#or even fourth if you go that long without a long rest

[shotmrmiller]

getting shot down by ghost without even asking him out or anything because he'd heard from one scottish bird that your type of guy was exactly like him and thinking back on it now, all the qualities you'd listed for your dream man do sound like as if you were describing him. yikes.

you don't take his rejection to heart, even though it does lightly sting but before you get a chance to explain that said scottish bird is an idiot and very mistaken in his assumption, ghost is telling you that it'd never work, you'd only get hurt and that you do take to heart because what does that mean, exactly? does he think you some dewy eyed farm girl looking for love? that you can't have casual sex with someone without eventually wanting for more?

"tha' ain't wha' i said. you'd get hurt, i mean look at ya." what about you? it's not like you'd let any of what happens behind closed doors affect your performance or anything, you and kyle always keep things professional while in the field.

also, is he aware that he doesn't have to have a reason to not want to sleep with you, or anyone else for that matter?

"you're small," he states, as if fact.

small? small where? your irritation dissipates, shoulders bleeding tension as genuine worry begins to set in. his vision might actually be going bad. could it be the black paint he wears under his mask? is it even safe to use on the face let alone near the eyes? did he read the instructions?

but then you realize he's looking at your legs, or specifically, what's between them and things click, and now you're wondering how someone so bloody brilliant could be this fucking stupid.

"while i appreciate your concern, lieutenant," you pointedly snap, "that's not even- i'd be just fine." he's a big guy, for sure. massive, if being honest. his neck alone is easily bigger than both your hands and you've caught him once or twice having to duck his head to enter the debriefing room but him being so endowed that it poses a threat to you is idiotic at best.

he hums, long and low in his throat, as he peers down at you through heavy lidded eyes, and raises his right shoulder in a shrug. "as you like," and that's the one and only warning you got.

simon had given you as much foreplay as needed, had lapped at your pussy until you forgot what day of the week it was, curled and scissored his fingers until his bedsheets were sodden and it still hadn't been enough. he'd only fit about a fourth of it in before he took pity on you and fucked your thighs instead until he got close, pushing his ruddy tip back into your aching cunt because "spillin' outside is a waste," and sent you on your merry way.

you're no quitter though and after some shopping online, your saving grace (dilators) will be here in a week.

(now to find soap and rip the rest of his hair right out his scalp for wagging his tongue.)

[queerwritersingerdramaqueen]

Oh. My. Fucking. GODS BITCHES.

There is so much fucking hurt coming this way. 

But! You all know the drill! SPOILERS FOR THE VENGEANCE SAGA PAST THIS POINT. IF YOU HAVE NOT LISTENED TO IT, DON’T SPOIL IT FOR YOURSELF IT’S FUCKING INSANE AND THE SURPRISE FACTOR MAKES IT SO MUCH BETTER. 

FIRST OF ALL, HOLY FUCK SHIT WENT SIDEWAYS SO FUCKING QUICK. BETWEEN THE WIND BAG AND THE SIX HUNDRED STRIKE. I’M QUAKING IN MY BOOTS.

This saga is the long awaited conclusion to the Mycroft vs William debacle and it requires a LOT of backstory so bear with me. 

So, at some point before the Vengeance saga (can be in between then and the wisdom saga, or even earlier than that) Mycroft and Albert hooked up. This very funny idea is brought to you by Steven Rodriguez’s “Like You Mean It” and “The Devil Wears Lace” and it’s basically brought up by a very drunk Karaoke session and one thing leads to another. Anyway, the short relationship doesn’t end well since Mycroft has a bit of a “Fuck, I slept with the enemy” moment (he’s still very much on the defense when it comes to Sherlock) AND IT GETS A LITTLE MESSY. Mycroft doesn’t completely ghost Albert but he does sort of step back when Albert starts showing genuine affection for him (oh boy, I’ve never written Alcroft angst centred around Mycroft before, Albert is usually the one who needs to get his shit together). Regardless, William is now doubly pissed at Mycroft, Albert’s sad and Sherlock is just shaking his head in disappointment because if he’s the only one who pulled his head out of his ass, then they're all doomed. The OTHER really big thing to remember during this saga is that Mycroft didn’t know ANYTHING about Sherlock and William leading up to the performance. He and Sherlock (especially since the Ruthlessness fiasco) haven’t talked heaps and Mycroft hasn’t been on set since then either. Sherlock does appreciate his brother looking out for him; he does NOT appreciate Mycroft threatening him through song. 

Most of the rest of the cast are kind of just chilling watching this all go down on the side with a bucket of popcorn. They know better than to get involved with the Lord of Crime and the Government when they’re fighting. 

So this saga summed up: the in-laws are FIGHTING

But without further ado, let's get into it

The Vengeance Saga: 

Not Sorry for Loving you - I’m going to preface this one that I am entirely open to any kind of criticisms that may be had about my approach to this song. I’ve never been in that kind of situation and I’m interpreting the song as sung by someone who hasn’t actively kept their “partner” prisoner for seven years. When I listen to “Not Sorry for Loving You” and put it in the perspective of Albert, it sounds much less like an abusers half-assed apology (when it comes from Calypso, then I can hear the bullshit). So with that in mind, feel free to make suggestions and criticisms, I’m completely open to that. Hell, I even ewncourage them because I don't want to be an asshole here.

So, Albert’s rendition of this song obviously doesn’t come from a place of (romantic) love for William but he’s projecting onto him big time. To further emphasise this point, Albert’s not looking at him throughout the song. He could be doing that fourth-wall break again but this time with trying to make the audience sympathetic (god, outside of the AU, that would be such an interesting way of doing Calypso, with her always trying to present herself as a loving, poor girl trapped on an island, making even those who know how wrong she is sympathetic). That first part where he says “That you’re not mine to save” ties in really fucking well to that chapter where Albert blames himself for being the reason William fell. I also can’t believe I managed to kind of catch that in the wisdom saga during Love in Paradise. The thing I’m trying to go for here is letting Albert get some of his frustration out, because he hasn’t had the best luck with family or dating and even friends, so when he meets Mycroft and he finds all those things in him, it’s amazing. This probably would not come across in the actual performance (he does still have a role to play) but counteractive to Calypso deflecting her actions during the Pre-chorus, Albert is owning up to his faults, even when they’re not actually that bad. Mycroft’s guilt over the whole Sherlock/William thing is to blame, not Albert; but he blames himself anyway. A very large portion of this would rely on the writer’s (AKA. my own) ability to get that message across and I totally understand if I haven’t made it make sense. During the bridge part, “I’m angry and tired and restless and sad” the frustration hits a peak and Albert’s venting a little bit on wanting Mycroft to let go of his little (kinda petty) feud with William (and maybe still being kind of pissed at William for doing what he did (Albert and Sherlock are besties and you can fight me on that, you won’t win)). William’s “I love you/but not in the way you want me too” is less about being the object of Albert’s anger/affection and more like “This song isn’t for me, but I do love you brother and you’ll get through this.” And the damn kind of just breaks from there as Albert watches William “sail” away. 

Dangerous - THE BOY IS BACK!!!!! HERMESSSSSSS! JAMESSSSSSSS! You don’t understand how actually HYPED I am that James is back in this AU! Dangerous is such a fucking bop :D But before I get into it, production is a thing and it sucks to work out. Maybe Von Herder really should be just a guy out back cause I need his help figuring out how to do the raft?! For now, I’d assume it’s just on wheels and maybe actors in those dark jumpsuits are pushing it around (Like with the Cyclops puppet and what will eventually happen with Charybdis). IF they’re already on stage that's probably good too, they can pretend to be the monsters along the way and it’ll be an easy transition. AND A COUPLE OF THEM CAN BE WINIONS So plot wise, James is trying to reel William in because this man is gonna lose his shit on Mycroft in a second. The whiplash of how disco-esque Dangerous is helps in being a sort of calming factor (until the “NO” that is) for James to help William take a breath. The wind bag, once more, serves its purpose of being all the bottled up shit William (and even Mycroft to some extent, since it’s HIS storm after all) is holding onto. Most of this song is kind of just a dance break but once we get to the windbag, we get some more plot. This is William’s chance to prove he won’t let anything get in the way of him and Sherlock, his last chance to prove to Mycroft that he won’t hurt his baby brother again (and trust me, William absolutely recognises the GALL of it coming from Mycroft). It’s also his chance to show how he’s “healed,” though that’s more implied through the metaphor of the wind bag. If he has to be ruthless and give Mycroft the what for, he’s gonna do it. I’m also going to make another disclaimer that YES, I know Mycroft now sounds like an asshole. If this were a properly written fic where I could dive into nuance, I could explain the intricacies of both William and Mycroft in a probably more understanding way. As stands however *bangs pots over my head* THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, ANY ACTIONS WITHIN ARE NOT TO BE TAKEN WITH THE SERIOUSNESS OF REAL LIFE. 

(also, the “I’m not the one who fought for you” knowing it was Sherlock/Athena who fought with William through most of the hardship is fucking amazing)

Charybdis - This number requires us to look less at what’s on the stage and what’s happening backstage. Musical wise, we’ve got big puppet Charybdis. I think that style of the dragon dance would be a good way of doing it, or with the long poles to make it go really high. This piece would need some serious production work because I don’t know quite enough about that side of theatre. I’m just good at the literary stuff (in case it wasn’t obvious). We could even simulate waves with fabric being fwiped around by actors. But back on the plot stuff, William is determined. Mycroft sees this and is like, “oh we are both fucked here.” The actual emotional things happening are weird. Mycroft knows that he’s not much better than William (Though he was absolutely more direct with Albert, his reasoning was a little bullshit even to Sherlock, the guy he was doing it for). He’s feeling guilty and sad for giving up what he had and angry at William because he understands on an even more personal level how the whole situation hurts someone else. But Mycroft is seeing this determination and is deeply conflicted on how he should feel (Albert’s crying in the corner after his number and Sherlock’s stealing popcorn waiting for his boyfriend and brother to duke it out because there is no way in hell he’s defending either of them, they can work out their own shit and grovel at his feet afterwards). When William “reaches Ithaca” and is dragged back (that “NO” fucking hurt man) it’s Mycroft being like, “alright fucker, prove it” (which was the original story idea until I heard all of the vengeance saga and proceeded to lose my marbles with a subplot)

(I feel like this is a good juncture to clarify and remind everyone what actually happened. William and Sherlock had a fight because William wasn’t taking care of himself. They go through a sort of “soft-lock” breakup where they consider it all done but they never actually talk about it, so when Sherlock tries to make amends and either fix or end the relationship, William ghosts him and it’s not until the Ocean Saga that he realises how badly that hurt Sherlock. After those events (when Mycroft isn’t around to witness), William chooses to get help and he and Sherlock are slowly trying to at least repair their friendship. This is a mutual choice that they both want. Mycroft and Albert go through something different. It eventually dawns on Mycroft that Albert is in fact William’s brother and he feels like he might be betraying Sherlock by having a connection with the Moriarty’s at all. Because he’s only been in the musical for one instant, he doesn’t know about them and the developments they've made. He and Albert are not quite in an established relationship and more like sleeping together and sticking around to cuddle afterward. *bangs the pot again* FICTION PEOPLE, FEEL THE FLUFF, DROP THE STUFF. DON’T DO THIS IN REAL LIFE, LIVE VICARIOUSLY THROUGH THEM WORKING OUT THEIR ISSUES.)

Get in the Water - WHEN I TELL YOU I HAD BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT I’ve been actually fucking obsessed with how this would go and it’s the “I can’t…” that inspired a lot of what’s about to happen. So, the original plot, as mentioned above, was going to be just William getting his resolve tested by Mycroft, a test to see if he’d actually built up the courage and strength to stick with Sherlock. Now it’s a looooot more with the sub plot. “Get in the water” is now less about William not bending on getting what he wants, and more about Mycroft just wanting William to go away so 1) Sherlock can’t be hurt again (he’s clueless, remember?) and 2) so he can stop feeling guilt about pushing Albert away. He is also warring with himself somewhat and somewhere inside him he really wants William to prove him wrong. They are also playing parts so please keep that in mind with some of what they’re saying; it’s the intent and emotion behind how they're singing it that implies what they're really trying to say to each other. I also think that, while having the trident is really cool, I like the way this one animatic portrays a stage adaptation with him using long pieces of fabric coloured like the sea to throw him around a bit, tied with the other actors throwing “water” at him. The aerials are also still an option I’d like to use for the gods and the dead, and they’ll play in really well later.  William does extend an olive branch at one point, he’s not beyond the point of forgiveness yet. Maybe they can forgive each other and themselves for hurting those closest to them. That “I can’t…” though takes. Me. out. Mycroft forgiving William means forgiving himself and trying to make things right between him and Albert. He wants too but he’s fucking STUBBORN. So we get the “Ruthlessness is Mercy Upon Ourselves” bit thrown back at him again, because he truly believes that he has to be a bit self-destructive and let Albert move on without him, that he has to protect Sherlock from William. Pair that with the fact that (at least the way I write them) they never do truly “like” each other and he’s just really fucking angry at himself and William. (weird segue but I genuinely do think that, in canon post-timeskip, Mycroft wouldn’t like William for being the reason Sherlock jumped off the bridge and disappeared for three years, for making him dance in his hand, or completely overtaking his life with these cases to the point that Sherlock killed someone just to cut the strings. Kind of like the Louis/Sherlock situation, but with just an ounce more respect towards the other party, because Mycroft does understand it was still Sherlock’s choice. So in my writing at least, they usually don’t like each other all that much but they stay out of it.) Now, the last breath. I came to the really sad realisation the other day that Anticlea, Eurylochus and Polities actually make up the three original group members we meet at the start of the manga, so I’m just going to go *sobs really fucking loudly around the corner.* You don’t understand how badly this fucks me up, that this whole time, I’ve unintentionally had Fred, Moran and Louis, the first three of the crime gang to enact the plan, also be the voices he remembers whenever he’s in a tough spot. So please picture for me, William on his knees in blue light, arms raised like he’s drowning, then Fred pops up, then Moran (They make up this saga! YAY! :D), then Louis and they’re sort of cradling him until the “Ohh wahh ohoh, Odysseus” where the crew of Odysseus’ ship (portraying the majority that were drowned) lift him up off the stage and into the air (he looks like he has drowned by this point, limp and everything), showing how they will support him through this too. Then the good shit happens after the lights go out.

Six Hundred Strike - Obviously, Mycroft didn’t drown six hundred men, nor would he talk shit about William to his friends. That part is all for show so please keep that in mind. 

BUT IMAGINE PLEASE, RED SPOTLIGHT ON WHERE THEY’RE ALL LIFTING WILLIAM UP, THE WINDBAG GLOWING BLUE AS IT TRAVELS ACROSS THE CROWD TO HIM AND WHEN HE GETS A HOLD OF IT AND RELEASES IT, HE GRABS AN AERIAL ROPE AND GETS TO FLY BECAUSE HE IS USING THE POWER OF THE GODS, ER GO, HE IS FLYING LIKE THE GODS DO. PLEASE TELL ME YOU SEE THE SYMBOLISM???

All the men crowd around the stage while Mycroft and William are overhead doing some cool aerial tricks and circling each other, light now turned gold. Once shatter the ocean is dispelled, I’m tossing up if they come back down onto the stage so the men can attack or if they remain in the air and William attacks while the men goad him on. If they come back down and the men rush him, they can get backstage fairly easily, but we’d lose that sense of Odysseus using god powers. Thoughts welcome on that. After the attack, they “fal”l back onto the stage, the middle portion is raised (if you’ve ever seen & Juliet, the stage during “de Bois Bands back” is what I’m going for.) and there are white lights pointing upwards, so you can see William and Mycroft’s silhouettes. “You released my storm” is kind of Mycroft (in all his emotionally repressed idiocy) owning up that they both just lost their shit and proved they’re not “great” people.  And William, in all his “I’ve been to therapy for the last several months what the fuck do you mean I’m a bad person for feeling emotions?” decides that maybe he should just let Mycroft have it so he finally understands a thing or two. The silhouettes are important because William will be stabby for like a whole minute (speaking of that, does anyone else feel like this is the most violent and real it’s gotten since just a man? Like, yes there has been violence but it’s been a sort of mythical violence, the cyclops, the storms and the god games have been sort of disconnected from real, human malice. Little Wolf had like a taste of it but just the act of Odysseus stabbing the shit out of Poseidon, while he’s down nonetheless, just feels so much more horrifying than anything that’s already happened. It’s terrifyingly human). Also, there would be no way of making it look like he’s bleeding on stage unless he had like, fake blood packs under his clothes and I don’t know how he’d keep them there. The act of putting it in shadow, much like Gwendy’s animatic from the livestream, makes it more sinister. You can’t see it but you can definitely hear it. 

“How does it feel to be helpless? How does it feel to know pain?” Because William, during everything that had happened, had been in pain. He’d been hurting for a long time, long before the musical even started production, long before he even met Sherlock or lost his eye. “I watched my men die in Horror - Calling their captain in vain.” He’ll make Mycroft understand that he’s seen some horrible things. “Look what you turned me into, look what we’ve become.” Mycroft made this angry side in him come out, and now they’re fighting over something that could be so fixable, because if William/Odysseus had to get over his pride to move on, then Mycroft/Posieden is gonna learn the same fucking lesson. “All of the pain that I’ve been through, haven’t I suffered enough?!” When will Mycroft realise that William learnt this lesson, it’s now him who needs to get off his high horse and see what ruthlessness can do to a person? “You didn’t stop when I begged you, told me to close my heart. You said the world was dark,” William knows that what he did was wrong and he cannot make up for it, that it’ll probably scar for a while. He does not need to keep being told that, doesn’t need to be continuously told that he can’t make amends, especially when Sherlock wants him to. “Didn’t you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon our-” See what his ruthlessness bred? See what William choosing to be ruthless and telling Mycroft everything did? The stabbing stops. William goes to walk away backstage when Mycroft gives that final question. William answers truthfully, then walks away, leaving Mycroft to ruminate on his own attitude towards everything that’s happened. 

AND THAT’S IT, THAT'S THE VENGEANCE SAGA!!! These two have gotten ALL their pent up aggression out, they’ve gotten to have a little fight and whatnot, and now, they can have a proper adult conversation after the show about what’s happened and Mycroft can make up with Albert already because fucking hell, Albert’s been waiting for weeks for Mycroft to realise (or be told by Sherlock literal minutes before the show) that he’s making a lot of assumptions of the situation. 

At this juncture, I think it’s a good time to bring up Moran and William’s reconciliation because it can play really nicely into the olive branch moment. It’s probably a pretty simple moment, Moran apologises for getting angry and William apologises for not being as readily available. I think that moment where he’s trying to connect with Mycroft is a moment a bit like that, where they can acknowledge each other’s mistakes and make an attempt for peace (Mycroft just wasn’t ready to accept that forgiveness).

Again, some of the things that happen in this particular sketch of the narrative may make it seem like Mycroft and William are just assholes to each other but there is supposed to be nuance to their relationship and the relationships they have to each other’s brother. Mycroft needs to learn that he can’t be getting all up in Sherlock’s business and, though his protectiveness is appreciated and was at one point nice, fighting battles for him that he wasn’t even having. William, though being “rightfully” judged in this scenario, is still the bigger person until Mycroft pushes him enough. These two will be having a long and thoughtful talk (with Sherlock and Albert sitting in to make sure they hit all the targets, Louis on the side to make sure neither of them start fighting again) in which they will explain themselves and get over it all like adults. They will probably never truly like each other but they can be civil. 

I’d also like to point out, on some character development traits, Mycroft never talks shit about William, never insults his character to anyone (except maybe to Sherlock when they first break up and he’s humouring his tirades). Where he has to interact with the rest of the cast, William’s friends included, he is polite and tolerates any William talk until he can steer the topic in a different direction. It might be the fact that he had to hold in that anger that makes this outburst so bad. William, as well, doesn’t think Mycroft is a bad person for being a protective older brother (he’d be the Hypocrite then), nor is he upset that Albert and Mycroft were ever having a fling. It is the sheer similarities in their situations and the uncanny repeating of history that really drives William up the wall because he knows how you can fix or prevent this. 

The TL;DR: Louis is so fucking done with all their shit. 

I feel as though this AU may be slightly spiralling out of my control, so any thoughts on if I should reel it in or if the sub-plot is in a bit of a weird spot or even if I just have to add more on the sub-plot in the other sagas, all those thoughts would be greatly appreciated. I do feel like I might be giving these two a bit to much wiggle room for their mistakes but that could just be me. I am trying to be careful. Adding all I did definitely pleases the brainworms but the writer in me is questioning if I threw a bit too much in here.

This is a massive story at this point and I’m going to have to construct some sort of timeline or synopsis to get all my bases hit on where I am. 

As always, thank you to @aka-no-ken for listening to my ramblings and having something super helpful to say or just fangirling with me about someone’s voice. You’re a great friend!

TUMBLR, I WILL MAKE YOU POST THIS

PREVIEW: 

AKA-NO-KEN YOU ACTUAL PHSCHIC HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GUESS ALL MY GOD CASTINGS CORRECTLY???

AGAIN, WISDOM SAGA SPOILERS SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. ALSO MAYBE A TRIGGER WARNING FOR LOVE IN PARADISE CAUSE THAT WAS MORE THAN I WAS FUCKING EXPECTING.

THIS IS SHERLOCK AND BILL'S FUCKING SAGA NOW BITCHES BROS AND NON-BINARY HOES. AND AGAIN, I'M FANGIRLING AS I GO.

So, with where we left off, William's having a minor relapse in his mental state but it won't become too much of a plot point/serious thing. He and Moran are on funky terms but if there is no "reconciliation" in later sagas then We'll figure that out when we get there. Anyway, this saga ain't about him.

(ALSO, I MISSED A FUCKING OPPOURTUNITY

VON HERDER AS TIRESIAS, IM A FOOL)

Anyway, lets get started.

The Wisdom Saga:

Legendary - BILL IS HERE FUCKERS. SHERLIAM'S ADPOTED SON IS GONNA BE LEGENDARY. I really like how this parallels with Canon when Bill only knew William as a genius professor and Sherlock's actually the one who introduces them in a way. It'll set up nicely for when we get to "I can't help but wonder" and Telemachus/Bill has to toss up with the fact that his Dad just removed the twenty year problem but he did also kill a bunch of people (you know, like in canon.). So this starts out with the lights slowly coming in and Bill's "room" has a chair and a few other easily moveable props. This is a very dancey number I'm finding so these props are probably gonna get taken off stage so there can be actors milling around for Telemachus to interact with, I think he'd be mostly weaving between them trying to avoid them while they keep swiping at him. The majority of suitors can be off the stage but Antinous and a few others are up there ready for the "Whatcha gonna do about it, champ?" The lights would change on Boy to a red colour. It would be so cute seeing Billy fight for Sherlock's Honour. I think something really cool that could happen is when Telemachus sings "somebody help me" the lights flash blue for a second like Athena has heard his plea. and at the very end of the song, he punches Milverton square on the nose (in the fake way of course).

Little Wolf - My big idea for this that would absolutely not transfer over to a regular production of Epic the musical would be that Antinous/Milverton is not the one fighting Telemachus/Bill. I cannot really see Milverton fighting for himself and would definitely have lackey's doing it for him; but outside of this AU Antinous absolutely fights for himself. But yeah, Milverton mocks the shit out of Bill while he's fighting somebody. The lights stay red while the suitors and Milverton are doing their thing. When Athena appears the lights turn blue like fighting of the panic of being in a fight. I think this is one of those moments where its so fun having Sherlock as Athena and Penelope cause it's like "Don't worry baby, Mama's here to help." But, onto the super cool crossover intertexuality talk I can't seem to do right now, Sherlock as Athena fits very nicely cause he, alongside William, helps Bill get into the university; so Sherlock being the one helping in this fight reminds me of that. And Athena's "I've no respect for bullies" reminds me of his disdain for Milverton and his methods of blackmail. ALSO, HER PIANO IN THAT PART IS SO FUCKING GOOD I FUCKING ASCENDED. PAIRING IT WITHT HE DRUMS THAT WAY, WHO DOES JORGE THINK HE IS. In a way, this is like showing how Penelope would like to react to her suitors beating up her son (it just popped into my head but kind of like a batman meme, Penelope dressing up as the goddess of wisdom to fuck up her son's bullies). Athena's whole solo there sounds a lot like Sherlock when he was talking to Irene. And when the fight ends and Antinous says Penelope needs to pick a suitor, Athena/Sherlock is very disturbed before he helps Bill up.

We'll be Fine - The thing I love the absolute most about this musical is exploring Sherlock's side of this whole fiasco they were in and giving him a chance to vent some of this frustrations. Because it wasn't easy on him either and he might blame himself a little bit for not being able to help more. Bill knows a little bit about it from gossip and rumour and being a part of the Epic cast for a little while, not too much but between the two of them, Bill understands that Sherlock is letting out a bit of his frustration with the previous problem and the repeat that seems to be occurring, because he's super smart like that (I say seems because in real life, it won't last that long and William is probably gonna be ok and reconciled with Moran by the time we get there. It'll hopefully make sense once we get to the next saga but I just can't keep knocking this dude over he needs to start healing and giving him a less self-jeopardising problem to fight). Even though he and William have worked through a fair bit of what happened and their still going really strong, Sherlock is still worried. Sherlock's super soft on Bill because he's so similar to William. Bill, while sticking to the script, is just subtly reassuring him that it's ok, they'll get through this rough patch and they'll be fine. Sherlock doesn't need to be the first responder. A little bit of it probably comes out as Bill saying "William wouldn't want you to beat yourself up over this," especially when he mentions Athena's friend (William and Bill are also probably really close friends at this point, don't tell me William wouldn't take him under his wing immediately after they're introduced). When Athena calls him a good kid, Sherlock ruffles his hair and then Bill makes a move like someone's calling him and runs off, leaving him for the next part.

ALRIGHT I'M HAVING FUCKING ISSUES WITH TUMBLR RIGHT NOW SO STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO BECAUSE ANYTHING LONGER THAN THIS WONT FUCKING POST OR SAVE AS A DRAFT.

@aka-no-ken I'M COMING SWEETIE AND I'M BRINGING MY WORK WITH ME JUST BEAR WITH ME

[fayeriee]

I love how Astarion’s dialogue on your first long rest changes depending on if you talk to him first, second, (third?), or last.

If you talk to him after already speaking with everyone else he literally says “do you mind? I’m brooding” HE IS SULKING!!! He wants you to pay attention to him and if you don’t he literally pouts

love of my life behaviour

[tonycries]

Unhoneymooners!? - G.S.

Synopsis. The universe was surely playing a joke on you. Here you were, trapped on a luxury getaway with your - dangerously handsome, extremely obnoxious - ex. Either you were going to kill each other or end up pinned beneath him, split apart on his cóck. You just didn’t know what would come first.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, exes to lovers, unprotected, argument as foreplay, slight enemies to lovers, more like annoyances actually, cunnilingus, oral (male + female), spitting, creampié, one bed trope, rough, Satoru is still EXTREMELY down bad for you, and unfairly hot, forced proximity, cúmplay, pet names (sweetheart), swearing.

Word count. 8.5k

A/N. It’s impossible to not write Satoru without bullying him at least a little bit.

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 2 weeks, and 16 hours ago - not that you were keeping count, of course.

So why was he outside of your resort room blasting “Kill Bill” by SZA like he’s auditioning for the world’s most dramatic comeback tour? On what should’ve marked your fourth anniversary, no less.

Well, given you were the one to lock him out, but still - the stubborn bastard could at least have some decorum. 

With an exasperated sigh, you throw yourself onto the king-sized bed of your honeymoon suite, trying to will away that annoying, grating voice - not SZA, no, more so Satoru singing along at the top of his lungs to the chorus. 

How did you even get here? And with Satoru of all people - your Satoru. Or at least he was this time a little over a year ago. 

You first met Satoru when you were in university, back when he wore those pretentious circled sunglasses and waltzed around those halls like he owned the place. And after a single literature assignment together, he wasn’t just your (self-proclaimed) best friend; he was the reluctantly favorite thorn in your side. 

Like the rest of him, Satoru’s introduction into your love-life was anything but subtle. It wasn’t like he strolled in, gave a polite nod, and blended into the background. Oh no, he bulldozed his way in and dragged you to dance with him on the tables of some dingy frat party in what you could only assume was some joke from the universe at your expense.

And damn him, you think bitterly, you couldn't resist him that night. Spinning you into a dramatic dip, silver chain brushing your face as his half-lidded eyes bored into yours. You couldn’t not kiss him after the way his hands were just searing into your skin. 

God, you’ve never been able to listen to “Gasolina” the same way ever since.  

Satoru was in love as he was in the rest of life - a force of nature, and it was too easy to find yourself caught up in him.

That night at the frat party was just the beginning. From then on was a rollercoaster of everything from heated debates over the best flavor of ramen to impromptu road trips where you’d end up under a carpet of stars. Wrapped in each other’s arms and sharing whispered secrets for an unpromised future - oftentimes where Satoru would crack a joke or two about running away to Tokyo with him. To which you’d laugh it off with a “Yeah yeah, I’d leave everything I’ve known behind in a heartbeat for your dumbass, Toru.”

You just didn’t think that it would be the downfall to your relationship. All the empty promises. 

Because as those heavenly days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, eventually two years had gone by. The whirlwind romance settled into a comfortable rhythm, but with it came the looming promise of graduation and Satoru moving to work under his family company in Tokyo.

Under pressure, it wasn’t long before the cracks began to show, the arguments more frequent, and the silences more deafening. And as your relationship slowly turned into nothing more than a husk of what it used to be - so did the both of you.

Long story short, graduation was a bittersweet goodbye - and you think both of you knew long before it was actually over. Neither of you attended the afterparty - with Satoru on a flight straight to Tokyo and you at home to stuff your face with chocolate. Hey, at least you could blame your tears on finally leaving university, right? 

You had meticulously erased his name from your phone, your social media, and even your dreams - well, almost, the bastard still came around to bother you occasionally. It was messy, painful, and final.

But “final” really didn’t explain your current predicament. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned about Satoru is that he’s always there - whether you liked it or not. He was there when you needed a partner for that literature assignment, and he was there to turn your world upside down at that dingy frat party.

Hell, he was even there to help you stubbornly chug mountains of ice cream and win that raffle for this five day-long getaway trip to the Maldives. Though, you think he might’ve chugged the ice cream without the promise of a vacation anyway.

But, when ultimately those shiny tickets came in the mail - Satoru wasn’t there. Oh well, it might’ve been a couple’s trip - but you could have a hot girl summer, right? Maybe you could even snag a hottie by the end. You’d almost forgotten that he’d be getting his copy of the tickets as well.

Yet, unfortunately - as the beginning notes of P!nk’s “So What” bursts through the heavy wooden door - you were inevitably reminded of the fact that he was here. Right now. Goading you into coming outside.

You find yourself groaning inwardly (and outwardly) because of course, why wouldn’t he come back even more obnoxious than before? You haven’t seen him in ages, yet here he is, crashing back into your life with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Or - you furrow your brows at his purposefully off-key singing carrying over the sounds of the waves outside - with the subtlety of a manchild with a JBL and a premium account on Spotify.  

Rubbing your temples in frustration, you contemplate how much longer of this it would take before you’re both kicked out of this resort. And after you ate so many ice creams to win this getaway trip? No chance.

With a resigned sigh, you rise from the bed, smoothing out the bathing suit you’d just put on before the devil incarnate showed up knocking at your door. Something hot and prickly pools in your stomach as you approach it, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the sheer absurdity of the situation. So like Satoru.

Taking a deep breath to steel yourself, you shakily reach for the handle. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal actually.

…

What’s the worst that can happen?

Slam! 

The door swings open, and there in all his smug glory stands a very shirtless Satoru. Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru, the same asshole you’ve blocked on even Gmail. 

Except, you’re momentarily struck by how high you have to raise your eyes to meet his. Are growth spurts even a thing anymore? You didn’t have a chance to take a good look last time before slamming the door shut at the first flash of white hair and a smug grin.

But right now, traitorously, your gaze catches on just how broad his shoulders look and…since when was he so chiseled? Damn you, Tokyo - you were doing him too good.

His hair is slightly longer too, curtaining those slightly more mature features, stopping just above that ever-immature grin. One which moves as he hums, “Well, happy fourth anniversary to me, If I knew this came with the suite then I’d have swam here myself.”

You scoff, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious as he wiggles his brows, striking blue eyes sweeping your figure from head to toe. “I’d prefer if you swam back. What are you doing?” 

“Why, just showing up to our room on our lil’ honeymoon, sweetheart.” Satoru sing-songs, leaning against the doorframe to fully prevent you from slamming the door in his (admittedly) pretty face again. “And before you try to break my nose with that door again, I won that ticket here fair and square, y’know. I ate just as much ice cream as you did for it.”

“You ate most of those before you knew about the getaway raffle.” you sigh over his nonchalant shrug, pinching your nose, “And stop calling it our honeymoon, I dumped you five months ago.”

“Well aren’t you just the gift that keeps on giving. Keeping count?”

“No. Don’t be a pest.”

“Always thought you had a thing for pests. After all, you did date me.” As Satoru grins impossibly wider, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He winks, “And if I’m a pest then you’re an itch that just won’t go away.”

“At least I’m not the itch that shows up uninvited to someone’s honeymoon suite.” you hiss. And with that you start shutting the door ever-so-slowly, delighting in the panic that overtakes Satoru’s features as he reaches out frantically.

“Hey!” he sputters, “I didn’t know you’d be here! And besides this ‘pest’ forgot his slippers all the way in Tokyo and can’t stand on flaming-hot boardwalks for too long so let me in.”

And sure enough, you glance down to see that Satoru isn’t wearing any slippers on the scorching boardwalk. The realization almost brings a smirk to your lips. This idiot. 

“Wow.”

“‘Wow’ at my feet or-”

“I should leave you here to rot just for your pure idiocy.” you deadpan, eyes locked on the way he’s burning his soles off yet still has the audacity to flash you a cocky smile.

“But you won’t.” he hums.

A beat passes. One. Two. And Satoru’s grin almost falters, before you finally relent - opening the door just a crack, cursing his entire bloodline under your breath. “You’re incorrigible” you mutter as he saunters inside victoriously, dragging his hefty luggage behind.

“Why change perfection, sweetheart~” he calls out, heading straight for the bedroom, only to let out a delighted “OooOOo” at the sight of the king-sized bed in the middle. The only bed. “How scandalous, maybe you’ll even fall in lov-” 

“Don’t. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a seashell.” you warn, holding up both keycards threateningly, “I get the bed, you take the couch.”

“But-”

“And I’ve got the keys, so slippers or not you’ll be back out on that boardwalk.” 

A slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips at the way Satoru looked so dramatically crestfallen, you continue - just to be petty, “And no more ‘Kill Bill’ that’s on my angry ex playlist.”

With a heavy sigh he sulkily makes his way to the bathroom, calling out as he does, “Fine. But I’m showering first.”

As he disappears from sight you throw yourself onto your bed, basking in what little peace and quiet you’ll have because of your unwanted guest. This was going to be a-

“And I’m using all of your body lotions.”

“...”

“I will use one of your body lotions.”

Groaning, you sink into the plush mattress, just wishing it would swallow you whole and spare you from this torment. And this was only Day 1? This was going to be a very long five days. 

---

The first night with Satoru, honestly, wasn’t too bad. 

You don’t know what you expected exactly - maybe for him to pour hair dye in your shampoo or something. But he actually stuck to his word, slept on the couch after only a bit of taunting, and used only one of your body lotions. Your best-smelling, most expensive one, but one nonetheless.

Feeling slightly more optimistic, you spent most of the second day at the beach, meanwhile he stuck to lounging by the pool. Add in a bit of pretending you didn’t know him by the salad bar at dinner and that made for an almost-perfect hot girl summer. 

Well, considering that you were rooming with your insufferable longtime ex - in a honeymoon suite of all places. 

The only catch came that night, fully content at the burning soreness from being pushed around by the waves outside. You got ready to splay out on your bed, humming along to the tunes of your playlist and…Satoru’s lamenting?

“I swear my back feels like it’s been run over by a truck. Five of them, and a zoo.” he complains from behind you, dramatically draping himself over the couch - his impromptu bed. 

“Good.”

“What if that was my last straw?”

“Even better.”

His exaggerated, disappointed whine is both embarrassing and almost-endearing as you roll your eyes, resisting the urge to suffocate him with a pillow. “Maybe call your chiropractor guy.”

Satoru shot you a pointed look, his expression a mixture of faux innocence and irritation, which you knew too well. “I wish but he’s trekking through the Himalayas. C’mon~ Don’t you think that lovely king-sized bed is too big for just one?”

“No, but the boardwalk sure is. Maybe you should try it out.” you monotone, getting ready to end this conversation once and for all. 

But when has Satoru ever let you off easy? He sits up abruptly, a devious smile curling his lips. “Ohh, I get it.” he taunts, batting his long lashes mockingly, “You’re scared to sleep in the same bed with me.”

Huh?

“Out of all the idiotic-” you cut yourself off by whirling around to face his smug grin, “Why would I be scared to sleep in a bed with you. I’ve done that far too many times already.”

“Exactly,” he chuckles. “And all those times you could barely last an hour before without keeping your hands off of me. Scared you’ll end up pinned underneath me and stuffed full like old times, sweetheart?”

You narrow your eyes at him despite the heat burning your face. “The only thing I’m scared of is your icicle feet on my side.”

He laughs, a sound that’s equal parts irritating and endearing, and stands up from where he was slumped on the couch. Making his way slowly, but surely towards you, “Oh, c’mon. For old times’ sake, admit it, you miss me.”

"Yeah, missed the peace and quiet I don’t have because of your big mouth,” you scoff. Finding it hard to meet his twinkling gaze as he comes close enough that you’re toe to toe with him. Your cheeks burn at the proximity - hot enough to match the heat radiating off his body. 

Satoru shakes his head, undeterred by your threats. And suddenly you get the overwhelming urge to throw him out the window and straight into the ocean. “You can deny it all you want, but you still have feelings for me.”

Your jaw clenches at his audacity. “You wish. I’d never.”

“Then prove it.”

Damn, he was good.

Which is probably how you found yourself lying in the same bed as Satoru, with a wall of all the pillows in the room erected between you two - and a few extra from room service just in case. 

“Sweetheart, this is a king-sized bed. Is the fortress really necessary?”

You wrap your blankets tighter around yourself, trying to ignore the figure radiating warm right next to you. Muttering out a muffled little, “Yeah, so you can keep your mitts off of me.”

Satoru groans dramatically, bed creaking as he shuffles what you can only assume to be closer to you. “You keep your mitts off of me, you lecher.” he quips, voice dripping with sarcasm as he inches closer.

You stiffen at his proximity, feeling his warmth seep through the layers of blankets and pillows as he chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine, “Oh, come on, don’t be like that. We used to share a bed all the time.”

“That was before,” you interject. God, you didn’t like where this conversation was going. 

“Before what?” Satoru presses, his voice low and insistent. 

Now, you might’ve let yourself be goaded into sharing a bed but these were old wounds better off left alone. You hiss, tone firm, “Before. Now sleep” 

Before when you didn’t have to make a wall of pillows. Before when he would hold you tight and whisper sweet secrets into your ear. That he’d buy you the biggest ring he saw and promise you the world. Before- 

“I missed you, y’know.” Satoru breaks the silence barely audible over the sound of your own thoughts. The word pangs through your mind and claws at your chest. And at your silence he continues, tone a little lighter, “And stop hogging all the blankets, I’m gonna freeze to-”

“Boardwalk.”

“My apologies, ma’am. Goodnight, ma’am.”

And he sinks back into his pillow with a huff, you let out a sigh of relief. Something hot coiling in your stomach as you close try to catch as much sleep as you possibly could with the bane of your existence laying right beside you. The suddenly taller, dangerously handsome, still as-obnoxious-as-ever bane of your existence. 

You just wonder if he remembered “before”.

Oh, how Satoru remembered “before”. So much so that he had sixteen different playlists dedicated to you even after the breakup.

It’s divine punishment - it has to be. Satoru thinks there’s no reasonable explanation for the series of unfortunate events happening to him other than punishment from his ancestors above for being such a pussy and losing the love of his life.

First he forgets his slippers, then he ends up locked out of his own honeymoon suite by said love of his life. Granted, all thoughts of his poor burnt soles went out the window the moment he caught a glimpse of you in that positively sinful bikini. God, were you glowing. A goddess upon Earth - he could really give the Gojo Satoru of five months ago a good, hard kick.

And now he’s stuck in a - very comfortable - prison with you just inches away, tossing and turning in that way he knows means that you can’t sleep either. 

Honestly, very funny universe, the great Gojo Satoru demands a refund. Way to punk’d him into confronting the feelings he’s desperately been trying to bury these past few months - ever since he got on that plane to Tokyo and contemplated faking a heart attack just to get off. 

Realizing just then that he lost the love of his life - and the only woman who’d tolerate his karaoke nights. But with that realization came another, more jarring one: he was too late. 

Every touch, every laugh, and even every time you rolled your eyes was etched into his very soul, and it felt like a montage from a sappy breakup movie directed by a sadistic screenwriter who had it out for him. 

And it really didn’t help that this was the exact suite he was planning once upon a time to propose in. God, how you’d feed him to the crabs if he said anything about that - nevermind the fact that he was actually one that booked this-

But still, some traitorous, annoying part of his heart interrupts, she still hasn’t made you sleep on the boardwalk yet.

Maybe - just maybe - he’ll wake up to a second chance?

…

Ha. As if.

“I can’t sleep.” Satoru groans out loud, more so to drown out his own thoughts than anything.

“Well, I can. Goodnight.”

Ah, his girl was such a lil’ liar. Undeterred, the mattress creaks as he shuffles his weight to excitedly face you, taking a moment to admire how pretty you looked under the dim moonlight. He plows on, “Hey, if you promise not to make me crab food, wanna walk along the beach and watch the stars?”

A beat of silence. One. Two. so deafening and tense that Satoru was half a second away from obnoxiously laughing it off as a joke and pulling out his Emo Times™ playlist. 

“Or I can go back to the couch and-”

“Shut up. Let’s watch the stars, Satoru.”

But what do you know - maybe the universe hasn’t given up on him just yet. 

And, well, if he woke up the next morning breaching your fortress - your warm breath tickling his neck and his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, like the lifeline he never knew he needed - then, neither of you mentioned it.

---

“Hey, Satoru. You think we’ll always be like this?” you hum into your boyfriend’s chest, barely a whisper as the looming fears of, well, everything ring in your mind. 

He pulls you close, flashing a mischievous grin before planting a dramatic kiss on the top of your head. “Duh, I’ll always be around to drive you dangerously close to a stroke, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes, yet bury yourself closer to his warmth anyway.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter if I have to drag you by the leg to Tokyo. Wherever you are is where I belong. ”

---

You’ve come to learn that a resort island is only so big when you’re actively trying to avoid your 6’3 manchild of an ex.

Now that you were rooming with Satoru, sleeping with Satoru (in a literal sense only, of course), and just-so-happening to bump into him at the beach - somehow, talking with him is a little easier, his presence just a bit more exciting than you’d care to admit. 

If the you of four days ago could see what had become of you, then she’d probably slap some sense into you faster than you could say “Kill Bill”. Sleeping in the same bed (still only literally), having dinner, watching the stars - with Gojo Satoru? You’ve gone completely off your rocker. 

But could you really be blamed? These last few days have you feeling like maybe you’ve been dropped into an alternate universe, where you and Satoru never broke up. 

Yet, reality is a persistent little bastard. And with the end of your trip looming dangerously closer, the past you would be cackling mockingly in your face, flashing a large sign in big, red letters reading “I TOLD you so.” 

Whatever. Maybe by this time tomorrow both of you could laugh this all off as a silly little adventure and call yourself somewhat begrudging friends. Maybe you’d even end up unblocking him by the end - on Gmail, at least.

At the very least, dinnertime was a solace - both from your thoughts and the smug bastard talking your ear off about how he could “make that spaghetti better than a thousand Italian grandmothers.”

Until the fourth - and final - night, that is. When the resort, deciding that your current torture wasn’t already enough, arranged a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people. 

Great. Wonderful. Perfect, in fact. Going out with a bang. Was this really part of the all-inclusive package? It was like the universe was playing some twisted joke on you - or some awful version of wingmanning. 

You grit your teeth silently as you’re ushered to the beachside table, thoughts barely audible over the waves crashing against the shore and the soft, romantic music drifting from the band nearby. 

The complete opposite of Satoru, who was already seated at the table and enjoying himself far too much for your liking. He lounged back in his chair, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he watched you sit opposite him uncomfortably.

You hated to admit it - but God was he dangerously beautiful in that crisp white button-up, one that you knew was from his overpriced collection for special occasions. You found yourself fighting to avoid the amber hues twinkling in his eyes as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm shadows that bring out his pretty features.

Pretty? So frighteningly pretty - until he speaks, that is.

“And here I thought our honeymoon couldn’t get any worse. You’re sweating bullets, sweetheart. This your first date with me or something?”

“We’re not on a honeymoon, Satoru. And no, it just brings back memories.” you scoff. Relishing in the way he inches his chair closer to listen, clearly not expecting this sudden sentimentality. “Memories of why I blocked you on every social media.”

All but slamming his head down on the table, Satoru whines out, “Ouch, straight for the jugular. That mouth is still as bitchy as ever, huh? Though I do prefer it choking on my-”

“I’m going to throw you into the ocean.”

“Ooo, kinky~” he hums, swirling his wine glass, “But you know what this reminds me of? That one time we had dinner under the stars.”

You froze, the memories suddenly flashing back to you despite your best efforts to suppress them. “Oh yeah,” you muse. A chuckle leaving your mouth despite yourself, “Wasn’t that where you spilled ketchup all over your shirt and then insisted it was a fashion statement?”

He leans in closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hey! It worked, didn’t it? I got compliments from everyone including you.”

“I was just trying to stop you from bursting into tears.” you roll your eyes, shaking your head at the memory. 

“Exactly, sweetheart. Like moths to a flame.”

“More like to a bug-zapper.”

Satoru throws his head back and laughs, loud and unabashed. A sound that echoes across the beach and makes something warm and sticky strum at your heartstrings. And at that moment, that stupid, little part of you didn’t even mind that you were at a special candlelit dinner. A romantic one. By the beach. With Satoru of all people. 

And he didn’t even have to goad you into it with SZA this time.

As the orange glow of the setting sun melded into the cool blue of the night, it almost felt like slipping back into an old routine. The food had long since been finished. Jabs and shared memories flowing through the air like the gentle waves lapping at the shore.

The cool air was now thick with contentment and something so unknown yet so familiar that it made your heart race. 

 “I swear.” you groan over Satoru’s loud cackles, “He tried to charm his way out of the bill by flirting with the waitress. In front of me.”

Satoru doubles over, clutching his stomach as he laughs uproariously. “Classic move! If he’s going to be a cheapskate then he should’ve at least been successful with it.”

Damn, was he eternally grateful for these dim candles. Otherwise you’d surely have caught the rosy flushing tinting his cheeks. How dare you sit there so gorgeous and perfect in front of him. Perfect for him - you haven’t changed one bit.

“Right? She looked ready to fling us both out.” You chuckle, eyes catching on the little dimple just at the corner of his mouth as Satoru shoots you a sly grin. “Mhm, I know if it were me I would’ve charmed us out of the bill successfully.”

You raise a brow, retorting, “Oh please. I’ve had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of that ‘charm’. You’d probably end up charming us into washing dishes in the kitchen.” 

Ah, right now, he doesn’t think he wants to be anywhere but here - bickering with you. 

“Ouch, you wound me, woman!” Satoru feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically before leaning down to whisper, low and conspiratorial, “Besides, I doubt you even remember what pleasure feels like since being with me.”

A thrill goes down your spine as you realize the insinuation of his words, steady and searing - matching that of  Satoru’s fingers on yours - which had snuck their way across the table, lazily tracing patterns along your skin. 

When did they even get there? Sly bastard.

Your mouth drops into a soft oh! at the dangerous glint in his eyes. But you refuse to back down, “Don’t flatter yourself, Satoru. I’ve had other guys make me cum much harder than you have.”

Touch burning. Mapping every curve and dip he’d known so well, and this time - you graze them back. A challenge. God, you missed that warm little flutter in your chest. 

That seems to catch him by surprise, as those darkened blue eyes widen. But there’s a dangerous edge to his grin as he purrs, voice low. “Is that so?” 

And with that, Satoru’s chair is scraping softly against the sand as he stands up, “C’mon, you’re gonna regret that, sweetheart.”

Oh. 

Satoru knows that it’s been 5 months, 4 weeks, and 8 hours since you two lasted an entire dinner civilly - not that he was counting, duh.

So when he begged the resort staff into setting the two of you up on this special candlelit dinner, he was expecting you to drown him in the lobster tank halfway through or at least end the night with a slap. 

What he certainly did not expect was to end dinner with you shoved against the closed door of your suite, legs wrapped impossibly tight around his waist, and lips trailing hot, openmouthed kisses down your neck. He angles your neck, body pressing so impossibly close to yours.

Inwardly, you curse his button-up for being so goddamn thin that you could feel his abs rub against you with every little movement. Toned chest rumbling as he groans at your hands tugging at those soft locks - just a tiny revenge, for your body lotion. 

“S-Satoru,” you whisper, and he breathes it in with an almost-pained sigh - not wanting to part for even a second. Because fuck it took so long to get you back and he wasn’t going to waste a single moment. 

Pulling just a hair’s breadth away, “Tell me what you want. Always knew we’d end up-”

“Just shut up and kiss me, you smug bastard.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And, well, who was he to deny you? So he does. 

His lips are searing on yours, hasty and greedy. With a tinge of something so painfully familiar. Your hands make their way onto his chest, feeling the thundering heartbeat against your fingertips - matching that of yours. 

Sweet. You tasted so sweet. Just like honey, and all the dreams where he didn’t leave you behind. Where he didn’t get on that damned plane but instead ran to you all the way from the airport like those sappy romcoms you love. 

He licks at the seam of your lips, drinking in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Kissing you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, God, knowing his luck - he probably won’t. 

One hand cups your cheek so gently - a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his lips as he kisses you deeper. Meanwhile the other wanders the expanse of your body, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake.

Satoru parts with a playful nip to your bottom lip - and before you realize what’s happening, the zipper hits the ground. He’s ripping your pretty dress off - mumbling something about “buying a new one” before large hands surge forward, groping and kneading your tits.

His mouth waters at the sight of your bra. Light blue - to match his eyes. “You evil, evil woman.” he mutters into the soft valley of your breasts as you giggle delightedly. Oh, how he couldn’t get enough of you.

And if there was ever a moment that Satoru thinks he could cream his pants right there, then this would be at the very top, followed very closely by the sight of that withering glare you shot after opening that suite door to him just a few days ago.

He unhooks your bra with one hand, throwing it blindly across the room as if it killed him to see you clothed. 

Immediately, Satoru drops to his knees with the desperation of a madman, coming face-to face with the heavenly sight of your clothed cunt, soaking through your thin panties. 

“Didn’t specify where I had to kiss, sweetheart.”

Your gaze pierces through him, as it always did. “What are you-” Your words get choked up in your throat as his tongue darts out. Licking a long, languid stripe over your clothed cunt. 

“Shit. So sweet f’me, jus’ like I remember. Just one taste and I feel like m’gonna cum in my pants.” Satoru groans, urgently sliding your wet panties down your quivering legs. 

“F-flattery won’t work.” you stammer out as his hot breath fans your quivering entrance as he waits just a second - one, two.

Drinking in the view of your pretty pussy with dazed, half-lidded eyes. Wet - so wet, he almost wants to tease you - just a bit, to see if you’ll get even wetter. Ah, he doesn’t have enough time to take in this view - probably never will. Would it ruin the mood if he took a picture?

“Oh, I’d say it worked pretty well.”

Cock twitching carnally, Satoru needed to taste you now. He immediately surges forward. Breathing you in so sinfully, pooling your juices on his tongue. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he tips his head back back back to let it slide down his throat. 

Shit, if you were the forbidden fruit then he would gladly be cast out of the garden of Eden. 

Half-delirious thoughts running through his mind, Satoru flattens his tongue across your swollen folds. Leisurely sliding between them, catching on your throbbing clit up and down up and down up and-

“Oh- hngh, Satoru faster-”

“So bossy.” he hums prettily around your swollen clit, the vibrations stimulating it just right. But of course, what his girl wants, she will get. 

Lewd squelches and your mewls of his name ring in the heady room as he speeds up his ministrations. Rolling his tongue harshly along your clit, sucking so sensually. Licking at your sweet cunt, dipping just into your sloppy hole. 

You almost miss the long fingers that deftly slide their way up your thigh, spreading your folds with his thumbs. A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as your walls flutter so sinfully around nothing - aching for more friction. 

Urgently, Satoru bullies his fingers past your folds, sinking deep into your plushy walls as his tongue continues its abuse. So warm and wet around him. Curling his fingers just right.

“Ah- fuck, Satoru- Feels s’good.” you gasp as he starts thrusting his fingers back and forth. A ruthless pace that has tears stinging your eyes, hitting that spot over and over and-

“Oh yeah? Thought you didn’t like my ‘big mouth’?” he purrs, muffled around your clit, “Look at you, sweetheart, now falling apart cos’ of it.”

You scoff, fingers tangling in his silky hair, pushing him deeper into your dripping pussy - mostly because you needed it, but somewhat because you really needed him to shut up. “Yeah, I like it better when you shut the fuck up.”

And with a dark chuckle, his mouth is back on your cunt. Your slick glossy and dripping down the corner of his mouth as he alternates between sucking unforgivingly on your ravaged clit and fucking into you at the same time as his fingers. 

And in the delicious stretch of your cunt, you barely register the metallic clinking of a belt before Satoru presses his clothed erection into you.

Shit. You clench so obscenely around his tongue at the feeling of his clothed, painfully hard and throbbing against your leg. Fuck - as big as you remember. You weren’t gonna be able to walk for a while.

“You like this, huh?” he murmurs, speeding up the rhythm of his fingers. Vibrations sending white-hot jolts of pleasure down your spine.

Cracking an eye open you risk a glance downward. Greedily eyeing the hand wrapped tightly around the base, moving up up up. Pumping in small, jerky movements at the same pace of his fingers fucking into you. “Like the way m’getting off to tonguefucking my girl?”

“Like thinking about how this is what I thought about all those lonely fucking night without you?” You arch into his touch, fingers searing on his scalp and angling Satoru just right to make your knees weak. 

He’s so close that you can feel the precum smearing onto your leg. Mouth fucking you in a way you knew he wanted to with his cock right now. Rough and unrelenting. 

“Like thinking about how you’re all I can fucking think about.”

“Hngh- Yes, Satoru! Yes-” 

You see stars as you cum - or maybe those were the tears in your eyes. Pulling Satoru impossibly closer to your quivering pussy so that you could ride out your high on his pretty face. And he readily accepts it - letting himself be handled roughly with the conviction of a man that wouldn’t mind dying if it was suffocating in-between your pretty thighs. 

Your vision is hazy, blood still roaring in your ears as Satoru stands up. Not even bothering to wipe away the wet trail of your slick prettily glossing his lips before capturing yours in a searing kiss. 

“Y’know, sweetheart,” he gasps in between heated kisses. “We got a king-sized bed so we better make use of it, hm?”

Your back hits the mattress before you can even react. Reeling from shock and the audacity as you bounce at the sheer force of his throw. 

“Next time you do that you’re-” 

Whatever insult at the tip of your tongue melts away immediately at the purely pornographic sight of Satoru stalking his way towards you from the foot of the bed. Eyes hooded, cock rock-hard, kiss-bitten lips parted slightly in a way that was so fucked-out.

Unhurriedly approaching you with such a predatory glint in his darkened eyes as he fucks his fist slowly - so agonizingly slowly. Eyes locked on you.

Despite cumming not even minutes before, your pussy jumps in anticipation. Immediately reaching over as soon as he’s close enough - as if in a trance - to replace his hand with yours. 

He was big - so mouthwateringly big. Flushed your favorite shade of pink at his leaking tip, pulsing veins glistening in the dim light - every part of Satoru was so unfairly pretty.

So hot and heavy in your hand as you pump him at a steady, methodical pace. Precum smearing on your palm, trailing down your wrist as you pump. Tighter on the base, thumbing teasingly under his slit the way you knew he used to like. 

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Still remember, huh?” he hisses lowly. Ah, the way he still likes. 

“Mhm.” you hum absentmindedly, thighs clenching together at the way his hips grind in shallow, mindless little motions into your soft hand. Meeting your strokes as if trying to fuck something so delicious out of him.

And, well, you just couldn’t resist a taste. Bending down in one, fluid motion to delicately lick at his angry, hard head. Slightly salty taste on your tongue as you swipe at the droplets of precum pooling on his tip. Tracing lightly - ever-so-lightly - down his prominent veins. 

Satoru groans, low and hoarse with desire, “Shit, hah- you don’ ngh- have to-”

“Shut up, Satoru.” 

And with that, you’re shoving down as much as you can of his throbbing erection down your throat. Cunt clenching at the way he hardens impossibly as you choke and gag around him.

“Shit, oh- Oh fuck, m’girl. Yes yes yes-.” Satoru lets out a guttural moan. Fingers threading through your hair as he uses it as leverage to fuck himself slowly, deeper and deeper into your heavenly mouth. Hips stuttering and jerky with pleasure. Yeah, he definitely missed this. 

Half-delirious and cock-drunk, you take him all the way till your nose was buried in the tufts of white at his toned pelvis, already so wet with saliva and precum. 

Still got it, some smug, utterly debauched part of yourself titters. 

It was dizzying, the way he was pulsing in your throat, his heady scent filling your senses. Beginning to move up and down up and down in hasty, desperate bobs of your head. Pulling such lewd gasps and moans from his lips. 

You moan around Satoru’s thick cock, clawing at his toned hips for some semblance of stability. Some truly animalistic part of yourself relishing in the neat, red lines down his milky skin. The sight hazy through the tears that spring to your eyes at the way his fat tip hits your abused throat. A relentless, sinful tempo you were steadily losing your mind to.

Messy.  It was so fucking messy.

You just wondered if his orgasm would be the same…

But, alas, one can’t always get what they want. Because Satoru pulls you off of his achingly hard cock with a lewd pop! that rings in his ears and makes your cunt twitch. 

“Shit, sweetheart. Any longer and I’ll have to start thinking about ol’ Prof. Gakuganji to not cum.” he pants through ragged breaths, flashing you a deceptively innocent grin. “Now, lay back and spread ‘em f’me and let me see if your pretty pussy can still handle me.”

And that you don’t argue with. 

It’s almost embarrassing - the way you scramble desperately to sink back into the mattress. Letting Satoru manhandle your legs open so shamefully for him, throwing them over his muscled shoulders. But that’s a problem for the future, not lust-drunk you. 

Right now you couldn’t give less of a fuck as his hungry gaze locks on your glistening pussy. Pausing for just a split-second before spitting once. Twice. Thrice onto your waiting cunt. Making you feel more and more like an object as the warm saliva mixes obscenely with your slick, trickling down to form such a sinful pool on the sheets below. 

And you liked it.

Almost as much as you loved the way Satoru drags his tip along your swollen folds, catching so maddeningly on your clit. Teasingly pooling your slick on his leaking head. It was so sloppy. And too slow. 

“Satoru, I’ve waited five months too long for this. If you’re going to fuck me then fuck me like you mean it.” you grit out, frustration and pure need boiling over within you. 

“Oh? So it’s like that, huh?” 

And maybe you were a mastermind, maybe you were an idiot - probably both. Because Satoru immediately pushes in one, long thrust into your dripping cunt. Your words catch pathetically in your throat as he loses grip on whatever semblance of restraint he had - or his sanity - whichever one would break you first. 

Fuck, it feels so heavenly. Oh, how you missed him.

Bowing his body down down down till his damp forehead met yours. Folding you completely underneath him in the way you’ve found that only the smug bastard, Gojo Satoru can. 

You could almost sob at the stretch as he presses in - deliciously painful, borderline insane, and exactly what you’d been trying to deny that you’d been craving all these past five months. Being split apart on his throbbing cock, feeling like you were about to be absolutely devoured underneath him. 

It seems Satoru was just as needy for you, hot and throbbing agonizingly inside you, each little bump bump bump against your walls matching that of your heart thundering against your chest. 

Or was that Satoru’s? At this point you couldn’t even tell. 

“Oh, god yes-, jus’ like that ah shit shit shit-”

“This what you wanted, yeah?” A low growl leaves his throat at how sinfully your walls were milking him as he pulls back. All the way till his leaking tip was just innocently kissing your sloppy hole - only to ram his cock all the way back into your snug cunt. “To be split apart on my cock?” 

Shit, he could just about pass out right now with the way your cunt was sucking him in so greedily like she never wanted to part. 

Guess she missed him too, he thinks deliriously. Not even having to think about it as he starts fucking into you in shallow, mindless little thrusts. Pushing himself deeper and deeper into your plushy cunt. 

“Äh- fuck, yeah. S’all I’ve wanted.” you mewl, feeling so vulnerable and exposed under the hungry eyes boring into yours. A dark gleam in them as he grins, “Then take it back.”

Disoriented, you gasp out a strangled, “What?” before Satoru’s hips become rougher, chasing his high as much as yours. 

“What you said at dinner.” your lips fall into a soft oh! as you realize just what he’s talking about, “Admit that no man makes you cum as hard as I do.”

God, you don’t think you could answer even if you wanted to, choking on the harsh, purposeful movements of his hips just to fuck your soul out. 

Heavy balls stinging your skin, the lewd sounds of skin-on-skin fills the heady air. Driving you to insanity. An absolutely unforgiving cadence that has the bed creaking in protest. Ah, whatever, he could buy them a new one anyway if this one just so happens to break.

“Take it back yet?” He had to break you first though.

Slick gushes out of your heated cunt, dripping down his length and pooling at his heavy balls, stinging your ass at each merciless thrust. “No.” 

A large hand hastily makes its way down to draw rough, frenzied little circles on your throbbing clit. Voice strangled, sweat beading on his forehead, thrusts becoming increasingly sloppier. “How about now?”

“Ah- hngh- oh fuck. Satoru!” You could only moan softly in response, broken whimpers leaving you each time his tip kissed your cervix. Angling his hips just right to expertly brush against that one spot he knew so well would have you keening and bucking up into his cock. Your face almost burns at the sheer familiarity of it all. This bastard knew you too well. 

And something about that made such an uncomfortable, prickly feeling pool in your stomach. 

Something which you knew would only be sated if you looped your arms around his neck. Nails digging into his sculpted back as you pulled him impossibly closer.

Kissing his flushed cheeks as he murmurs, “Take it back, sweetheart.”

Despite the thick cock splitting you in half till you probably couldn’t walk tomorrow morning, you find it in yourself to huff out a soft laugh at the way Satoru’s tone teetered on just that endearing side of sulky. “Fine. You win, Toru.” you whisper into his lips,

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure flashing behind your eyes and Satoru’s lips gently slotting against yours as he fucked you through your high. Acting as if the fucked-out whimper of his nickname is one he’ll never forget. 

As if he couldn’t cum simply from hearing it leave your pretty lips. And he does, shooting thick, hot ropes of cum painting your plushy walls white with a raw groan of your name. It oozes out of your cunt and onto the mess of sheets below as he fucks his seed into you as a lover would. As he would. 

It was intoxicating - everything from the way you milked his cock so sinfully, to the arms tight around his shoulders. Pulling him close, running soothingly along his skin as Satoru collapses onto you with a final, fucked-out thrust. 

And despite being a lightweight, Satoru’s never been so easily drunk off of something than he was off of you. God how he missed this - how he missed you. 

So much so that he can’t put it into words - and probably won’t ever be able to. But it’s alright, because your sticky body snug against his, and Satoru arms tenderly around your waist - but you didn’t mind. Both of you understood.

Satoru traces his fingers lazily along your side, neither of you bothering to tackle the mammoth task of cleaning up for now. Each movement slow and gentle, as if any sudden movement might shatter the delicate balance between you. 

All is quiet in your little haven, and you could almost fall asleep. The most contented one you’ve had in a while - 5 months, 3 weeks, and 7 hours ago to be exact.

But, of course, Satoru can’t keep his mouth shut for nothing. You jolt out of your reverie as he hastily tries to stifle the startled laugh that huffs out of him. Your dazed eyes meet his in the dim lighting, raising a brow in question.

“It’s just…” he starts, voice soft, “You still call me Toru. Feels like home.”

Ah.

You find yourself chuckling softly with him. Heat rushing to your cheeks, burying yourself deeper into his warm chest, to hide the embarrassingly flustered smile breaking out across your face if anything. 

Chuckling, Satoru shifts closer, touch now feather-light against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips. Faltering ever-so-slightly as you mutter out, “Happy anniversary, by the way. I didn’t say it earlier because someone was being a public menace.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault that someone locked me out of my own honeymoon suite.” he laughs, drinking in your pretty lil’ smile. 

Ah, you were perfect. As you always were. Satoru can’t help but utter out a little, “Hey, if I tell you something absolutely stupid, would you promise not to make me fish food?”

“Absolutely not.”

He knew you’d say that. So he flashes you an easy grin, a hint of nervousness in it that he’s sure you see through - you always do. 

“So…” he begins, “First thing’s first, I’m thinking of expanding my father’s company further overseas and it might just so happen that I’m leading the branch development and get to pick where exactly.”

God, you made him feel like such a teenager. At your stunned silence, Satoru could barely raise his eyes to meet yours as he plows on, stumbling so uncharacteristically over his words, “You, I picked where you are.”

You’re breathless, words barely audible as his sinks in. “What? Toru that’s-”

“And don’t be mad but you kinda sorta didn’t-win-the-raffle-so-instead-I-planned-this-getaway-when-we-were-together.”

Any and every trace of breathless euphoria leaves your tone as you narrow your eyes at the very guilty Satoru beside you. Fidgeting under your intense scrutiny. Finally - after what seems like an eternity - you find your senses after his whiplash-inducing information dump. 

A hand immediately shoots out to squeeze his side, right where you knew he was dangerously ticklish.

“You sneaky little-” you scold over his laughed out yells of, “Mercy! No murder on our honeymoon!” squirming helplessly beneath you.

“I can’t believe you let me chug all that ice cream.”

“Exactly- hah- help! You w-would’ve been so sad that you ah- didn’t win.” he manages to choke out under your attack.

Finally relenting, only once you’re sure he’ll be feeling the burn of laughter until your flight tomorrow, you release him from your grasp. A satisfied smirk playing on your lips as you lean in close. “You’re lucky I still love you, you smug bastard” you deadpan.

“Aww, you beat me to it.” Satoru whines. Yet he reaches out to cup your cheek, “And I love you,” words hanging in the air like a promise. “With every fiber of my being.”

You let yourself be begrudgingly pulled into his embrace again, hands caressing along your skin like the highest form of worship. Satoru sighs out a contented, “Best honeymoon ever.” 

But of course, you couldn’t help but bully your idiotic boyfriend. “This is not a honeymoon, Toru.” you mutter into his heated skin.

He only presses you closer to him. Yeah maybe not, fingers deftly dancing along your left hand. But maybe next time. 

“Wanna watch the stars and tell me all about that branch development?”

“Of course, sweetheart, but first can you at least unblock me on Gmail now?”

“...”

You broke up with Gojo Satoru exactly 5 months, 3 weeks, and 12 hours ago. And as for how long it’s been since he won you back - well, you think it might just be one of the few things you didn’t keep count of.

A/N. Based on my vacay at Lily Beach except I didn’t meet my future husband there :0

Plagiarism not authorized.

[thegoogoomuckkk]

NOW PLAYING

THE NEWLYWEDS

Starring: Choso Kamo, Kento Nanami, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Sukuna Ryomen, Toji Fushiguro

You thought maybe your husband's insatiable appetite would cool down after the first few days of being married, but if anything, it’s getting worse. 

Warnings! Overstim, exhibitionism, breeding kink, raw sex, dumbification, oral (f receiving), etc.

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Choso Kamo: There’s a first for everything <3

He’s gone this long without having sex, be prepared to make up for lost time. He isn’t super familiar with human procedures & traditions, so it wasn’t necessarily his intent to wait until marriage. He didn’t even really know what sex was until he started dating you, & you didn’t want to push him into something he wasn’t comfortable with. Regardless, your first time is on your wedding night. . .& your second time, & third time, & fourth. . .& so on. 

You remember faintly the first time you kissed Choso, him saying that he would be happily content to kiss you & kiss you for the rest of his life. & he would’ve been, but he was too far gone know, eyes rolling back, body unable to process the immense pleasure of your cunt wrapped around him. 

His hands gripped your hips with a desperate intensity as he moved within you, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy through your joined bodies. Choso's normally composed demeanor had completely unraveled, replaced by raw need & desire.

You ran your fingers through his long dark hair, marveling at how undone he had become. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, muffling the moans that escaped unbidden from both of your throats.

"Never," he gasped against your mouth, his voice husky with passion. "Never knew. . .never knew it could be like this. Didn’t know it was this good."

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Kento Nanami: Office Sex <3

Nanami was not typically a risk taker in any form, especially when it came to his wife, but he couldn’t bear to be away from you that long. His work had not allowed him to take off as much time as he would’ve liked. His first few days back were pure torture. He focused on nothing else but the mental image of your tits bouncing as you rode him, or the way your cunt sucked in his fingers each night before he stuffed you full of his cock, or the sound of your melodious voice begging him, telling how good it was. 

So here he was, bending you over his mahogany desk (the blinds shut of course, he wasn’t that risky) wondering how he ever lived without you, without fucking you. Sex had been on his mind so infrequently before you. He stroked himself off maybe once a month, or sometimes when he was drunk. But now, he had a hard time going any significant period of time without being balls deep in your sweet cunt. Seeing that wedding ring on your finger, gripping onto the wood of his desk, does not help matters in the slightest. 

Nanami's fingers dug into your hips as he thrust into you from behind, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through your bodies. The office was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin & your muffled moans. You bit your lip, trying to stay quiet, though it was a struggle with the way he was pounding into you.

"God, I've missed this," Nanami groaned, his voice husky with desire. "Missed my wife. Your tight little cunt feels so good."

You whimpered in response, pushing back against him, desperate for more. His hand snaked around to rub your clit in tight circles, making your legs tremble.

"That's it, baby," he murmured. "Come for me. Let me feel you squeeze my cock."

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Satoru Gojo: No lube, no protection <3

You’re entirely unsurprised by his behavior. You actually don’t think there will come a time when Satoru is not desperate for you at all hours of the day. He could be mid-mission, literally killing a curse, & he’ll send some corny text asking for nudes. 

"Pls :( Need nudes, will die without." You suppress the biggest eye roll.

Your eyes are surely rolling, though, when he gets home & shows you what he’s been thinking about all day, what had him so worked up. . .thoughts about his pretty wife & her pretty pussy.

You can't help but smirk as Satoru presses you against the wall, his lips hungry on your neck. His hands roam your body with urgent need, like he hasn't touched you in weeks rather than hours; it was only that morning that he’d stuffed his tongue in your cunt before dashing off to a meeting. "Missed you," he murmurs between kisses. "Couldn't focus all day."

"I couldn’t tell," you tease, recalling his stream of increasingly needy texts. "Begging me for nudes didn’t tip me off at all."

He chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. "Can you blame me? Look at you."

His hands slide down to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. You can feel how hard he is already, his desire evident through his pants. "Someone's excited," you whisper, nipping at his earlobe.

Satoru groans, grinding against you. "You have no idea. Been thinking about this all day. About you."

He groans, pressing his hips against yours. "Those pictures kept me going. But the real thing is so much fucking better."

His fingers find the hem of your shirt, sliding underneath to caress bare skin. You gasp as he cups your breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak.

"Satoru," you breathe, melting into his touch despite your earlier exasperation. He’s gotta make it up to his poor wife for leaving her home all day long. 

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Suguru Geto: Honeymoon <3

A week-long getaway to a penthouse with your new husband had sounded like a dream, & of course it was, but you feared you weren’t making it out of this vacation without a positive pregnancy test. 

His hands gripped your hips with an intensity that would surely leave bruises, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Every thrust sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body, leaving you gasping and clinging to him desperately. His usual composure was completely shattered, replaced by raw need and desire.

our nails digging into his back as he drove into you relentlessly. His dark eyes were wild with lust, fixed on your flushed face.

"That's it, love," he growled, his voice husky & strained. "Take all of me. Let me fill you up."

Your body trembled, teetering on the edge of bliss. You could feel the heat of his skin, smell his intoxicating scent, hear the low groans rumbling in his chest. It was overwhelming, consuming you entirely. The intensity of his words sent a shiver down your spine. Part of you wanted to resist, to remind him of your carefully laid plans—but your body betrayed you, arching into his touch & silently begging for more. His hand slid down to caress your lower abdomen, his touch gentle despite the ferocity of his thrusts. "You'll look so beautiful," he murmured. "Glowing, swollen with our baby."

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Sukuna Ryomen: If it ain’t broke, break it <3

You were pretty sure you’d never experienced exhaustion like this before, & yet you wouldn’t have it any other way. Sukuna was practically tethered to you, night & day; you knew he exceeded the stamina of typical men, but this was setting the bar a little too high. He was breaking your poor cunt. 

"‘Kuna, I c-can’t, can’t take anymore, s’too much," you’d babble each morning & each night, tears staining your pillow along with your drool, nails tearing into the sheets. You were pretty sure some of the remnants of your mascara from your wedding day still remained somewhere on your eyes, you hadn’t the time for skincare. 

"Of course you can, wife. You always take me so well, like you were made for me," he purrs, chest falling over your back, pressing you into the sheets, biting the lobe of your ear, ruining you. & he was such an asshole, calling you wife, as if he cared at all for your silly little human rituals, it was just another way for him to tease you. 

"Please," you gasped, not even sure what you were asking for anymore. Your mind was foggy, overwhelmed by sensation.

Sukuna chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating through your body. "Such sweet sounds you make for me, wife. I'll never tire of them." His hand snaked around to grip your throat, applying just enough pressure to make your head swim. You felt him swell inside you, somehow growing even larger. "One more," he growled. "Give me one more, & I'll let you rest."

His chuckle rumbled through you, low & dark, watching your hips draw back & forth to meet his. "See? Your body knows what it needs," Sukuna murmured, his breath hot against your neck.

His hips snapped forward relentlessly, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure-pain coursing through you. You lost track of time, lost in the sensations, in the feeling of being utterly consumed by him. When you came again, it was with a broken sob, your body trembling uncontrollably beneath him. Sukuna growled in satisfaction, his own release following moments later as he buried himself deep inside you.

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Toji Fushiguro: Every inch <3

Toji is determined to christen every goddamn inch of your apartment. It’s practically a game to him. 

"No, Toji, not on the table, we eat here," you whine, but your attempts at swatting him away as he pushes you over the counter so delicately, humping your ass, groaning into his fist. He hoped there came a point when his wife’s ass didn’t make him whiney & sex-brained like a teenager, but he doubted it. 

"Please, baby," he groans, mouthing at your clothed pussy. "Let me taste you. I need it."

You can't help but melt at his desperation, your resolve crumbling. With shaky hands, you push your panties to the side. Toji lets out a guttural moan at the sight of your glistening folds, diving in eagerly.

His tongue laps at you hungrily, like a man starved. You cry out, gripping the edge of the table for support as your knees threaten to give way. Toji's large hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he devours you.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he mumbles against your sensitive flesh. "Never get enough of you."

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married men, weak at the knees for their wife :)

LOOKING FOR SOME MORE? MASTERLIST <3

LOOKING FOR SOMETHING SPECIFIC? ASK <3

[nochepsicodelica]

"All those drinks are gonna do you dirty, ma. You're gonna throw up if you don't get some food in your system, so eat," Toji says, pushing the box closer to you.

You giggle at his serious face, before standing up from your chair for the fourth time, trying to go around him. Toji's used to this by now and stands up, bringing you back down to your chair.

"Stop getting up and eat your food. You literally begged for this. Why aren't you eating it?"

"Why aren't you eating it?" You return, raising your brows at him, seductively. It doesn't come off too sexy when raising your eyebrows makes you immediately squint because of the light going into your sensitive eyes, but it does lure a chuckle out of Toji.

"I'm ignoring that. Just eat. I don't wanna hear you upchucking in a couple hours."

"You won't hold my hair back?" You pout. Your feigned little flash of sadness produces real tears in this state, so it's a little confusing for Toji when you start giggling while wiping at your reddened cheeks.

"Your food's getting cold. I know how you are about reheating fast food, so eat it before it goes to waste."

You smile at him, your eyelids almost completely shut in your drunken daze. Toji can't even lie, it's cute. It's the only reason he's not up the wall about this little situation. Then you decide to drop a bomb on him.

"I'm not hungry anymore. Too tired to eat." You rest your chin on your palm, shutting your eyes. It feels nice. It would take less than thirty seconds for you to fall asleep.

Fuck. Think, think, think...

"Hey." Toji pokes your forehead, lightly, earning a hum and a furrow of your brows. "What if I feed you?"

You laugh, giddily. "Ooo, you trying to romance me?"

"Sure, if you eat."

You laugh again. "Toji, you dog, you. I'm not putting out." You shake your head, eyes closed with a dumb grin on your face. "No, sir. It's food and then goodnight for me."

"You already put out for me, earlier, doll." He smirks at the way you blush, clearly having an 'oh, yeah...' moment. "Eat some more so we can go to sleep."

"Hm?" You hum, rolling your eyes open after your blink of sleep. You crack a grin as soon as you look at Toji. "You wanna kiss me sooo bad. Look at you."

"I'm not gonna kiss you. You're not listening. You think you deserve kisses for that?"

"Uh... yes? I mean no. Pshhh, nooo. Of course, not."

"That's right. So eat, or you'll go to sleep without kisses, tonight."

"Noooo," you whine, dramatically. "Wait! Fine, fine. Look." You take a huge bite of your sandwich, your cheeks puffing up as you chew. "Oh, this is really good," you say, muffled by your mouthful of food.

"Don't choke, doll. Small bites are fine," he says, picking up a napkin and wiping the excess condiments off your face.

You push through it and gulp down the bite. "That was a lot. Got bread stuck on the roof of my mouth." You take a sip of your drink to wash it all down. "Did I look so pretty for the party, today?" You ask, your lips curling as you put the cup back down.

"You did, mama. Stunning. Swept everyone there, off their feet."

You smile, the gesture transitioning into a giggle. "Even Shiu?"

"Yup. Even Shiu said he wanted a piece of you."

You gasp. "No... Did you fight him?"

"Nah, I wanted to, but I kept my cool. If he had put his hands on you, then I might have, but I had my eye on you all night, to make sure nobody did more than look at you."

"I wouldn't have followed him anywhere, anyway." You roll your eyes, suddenly so hostile against the host of the party. "Probably would've kicked him in the nuts and gone to find you."

"Yeah, that's a smart idea, doll."

Toji's elaborate answers to your questions kept you awake long enough for you to mindlessly eat while he talked. You were at the end of the sandwich when you realized how much you had eaten and how full you were.

"Can't... do it..." You groan, lying on the arm you have extended on the table. "Too full." You sigh, heavily, setting the rest of the sandwich down on the scattered fries in its box.

"That's good, ma. You don't have to eat it, anymore. We can go to bed, now."

You let out another heavy sigh, sluggishness washing over you before you force yourself to stand up from your chair, this time with Toji's 'okay'. He looks at your little belly as it protrudes from your dress, proof of how full you actually are, and pokes at it. Your usually soft tummy is temporarily stiff and it's adorable.

You grab Toji's hand so that you don't stumble as you walk. Before leaving the table, he finished the remainder of your sandwich in one bite and threw out the container with the remaining cold fries.

"Damn, you were right, baby. That was good."

"Mhm," you mumble, waiting for him to lead you to the room.

Toji helped you brush your teeth and wash your face, and when you finally made it to the room, he helped you dress down into comfier clothes. Now, you're in bed together and you're in his arms trying to doze off, but you can't with the way he's smothering your face with kisses. It's just kiss after kiss with him and you can't focus, but It is what you wanted. After all, you stuffed your face for this.

[donatellawritings]

What about instead of rage giving the reader the silent treatment let’s switch the roles and instead the reader gives rage the silent treatmentt plsss

you were being a chatty little princess. you couldn’t help how excited and giddy you were today — the sun was shining bright, the sky a pretty baby blue, the air smelled fresh and sweet, everything just seemed to have been going picture perfect for you. so, when rafe brought you along with him to the country club to catch up with kelce and topper, you were all smiles, to the point where your cherub cheeks and glossy lips ached from being so stretched. you sat prettily on rafe’s lap, even more bubbly than usual thanks to the pomegranate martini you’d been sipping on.

rafe’s hand mindlessly tapped against the side of your thigh as he spoke to topper about this new boat that he’d been eyeing, causing your doe eyes to widen as your lips parted, “oh my god, topper it’s so pretty and i told rafe that he should-” you cut in, oblivious to this being your fourth time interrupting rafe while he spoke to the guys. it wasn’t until rafe had finally corrected you that you realized your silly mistake.

“hey, y’gonna let me finish talkin’ to top, or are y’gonna keep on interrupting me?” rafe scolded, his voice cold and stern as he lightly grabbed your jaw, his bright blue eyes hanging low as he sent you a chilling warning look. a soft exhale left your nose as your eyes glazed over with threatening tears, with an obedient nod. now returning his attention to topper, rafe cleared his throat before continuing, “so, yeah m’probably gonna have it by next week — just waiting on my guy to have it all dolled up for me,” rafe sighed, ignoring the slight pang in his chest as you fiddled with your fingers and kept your gaze trained on your feet.

he could tell that you were trying your very best, not to cry.

you remained silent for the remainder of the day, only allowing yourself to extend a forced courteous smile to topper and kelce, once rafe decided it was time to go home. he didn’t miss the way you simply nodded or shook your head whenever the server asked you a question, or how you quickly wiped your eyes before a stream of tears could flow door your cheeks. could rafe do without your constant interjections? yes, but he had to admit that the conversation just wasn’t as engaging without your light and airy commentary.

so, rafe decided that he’d play all of your favorite songs, once you were comfortably seated in your passenger seat with your seatbelt fastened, his pink lips running dry as you remained blank of any emotion. reaching over the center console, rafe laying his hand right above your knee, squeezing the plush skin of your thigh, to get you to look at him, “hey, mama — y’doing okay?” he questions, quickly glancing over to you as you wordlessly nodded, your dolly eyes fluttering closed as rafe sighed in defeat, before bringing his hand back to the steering wheel. he had to admit that watching you leaning your head against the window to fall asleep, instead of his shoulder, stung him a little.

what gnawed at rafe the most, was that you weren’t being quiet as a punishment, you genuinely believed that rafe wanted you to stop talking, to the point where even he couldn’t get you to say a word to him. it’d been about four hours and he missed hearing you, he missed the way his name fell off of your tongue, the way your accent peaked with certain words, how you’d console him in spanish, but mostly, he missed hearing you call him ‘papi’.

it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, thanks to the two cocktails you’d drank earlier, leaving rafe overtly excited to take the chance to get you in his arms, the moment he parked his car, rushing to the passenger side as he scooped you into his arms, his forearm resting underneath the soft curve of your ass, while his free hand gently slid over your waist. a low whine left your swollen lips as you kept your head leaned against rafe’s shoulder, sighing sleepily as you allowed your boyfriend to carry you inside of tannyhill.

pressing a kiss to your cheek, rafe was quick to take a seat on the couch with you on his lap, he needed this silence to end, before he flipped the fuck out, “i don’t like that y’not talking to me, mama — m’about to lose my mind, not hearing my pretty girl,” rafe coos sweetly into your ear, pressing another kiss to your cheek as you sigh, leaning your head closer into his shoulder. “y’not in trouble, baby, i just wanted to finish talking to topper and i know you’re excited about the boat,” rafe squeezed your waist, beckoning for you to look at him — he needed to make sure that you knew that he still saw you as his sweet girl.

compliantly, you lifted your head, your sleepy doe eyes bright as met rafe’s unwavering gaze, a small huff leaving you as you parted your now barely-glossed lips, “i just didn’t want to annoy you, papi —” you began, rafe’s eyes softening as your sweet voice ran like warm honey in his ears. you innocently shifted yourself on his lap, your swollen lips just aching to be kissed by rafe’s, “i know i was just being too excited,” you sighed, ending your small ramble as rafe simply stared at you blankly, licking over his lips as he shamelessly ogled yours.

the second you cocked your head to the side in confusion, rafe’s mouth was on yours, enveloping you in a disgustingly sloppy, but needy kiss. a throaty moan left rafe’s throat as his hand slid up to the back of your neck, securely holding your face against his as he messily licked into your mouth, spit smearing across your chin as you struggled to catch your breath, “papi, wait — i can’t breathe,” you giggled, your words instantly swallowed by rafe’s mouth as his tongue mushed slush against yours, the two of you whimpering with greed as rafe leaned forward, with you still clinging onto his lap, his shiny, spit-covered lips trailing down to your prettily pushed-up breasts.

“missed hearing y’fuckin’ voice, mama,” rafe mumbled, his voice broken and hoarse as you smiled cheesily, beaming with the fact that rafe missed you.

[strongheartneteyam]

We are just animals.

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x female!human!reader

CW: "light" non con, dubious consent, voyeurism, neteyam jerking off to reader touching herself, descriptions of masturbation, kinda mean/dark neteyam, belly bulge, rough sex, semi public sex, p in v, creampie, dirty talk, size kink, size difference, exophilia, dominant neteyam, sub reader, primal play [hunter/prey] (if you squint), doggy position

Synopsis: Neteyam is on his rut period and he's struggling to deal with the fact that masturbation doesn't really seem to help anymore when it comes to easing his strong urges. But when he finds a human girl alone in the middle of the forest, that seems to be the solution he was desperately longing for.

Slightly proofread. I'm running on 4 hours of sleep, a cup of strong coffee with no sugar and only one slice of whole grain bread rn (and I'm in a hurry to go out lol) so be gentle with me 🥲☕ love you guys <3

✶

Pretty girl, full of virtue and youthfulness

The forest's flowers and songs I love

Hey, pretty young girl

What are you doing in the forest alone, so far from all beings?

Omnos (Eluveitie)

✶

Neteyam had been extremely frustrated and moody lately. He had been aloof and impatient with people, even with his family, these past days, which is so not like him. But the Omatikaya people tried to understand and cut him some slack since they knew he was going through his rut and he didn't exactly have a partner to help him ease that itch right then.

Neteyam tossed back and fourth on his mat at eclipse and he couldn't get restful nights of sleep as he would wake up in the middle of the dark hours with such a strong urge to mate that he felt like it would drive him insane. It was so incredibly troubling. He found no other way to deal with it than being the quietest he could be while stroking his erect cock, desperately trying to get some release. But Eywa... it was never enough. No. What he needed was to cum inside a good inviting cunt.

•

One day Neteyam was walking through the forest, looking for good branches so he could gather an enough amount of them to light up the bonfire for that day's communal meal time at eclipse.

He was in a place in the forest that was far enough of the Omatikaya huts for it to be somehow private, as private as a forest could be. There was always a risk of people being around, of course.

He almost couldn't believe his eyes when he caught you pleasuring yourself as you laid on the grass with your eyes closed, your small delicate human fingers rubbing your wet clit, his nostrils getting filled with the delicious scent of your juices (that he just knew tasted delicious too). Neteyam knew he had found the girl that would help him get some release from his madness inducing urges that were bothering him all the time in this rut.

You were just the perfect prey. So small, fragile and soft. His cock got hard as a rock just thinking about sinking himself deep inside your ekxìn (tight) pussy.

So, Neteyam hid behind a tree and uncovered his cock, pushing his loincloth to the side as quickly as he possibly could as he did not want to spend one more second watching that delicious scene that was you shoving your small fingers inside of your tiny pussy without pleasuring himself to it.

You were so lost in your pleasure haze that you didn't even think someone could be watching you.

But then, suddenly, you stopped what you were doing when you heard a muffled moan of pleasure.

Fuck! Was someone around you?! It couldn't be! But, damn, you knew it was risky to masturbate in the middle of the forest. You just thought you could get lucky and not be seen. Somehow... Yeah. That sounded stupid and you knew it.

You almost panicked when you realized Neteyam was looking at you with a predatory look in his golden eyes, behind a tree near where you were. When you looked down and realized he was touching himself while gazing at you, your mouth fell slightly open.

But your startled face only seemed to make the desire inside him grow even stronger.

Neteyam saw the way your eyes betrayed your shyness just as the way your blood rushed to your cheeks, while you closed your legs fast, pressing your sweet soft thighs against one another but he also had heard from some friends how you had a crazy crush on him. So, he took that as a good sign, something that only meant you were just embarassed you got caught touching yourself and not that you didn't want him too.

"Don't let me interrupt you. It's beautiful. I wanna keep watching you, paskalin." (sweet berry)

"What-" It was hard to talk as you were nervous as hell "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing more natural than an Omatikaya in the forest" He smirked "What are you doing here, sevin tawtute?" (pretty human)

You shut your mouth at that. You couldn't think of a good enough answer.

"You saw me..." your cheeks burned with embarrassment "I was touching myself, OK? Are you gonna judge me? You were doing the same. And looking at me while doing it. You sure are bold." You tried to be confident and overpower him with your argument but it was obviously failing

"Who told you to be touching your pretty pussy in the middle of the forest? Didn't you think someone could catch you?" He said in a mean tone but his na'vi accent only got your already soaked pussy even wetter. The way he rolled the "L" letter... oh my Eywa...

"Of course I thought it could happen. But I hoped no one would. I certainly did not expect you to be creeping around and jerking off while watching me. Pervert." You snapped back

"Cut the crap. I don't need any complications right now, tawtute. I know you have a crush on me and all I want is to cum inside of you. So, tell me. Do you want me? Yes or no. It's simple." Neteyam said impatiently

"What? I don't know what you're talking about!" You tried to hide your feelings but it was useless

Neteyam walked to you, took you with ease from the grass you were laying on and put you over his shoulder. You shaked your legs incessantly in protest.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Let me go, now, Neteyam! Arghhh!" Your shouting only sounded funny to his na'vi ears

Neteyam pressed your body against the nearest large Pandoran tree in front of you two and you could feel his big bulge pressing against your ass as he was lifting you with his blue hands under your arms, your legs hanging in the air, leaving you with the feeling of being helpless at the time.

"I'm gonna say it again and for the last time. Yes or no?"

Your heart beat fast inside your chest as you moved your head back and fourth slightly, telling him that, yes, you did want him to fuck you.

"Yes... Yes, damn it... I want you." You confessed

"Good. That's what I wanted to hear." He stated

Neteyam put you down on the ground again. You stood up but your legs felt weak with anticipation and some fear.

He undid the way the long string of his loincloth was wrapped around his tail to get rid of that piece of clothing that was getting on his way and making it harder for him to just fuck you dumb already.

You just couldn't stop staring at his cock, the way it was huge and all covered in his precum because of the way he had been stroking it while watching you. To know Neteyam's cock was glistening with precum like that because of you made a tight knot form in the lower part of your belly.

"Now, on your knees." He ordered

You swiftly obeyed him. Neteyam had you around his finger. You had dreamed about what it would feel like to have him inside of you for so long. You had always lusted over him when you saw his muscles on display when he practiced his archery on the Omatikaya mainland. But it seemed like he had never noticed you like that before. You thought that perhaps you just didn't spark any interest in him. But maybe you were wrong.

"Now this dripping tawtute pussy is mine! Let me finish the job." Neteyam stated "You'll feel so full with this na'vi cock. You'll see." He smirked in a perverted way

Neteyam walked until he got behind you, got on his knees too and forced you forward just so you would be on all fours for him.

He pressed his swollen tip against your entrance and you whimpered at how good just that felt. You couldn't wait for what was coming.

When you least expected it, he pushed his cock in a quick motion inside of you, burying all of its length inside of you. As your pussy was dripping wet, it wasn't as hard to fit as you thought it would be. You let out a cry of sheer, strong pleasure.

Neteyam covered your mouth with his huge blue hand to prevent you from being too loud but your muffled moans still echoed slightly around the both of you as he pushed his hard big cock roughly inside of your soaked pussy, his hips crashing against your butt and making your soft flesh jiggle which only turned him on even more. He just thought human girls were so hot because of how soft and delicate they were. He was surely loving to squeeze your soft stomach while his hand rested right above your belly button, where the huge bulge his cock was causing on you could be seen.

"Great Mother, your pussy feels too fucking good, yawntutsyìp..." (darling)

Neteyam kept fucking you as deeply as he could, hurting the tip of your womb just enough to make you feel a masochist type of pleasure burning inside of you. At this pace, you suspected you were gonna cream around his cock soon enough.

What if someone came and saw the both of you fucking like that? Oh, God...

But you had to admit that - despite of how wrong that felt - if anything, the being wrong part of it only turned you on more.

"Gonna cum loads inside this ekxìn pussy, tawtute. Did you know I'm on my rut period? I'm needing to release all this cum trapped inside my balls somewhere, baby. They're so heavy." Neteyam whispered in your ear. His words were so dirty but so enticing.

Many hard delicious thrusts later you felt his thick load of cum filling you up to the brim. The feeling was amazing.

After he composed himself and got his breath back again, he said:

"You are a perfect cum slut. You're mine now, tawtute. My mate."

✶

Taglist:

@yeosxxx

[augustinewrites]

nanami finally getting the club fic he deserves cw: suggestive

whenever gojo drags nanami out to the club, it’s not unusual for him to slip into a secluded corner. after a long week of work, the last place he wants to be is on a loud dance floor or sitting at a crowded bar. he’d only agreed to come because gojo was picking up the tab for tonight. 

it’s during his third drink of the night that he watches gojo and his fiancée on the dance floor, hands all over each other as they sway to the dirty rhythm of the club. 

it’s when he’s waiting for the bartender to pour him his fourth drink that he sees you slide up to the other end of the bar. 

the loud bass is suddenly replaced with the drum of his heartbeat. 

the black silk of your dress shimmers. not in an overly gaudy way, but in a way that was utterly tantalizing, drawing his attention to every shift of your hips and turn of your torso. 

he’s not aware that he’s staring. not until you turn to meet his gaze.

you quickly down the contents of your glass before raising it in his direction. it’s a sight that’ll surely be burned into the back of his mind; an alluring smile on lips painted deep red. 

you’re hypnotizing in every sense of the word. he watches, utterly unashamed as you slink back onto the dancefloor. you glance over your shoulder at him, a question shining in your eyes. 

are you coming? 

nanami quickly finishes his drink and follows you without a second thought.

bodies pressed around him, some lost in the unadulterated pleasure of the night, some clearly trying to gain his attention. they’re all easy to ignore, because his sights are set solely on you. 

soon (but not soon enough), he’s standing in front of you. close enough for you to grab him by the tie, pulling him in. close enough for him to let his hands wander to your hips, sliding over the silk of the dress that’d caught his eye. close enough that he could feel your warm breaths on the shell of his ear as you told him your name.

he’s about to tell you his name when someone tells it behind him.

“nanami!” gojo shouts, unsurprisingly loud enough to be heard over the music. you draw back, about to see who’s calling for him.

without thinking, his hand catches your jaw, forcing you to keep your gaze on him.

the look on your face is priceless. 

“ignore him,” he murmurs. his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, smearing red lipstick across your mouth. 

you draw a sharp inhale as he releases your jaw. nanami is unable to keep from smirking as his knuckles brush down the shameless plunge of your neckline, causing you to shudder.

“come home with me,” you breathe. 

even in the dark of the club, nanami sees the rest of his life in the glimmer of your eyes. 

gojo’s wolf whistles as he follows you out to hail a cab.

_____

you wake to an empty bed.

your heart sinks a little, but it’s not unexpected. a one night stand is exactly that— one night. you don’t do it often, but that man…

your face feels hot as you think back to last night. the way he’d kissed you, touched you, praised you…the space between your legs throbs with the mere memory.

when you sit up, you see a glass of water and a packet of aspirin sitting on your nightstand. as you’re about to reach for them, a noise from the kitchen catches your attention. 

you pull on a shirt (his shirt) sauntering out of your bedroom to see nanami in your kitchen. you lean in the doorway, admiring the way he looks bathed in the soft glow of sunrise. 

last night may have been great, but you have a feeling that wherever this relationship goes is going to be so much better.

[superhoeva]

bouncer!logan spotting you at a halloween party he's working the door for. it's annoyingly cute how you fumble about when you find out that the there's a door fee and you have no cash.

he lets you squirm for a bit, enjoying the troubled expression on your face before the pinch of your eyebrows forces a sigh from him.

"okay look," the man starts, arms crossing as he motions for you to lean in. thinking for less than a second, you follow the direction, not catching the way logan drags a hard stare across you and your skimpy costume. "'m really not supposed to be doing anything like this. but one, i don't give a fuck. two, you're cute enough to break a few rules for."

with his jaw clenching at the way you can't hide your pleased grin, logan continues.

"gonna let you in for free, but you're gonna have'ta owe me a little somethin' in return."

an eager nod from you has logan biting his tongue. his hand reaches to rub at he growing hair of his beard, pretending to consider his options. finally, he speaks, purposefully lowering his voice so you have to shift even closer.

"use this pretty face and get me a couple'a free drinks? since you don't have any cash and all..."

"okay," you nod again, teeth grazing the corner of your bottom lip. "what do you have a taste for?"

logan's skin heats at your question, shoving the first answer that comes to the very back of his mind.

"nothing too sweet." he's got to save that craving for the possibility of tasting you. "just beer. nothing special."

you're a wizard. logan's certain of it after you bring him the fourth bottle of beer, this time with a glass of something for yourself.

"jesus," logan huffs. "you're wringing 'em dry in there, pretty."

you shrug at the man, slinking atop the stool he brought to keep his back from aching during his downtime. he can feel your eyes on him as he chugs down half the bottle, staring at the bobbing of his adam's apple as he drinks.

lowering the bottle, logan swallows and turns to you. your gaze flicks to the side of him, pretending like you weren't just oogling the shit out of him and how tight the black v-neck he's sporting is.

logan takes the thick silence as a chance to really look at you. take in your costume of black spandex shorts, blue crop top, and empty thigh holsters.

"lara croft," logan finally figures it out, and you grin a little over the rim of your glass. "...you wear her well."

another smile from you and logan nearly squeezes the bottle so hard it breaks. a tiny laugh from you breaks another round of heated silence.

"i miss somethin'?"

"no," you promise him. "it's just... i've spent more time out here than in there. even after you let me in for free."

logan sniffs, meeting your eyes in his lean across from you.

"don't worry, ms. croft. i definitely don't mind."

after that, you end up staying with him for the rest of the night. leaving you his seat, logan standing all broad and strong whenever someone enters, letting you hold the cash he collects from each patron. he sends a wink your way every time he turns to hand out the money but nearly growls out at anyone that asks about you.

"keep movin', bub," logan warns the latest inquirer who lets his eyes linger a little too long for your liking. the guy isn't smart enough to heed the first warning, going as far as ignoring logan to lean in your direction.

"come find me later, yeah?"

you don't get a chance to answer. logan's got him by the back of the neck, shoving him out into the cool fall air of tonight's evening without a second thought. dusting off his hand, logan ignores the man's whines about the cash he wants back, and turns to find you blinking at him with a squirm.

he steps to where you now stand with his eyes hooded, slicking out one of the tens from your grasp. neither of you says a word as logan folds the bill, and encircles his arms around you. your breath hitches at the hand logan plants on one of your asscheeks. he glides the money into your back pocket, biting his lip.

"my shift ends in an hour. i can show you an actual party worth your time if you're up for it..."

warm and dazed, you nod. logan grins a little, squeezing the flesh under his hand before returning to his post of strong, crossed arms and back turned to you while he faces the door.

logan grins again, this time wider, at the way he can feel your gaze burning a hole into his ass.

[pastryfication]

THE RED SHOES ↳ oscar piastri

based on the fairytale by hans christian andersen | inspired by an old school project i found on my laptop … this took me forever so please give it some love <33

pairing: oscar piastri x leclerc!sister!reader summary: from the moment you were gifted your first ballet slippers, dance had been a constant in your life. a comfort in even the darkest times. but it becomes unhealthy the moment you are unable to take off the shoes.

the most worn out, old shoes in your collection dated all the way back to your fourth birthday. they had been a gift from your three brothers; a pair of red dance slippers for you to wear when you the following week participated in your very first ballet class.

it had been love at first sight for you. the moment you stepped into the studio, feeling the hardwood beneath your thin shoes, seeing yourself reflected in a mirror no matter what direction you looked in, you knew that it was where you wanted to spend the rest of your days. dance became your lifeline, the only thing keeping you going when everything else seemed dull.

when your brothers were off racing and your parents preoccupied themselves with the go-karts and helmets, you found solace in the simple act of ballet. lacing up your shoes, the familiar scent of the studio and the smoothness of the wooden floor always managed to calm you. when the music started, your world narrowed down to the rhythmic beating of the drum and the fluidity of your movements. there, in that sanctuary, nothing else mattered.

your first pair of shoes quickly became worn out, too ruined to be used, and your parents provided you with a new pair. a new pair that soon would be replaced as well.

when you were twenty, you were for the first time introduced to oscar. it was the italian grand prix, an event your entire family always attended in support of your older brother, and that year was no different. you had been wandering around in search of a familiar face when you ran into the mclaren driver. it had been love a first sight—something neither of you believed in, yet couldn’t deny—to put it simple, and the two years you had been together had been nothing short of incredible.

the australian was more than happy to contribute to your collection of shoes that only grew more and more as your training became harder, more challenging, more draining.

he worried. it wasn’t in his nature, not something he found himself doing often, but for you, for the growing dark circles under your eyes, for the weight you only seemed to loose and not gain, he worried.

you would never want him foreboding, never want him to feel the slightest unease, but as your days filled with more stress, your mind started closing up, leaving room for nothing but the new choreography.

each morning and each night, you stepped into the studio, the mirrored walls reflecting your resolve, as the music filled the air like a whisper of promise. each movement carved out a sanctuary, a space where the weight of the world faded to a distant hum.

your body became a vessel for the dance, each plié and tendu an escape from the noise outside. time drifted away, an endless stream of practice and precision and the pulse of the music guiding you deeper into this realm.

the world outside became a mere shadow, its demands and voices lost in the blur of your focus, where you were both lost and found. every ache was a testament to your commitment, every breath a surrender to the rhythm.

the only thing remaining clear was the shoes.

you had long since outgrown the pair your brothers had gifted you so thoughtfully, yet somehow, they stayed with you, not only in the physical sense, but in a way that felt deeper, more insidious. you couldn’t see it then, couldn’t know how easily the delicate line between passion and obsession could blur without you noticing.

your brothers had never fully understood, though they loved you all the same. their world was filled with the rush of engines, the thrill of speed. they were boys of the track, always chasing something fast, something tangible. when they handed you those shoes on your fourth birthday, they had no way of knowing they were giving you something you would chase for the rest of your life. a place you would carve out in the quiet, where the sound of your feet against the floor was all that mattered.

time went on so slow yet so fast. your brothers still called, though not as often as before. arthur’s voice always had an edge of command, as though even over the phone, he couldn’t help but lead you, the only person who would ever follow his command. “we’re all going to monaco this year. you’re coming, right?” his words held the weight of expectation, as though he couldn’t imagine you saying no. but when you hesitated, there was always that brief pause before he moved on, never pushing too hard.

charles’ calls were shorter, more distant, his voice lighter, floating through pictures and scattered texts from whatever corner of the world he happened to be racing through. he asked about the dance, though you both knew he didn’t really need the answer. to him, it was enough that you were still moving, still spinning through your world as he did through his.

and lorenzo—sweet, caring enzo—he called the most, his words gentle but filled with concern as he told you about your mother’s worry. about his own worry. “you sound tired,” he’d say, even when you laughed it off. he noticed things the others didn’t, sensed the exhaustion creeping into your voice, the hesitation between your words. but you reassured him, told him you were fine, always fine.

it wasn’t until oscar voiced the same worry that you began to feel the weight of it yourself. he wasn’t like your brothers—his concern was quieter, but it settled over you like a shadow. he’d watch you in the studio, even when he was busy and cramped by his ever growing career.

silent he was, his eyes tracing the movements of your body as it twisted and turned, as though trying to understand what it was you were chasing. he knew, even if you didn’t want to admit it yet, that something had shifted.

“i’m worried,” he had said one evening, after watching you move through another rehearsal, the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin. “you don’t have to push so hard.”

his words were soft, but they lingered. you had brushed them aside at first because how could he understand?

the studio was your world. it was where everything made sense.

each day, the pull of the shoes grew stronger, though they were no longer on your feet. the new pairs you slipped on felt no different; they all seemed to carry the same curse, driving you forward even when your body begged to stop. the movements, once effortless, now felt like a compulsion, a promise you couldn’t break. you were chasing something. chasing a perfection that always seemed just out of reach.

it wasn’t until you stumbled—it just a small misstep, barely noticeable to anyone but you—that the truth started to crack open. you stood there, breath caught in your chest, staring at the mirrored walls surrounding you. your reflection looked back, but it didn’t feel like your own. there was something unfamiliar in the way your body moved, something hollow in your eyes. the girl in the mirror was still dancing, but you weren’t sure why anymore.

oscar was a magician in the way he immediately was there, his hand on your arm before you even realized it. “it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice steady, but his eyes told a completely different story. “you don’t have to keep doing this,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against yours as tenderly as if you were close to breaking. “you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

you wanted to believe him, but you couldn’t. the shoes still called to you, still urged you forward. they were tied to something deeper than the dance itself, something you couldn’t quite name, but couldn’t quite let go of either.

your brothers called again, their voices distant but filled with love. “come to the race,” charles said. “we’ll all be there. we want to see you.”

and for a moment, you hesitated, the pull of family tugging against the pull of the enchanting movements. you thought of charles‘ steady voice, of arthur’s laughter, of lorenzo’s quiet concern and of your mothers worrying eyes. you thought of your first ever shoes, of the girl who had received them. the girl who danced because it was her joy, not her burden.

but as you tried to step out the shoes, you found that you couldn’t. they were stuck, grown unto your feet so tightly that not even the whispers of your adoring family and all too loving boyfriend could free them. the web had spun for years, and now, it was too late to escape.

[letorip]

can you write something short and fluffy :( like jenna or wednesday being tired or something

j's lullaby

"darlin' i'd wait for you, even if you didn't ask me to"

===+++===

pairing: jenna ortega x reader

summary: jenna comes home incredibly late and can't wait to collapse into your arms after a long day

warnings: nada, entirely just fluff and comforting someone's exhaustion

word count: 1.2k

A/N: sorry for getting to this now, it was requested months and months ago. feels good to write something sweet for once, and without somewhere to branch off to. i like writing my stories, but it's fun to leave so much up to the reader. maybe i'll do more of these.

===+++===

===+++===

Even from inside the warmth of your apartment, it was impossible to be unaware of the raging storm outside. You could hear the pattering of raindrops upon the stucco roof in small thuds that had faded gently into the background a good thirty minutes ago and given no indication of letting up anytime soon, either.

Not that it would have mattered. You stood in the kitchen with the kettle going on the stove, attempting to read a rather enthralling chapter of your book in the dim, warm light that hung over your microwave, and then rereading it for a third or fourth time when the words became an unintelligible mess in your head, whether it be from the lack of light or sluggish ability to think.

It was a little too late to turn the kitchen light on, not that you were a big fan of the overhead light, but it would've brought a crude harshness to the drowsiness you were attempting to fight off.

Even night owls had their limitations. Sleep snuck up on you at the wispy edges, pulling down on your eyelashes. The clock on your microwave ticked to 4:28, and you turned the page in your book, hearing the kettle's whistle begin to take frequency, one you were sure the neighbours could hear.

In retrospect the somewhat thin walls were the only thing imperfect about the place, with giant windows and warm, teakwood floors. That and your kitchen's tile floor being kind of cold in the morning, but even then, both you and Jenna wore socks in the house, so it wasn't much of a drawback. You would only live there for a few weeks more anyhow, before you both went back to Los Angeles. In the meantime you could cope with the plush floor rug that Natalie had sent.

With one thumb on the thin page of your beaten up novel and the rest of that hand pinning it to the countertop, you lifted the kettle gently towards your old ceramic mug with the chip in the corner and a teabag’s string hanging over the side. The hot water steamed and gently wafted over the apples of your cheeks, and it added a further weight, the room filling with a flowery smell.

As you grabbed a small spoon from the drawer, the front door’s knob audibly turned, creaking open on its hinges and letting some of the nighttime noise flood in, if only for a moment. You grinned at the noise with an excitement that would’ve been impossible to mask, stirring your drink and calling over your shoulder, down the hall. “Hey, in here.”

The door swung shut behind her and a few, tired steps later, Jenna stood in the doorway. You stayed focused on the task at hand, stirring your tea, but you could feel her eyes stay locked upon your face. She wandered over, coming up behind you where you stood and wrapping her arms around your torso, pressing the plane of her cheek against your shoulder blade.

She held you tightly, as if she wanted to melt together. “You didn’t have to wait up for me. It’s almost 5 in the morning.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” you shrugged. “I wanted to.” Her arms wrapped around you just a bit tighter, holding you there and sighing into the soft, worn fabric of your old shirt.

“I made tea,” you hummed. “Do you want any?” She shook her head into your back, almost purring in contentment.

“‘M too tired,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, you got back late,” you said, pushing the tea mug away and turning around to get a good look at her. She was beautiful, that was a given, but she also looked exhausted, with thick, dark eye bags and the tips of her dark bangs a little bit wet from the rain outside.

“Tim wanted to talk about the big scene we have coming up,” she whispered. You hummed again, watching her with a little bit of concern and she looked back at you with a fondness.

“Come on, off to bed with you,” you straightened up, holding out your hand for her to take, and grabbing your book with a finger left between the binding to hold your spot.

She rolled her eyes with a gentle huff but did not protest, letting you lead her gently into your bedroom. There were still a few candles you had lit for just in case during the storm, filling your room with a yellowish, warm glow, and you blew them out while Jenna got changed into her pyjamas.

“Oh, your mum called, by the way,” you said with a gentle smile, pulling the sheets back to sit on the edge. You pulled your woollen, thick socks off and flung them towards the far wall; you could pick them up tomorrow.

She gave you a sleepy nod, wandering towards the bathroom and sliding the door open. “Just checking in?”

“Yeah, wants you to call her tomorrow… which I guess is now today. She wants to her all about work.” You thumbed open your book while you waited for her to finish brushing her teeth, reading a few lines before she reappeared about a minute later, flicking off the light.

Jenna walked right over, pulling the sheets back and then practically collapsing on top of you, her head nuzzling into your neck. You could feel the cold edge of her nose pressing gently against the edge of your jaw, and it sent a small shiver down your spine. You put the book on your bedside table, sliding your eyeglasses off of your weary ears and stacking it on top, along with clicking the lamp off.

You would’ve planted a kiss upon her forehead, but she seemed all too comfortable for you to shift your position, and you were quite certain— though you couldn’t actually see— that her eyes were already closed and she was letting her exhaustion take over.

“I missed you, today,” she whispered.

“I missed you too.”

“Hm.” You both sat in silence for a minute, and you were convinced she had dozed off until she spoke again, even quieter than before. “Tell me about your day, love?”

“Well, let’s see,” you sighed. “Got up around 10, maybe? Did laundry—”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” she mumbled, nuzzling her face further into you.

“Mhm. Went to the shops. Made dinner. Watched that show I told you about.”

“Did you write, today?” The words were sluggish and slow, and you could tell she was lulling to sleep more and more.

“Nope,” you said with a small chuckle, and you felt Jenna smile against your neck. “I’m still waiting for that burst of creativity, y’know? I’ll find it when I find it. What about you? How was your day?”

But she didn’t answer, and you were perfectly fine with that. You could ask her in the morning, after all. And you could drink the cold tea you had completely forgotten about then, too.

short, sweet, and pretty cute. i'm happy with it. i think oneshots are incredibly fun. also calm yourself, i'm still finishing kiss with a fist [iv] i cannot stress enough how much i'm excited for it but it is NOT ready yet

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 03. BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER

a/n: we are getting down to the nitty and gritty of this man's pain. and he's finally starting to the accept the fact that he has to talk about what happened to him. honestly out of all the chapters this one might be my favorite. solely for the soft vibes i tried to shove into what is already a very angsty story. also somehow wade weaseled his way further into this chapter than i intended him to. so enjoy the humor i've tried to add throughout. (i am reposting this since it didn't show up in the tags yesterday.)

summary: to open up was like taking a knife to a steel door. he never saw the use in letting someone in. but dinner spent in your company and conversations over wine and whiskey is where things begin to take a turn.

word count: 8.3k+ (i don't even know how tf that happened.)

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: partially explicit scene, angst by the bucket load, vulnerable and emotional logan, grief, trauma, heartache, fluff, domestic vibes, alcohol consumption, wade breaking the fourth wall, wade being a shit wingman, the beginnings of something more.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Blood poured over his hands and soaked into the ground below. The warmth of it coated his senses, dug into the grooves and lines of his palms. He swore he felt it down to his bones. Now permanently mixed with a version of him long forgotten—the man who used to smile.

Their shouts of pain rendered him immobile. Useless to help them, useless to save their lives. Useless. Useless. Useless. He fought against the restraints, the invisible shackles put there by his own hands. Whether to stop him from going or to keep him from harm—he'd never know—but he battled regardless. With a snarl, he felt them snap, his claws sliding free in all their familiarity. A weapon of destruction unable to be used for salvation.

When he began to run he felt it. The piercing echo of her. The power she emanated as they took her life, brought her to the brink of death. He felt her voice punch through his chest—puncturing him in his heart. She screamed his name with her final breath. Called out for his help; for him to save them all.

He could almost see her in his mind, the horror that befell a school of such powerful people. And he loathed himself for breathing. For living after they were taken so quickly from him.

His family. His home.

What once existed would no longer return. That alone broke him further than their deaths. The knowledge that his world—his universe—would be without their heroes. So much of their worth had been given to humanity. Only to be stripped of their lives within the blink of an eye.

And he couldn't save them. He could barely stand on his own two feet without stumbling.

"Logan!" The scream split along his skull, rupturing veins that healed far too quickly for his liking.

What the fuck was the point of his abilities if he couldn't put them to use? If he couldn't do the one thing they counted on him for.

Their blood stuck to him, burrowing into skin that would never scar. He'd never have proof of the wounds that rested along his heart. Forever damned to carry the weight of his own failure—the guilt that ate him alive. For what? To tell the story he could barely stomach himself? What was his life to the lives of those who meant so much more?

Why did he have to fucking live?

He stood on the doorstep. Death stained the walls, pierced the air with its pungent copper tang. He keeled over at the bushes, all the alcohol he'd consumed expelling itself from his body at the sight. His family was dead. His family was dead and he couldn't join them. He couldn't fucking die.

What once felt like a gift—eternity to find these people who loved him—now rang true with the only word that could make sense. Curse. His curse.

"No," he gasped, eyes bleary with tears as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted through the broken down door.

His claws came free, expecting a fight. Only to be met with silence. An eerie echo of nothing.

No laughter, no life, no chatter of students.

Nothing.

The breath ripped from his lungs as a blaring horn spilled in through the apartment's open window. In an attempt to get some cool air, he pushed the couch closer to what airflow there was. The only downside was hearing everything as he slept. Each little noise and loud mouthed fucker as they wandered the rather empty street. He wanted to leave—move to a better spot where humanity was sparse—but the pull of you across the street kept him there.

"Fuck," he grunted, eyes blinking away the nightmare that tore at his psyche.

The bottle of whiskey underneath the kitchen cabinet called his name. Offering a respite against the horrors he couldn't run from. And with a pained groan, he stumbled towards it—grabbing his coffee mug from the counter. The amber liquid felt bitter against the back of his throat. A familiar burn he welcomed.

He may not be able to stay injured, but this he could have. The darkness at the end of the bottle. The silence he found in collapsing drunk against the couch.

The streetlight outside lit the area filled with trash and the few people sleeping in darkened alleys. If he listened hard enough he could hear their heartbeats. Smell the pungent scent of the city as it seeped through the window. He could feel the thrum of New York beneath his feet—unfamiliar in its nature but home nonetheless.

The sight of a light flicking on grasped his attention—a glimpse of you staggering to the kitchen for a glass of water clear through your window. You should really get curtains, or blinds. He'd help install them for you. But then he'd never get this again. A small insight into your life, a peek into what he left behind a day ago.

Your lips against his still seared through his body—your moans and want for more left him breathless. And he had to go and fuck it up. Just as he did with everything in his life. He ruined the good. Corrupted the innocent.

Doing the same to you felt unfathomable—painful.

But how could he stop?

When you were catching his gaze in the window. Your glass of water was forgotten and the blanket dropped to the leather chair behind you. He left the bottle on the floor by the couch, his empty mug beside it as you grabbed for something. Logan yearned to hear your voice. To apologize for how he left things. But saying sorry never came easy and he found that keeping you at a distance was much safer than what he actually wanted.

The ringing on his phone broke his penetrating gaze. He reached for it quickly, pressing it to his ear as you brought your phone to yours. A breath was all that echoed through the small speaker—soft and warm. He swore he could feel it against his cheek. Hear the echo of your heart pounding beneath his.

"Can't sleep?" you uttered, finally putting his mind at ease. He exhaled a deep breath—hearing it fill your ears as warmth trailed down your spine.

"Nightmares."

You watched him stand still as stone. His fingers gripped the phone for assurance. A sense of stability from a past that had already cracked him in half. The sorrow in his eyes practically bled through the streets. Lapping at your feet like the waves on a shore. And in an act so unlike yourself, you took a step forward. You stood in his grief and offered to drag him to the sand—gave him hope that this world might treat him differently.

Logan wouldn't save himself because he believed he deserved it.

He'd save himself because he knew you deserved a better man.

"Do they happen often?"

The soft echo of your voice tinged with sleep set his mind at ease. For the first time that night he felt himself breathe properly. He could taste the sweetness in the air, the heat that clung to his skin held traces of you when you started to open your window.

Leaving you at your door suddenly felt like the stupidest decision he'd ever made. But the fear is what kept him at a safe distance. He couldn't hurt you here in this shitty apartment. He couldn't destroy what good you held in your heart standing here at an open window.

"Every night," he rasped. His hand clenched, the bones of his knuckles shifting as silver began to peek through the pierced skin.

He knew you could see it. He heard your heart speed up through the phone. And with a ragged sigh, he retracted them forcefully—hiding the beast within to present you with the man beyond.

"You don't have to hide them from me." If you turned, you'd see the punctures in your door you tried to hide with duct tape. The claws that came free because of your touch—your kiss.

They should have scared you.

Logan almost wished they had.

"You don't want to see that part of me honey," he muttered, watching as you stood closer to the ledge—your hand pressed to the chipped wood. "It's not all sunshine and rainbows."

You laughed and he felt it down his spine. "No. I think that's only in Wade's mind."

"Don't say that fucker's name please," he groaned. "Not while I have you here."

"Did I touch a nerve? Wolverine?"

Your smile deepened, mischief practically dripping from your words. Yet Logan couldn't help fixating on the way his title sounded off your tongue. The hero name he loathed for so long suddenly made his heart flip. He gripped the phone tight enough until he heard a faint crackling sound—his body going taut at the thought of you saying it under different circumstances.

Moving past the subject was all he could do. All he wanted to do.

"Why are you up bub?"

You sighed, leaning against the window frame. "Restless. Too much energy from the day."

"Not too much moving in the archives huh?"

"I'll have you know I walk constantly. It's a very demanding job."

He snorted. "Down to the end of the bookshelves and back?"

"Shut up." Your laughter echoed across the street and it nearly startled him how normal he felt. How human. "I can guarantee my job is a lot more work than yours."

"You're right. Saving the universe is nothin' when it comes to books."

"I'm going to hang up."

"Don't. I'll stop." Despite his serious tone, he didn't try to stop the chuckle you felt strike against your heart. The husk of its deep nature.

The memory of his touch still rang clear in your mind. How his lips molded against yours, his body firm and hot beneath your touch. You weren't restless because of work. In fact you felt the pain in your feet begin to spread up your calves the longer you stood there. You couldn't sleep because of him. Too busy replaying that moment to find time in your schedule to sleep.

"Logan." His gaze fell serious at the soft murmur of his name. "Tell me about your dream."

He bit back the urge to push you away, to claim he was fine. That nothing happened and acknowledging it wouldn't save him from himself. But that's not what you were trying to accomplish, and he knew that. He could see it clearly in front of his face. But he was a man hardened by the nature of silence—of ignoring his pain until it eventually withered and died inside him.

Changing that wasn't a battle he'd win tonight. Nor tomorrow.

He sighed, seeing how you fought back a yawn. "Not tonight honey."

"Why–"

"I will." Your breath echoed loudly in his head. He wished he could feel it. "I'll tell you everything. Just not tonight."

Your finger traced the silhouette of him against the glass. "When?"

"I don't know." He imagined your touch was against his skin, pictured how you'd trace the lines of his muscles. How you'd lick along his veins for a taste of him on your tongue. "Tell me about your day."

"That's boring," you groaned.

"Not to me bub. I like history." He smiled. "I used to teach it."

"Fuck off. Did you really?" You perked up within seconds, eyes alight as they were the other night. And Logan felt himself get dragged in a bit deeper. He knew he was fucked the second he saw you, but now...there was no stopping the inevitability of you. "I guess I learn something new every day. James."

He growled, low and hungry—pleasure filling his stomach. "Don't start somethin' you can't finish honey."

Silence filled the air and Logan felt the doubt pull at his nerves. He watched you lean into the glass, your scent filtering through the warm air. Sharp and heady. Darker than your usual honeyed sweetness; the taste of it spread along his tongue—shivers rolling down his back. You wanted him. No fuck that.

You needed him.

"And if I want to," you breathed, trepidation and hope overlapping in your words. "Finish this."

He bared his teeth in a grin that felt feral—as if he could taste your flesh. "We will," he stated with such severity. A promise lined in truth for once. "Now go on. Tell me about your day."

He awoke to the sounds of clashing pots and pans being tossed on the stove—the incessant beep of the coffee machine blaring off every thin wall. And Wade singing loudly—and horribly—to some fucking pop song from the eighties Logan would learn the name of against his will. He groaned, slamming his head back against the couch in the hopes that this was all a dream.

If he wished hard enough maybe he'd wake up to silence.

Or to you.

"Good morning peanut!" Wade's voice shouted, another bang sounding off behind him. "I've got coffee, Canadian bacon, and the final answer for what came first—the chicken or the egg."

Logan longed to stab himself in the skull. This quick healing factor became a fucking pain in the ass at the worst of times. He staggered into the kitchen, immediately wishing he'd drank the entire bottle of whiskey last night at the sight of Wade in a pair of white underwear and nothing else.

"What the fuck." He shut his eyes, reaching blindly for a mug and the coffee pot.

"Yeah..." Wade slammed the pan on the stove, a now broken yolk spilling over the edge. "Laundry day and Al called dibs on the top load. Just call me Risky Business."

Logan's sigh was ragged, beyond exhausted as he gulped down the first dose of searing coffee. "He wore a shirt in that fucking movie."

"Lookie here! Someone is up to date on their Tom Cruise movies. Don't tell me you're a Top Gun fan honey badger because I have some fucking news for you. We topped them for highest grossing movie of all time." Wade smiled as the destroyed egg slid onto a chipped plate. "Financially topped. Personally, I don't think scientology allows Tom Cruise to fuck anymore."

"I'm not listenin' to your fuckin' bullshit," he grunted, pouring another cup.

The charred egg was slid his way. "Aren't you gonna ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

Talking this early in the morning made the veins in his throat strain—his grip on the mug nearly cracking the porcelain. In times like this Logan felt the overwhelming need to throw his roommate out the fucking window.

If only to get thirty seconds of hearing him scream on the way down.

"What came first."

He moved to make another pot of coffee, ignoring the chatter that fell from Wade's mouth. In order to even feel coherent enough to make sense of it, he'd need four more cups. Or enough to bathe in if the morning didn't calm down. The sun blinded him as he turned to glance out the window; the air stale and hot choked his senses. He'd never felt this overstimulated before—this out of place.

"You look like you've seen better days in a horror movie. Up having late night phone sex?" Wade grinned and leaned across the counter—his head in his hand and love in his eyes. "Tell me about it, stud? Tell me more, tell me more. Did you get very far?"

"Oh god," Logan groaned, slamming the coffee pot back into place. "Can you shut the fuck up for once? I'm begging you."

"Did you beg her?"

His claws pressed to Wade's smug face—blood spilling against his cheek. "I will cut your fuckin' mouth off."

"I just wanna know why you're waiting so long to give her the Hugh Jackman."

"The what?" he growled, heat blistering against his face.

"Ya know." The crude gesture to his groin had him digging his claws directly into Wade's cheek. But even then he mumbled around the metal piercing his skin. "The package. The full shebang. Rock her like a hurricane—or whatever the fuck that German band was talking about. Cause I sure know she's aching for it."

"Don't fucking talk about her like that."

Wade smiled until his cheek sliced down to his mouth. The sight was disgusting enough for Logan to forgo wanting breakfast. And lunch. And dinner at that.

"You don't believe me! HA! Let me tell you, you're pretty but there's nothing going on up there." A tap on Logan's forehead forced the claws to sink just a bit deeper. "That sweet angel across the street is ready to save that horse and ride you instead cowboy. All. Night. Long."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Yet even as he said the words he felt the lie stick to the back of his throat.

Last night's conversation was proof enough that Wade was telling the truth. Even Logan could fucking see what was right in front of him. Someone beautiful, someone smart. Someone...he wasn't worthy of. If he combined all those factors he only came up with one conclusion. The longer he stayed away from you, the better you'd wind up being.

The safer you'd stay if he wasn't constantly shoving his way into your life.

The loud sigh from Wade's healing mouth shoved another wave of guilt into Logan's stomach. "Look. Ignore it all you want, but sooner or later you're gonna wind up with only your hand for some company and she'll find someone who actually wants to be with her."

Wade was right. For once.

What Logan didn't expect was the anger he felt at the visual of you finding someone else. The rage that nearly overwhelmed him. That's how it should be. You with someone better, a man who actually gave you a chance at a relationship. One that wasn't doomed from the very start. He let the thought simmer, chewed on it for as long as he could.

And not a minute later came to the answer he'd been looking for.

Logan would rip apart any other man without hesitation if they came into your life.

This wasn't a fling. He'd known that on his Earth and knew it now. He clawed his way out of a grave once to get back to you. And he would do it again and again and again. As many times as it took to make sure he got a glimpse of your smile, felt the love in your touch.

"Grab your shit we've got somewhere to be," he grumbled, shoving the burned egg in his mouth and washing it down with fresh black coffee to kill the taste.

"Yes! Now there's the Wolverine I know." Wade shouted, pumping his fist in the air. Logan couldn't tell if he was being vulgar or not. 

"Let's go bang your girl!" A snarl ripped through his throat, blood splattering on his bare chest as he pinned Wade to the wall—his claws embedded in the man's heart. "Or you bang her and I quietly stay at home with the window open to serenade you two with the sensual sounds of Marvin Gaye."

He grinned, eyes flashing over Logan's shoulder. "Directly from Sam Wilson's playlist if you know what I'm getting at Marvel fuckers."

On days where people were stuck at work and students infiltrated the library above, you found the solace of the archives to be everything you needed. For an hour you'd been placing books in their correct spots, labeling boxes to be housed somewhere new, and theorizing where you went wrong the other night when Logan left.

You didn't want to let the disappointment get to you. Nor should you. The phone conversation last night clarified enough for you to know him leaving wasn't your fault. It wasn't due to your kiss or even because he didn't want to be there. He simply hadn't healed from what his world did to him. Whatever Wade mentioned to you in a ramble of semi-seriousness gave you enough of a picture to know what that might have been.

No matter how much you wanted to help him; to make him see that you weren't scared of what he had to give. This wasn't your war.

Logan made sure you understood that.

That still didn't stop the swell of dismay at his actions. The belief that you weren't good enough to hear his story began to eat you alive the longer he pushed it off. Each comment came tinged with pain you'd never be privy to. Agony he wanted to endure alone.

You would give him the space he needed—the time that was required in order to heal from wounds you couldn't see. They were there. Dug into the shape of his heart—carved into the metal of his bones—but Logan wouldn't allow you to bear witness to that. To a broken side of a man who wanted to be better. If only he knew he didn't have to be for you to ache for him.

The thought of him alone left your heart twisting in your chest and stomach fluttering.

You slid another book into the correct spot, silence echoing like a void that went on for miles. Only for the ring of your phone to shatter it like glass. You scrambled for the device in your purse, breath filling your lungs at the sight of his name as it flashed across your screen. 

Maybe this made you seem desperate—a type of clingy that would make any other man run. You couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit.

"Logan," you said—his name leaving your mouth in a breathy manner you regret within moments.

"Oh shit girl you've got it bad."

The pounding of your heart jumped at the loud echo of Wade's voice blasting through the small speaker. "Wade?"

"The one and holy." To say you were perplexed felt like an understatement. But before you could spill the millions of questions on your tongue, Wade kept going. "Hey! What kind of wood do you prefer?"

A loud rumble of an engine blared in the background—killing your ears. "What?"

"Oh right fuck me. Silly question. There's twelve thousand words already written about what type of wood you prefer." He laughed as the sound came again. "I'm talking the tree kind. Got a preference for scents?"

"She's not gonna be able to smell it you dumb fuck!" Logan shouted. You heard an audible screech before a loud rustle had you pulling the phone from your ear with a groan. "Honey?"

You smiled, walking towards the part of the room that didn't echo with your voice. "I'm scared to ask what you guys are doing today."

"Oh," he chuckled. You wished he'd bought a better phone, longing to see each expression that crossed his face. "I owe you a door."

That kiss reemerged in your memory once more. Burning through your body in quick rapid strokes. As if Logan was fanning the flames of something stronger—a fire that you wouldn't be able to control. You imagined what he looked like at this moment, if he still wore the exhausted look of grief from last night. Or if he'd covered it with a mask of annoyance due to Wade.

"I can just call the building manager to fix it." You put it on your list of things to do today already, but the idea of seeing Logan again was too tempting to pass up.

He huffed, falling silent. Wade's voice shouting about the Lorax became all you heard for a brief moment—Logan no doubt figuring out what he could say to fix this. The glimpse of him last night had set your teeth on edge in a way you'd never experienced before. You felt you could sink your canines into the tension and rip it to shreds with ease.

"Where I come from it's only right to fix what I broke."

What he broke.

This wasn't about the door. You could see it clearly in the pained way he spoke his words—each one more clear than the last. Leaving you in a rush with no fucking explanation left him worried that you weren't going to be around if he kept pushing you away. You were something good—a light he sought in the darkness he found himself in—and messing up this chance wasn't going to happen twice.

He'd done this before. He pushed those he loved away.

Doing the same with you only made his chest echo with the hollow emptiness that he'd grown tired of feeling.

"You can fix my door under one condition," you said, effectively breaking the silence.

"Anythin'."

The flutter in your chest felt lethal when he spoke to you like this; open and willing to bend where you wanted him to go. A man had never given you this before. The attention, the knowledge that he wanted all of you. Not just sex, or meaningless conversations. He wanted every piece you were open to sharing—every dark crevice and thought you felt embarrassed about.

You only wished he'd understand you wanted the exact same thing from him.

"Dinner. My place. Seven p.m."

Fuck what you wouldn't give to see his smile as he let out a sigh of relief. "I won't be late."

You smiled, worrying your lip between your teeth—that familiar gooey warmth now back in your chest. "You better not be."

"I've got great timing honey. Got nothin' to worry about."

Bullshit. You nearly said it, but a loud shuffle and a few bitten off curse words—mainly growled on Logan's end—cut your conversation short. A triumphant laugh you could only figure to be Wade's pierced your eardrum as the phone was unwillingly handed off once again.

"I just want to let you know I've got money on whether or not he nails you tonight. So don't let me down cupcake."

"You're betting on this?" you exclaimed, loud enough to hear your voice bounce off the walls and echo back to where your supervisor was no doubt sitting.

"Of course. I'm not one to turn down the sleazy art of gambling." He sighed wistfully. You'd never wanted to punch someone more in this moment; suddenly aware that this is how Logan must feel every day of his life. "Besides if you heard the sounds that came out of our shower this afternoon. Oh ho ho. Something tells me that he was letting off some Steam Boat Willy to the thought of his late night phone buddy."

Disgust at Wade's words was rapidly overshadowed by the thought of Logan in the shower. Naked and desperate to find some release after your conversation last night. To say you hadn't pictured what he'd look like hard and aching from your touch would be a lie. But actually knowing that's what happened left you winded.

Your chest heaved as your body grew warm—the image of him with his hand around his cock, his head thrown back in pleasure, almost made your knees give out.

"Your thinkin' about it huh?" The overconfidence in Wade's voice snapped you back to reality within seconds.

"Shut up."

"Got ya red handed angel."

With a roll of your eyes, you made to head back to your work—Wade's words only served to fluster you more than you wanted. "Don't piss him off too much okay Wilson?"

His laughter nearly appeased you as the piercing sound of a saw went off again. The both of them must have ventured to a warehouse to find materials. You wanted to confirm your thoughts when Wade did it for you. As if he could hear you loud and clear.

"Who knew our man had lumberjack experience?" He sighed dreamily, a shout of what you guessed was Logan saying fuck off filtering through. "God it's like watching X-Men Origins Wolverine. Back when his hair screamed Staying Alive and I went by the name Billy Butcherson."

A cough from behind you gave enough notice that you had in fact been caught by your boss—her glare burning through the back of your skull. The short break you were allotted passed five minutes ago. Normally you'd be fighting your way to the end of the day. Today though...you felt that delicious bite of excitement at knowing you'd be spending tonight with Logan.

"I've got to go. But Wade..."

"Yeah?"

"Take a picture for me will you?"

"Already done. Got my phone set to burst. Which is what Logan's gonna do tonight instead of tainting our shower walls–" Logan's roar of I'll fuckin' kill you came seconds before you heard a thwack overlapped with Wade's high shriek. 

The line went dead instantly.

The elevator wasn't moving fast enough for your liking—each flash of a floor passed sent another wave of nerves through your body. Work dragged on longer than you expected. And the groceries you picked up on the way didn't feel like enough to make a meal grand enough for a night like tonight. You tried to destress by saying he wasn't expecting much. This wasn't even a date.

That is until you realized...that's exactly what this was.

A date that felt long overdue.

You hadn't known Logan long enough to pursue a relationship as deep as this, but that's where things got fuzzy. He knew you. Or a version of you that felt entirely different to the person you were now. And maybe that's where the security that this would last came through. The knowledge that no matter what happened, Logan was in this for the long haul.

This wasn't temporary.

A creak of the doors opening didn't deter you from digging through your mountain of thoughts. Each one more worrisome than the last. You should be terrified that this was it. The future had already been written and Logan was at the end of the road. That alone would be reason enough to turn tail and run.

Then you turned the corner leading directly down your hallway.

Logan stood leaning against the wall, a lit cigar in his mouth, smoke trailing past his lips, and a heavy wooden door placed directly beside him. A toolbox that looked to have seen better days sat by his feet. A bouquet of honeysuckle and peonies placed directly on top—wrapped in brown paper with a yellow and blue bow.

Whatever fear might have lingered in your body dissipated when his gaze found yours and his lips pulled into a smile.

"You're early," you said—desperate to catch your breath. The scent of his cigar lingered on your senses, mixing with the leather of his jacket.

Suddenly Wade's words from earlier felt a lot more real than you expected. He showed up dressed casually. Jeans, flannel, the familiar dog tags strung around his neck. Yet whatever transpired the night before came rushing back with the promise of more.

This was a date. But whether it would lead to something else you'd leave entirely up to him.

"I told ya I had great timing honey."

Heat trailed down your body where his eyes followed. "I didn't believe you."

"I know."

The claw marks on your door brought a flustered smile to your face. As if to say you were okay with them staying. You wanted them to stay. Logan's eyes darkened at the sight, a flash of something worse taking hold of his mind as you pushed it open.

You longed for him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't either way. But the hope still remained—lingering on the edges of your heart.

"Easy enough to fix," he muttered, reaching for his tools—the bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in his large palm.

"I didn't know what exactly to get." He stood in your living room, eyes trained on the window. Finally he was on the other side—in your home—and yet he found he didn't belong here. "Do you have a preference?"

He sucked in another drag from the cigar before pulling it free—stamping it out on his palm as you watched. A heady wanton look crossed your features. You doused it quickly in favor of unpacking the groceries. He made sure to store it away for a later time. One that didn't feel dragged by the weight of his own thoughts.

"I'm not picky."

You nodded. "Feel free to use whatever's useful. I don't have tools though."

"I came prepared bub." He lifted the box with a smile and suddenly recalled that he bought you flowers. Much to Wade's annoying comments about this being a first date. Logan wouldn't push you in any direction you felt uncomfortable going towards. But in an irritating turn of events, Wade was right. Twice. "These are for you."

The smile on your face was worth every dollar and excruciating minute spent picking out what went with what. He reminded himself to thank Wade. Even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"They're beautiful." The delicate white lay atop pink flowers that filled your senses. An aroma you'd never known could work so well together. "Why these?"

A touch of crimson began to tint the tops of his ears as he let out a breath. "They're uh..." He coughed. "The day we met I said somethin' kinda awkward."

"I smelled different."

"Yeah." Logan wanted to bury himself six feet under at the teasing glint in your eyes. "That's how you smell. To me. Like honey and flowers."

There had to be an explanation for the way your heart split down the center—as if to offer him one half. To give him a part of yourself that once didn't belong to him. But that's where you were wrong. Even in a different universe, he would find you. You were once everything to him; the person he'd go through hell for. That fact never changed. Even if you did.

You wanted to spill every emotion, every truth about how your heart already longed for him in ways that left you reeling. But Logan wasn't a man to speak longer than he had to. And before you finally gained the courage to open your mouth, he was stepping back into the hallway. His hands busy with a project and mind eons away.

Dinner was simple to cook knowing he'd eat whatever you made. Pasta, some wine, and an old bottle of whiskey a friend of yours bought sat on the table as he put the final touches on the door. You'd spent the time at the stove combing over every word spoken. Every minute touch and fleeting look. As he worked effortlessly on setting your new door in place.

A dark honeyed wood with grooves throughout that almost resembled the small panes of a window. The quality was stunning. Beyond anything you'd seen before.

You wanted to prod and ask where he learned to do this. But the sight of him slightly sweaty, flannel tossed into his toolbox, and arms on display when he carried the door to its spot, left you dazed. Each movement caused the muscles beneath his skin to ripple—face screwed in a look of concentration while the sound of the drill echoed off the hallway walls.

For a moment you forgot dinner was cooking as you practically ogled his form. That familiar flame burned through your body when his gaze met yours and a smile crossed his lips.

Logan could feel your eyes on him—the aching burn of your gaze now seared into the bare skin of his arms and shoulders. And he fought himself to keep going. To ignore your now heady scent—the way your heart sped up with each shift of his body—and finish what he started. If he was being honest, which he rarely was with himself, he put on a show for you.

You liked him.

He just wanted to reaffirm that fact once in a while.

The smell of slightly burnt garlic had him biting back a smile as you rushed to fix what his distraction caused. His ego swelled. Heart pumping with a sense of pride the second he caught you flustered with your head bowed in the kitchen.

"Smells delicious honey," he said, testing the lock on the door a few times until he felt satisfied with his work.

"It's not much." You popped open the two types of alcohol, pouring a generous helping of wine in your glass. He fixed himself his own whiskey. "Something my sister taught me when I was in college. She believed if there was nothing else to cook, pasta was always the correct answer."

"Smart woman."

You pushed the plate his way and caught the grin he hid at the small act of domesticity. What began as a nerve-wracking date became an insight into what your future with him might look like. Dinner at a tiny kitchen table, his jacket draped over one chair, the scent of flowers twining together with the faint traces of his cigar.

A life that felt perfect enough to keep forever.

"I hope you know Wade's betting on tonight," you said, pouring another glass of wine.

You were settled next to him on the couch, dinner resting full and warm in your stomachs. The alcohol tasted sweeter on your tongue compared to an hour ago. He lounged with his legs spread, glass balanced in one hand. A lazy look of satisfaction in his hazel eyes.

Logan had never felt this comfortable. Soothed by the scent of you beside him, the whiskey on his tongue, and the sight of you with your legs curled beneath you. The red wine made you smile more, laugh easier. He noticed how you bloomed before him, light shimmering between small jokes and half assed teases.

All his life he wondered what home would truly feel like. What would having a place be? And this...you beside him with an endless night stretched before you, gave him the answer.

Home felt like you.

He groaned, head falling against the back of your couch. "He's a lucky fucker with that can't die bullshit. What's the bet?"

Your eyes dragged to the door—tracing the carved marks as his hand hesitated to settle on your thigh. "That you'd and I quote nail me."

"What?" he spit.

The laugh that bubbled to the surface echoed with the heady effects of too much wine. "I hate to break it to Wade. But I don't have sex on the first date."

Logan's lips turned up, hand finally against the bare skin of your leg. Your skirt fanned around your lap, covering your soft skin that lay beneath. "So this is a date huh?"

"Yeah." He tugged you closer. "At least I think it is."

"I think so too."

Unconsciously, you toyed with the chain of his dog tags, catching a glimpse of the worn letters of his name. Any other time you'd push the questions away. You would claim that tonight wasn't the right time. After all this felt good, right in ways nothing had before. But the wine made you loose lipped. Braver than the other times you pushed past the line he drew deep in the sand.

Except this time...he started the conversation.

"You asked about my nightmares last night."

Your eyes caught his, fingers stilling against his chest. "I know you don't want to talk about it."

He shook his head with a deep exhale he felt down to his stomach. "If this is what I think it is. What we're startin' here. Then you should know what you're getting into honey."

"I know what I'm getting into–"

"No. You don't." He sat up straighter, tugging you close until your legs lay over his lap. "You don't know what happened to me. What I did..." He sucked in air as his heart began to twist. The cold wash of anxiety suddenly brighter than a few minutes earlier. "What I couldn't do."

The pain in his eyes chipped off a piece of your heart. Oh how you longed to give it to him.

Cupping his cheek, you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin. "Logan. You're not a bad man."

"Yeah bub. I am," he barked in a half laugh meant to discourage you from seeing his grief.

That's what this was. The full spectrum of his emotions scared the shit out of him more than any villain he fought. More than the thought of dying alone one day. The moment you saw them for yourself, he knew you'd run. He almost expected it. Which is why he'd taken so long—put it off each time the curiosity lingered in your gaze longer than he liked.

He told himself you didn't need to know.

It was better this way.

Tonight proved that all those reasons—all those excuses—stood no chance when it came to you.

"I don't believe that," you whispered, your other hand curling around his dog tags.

"Gotta remember I'm not him. I'm not the hero and never have been." When you looked at him like that—eyes wide and lips turned down—he felt the full weight of the words he was about to say out loud. Words he hadn't spoken since Laura met him by the fire way back in the Void.

Somehow saying it to the other Logan's daughter felt easier. As if he couldn't disappoint her anymore than he had. She'd been there at his death, watched him struggle to protect her, and loved him in spite of all that. She called him Dad and spoke over his grave with a smile. Knowing full well he'd never come back to life, he'd never find his way back to her.

Laura wasn't his kid and yet...he knew she'd understand.

But saying it all to you…

He wasn't sure he'd survive it if you never understood.

"The X-Men in my world weren't as respected as the ones in yours. We were heroes, but the humans. God they fuckin' hated us." His eyes burned with each memory that came rushing back. A river that threatened to drown him. "And I always had to be an asshole. I didn't know what home felt like—what...family felt like. So when I got it, I pushed it away."

"Oh, Logan–"

"No, let me...let me finish honey." He gripped the glass until he heard a crack—his eyes dazed and mind lost to a different time. The night that would later become his ghost. "So I left and did the only thing I was fuckin' good at. I drank until I couldn't feel anythin' anymore. And the humans decided they'd had enough of the X-Men."

Grief struck your heart straight down the center. Tears spilled down your cheeks at the sight of him so broken—so raw from a time that would never leave him. You finally knew why Wade never explained it to you.

This wasn't his story to tell. Not his past to share.

"I came home and they were–" His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh in an attempt to ground himself. Claws slipping free as he struggled to get the final words out—the truth of why he pushed you away. Why he should keep pushing you away. "They were dead."

You pressed yourself against his side, lips against his temple as he silently bit back the emotions he refused to set free. What would become of him once they were finally out? He couldn't risk hurting you because of it.

"They called for me." His breath was ragged, voice thick with tears that never fell. "Jean. Charles. I heard them die in my head. But I was too fuckin' drunk to save them. I got home and all of them were...Jesus. The humans called us mutants vicious, but I'd never seen anythin' like this."

The worst part crawled up his spine with a chill that had his claws coming free. "And you. You survived due to your gifts. Apparently you hid in the future—snapped there without even realizing it. But by the time you returned they were dead and no matter how many times you tried to go back, you couldn't." He raised his head, eyes red and glassy. "You tried to kill me that night. I couldn't blame you for it cause I wanted to die."

"That's not me."

He shook his head. "I know, but you have to know why it happened. I couldn't protect you honey. I couldn't protect any of them."

"The humans did this. Not you." You dragged his face to yours, forcing him to see the sincerity in your eyes—the fire that burned no matter the variant. "You did not kill your family Logan. Don't take their shame."

"It's easy for you to say that bub. You weren't there." He felt your touch mark against his skin and fuck how he wished it would leave a scar. "I'm not the fuckin' hero. I'm the man who fucked it all up because he was too proud for his own good. I need you to see that."

Your gaze hardened. "Why?"

"So you know what you're gettin–"

"Bullshit," you demanded. "I know exactly what I'm getting into Logan. I knew the second I met you. So don't do that. Don't push me away." The press of his forehead to yours leveled the pain and allowed him to breathe. "I'm here to stay. Whether you want me or not."

He grinned, tears finally falling as your lips found his. You breathed life back into his chest, made his heart worth beating again. For all that time he damned himself, loathed the reflection in the mirror, he never thought he'd get this. The soft press of your kiss, the bitter tang of wine on your tongue as his hand gripped your hip—his claws retreating back into his body.

"Trust me. I want you," he mumbled against salt stained lips and broken smiles. "I'll always want you."

"Then it's a good thing I want you too."

That familiar flicker of sparks still existed in the air, begging for more. But you were content to stay here. Kissing him over and over again in order to embed the sensation in your mind.

"Thank you for telling me," you sighed, fingers curling into his hair to drag his lips back to yours.

The thud of his heart ran through his whole body. "Can I show you somethin'?"

You nodded, pulling away as he dug into his pocket. As much as he longed to keep kissing you, to spend all night right there on that couch. He knew there'd be time for that. A night where you were both unburdened by the weight of a past that defined who you were. Tonight was not that night.

The picture was old, burned slightly at the edges and crinkled, but he handed it over with a grin. A group photo like the one stored in the archives at your job. Only this time you recognized two faces among the small team of people in yellow suits. You were smiling with an arm around Logan's waist, your face pressed against his chest.

The sight of his smile—wide and unfiltered—made your heart leap. But the blue aura that seemed to wrap around your body is what gave you pause.

"The blue..."

"Your powers." He pointed to the way it ended at your hands, seeming to stem directly from your chest. "Turning them off wasn't really a thing you could do. Somethin' about time being a constant flow of energy. Charles always explained it better."

Thousands of questions came to mind. All of them pertaining to the powers and the team and more specifically him. He sunk into the couch with a sigh, his eyes hazy with a different kind of need. An ache that no doubt begged him each night. Sleep. Rest without any nightmares, free of the shackles he'd placed on himself.

So you stood, nearly startling him when you did. Nothing had to be said about your intentions, or why you held out your hand for him to take. He simply followed. Each step heavier than the last. The kitchen could be cleaned tomorrow, the bottles put away later. You couldn't find it in yourself to care when his hand was in yours and he smiled at you as if you'd hung the moon in the sky.

"Thought you said Wade was losin' tonight honey?"

You laughed, pushing the flannel from his shoulders as you led him to your bed. "He is. We're just sleeping."

There was no mistaking the doubt in his eyes, the trepidation of his nightmares. "I might hurt you."

"No you won't." Drawing his hand up to your mouth, you lay a kiss along his knuckles. "I trust you Logan."

"You shouldn't." His breath was a shuddered exhale at the sight of you pulling your dress up and over your body.

"Well too bad," you replied, tugging the covers back while he pulled off his shirt—leaving his boots by the door. "You don't scare me Wolverine."

"Wolverine huh?" Crawling into bed with you was easy. Though the mattress sunk under the weight of his bones, you still let him tug you closer—his arms wrapped around your bare waist. "It was James the other night."

"Careful," you said. "Or I'll start calling you Howlett."

A growl rumbled in his chest, his teeth nipping at the bare skin of your shoulder as you laughed. And suddenly he remembered what it was like to live. To want more than just the bottom of a bottle and a peaceful night's sleep. He could recall nights like this in the past. A different you curled up against his body—the love resonating in how you clung to him.

It all slammed into him at once.

Although tonight he didn't push it away. He kept you close, his nose burrowed in your hair, and welcomed the gentle tug of a few hours rest.

Tonight—for the first time—he slept.

Without nightmares.

[spicyspiders]

I could give you a request if that’s inspiration for a Wolverine/Deadpool threesome - but feel free to ignore if it’s not your thing :)

I could imagine reader being an assassin, getting the objective to kill Wade (without knowing it’s impossible) and y’know, failing miserably. Ending up sandwiched between Wade and Logan, Wade wanting to know who sent him, and then getting rewarded for being such a good boy and telling.

Warning for sex pollen, double penetration, and one instance of Deadpool breaking the fourth wall.

“You look pretty withering in pain like that,” Deadpool said, one of his guns trained to your forehead. 

The man beside him looked at him with his brows drawn in disgust, his arms crossed over his chest. 

You looked up and stole a glance at the man just in time for his eyes to slowly look you over, the intensity of his gaze making you shiver. 

“What?” Deadpool asked, “have you seen the way that suit fits him?” He asked the man. 

“They didn’t tell me there would be two of you,” you said through gritted teeth, your eyes trained back on the floor. Maybe if you stared at it long enough, it would open and swallow you up. 

“This is my partner, Wolverine,” Deadpool said, his voice full of fondness even as he waved the gun pointed at you at the man. 

“Partner? How inclusive,” you said with an eye roll. 

“Business partner,” Wolverine clarified, making Deadpool gasp and pull his other hand to his heart. 

“We share the same bed,” Deadpool told you. 

“Shared! It was one time when,” Wolverine paused, “we fell asleep in a car,” he clarified again. 

“That hurts,” Deadpool said, putting his gun back in the holster, “just like you are now,” he said, kneeling down to the chair he tied your hands behind your back in. “It sure looks like it does,” he said quietly, his head moving down slowly as he looked over your sweaty, disheveled appearance. 

“They said it would kill you,” you whispered. 

“Who said it would kill me?” He asked,

You didn’t know why your mouth couldn’t form the words to tell them the name of the people you work for. Well, worked for. Just minutes before you were tied up, you were yelling into your phone at them, and then they fucking fired you for their fuck up. 

You felt it in your gut when they contacted you with the contract that only told you all you had to do was administer the poison and that it would do the rest, you should have turned it down.

“You didn’t tell me he couldn’t fucking die,” you yelled into your phone before Deadpool had shot it away. Maybe it had to do with the poison, you weren’t sure. You sure felt angry enough to spill who it was, but maybe it was because you were too focused on how when it had gotten on just the small sliver of skin that it did, your body lit up in a mix of pain and arousal. 

The feelings battled each other out all throughout your body, but one overshadowed the other when Deadpool ran a gloved hand over your crotch. Your head fell over the back of the chair and your mouth fell open as you let out a moan louder than you expected. 

“How about this,” Deadpool began, his hand tightening over the bulge that was your hard cock, “you tell me who sent you and we all go kill them together. After we fuck your brains out, of course.”

“We?” Wolverine asked.

“Then you kill me after they’re dead?” You asked, trying not to thrust your hips into Deadpool’s hand. 

“You lasted longer on this stuff than I expected, we could use you,” Deadpool answered. 

“For what?” You questioned, groaning as one of Deadpool’s fingers traced along the print of your cock through your suit. 

“Right now?” Deadpool asked, “to cum,” he said, giggling at his own joke, “but after that, you can join my strike team,” he said, already sounding excited. 

“What is that, a bowling league?” You asked. 

Deadpool doubled over in laughter, his head hovering right over your crotch. “I like a man that can make me laugh,” he said, wiping away an imaginary tear over his mask. “You better say yes to me fucking you because I’m as hard as the bowling balls that we’re going to use in our strike team slash bowling league,” Dead said as he stood up. 

“I’m sorry,” Wolverine interrupted, “we?” He asked again. 

“C’mon, Logan,” Deadpool said, turning to face the man, “you were definitely looking at his ass when I sat him down in this chair before I tied him up.”

“I just,” Wolverine– Logan cleared his throat before continuing, “didn’t want you to be too rough and break the chair,” he said, looking everywhere but except in the direction of the two of you. 

“Aww!” Deadpool cooed, “you do care!”

The next seconds, minutes, or hours, honestly, you didn’t know, went by in a blur you didn’t remember.  Almost like-

“Almost like they didn’t happen?” Deadpool asked, swatting at your bare ass, now seated in his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, “almost like the writer didn’t feel like adding a transition from where we were to where we are now?”

“What?” You asked. You tried to shake your head to clear away the confusion, and to try and shake off the heat blazing under your skin, but it didn’t help, “where are we?”

“My apartment,” Deadpool answered, holding your asscheeks open. 

“How-”

“Shh,” Logan whispered, “just relax,” he said into your ear, his hands on your hips, his body in the space of Deadpool’s spread legs. 

Relax for what? Deadpool’s cock was already inside you. Your mind was too foggy from whatever had gotten on your skin to form a coherent thought, let alone voice it. Lucky for you, Logan answered your question by pressing the blunt head of his cock to your hole, right where Wade already had you stretched open. 

“I can’t,” you said, trying to move away, but that only got you deeper in Deadpool’s arms. 

“You can,” Logan whispered into your ear before his cock plunged inside. And to your surprise, he was right. Whatever they did must have worked as your body opened up to them, making space for the both of their cocks. 

“You think they would give us the recipe for whatever the fuck they gave you was?” Deadpool asked with a groan as he fell back into the pillows on his bed. 

“Shut the fuck up, Wade,” Logan said, his voice rumbled behind you. 

“Wade?” You asked, your hands on his still clothed chest. 

“Wade Winston Wilson,” Wade responded, puffing out his chest with confidence. 

“Your parents named you after the internet?” You asked, tracing a finger down the zipper on the front of his suit. 

“I just got my cock inside you and I’ve already fucked you stupid,” Wade responded with a laugh. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Logan said, “both of you,” he said, choosing for himself that you were adjusted and ready for not just his cock, but Wade’s as well.

You wanted to open your mouth and ask why you were the one that was naked, but when Wade raised his hand to your lips, you instead took his gloved fingers into your mouth to mold your tongue around, not words. 

You bit down into the material, your teeth leaving indents into whatever his gloves were made of. They tasted like salt from where they were on your skin as you moaned when Logan fucked back inside. 

“Really gonna make me do all the work?” Logan asked under his breath, but you still both could hear. Which wasn’t fair of him to ask and expect you to respond, especially as he picked up his pace and his cock hit your prostate, clearing any thought from your mind. 

“You look like you have a good handle on it,” Wade answered, the lower half of the head of his mask rising and falling as he panted.

Logan grumbled out something you couldn’t understand before his teeth latched down onto the sweaty column of your neck, making you moan. The pain from his teeth sent a flare pleasure through your body, straight to your cock. 

It gave a twitch, which unbeknownst to you was your cock spurting ropes of cum over Wade’s chest. It took a second for your body to catch up, but once it did, your back arched as your cock continued to spurt messily across Wade’s chest. 

“Fuck!” Wade moaned, his other hand moving to your hips to keep you still from Logan’s movements as you clenched on their cocks. “Logan, look what you’ve done!” 

“It’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure this is what you wanted to happen,” Logan responded after he pulled his mouth away from your neck, your skin now singing in pain. 

“This is going to ruin my suit,” Wade whimpered before whining at the stimulation to his cock. 

“Sorry,” you responded, your body shaking through the aftershocks. 

“It’s not you, baby,” Wade cooed, the man rising to hold you against his chest, “Logan was too eager to get that weapon of his inside you to get our suits off,” he said, running his hands along your skin in comfort. 

Logan sputtered out a response, his cock throbbing inside you, “you were the one that-”

“Not now, Logan,” Wade interrupted, running a hand down your back, the action feeling possessive, “we’re a little busy, can’t you tell?” He asked, a smirk evident just by the sound of his voice. 

Logan growled, knocking Wade’s hand away before the one went to your shoulder and the other to your hip. Pissed off, Logan started thrusting again at a fast pace, his cock moving in and out of your body. 

Now past the aftershocks, their cocks provoked your prostate, the pleasure of it quickly making your grow hard again. From your shoulder, Logan’s hand moved to your neck to pull you back into a kiss. Logan kissed you slow and deep, like he was trying to show off what he could do because he wasn’t wearing a mask that covered his entire face like Wade was.

“You know all I have to do is lift up the bottom of my mask,” Deadpool said, his hips grinding up to get his cock deeper into your hole, like that was even possible, “besides. I want our first kiss to be special: a movie about a masked anit-hero, then a candlelit dinner, and finally, wine dine sixty-”

“Shut up, Wade!” You and Logan said in unison before your lips pressed together again, just to annoy the man even more.

[targaryen-dynasty]

MINE AND MINE ONLY.

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Aemond has gotten you pregnant six months ago, and seeing him with his infant niece during dinner with his family sparks something inside of you only he can satisfy.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MINORS DNI; p in v, face sitting, slight anal play, slight breeding kink, pregnant sex, slight lactation kink

WORDS: 4.9 K

NOTES: Sorry, I’m kinda in baby fever right now don’t ask me why. 😭 This also is my gift for hitting 1850 followers a few days ago, which means I’m finally where I’ve been before deleting my old blog. Thanks for everyone following me on this journey. 🫶🏻

The days between Christmas and New Years usually are meant for people to take some much-needed downtime from the stress of the past days or weeks – unless you are a Targaryen or married to one. 

It’s the fourth year in a row you’re spending one, sometimes even two, days at the large Targaryen mansion with every member of their family present. 

What started as an opportunity to celebrate the New Year early with her family four years ago, since Viserys and Alicent wanted to celebrate New Year’s Eve on a yacht somewhere in the Sea of Dorne back then, has quickly turned into a tradition that no one could escape. 

Not even the six-month pregnant you. 

As an excuse to not travel to the family’s vacation home on Dragonstone, Aemond has begged for you to allow him to tell his mother that your back pain has gotten so bad you couldn’t sit in the car for four hours. 

The fact that he didn’t fall to his knees while doing it was everything. 

But you have told him no, seeing that your back pains have eased two weeks ago, and it is one of the rare occasions he gets to spend with his whole family, not just his mother’s side. 

If he wants to or not. 

“And how are you spending New Year’s?” you ask, lounging in the burgundy Lawson chair. 

Helaena sits in the chair next to yours, fidgeting with the stem of her wine glass. Every now and then you spot her lilac eyes flickering to your protruding bump, accentuated by the tight slip dress you wear. 

“This year we’re embracing a night in,” she answers, nursing her alcohol-free wine. “Cregan doesn’t want to leave the children with his parents, since Lyanna is still breastfeeding, and Edrick doesn’t want to go without his little sister.”

You nod along to her words, smiling softly at the mention of her sons‘ protectiveness, and glance past her to Aemond, Aegon and Cregan. The men are standing close to the fireplace, glasses of whiskey between their fingers. Normally, they would be tipsy by now – some more than others – if it wasn’t for the infant cradled in Cregan’s strong arms. 

Helaena follows your line of sight, the turning of her head prompting you to look at her again. 

“What are your plans?” she asks. 

You pucker your lips slightly, looking down at the glass of water you‘ve rested on your belly before meeting her eyes. 

“Aegon has invited us to a party in White Harbor, a formal dinner with some of his friends. We wanted to go, because the place is stunning and it’s overlooking the iconic harbor fireworks, but it’s such a long drive, and Aemond doesn’t want to risk anything by us taking the plane,” you sigh, “so, we’ll probably stay at home or just go out for dinner.”

Ever since you’ve handed him the gift box containing four identical, positive pregnancy tests, Aemond has taken over a protective aura and has found it incredibly difficult to keep his hands off of you. 

It’s a miracle he was able to talk to his brother and brother-in-law for so long without checking in on you once. 

But speak of the devil. 

What you aren’t expecting when Aemond makes his way over to where you’re conversing with his sister, is the little infant in his arms. Her head rests against his shoulder, while one of his large hands supports it and neck, and the other supports her bottom. 

He’s swaying her gently as he walks over, a proud smile on his lips as he can’t tear his eyes off of his niece, coming to stand next to Helaena’s chair. The sight makes your heart swell with love. 

Cregan trails behind him, and your eyes briefly fall to the abandoned Aegon still standing at the fireplace and balancing their three glasses in his hands. 

“Honey,” the Northener’s gruff voice rings out, “your mother said that Edrick’s made a mess. Could you change him while I clean up?” Still standing offset behind your husband, Cregan pats Aemond on the shoulder once. “Our girl’s in good hands, and Aemy here can already practice for what awaits him soon.”

Helaena raises her eyebrows, before snickering at her husband’s remark. She bows her head once, smiling at you, “excuse me, Y/N.”

“We’ll talk later,” you assure her. 

She brushes her hand over your swollen belly once as she rises, Cregan’s hand on the small of her back urging her out of the living space. 

Aemond carefully sinks into the chair, and changes the position of the sleeping infant so she’s cradled in his arms. 

“What have you been up to?” he asks, finally moving his head to look at you. 

You were wearing a knitted sweater over your dress when you two arrived a few hours earlier, but with hot flashes attacking you every now and then, you have long opted to slip out of it and hang the sweater over a chair. 

And the outfit change clearly is only now noticed by him.

His lilac eyes flickered between yours and your full breasts, and you can literally see the gears turning in his head. 

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he states, full on staring at your breasts. 

Fine, maybe you have also done it to tease him a bit. 

A blush creeps onto his cheeks, running down his neck, and he slightly shifts in his seat, turning his gaze away as he clears his throat. 

Pressing your lips into a thin line to stop them from curling into a smile, you quickly shush the urge by taking a swig of your water. “Wasn’t keen on spending the evening unable to think of anything else than how sore and uncomfortable I feel,” you tease. “Are you complaining?”

Aemond raises one hand in defeat, “certainly not, just pointing it out.”

You teasingly reach and bring your index finger to his chin, tilting it up for his eyes to meet yours again. “Then you better stop staring, we're not the only ones here.” 

You glance briefly at the gathered party around you, watching Alicent chat with Rhaenyra and her husband, while Aegon seems to be deep in a conversation with Daemon, no doubt talking about the latest match between the Casterly Rock Lions and the Oldtown Saints.

“Fair enough,” he answered with a low chuckle. 

The soft coos of his niece catch your attention, and you lean forwards to gauge at the little bundle. She’s stirring lightly in her sleep, grimaces and smiles alike gracing her scrunched features. Aemond brushes her cheek with his knuckles in feather light touches, until her coos are interrupted, and wide, blue eyes stare up at him. 

Lyanna smacks her lips slowly, bringing her small hand up to her mouth. “What is she doing?” Aemond whispers, not daring to pull his eyes away from her in case she starts to cry. 

“She’s hungry,” you answer with a chuckle, grinning as you notice his helplessness. 

It’s so brief, but you spot his eyes flickering towards your full breasts, and you have to stop yourself from hitting his shoulder. One wrong word. 

“You know there are barely four months left until your life looks like this, too, right?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“I do, but they have not yet told us about this at the prenatal class.”

“Oh, come on, she’s not your first niece, and she’s not even crying.”

The sigh of relief Aemond releases as he spots Helaena’s silver hair in the far distance has you shaking your head, bringing your index finger up to your smiling lips. 

“How did you three get on?” Helaena asks, noticing that her daughter is awake. 

Your husband rises to his feet, and hands his niece over to her. “Easy, she’s just woken up and seems really hungry,” he notes, as if he has figured it out all by himself. “And how did you fare?”

Helaena releases a dry chuckle, brushing her free hand up and down Aemond’s biceps. “I’ll tell you another time, don’t want to scare you.“ She briefly glances over at you. “Just know that Creg has to bathe him right now, because the wet wipes were useless.”

The grimace on Aemond’s face at his sister’s words has you choking on a laugh. 

Lyanna starts to whine and wiggle in her mother’s grasp, getting her attention. “Sorry again, it’s feeding time, obviously,” she states, muttering the last word under her breath, and shoots you an apologetic gaze before scurrying off. 

You hold out a hand, and knowing what it means, Aemond takes it to help you up from the chair. 

His heart melts at the sight of you before him, and he wraps an arm around you to pull you against his side as he brushes his hand over the gentle swell of your belly in tender affection. There were shy kicks meeting his hand, making him grin.

You return the embrace, and lean yourself against his frame, your head resting on his chest. “It’s different when it’s your own child, you know,” you say, the small glimmer of a smile blessing your features. 

His head dips forwards, and he presses his lips to your temple, mumbling the words against your skin, “I can’t wait to meet him.”

—

Aemond has his arm slung around your waist as everyone has gathered in the vast living space to watch the children perform a play they have practiced. 

Alicent, ever the proud grandmother, clings to Viserys as they watch in awe what the children of Rhaenyra have been up to. An oblivious Edrick appears in the middle of it all, but before Cregan can scoop him up, the little Viserys has taken his hands to include him in their mischief. 

“Have I already told you how good you look today?” Aemond whispers, his head dipping forwards so his lips are level with your ear. He rubs your bump gently, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes. 

You shiver from his touch, your body tingling from the attention your husband gives you. “You’re not paying attention,” you scold softly, nodding towards the children in the middle. A teenage Jacaerys, as well as Daemon’s daughters from his first marriage, stand before you, your view of the play slightly concealed. 

“I can’t help myself,” he whispers huskily, “you’re just too distracting, Mommy.” A smirk tugs on his lips as the name leaves them, and the sight is only topped by him leaning in to brush his lips over your ear, before they press to the sensitive skin behind it. The very spot that always makes you putty in his hands, and with your hormones in full swing, it does a little more than just melt you. 

“Aemond,” you whisper, though he can also hear the trace of a moan in it, “easy.”

His teeth graze your earlobe, and the ring of his baritone voice sends a shiver down your spine, “we should go to bed early tonight.”

You can’t help but to chuckle at his words. It’s his subtle way to ask for something without directly asking, though you know exactly what he means. You lean into him, pressing yourself against his side. 

Biting the tip of your tongue, it was impossible for you to stop your lips from pulling into a mischievous smirk. 

“Do you think your mother will notice if we leave now?” you ask, innocently. 

You’re greeted with a wide grin when your eyes meet Aemond’s, and the arm he has wrapped around you tightens just more, keeping you against his frame. 

His lips brush your ear again, trailing down to press a kiss to the side of your neck. “If she does, she can tell me later,” he raps into your ear, “besides, we wouldn‘t be gone for too long, sweetheart. Just long enough for a little… alone time. Who could blame us for wanting to savor the last weeks where it’s only the two of us, mh?”

Aemond looks around one last time, noticing how everyone around you is mostly focused on the children’s show. 

Bringing his hand to the small of your back, he gently guides you through the crowd of his relatives, before you’re on the way to his childhood bedroom. 

It’s furnished in a minimalistic style, making it obvious that Alicent has spent some time decluttering her children’s rooms to make them more presentable for whenever guests stay over. The room basically is Aemond’s, and the rest belongs to Alicent. 

Walking in behind you, he locks the door. You look around briefly before his firm chest is flush against your back with his arms around your waist, resting on your bump. He presses his lips to the curve of your neck, prompting you to tilt your head to the side, and a shuddered breath to escape your throat. 

The feeling of his hard, clothed cock against the curve of your ass drives you to insanity, making you eager for more. He grinds against you as his fingers travel over your curves, and greedily fist the fabric of your dress. 

“Let me help you undress, Mama,” he rasps against your skin, goosebumps prickling in its wake.

When he sinks to his knees behind you, you whimper quietly, immediately missing the heat of his breath and lips on your body. 

“Aemond,” you breathe, looking down at him as he pushes your dress up. 

The dumbfounded look that crosses his features with the skirt of your dress rucked up just shy beneath your bump has you chuckling, realization settling in. 

“You went commando?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you can basically see his excitement building, the bulge in the front of his slacks quite obvious despite him kneeling. “I was feeling… adventurous today,” you hum, a glint of mischief in your eyes. 

He can’t help but to grin at your comment, and, on his way up, Aemond starts to press several kisses to the outside of your thigh, his fingers following in their trail. 

Standing to full height again, looming over you, he keeps his hand beneath your bump, his fingers caressing your pubic mound. 

You squeeze your thighs together in a desperate attempt to soothe the aching at the apex of them, since his fingers aren’t touching you where you need them most. An anticipating moan slips past your lips, a shiver shaking your core. 

“I hope you’re prepared for me to be just as adventurous,” he hums, “... and thorough.”

His fingers hook under the thin straps of your dress, tugging them off your shoulders to push the elastic fabric down your curves and onto the ground. It’s pooling around your ankles in a white puddle, leaving you completely bare to him with just a few touches. 

You shudder under his intense gaze, practically devouring you with just his lilac eyes, and try to break the tension by pulling him in for a kiss. 

You turn around mid-kiss, your protruding belly a barrier between your bodies. Before your hands can entangle into his strands, Aemond catches them and intertwines your fingers. He creates a small distance between your bodies, taking a few steps back and pulling you with him. 

His steps are deliberately slow, careful, and you’re encouraged to climb his lap as he sits down at the edge of the bed. Both his feet are firmly planted on the ground, supporting your swollen body. 

He groans as you trap him between your legs, his hands roaming your curves almost immediately. The knowledge that he was the one responsible for the changes of your body, and that everybody else knew that as well, does something to him, making him all the more hungry for you. 

It was even more addicting to see you sit astride him like a goddess, ready to claim what was yours already anyways. Him.

Feeling his clothed member throb beneath you, the urge to grind above him is as inviting as never, and you’re more than ready to give into the urge. Your wetness soaks his slacks, and the groan Aemond releases at the friction has you whimpering with him. 

Your lips meet for a fervent kiss, and while your hands rest on his shoulders, his are eager to explore the swell of your belly. His tongue finds its way past your lips, swirling around yours in a way that turns the kiss into all teeth and tongue. 

Dragging your teeth over his kiss swollen bottom lip, he tilts his head upwards and nudges the tip of his nose against yours. You lick over his lips once, but when you lean in to connect your lips again, Aemond stops you with his hand around your throat. 

“I want you to sit on my face,” he rasps, his voice husky. 

You haven’t sat on his face in weeks, or rather ever since the round ligament pain kicked in and made even the simplest daily tasks difficult for you. 

Your eyes widen. “But– I–”

“No, you’re not too heavy,” he interrupts, cocking one eyebrow at you. 

There’s not even a chance for you to reject before he lies down and hooks his hands beneath your thighs, hoisting you up and pulling you towards his face. You sit on his chest, barely seeing his chiseled features from under your bump. 

As the position you are in truly settles in your mind, a bright blush starts to cover the apples of your cheeks. His angelic looks don't help either, strands of silver hair splayed out around his head like a halo, and his piercing lilac eyes fixed on you and you only. “But you tell me when it gets too much, no?” you ask, coyly. 

Aemond rubs his hands over your bare thighs in comfort, nodding. “Always.” Deep down you know it’s a lie, because he has told you on more than one occasion that he’d gladly leave the world suffocated by your delicious pussy, but you trust the feigned security he offers. 

“No promises about how long I’ll last, though,” you tell him. 

A gentle pat to your thigh is what has you eventually inching forwards until your knees are on either side of his head. 

With your bump being quite protruding, you can’t even see him anymore, you only hear his groans and growls when you cautiously settle in the new position.

The attempt to slightly hover your pussy over his face is fruitless the moment your husband’s hands fly to your hips, grabbing you and pulling you down onto his face. Just his nose perfectly teasing your clit has you moaning out loudly already, even though he hasn’t even used his tongue yet. 

And then it follows. 

Aemond greedily laps at your entrance as his hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place and playing you like a fiddle. It circles around your clenching hole, teasing it but never one dipping it inside. 

You clench around nothing, and bring one hand to your bump while the other just rests above his hand on your hip, squeezing it. Chasing the friction and warmth of his tongue, you rock your hips back and forth as much as his grip allows, coaxing whimpers and mewls to leave your lips.

“Gods be good,” you whimper, the grip of your thighs around his face tightening. “I–I forgot how good you are at this.”

Seemingly keening at your praise, you’re almost disappointed when he pulls his hand off of yours to cup your ass cheeks, yanking you impossibly closer. The groans that vibrate against your pussy send shivers up your spine that make you lose yourself in the pleasure, not focusing on where his hands are. 

At this point, Aemond was feasting at you like a man starved, all but devouring you with newfound vigor. His nose flicks against your clit with expert precision every time he tilts his head or you move your hips, drawing you closer to your orgasm. 

His index finger comes into play, teasing your throbbing folds for a split second. His true intentions, however, only show the moment it starts to circle around your other hole. 

“Fuck, Aemond, I-” you manage as he carefully dips his finger into your hole, the added stimulation almost immediately tightening the coil in your belly. A muffled groan of appreciation shakes your core as he feels your unused hole tighten around his finger. 

You roll your hips against Aemond’s mouth on the race to completion, any thoughts of being too heavy for him long gone, and replaced by nothing else than raw need and desire. 

It’s almost too much. Straddling the fine line between overwhelming and just the right amount. His nose rubs your clit, his lips lap hungrily at your swollen folds, and his index finger fills you pleasantly – he is redoubling his efforts. 

You keep dragging your hips back and forth in rhythm with his movements, fucking his face on the brink of your release. 

“Oh God, you-you’re so good– Aemond, I’m–I’m–” you ramble, breathy whimpers filling in between the words. 

Hearing him slurp and groan beneath your trembling frame brings a blush to your face and stokes the fire in your belly, the sounds fanning through the room like your moans and whimpers. 

When the coil finally snaps, you throw your head back in ecstasy and clamp your thighs around his head, hot, white pleasure licking its way up your spine. His name topples off your lips more than once, accompanied by desperate mewls and whines. He is relentless, licking you through your orgasm. 

You don’t wait long enough for the aftershocks to fully subside, the overstimulation of his tongue dragging through your folds becoming too much, and cup your pregnant belly as you heave your frame off of his face, shifting backwards down his body. 

“Fuck, I–I need you,” you all but beg, eagerly tugging on the collar of his black shirt. 

Aemond seems to share your enthusiasm, and is quick to sit up again, meeting your lips for a deep kiss. Only when you cup his cheeks do you feel that they’re covered in your arousal, the taste of you on his tongue clouding your mind. 

Your belly is between you again, but Aemond manages to swiftly undo the zipper in the front of his slacks nevertheless, and shoves them down just enough to free his aching cock. 

“So desperate for my cock now, mh?” Aemond pants against your lips, a smug smirk tugging on the corners. 

His hand wraps around his stiff member, fisting himself raw twice, thrice, before another pat served to your thigh encourages you to raise your hips. He aligns himself with your soaked entrance, and you feel his tip prodding gingerly at it. 

As you sink down on him, your hands tightly gripping the collar of his shirt, you release a shuddered breath. Your husband, on the other hand, escapes a relieved groan, his head tipping back for a moment. 

With your limbs still tingling from your previous orgasm, you bow your head forwards, lowering yourself on him until he is balls deep inside of you. “Mh, fuck, you didn’t even bother to take off your pants,” you taunt, “so desperate to be inside me.”

Aemond’s words die on his tongue as you start to sensually roll your hips over his, the added weight of the bump not allowing you to bounce up and down on him with the vigor you had used before your pregnancy. 

But your husband doesn’t seem to mind, his eyes journeying into the back of his head at the sensation. 

Moving his hands to grope and grasp at every inch of your body, they eventually settle on your full breasts, tweaking and pinching your nipples between his nimble fingers while you unravel astride him. It prompts you to arch your back, all but shoving your breasts into his face. 

“So fucking good,” he grunts, embracing it and wrapping his lips around your pert nipple while his arms snake around your body. 

He licks and sucks at your little bud like he has done with your pussy before, and, just judging by the smacking and humming sounds he makes, it’s possible there ooze a few droplets of milk out of it. 

Aemond places his feet firmly on the ground, and starts to buck his hips up into yours, seemingly impatient for his own release as he meets the sensual rolls of your hips and bullies the spongy spot inside of you with more determination. 

Loud, wet sounds from where your bodies meet echo off the walls, indistinct to you with all you can focus on being his lips at your heavy breasts, and his cock deep inside of you. 

You bite your bottom lip and stop the rolling of your hips, making it evident that you were close to your orgasm. The tingling at the base of your spine makes it impossible to move any further and you rely on him to take over. 

Aemond pulls back and watches you gleefully as the force of his thrusts makes your body squirm and jerk, eagerly anticipating you to topple over the edge for the second time. 

“You’re gonna cum on my cock already?” he asks, almost mockingly. 

You frantically nod, breathing a yes.

His hands come to your hips, and with his fingers digging into your flesh, he drags your hips back and forth, your clit rubbing against the hem of his shirt with each movement. You’re not able to gasp more than yeses and pleases, clenching tightly around him. 

The intensity of his thrusts increases while you have stopped moving, toes curling as the taut string inside of you snaps without a warning and white stars cloud your vision. 

“Mh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whine, clawing at his shoulders as you ride out your high, grinding and rolling your hips against his. Your walls clamp around him like a vice, and he chokes on a husky groan. “Oh God, I love you.“

And even though your orgasm subsides slowly, Aemond refuses to slow down, keeping his heedless pace and pursuing his own completion. 

He has his lips around your other nipple by now, sucking and nibbling on it, the vibrations of his groans coursing through your veins. “Daddy, mh, cum for me, please,” you whine, desperate for his cum. 

Your body, however, contradicts your words and moans, your thighs squeezing his in a desperate attempt to stop him from pounding into your overstimulated pussy – but to no avail. 

“God, please.”

His pace is as reckless and merciless as before, his cock all but forcing its way in and out of your quivering walls as he doesn’t listen to your desperate pleas.

Pulling back from your nipple with a lewd pop, a string of saliva connects the dark areola and his swollen lips as he gazes up at you with half-lidded eyes. “Hush now, Mommy,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to kiss you. The nickname coaxes a smug smirk on his lips. “Taking me so well, such a good girl for Daddy.” With just his praise, a warmth overtakes your body that drowns out the burning, your chest swelling. 

You sling your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in the silver strands of his hair in a way that is destined to ruin the little updo he had put it in this morning. 

“Mh, fuck, I’m gonna–” his words are cut off with a stutter of his hips, and he feels his throbbing cock spill deep inside of you. 

You ride him through his high with lazy rolls of your hips, biting through the overstimulation, and clench and unclench around him as you milk him for every drop of his seed. 

If he hadn’t gotten you pregnant already, he surely would have knocked you up after this. 

Aemond languidly fucks up into you now as the last spurts of his warm release fill you to the brim, grunting and groaning until the euphoria fades. 

He collapses on the bed, a blissed out expression on his face, and reaches to trace his fingers over the swell of your bump up to the curve of your breasts. Rolling the darkened buds between them, he smirks as he watches you squirm, his softening cock still buried inside of you. 

“You know,” he starts, folding one arm behind his head. His voice is softer than before, but has a teasing edge to it. “I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone knew by now what we’ve been up to.”

You laugh breathlessly and plant your hands on his chest, rubbing your thumbs over it. “But at least they don’t have to worry about you getting me pregnant by accident,” you tease. 

“True enough,” he chuckles softly, “Fuck, I’m–I just can’t help myself. Seeing your body swell just because of my seed fucking does something to me.”

His words make you blush, and you appreciatively run your hands over your bump. 

You lean forwards and cup his face, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. He smirks against your mouth, and subconsciously bucks his hips into yours as he feels you clench around him. 

With a groan rumbling in his chest, he pulls back. Something dark flickers in his eyes, his intentions evident when he speaks again. 

“Once our boy’s born, I’ll make quick work of making you a mother of two.”

Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @docmartinis @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @nockerin @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @hypocritic-trash-baby @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @goldyfishsstuff @connorsui @ammo23

[kairoot]

hii! i saw your "s/o who is always cold" with enha. could u maybe do the same with s/o who is always warm

͘ ࣭⸰ ✬ ͙ HOTTER, HOTTER „ 

‧₊˚ 𝓼𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: s/o who is always warm 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 : enha x 𝑔𝑛．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : fluff , crack 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 : yes ! 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : pet names, physical touch, lmk if i missed anything

— ( 𝓂𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑛’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ) : lowk embarrassing cause that was one of my first fics 😭 pls leave reblogs, they are much appreciated !! ♡︎

֪︶︶֪︶︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶ིྀ︶︶֪︶︶︶֪︶︶֪︶︶֪

⊹ 𝓁ℎ𝑠．

heeseung doesn’t understand why you’re always warm but he does what he can in order to cool you down

if it means you both have to sleep without the duvet at night, so be it

or if you have to move to the living room/another room where it’s cooler, he’s going with you

doesn’t care if he’s cold or not

you threw the comforter off of your body, shifting for the fourth time that night. heeseung was sound asleep next to you until you sat up, ready to get out of bed.

“baby?” he sat up, hair fluffy from his pillow. his arm remained around you as he pulled you back into the bed.

“where are you going?”

“to the living room.” you whispered.

“are you warm again?” he opened his eyes all the way, now looking at you with concern.

you nod, throwing the rest of the thick blanket off of you.

without a word, heeseung rolled out of his side of the bed, walking to the door.

“come on,” he held out his hand for you to take. your bows furrowed in confusion but you got up, grabbing his hand and following him.

you both walked downstairs, the breeze from just walking giving you a bit of relief. heeseung guided you into the cool living room, letting go of your hand as he settled on one of the couches across from the first one.

“hee, are you sure you aren’t cold?” you chuckled, almost feeling bad for him coming down there with you.

“i’m good as long as you’re good, honey.” he mumbled, his eyes closing once his head hit the sofa’s pillow.

⊹ 𝓅𝑗𝑠．

he’s kinda concerned

but he takes care of you nonetheless

he adjusts his living for you

meaning, since you’ve moved in together, your apartment’s ac is always blasting

even if it’s in the middle of winter, he’ll buy snacks that cool you down like ice pops and what-not.

overall, he just wants you to feel comfortable

“jeez, why is it so chilly in here?” you shivered at the sudden temperature change as you and jay entered your apartment, setting the groceries on the counter.

“didn’t you say it was too warm for you last night?” he asked, putting some things in the freezer.

“well yeah, but i didn’t realize you would turn it into an icebox in here..”

jay chuckled, turning to face you, “do you want me to change it then?”

“no no, it’s fine, but aren’t you cold?”

he shrugged, “feels great to me.”

yes, he was freezing but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

⊹ 𝓈𝑗𝑦．

jake is so caring when it comes to you

even if you can yourself the slightest, he’ll drop what he’s doing and do anything he can to cool you down (like jay)

he even buys you one of those small handheld fans

he keeps ice packs too, especially on a hot summer day

he buys you a lot of tank tops or any clothes that keep you cool

you sat next to jake while he played one of his games as he occasionally spoke through the mic to his friends. every few minutes, he would turn and check if you were okay or if you needed anything.

but when he saw the thin layer of sweat on your forehead and your hand come up to wave air into your face, he quickly removed his headset.

“you okay, love?” he asked, brows knitted together.

you nodded, still fanning yourself slightly.

“just a little warm, that’s all..”

he said something into his mic before standing up and leaving the room.

he came back with the white fan he bought you and a change of clothes.

“change and then use this, alright? let me know if you want a glass of water or anything.” he kissed your head as you thanked him, turning to head to the bathroom to change.

⊹ 𝓅𝑠ℎ．

once again, hoonie knows when you’re bothered by something

whether you’re someone who’s always warm or always cold, he knows when you are and when you aren’t

you don’t have to say anything

like jake, even if you fan yourself once, he’s already at your side with an ice pop and the ac turned all the way up LMAO

im ngl, he gets concerned too and he may ask you about it

does his research so he can know how to help keep your surroundings just right; not too warm, but not too cold

and if you like it, he might run you a cool shower or bath

also, he often takes you to the skating rink where it’s absolutely freezing

“hoon, what are you doing..?” you watched him from the sofa as he stood by the wall, clicking buttons on the thermostat.

“setting the temperature.” he said plainly.

“i thought it was already set?”

“it was, but i’m fixing it for you.” sunghoon responded as he continued to lower the temperature.

“for me..?”

“yeah. you’re always warm.” he had finally set the thermostat to a reasonable temperature, now joining you back on the sofa to start the movie you wanted to watch.

you smiled as he wrapped his arm around you, absolutely enamored by his thoughtfulness.

⊹ 𝓀𝑠𝑤．

sunoo is someone who’s definitely concerned for you

he takes care of you but also reminds you to take care of yourself, especially when he’s not there to do so

he buys a lot of water for you and keeps fans all over your house

he insists on you drinking it even when you’re not hot

he teases you sometimes, calling you his sunshine since you’re always warm

he likes to make homemade popsicles with you

“hey sunshine, did you drink anything today?” sunoo asks, kissing your cheek before sitting next to you in your shared bed.

“yeah, only water.”

“how much?”

“about.. 7 bottles.”

“hm.. that’s not enough.” he sulked, poking your side.

“sunoo, i literally peed like 11 times today. i’m pretty sure it was more than enough.” you giggled, remembering how you had to pee almost every 30 minutes.

“well, google says—“

“my bladder is telling me something different. if i drink another bottle, i think i’ll piss myself.”

⊹ 𝓎𝑗𝑤．

jungwon takes you on walks to cool you down

even during summer, he’ll wait til the evening or night when it’s cooler and he’ll take you walking

he’s very considerate of you and always making sure you’re not overheating or anything

he also likes to make sure your room is cool before the two of you go to bed

“you okay, baby?” he glances at you as you both walked through your neighborhood. you nod, shuffling closer to him and holding his hand tighter.

“this is nice.”

“the air or the walk?”

“both.” you responded, smiling at him. the air relieved you, cooling down your warm body.

“and being with you. thank you for caring so much.”

“no need to thank me, love. it’s what i’m supposed to do.” he kissed the top of your head. “are you thirsty? still warm?”

you shook your head, “no, i’m okay. the walk is really helping actually.”

he nodded, smiling slightly, continuing your stroll in a comfortable silence.

⊹ 𝓃𝑟𝑘．

ki tends to find this amusing (?) since he tends to get cold easily (idk if this is true it’s just for the hc guys 😢)

he’ll tease you, calling you his “personal heater”

he always puts his hands under your shirt to cool you down and to warm him up

all joking aside, he does try his best to keep you cool even when it’s freezing to him

he’ll surprise you with cold treats like slushies or frozen yogurt

and if it’s a summer day, he might even buy water guns/balloons or visit a pool

“riki, get off of me,” you whined for the third time, trying to push the boy off of you.

“it’s way too hot.”

“you’re warm, though.. aren’t my hands making it better? i’m freezing..” he sulked, his cool hand rubbing circles on your belly.

“i guess..”

“exactly, so stop your whining.” he grumbled, turning to watch the show that played on the tv screen.

“but you’re heavy! and i feel like i’m suffocating.”

he sighed, lifting himself up, “stay here.”

he walked out of the room for a second, coming back a few minutes later with a blue slushy drink in hand.

your eyes lit up as you happily took the drink from his hands, immediately taking sips from the straw.

“thank you, babe.” you smiled.

“yeah, yeah.” he answered playfully, climbing back on top of you.

︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨୧ ︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

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