd go about his life. Sure, he'd act like everything was fine and dandy, money could buy him happiness as he had plenty of it... and he was pretty much unstoppable, but the idea of living a life without either of them didn't sit well in his stomach.

So, sure, Satoru did now a bit about love, at least the love he felt for his best friends, but nothing like what he felt in this moment. The moment his eyes first fell on you.

He hadn't a clue as to who you were, only seeing you stroll along the grounds of Jujutsu High with your little uniform. The typical jacket, a skirt beneath, knee high socks, loafers... and your hair in a low ponytail that was held together by an overly large ribbon. Cute was the first thing that came to mind, along with the terrifying sound of his racing heart. Who were you? How come he had never seen you before? Maybe it was because he didn't pay attention to any one else besides a handful of people. He'd be lying if he said he was sure the technical college held more than five students. 

In the midst of sipping away at his little box of strawberry milk, walking alongside Suguru and Shoko, Satoru's eyes had aimlessly wandered along his environment as his two best friends had been discussing evening plans. It wasn't like him to care about what was going on around him, so it was quite the miracle that his eyes were looking anywhere but ahead of him... but, maybe this was destiny.

It felt like the world was suddenly moving slowly around him, rather dramatically like a movie. His lips parted as the tiny straw fell out of it, hidden gaze behind his circular frames becoming exposed as the glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. You looked so graceful, the afternoon sun beaming down on you, your smile as bright as his eyes... he had to have been in love. This had to have been love. What else could it have been? Why else was his heart fluttering so quickly? Why else was he caught in a daze by your beauty? No one else, not a single soul, ever caught his attention this way so you must've been his soulmate.

There was something about you, from your gorgeous hair, to the cute bow, down to the uniform and the way it suited your form to the way you... wait, were you laughing with... Nanami Kento? Gojo's heart stopped as his grip on the milk grew tight, causing the contents to squeeze right out and squirt all over his face.

The sound of laughter caught his attention as he quickly looked at his two best friends, embarrassment filling his face as he looked back at you to see you now looking in his direction. Quickly wiping his face and turning away to scold his best friends, Gojo tossed the now empty carton at Geto. "Shut up!"

"What the hell did you do?" Suguru shook his head, wiping his tears as his shoulders shook with every laugh that rumbled throughout his torso. "Losing your cool over a girl, huh?"

"I said shut up!" Satoru snapped, cheeks burning with heat, embarrassed that he was that obvious.

"Must've struck something in him for him to spill milk all over his face like the doofus he is," Shoko snickered as Suguru went for a high five.

Swatting their hands and glaring at the two, Gojo hissed, "nothing happened, I squeezed too hard."

"Right," the two said in sync before eyeing one another, smirking and stifling a laugh.

Shoving past them as he kept walking ahead, grumbling to himself, Gojo couldn't help but peak over in your direction. You had already turned your attention back to the two on either side of you—Nanami along with Yu Haibara. Since when did they have a friend that was a girl? And when did you appear? He should've known seeing as both were his junior and both trained quite close to Suguru and himself. So you must've been new... He supposed he'd find more out about you, knowing he'd find a way to get under Nanami's skin and get anything out of him. He must've known a lot about you...

Gojo smirked to himself. He'd get his way.

"No," Nanami spoke as he crossed his arms. The confidence in Gojo's face instantly fading away. He didn't even hesitate, cancelling his plans with his best friends to bribe Kento into giving him some information. He swore taking his junior to his favorite bakery would help him out, but, no! Kento, being the wise boy he was, took advantage of Satoru paying for food in a false exchange for information. "I'm not going to be your middle man."

"Why not?!" Gojo whined, throwing himself back in his seat dramatically. "Just one thing! Something! Anything! She's the love of my life!"

Narrowing his eyes as he sipped away at his water, Nanami settled the glass down before crossing his arms once again. "Love of your life? You don't even know her name—"

"Because you won't tell me!" Gojo cried, throwing his head back and stomping his foot as if he was about to throw a tantrum. "Please, please! I beg of you, tell me something about her! Besides her name, what's her favorite color? Maybe her favorite food? Or... or what's her favorite date spot!"

"Satoru, I am not about to ask her what her favorite date spot is," Nanami deadpanned. "I'll give you her name and that's all. Everything else is on you. I'm not going to play matchmaker, let alone, set you up with someone so far out of your league."

Gasping in offense, Gojo clutched his chest. "Out of my league? Sure, she's a pure angel, a real heavenly being, but I like to think I am, too!"

"Egotistical..." Kento mumbled as Gojo frowned. "I'm only telling you one thing to get you off my back. You can't ask me anything ever again in order to get close to her. That's on you."

Pressing his hands together and interlocking his fingers, Gojo gave his best puppy eyes as he jutted out his bottom lip. "Please, I promise to leave you be after!"

"You better," the blond man grumbled before giving his senior your name. "She likes to sit under the cherry blossoms on the eastern side of the campus. If you want to find her and talk to her, she's usually there on her down time." At that, Nanami stood up and tucked his seat back into the table. Just as he was about to leave, he stopped in his tracks, turning to face the white haired young man. "All I ask of you is to be... gentle. She's a nice girl. I don't need you breaking her heart."

Sitting up with confidence as a wide grin took over his face, Satoru nodded with his thumbs up. "Believe me, I wont! I know this is love!" Seeing Nanami roll his eyes before leaving, Gojo happily sighed before looking out the window. Leaning his chin in the palm of his hand, he eyed the cherry blossom that had petals delicately swaying in the wind. "She's my soulmate, I know we are destined to be."