#reader is older

[sinning-23]

Rest Day(Logan x Reader)

Warnings: none, kinda fluffy and sweet

Enjoy~

P.s yes I still have wolverine brainrot

——————————————————————-

Water boils away on the stove and you place your tea bag inside your designated cup. The contrast of the fine china with the metal of the can makes you smile. It’s Sunday, a nice falll afternoon with the sun setting just a bit below the mountains.

And he glows.

His eyes are closed as he sits quietly in his chair, and finally relaxed for once. He knows he’s safe with you, always has been by some whim. It’s had never failed in your 10 years of being a pair. Every time he’s with you…he’s safe.

When you first met, your proximity seeming to bring a sort of relief and…security. Of course he was sceptical at first, thinking you had to have had some kind of gift that gave everyone that effect. That was until he brought it up and realized…it was just him. And of course he was in denial-

Maybe it was 2 months after that? Your first mission together where you’d both just so happened to miss the danger by a second, your intuition pulling both of you away from the scene before anything could happen.

Or was it a year after that? After you and tiptoed around each others feelings and you had finally gotten the courage to knock on his bedroom door, seeking to comfort him after hearing him struggle on the other side. Had it been anyone else he would have pushed them away, anger resting in his chest. But you weren’t anyone else. The minute your knuckles hit the door his heart slows and flutters all at once , trembling hands swinging the door open to invite you in.

No no. It had to have been a few months after that, your bodies pressed close as you stroke the curl of his hair with one hand. The other intertwined with his, stroking the top with your thumb as you hum and sing sweet words and songs to him. The vibrations in your chest bringing him to sleep.

Or a week after that when you’d kissed and he felt quiet. Just quiet. Not a single sound in the world. Just you. Your heart, your hands on his face.

That was besides the point now, time has passed and nothing has changed since then.

And he’s so pretty when he’s somewhat at peace, the worry lines that etched into between his brows have settled. His jaw still works from time to time, a habit of grinding his teeth.

He only moves when you approach. Your set the can beside him, your teacup resting between your fingers as your own chair creaks slightly.

“Thank you.” He hums, leaving the beverage where it’s at, stretching his hand out towards you.

It’s not a big gap, especially when you interlock your pinking with his index finger.

He’s wasn’t talking about the drink.

[superluver]

Dingy Camera G.S.

6.2k words | cw: Angst, Gore, Character death, MAJOR JJK MANGA SPOILERS, S2 Spoilers, (No)happy ending/ slight comfort, Follows the Events of Gojo's Past arc+un-canon events at ending for the plot, MAJOR mental health warning, FEM READER

THIS STORY DOES NOT CONTAIN PEDOPHILIA

Gojo is very pushy

Description: Gojo was in love with you—his Highschool teacher and the strongest sorcerer of your time— who had known him since he was young. You don't see him in that light, but he is stubborn, even as a highschool student. You are watching your students grow up, becoming stronger with each passing second. And after the failed Star-Plasma Vessel trip, you set out on a man-hunt for your father, who is harboring a new woman's body as his own...

☆*:.｡. Starting here .｡.:*☆

It's dark in the apartment, well.. condo— he is a rich man after all— yet, he can see it all.

He remembers his way around the place, has for many years. He doesn’t even need his six eyes to know where he stands.

He just knows.

When he bought the condo, he purchased the furniture along with it, to keep that memory alive. It was all he had left. Sometimes he wonders if she were alive, how strange it would be, if the Zenin, Gojo, and Kamo clan’s prized possessions all sat at a dinner table, chatting about their days in peace.

He finds himself standing at the table, near the door, with a photograph. A much older woman, patting his and Suguru’s head aggressively, her chin laying on Shoko’s. Her grin was broad, a cigarette peeking out from the corner of her mouth. He and Suguru had an annoyed expression, hence the blurry photo. It was them trying to pull her off them as she was pressing their heads down so she would appear taller.

She was tall already, but two boys that were in the midst of their puberty, skyrocketing like a bean sprout, was a bit degrading to her very large ego. Her upper arm, hardly visible to the camera’s view, has a cloth— the exact same Satoru uses to cover her arm— wrapped around it with a cute little bunny knot that pokes from the side.

He closes his eyes, pulling the cloth from his eyes, breathing out.

“Hey, Sensei! Spar with me!” Satoru shouts, he’s a first year, not knowing anyone but you, the woman who watched him grow up. “Hah?” You chuckle, shaking your head with a smoking cigarette peeking from the corner.

You're sitting at your desk in your chair, it has wheels, which you occasionally spin in circles when no one is watching. Though, since your class is in session, you lay your feet on the wooden desk, which is dented from the amount of time you’ve slammed your heels on it. With your free hand— the other occupied with a newspaper— you shoo him off, continuing, “No way, you’re too weak. And,” you fwip your newspaper, “I’m busy, as you can see.”

He gapes, extremely offended. “I’m the strongest there is!” He shouts, his thumb pointing at his chest, which he puffs out.

“Alright, strongest.” You tease, watching his face grow red as you bare what you like to call, a shit eating grin.

“Let’s see, how strong are you?”

Your head turns to your other first year students, Suguru and Shoko.

Suguru sits with his head in hit palm, clearly dazed and exhausted, and Shoko has her head up in the air, leaning back in her seat with a straw in her mouth. Her arms dangling at her side.

The nearing summer heat is killing all of you, but it's impacting your classes too. The windows are open to let the breeze in, but if you close it, the classroom will turn into an oven. You have a fan running in the background, but only at you.

You know what they say, beggars can’t be choosers.

“If— if I win, we get the fan.”

Suguru and Shoko’s ears perk up, their attention on their classmate.

You shrug, placing the newspaper down. “Alright,” your fingers take the cigarette from your lips with one last puff, blowing the air away with the side of your mouth.

“Here's the deal—” you put it out on the already ashened ashtray. “If you guys win, I’ll buy all three of you fans” you tell them, holding three fingers up, then pointing to your own. “And you can even have mine.”

Then, you smile, it's a scary one that sends shivers down Satoru’s back. “But if I win, not only will the three of you work your asses off outside, you’ll be fully clothed in your uniforms, no unbuttoning, no fans, no water—”

“But Sensei, we’ll die without water!” Shoko whines, still chewing on the straw.

“No you won’t, I'll make sure you three won't. So might as well hydrate before. From dawn till dusk, we’ll train like you’ve never trained before, for the entire week, starting as soon as he loses."

That last sentence froze the room, and you continued with your closed eyes smile, waving Satoru off. “I’ll let the three of you discuss it amongst yourselves.”

He gulps, nodding before trudging back with a slouch to his friends. You observe them whisper, then watch as Satoru gets him in the head before all three of them nod.

He seems more confident, striding back. His hands slam on your desk, his glasses gleam, and that grin you taught him, “I’ll do it!”

You mirror that grin standing up, towering over the growing student, “Atta boy,”

He finds himself in the outdoor gym, right beside the track.

You, even as a teacher, never wore the Jujutsu Uniform, maybe the bottoms at times, but your top was always a tank top. In the bleachers, most of the staff. Your Colleague Mei Mei, old student Utahime, Yaga, everyone was there, to witness the worst defeat that the first years could ever experience.

“Satoru?” You call out sweetly, a newly lit cigarette sitting in the corner of your mouth. You turn, smiling to the camera that Mei Mei points at the two of you, quickly holding up a peace sign.

“Yes?”

“You have anymore conditions you wanna add before I beat you?”

He looks around, almost contemplating whether he should tell you before pointing at himself.

“Go on a date with me?”

“START!”

You laugh, dropping the cigarette and stomping on it.

“In your dreams.”

Satoru is quick, activating his infinity like it’s nothing, then going in for a quick blow. “Cursed Technique Lapse—”

You yawn.

His hand is angled to you, “Blue.”

The ground beneath you is pulled, most things around are pulling into him. All but you, standing still on the ground before being thrown back at you.

It's loud, the rubble falling onto you causing gasps from the Bleachers from students. It's a cloud of smoke, and when it clears, you’re no where to be found.

Hell, even Gojo grows worried. Blood pools from underneath the rubble, and he wants to step forward, make sure you're alright, but he remembers your words.

'Satoru, if anything happens, don’t come near me. If you think the battle is over, it’s just beginning.'

He sighs, awaiting something, anything, but still, nothing. He finds himself putting down his infinity, and Suguru slaps his hand into his face, sighing. He never listens to anything anyone has to say to him.

He finally takes a step, but this is when you finally make your appearance.

“Hey, Satoru.” You groan, pushing off a large slab that sits atop of you.

“You really— wow that was heavy —you need to start listening to the things we adults tell you.” You sigh, bringing a hand in front of yourself, clenching your fist with only your pointer finger out, pointing it at him.

“Cursed Technique,” Your blood behind to fly in front of you, turning into objects similar to needles.

You smile at him, not saying anything else, and he tries again, only to find you were tricking him.

The needles fly, hitting his pressure points.

His eyes fly open, before he falls, paralyzed.

Your binding vow allows you to access a higher amount of your cursed energy for every attack given. Blood Manipulation, a technique handed to you from your Clan, Kamo, allows you to manipulate your own blood at will. You decided to create a binding bow with yourself, allowing you to create a higher input of Cursed energy, to 120% into your attacks. Every attack given to you, that causes you to lose blood, would cause an even greater attack to be inflicted on the person because of this. It's confusing to explain, but you made sure to demonstrate it to your first years.

Satoru just doesn't listen.

Mei Mei is still taking photos of the ordeal with your camera, sure to share them with Yuki, your former classmate.

Satoru stares up at you, who is looking down at him with a smile, your hair falling with gravity, the sun behind your head, illuminating your strands.

“I am the strongest for a reason.” You grin at him, kneeling down and placing a palm on his chest, taking back your blood, which sits in a ball in your hand.

You turn to the bleachers, whistling to your other students who are in the midst of running away.

“Cmere.”

They sigh, walking off.

“I’ve got an errand to run, so you’re going to stay with Yaga—”

“WHAT!” Yaga shouts in the distance, but you ignore him completely, continuing, “and his students. Kapeesh?” You point at them.

They all nod, and you help Satoru up, patting his shoulder.

“Yaga, make sure their uniforms are completely buttoned up, no water, nothing. Just make 'em run. I don't want to see a jog, no walk, just run.”

He nods slowly, watching you send him a thumbs up before patting Shoko’s head.

You scurry off, and are gone for quite some time. So long in fact, that it's already dusk. The trio is sweaty, out of breath panting, and overall exhausted. They walk back to the classroom, the hallways are hot and expect the room to be an oven, yet when they enter, it’s chilly.

On their desks, each their own fan, and you, with your arms crossed, asleep.

No matter how annoying their teacher was, she was always the best.

Was.

By the time they became second years, you were always in and out, or just on the phone. Yaga was now their teacher, but you are still their favorite. Days when you were there, they would sit in your classroom after ditching Yaga’s, sitting with Kento and Yu.

“You three better run off back to your class.” You tell them, smoking with your reading glasses sitting at the bridge of your nose. You has a piece of chalk in your hand as you wrote on the chalkboard, equations that now seem like a piece of cake to them.

They grew too fast over the summer, the boys towering over you. Shoko was still a short girl, who was now smoking. You wonder where she picked that up from.

“Nah! We’ll stay here.” Satoru told her, sitting in your seat and swirling around.

Defeated, you sigh, “Suit yourself.”

He stares at you as you write; really taking in your state. Eyebags that were darker than usual, chapped lips, more empty cigarettes boxes, and don't forget to mention the frequent phone calls.

And, as ironic as it sounds, your phone rings. From the title, he can see a name, read as Yuki.

You click your tongue, placing the hall down and running your hand through your hair. As you pass by, you place a hand on his head, ruffling it while flipping open your phone.

“Yea, Yuki?” Then, you walk out.

Your voice is muffled, slowly fading out the more you walk down the hallway. The last thing he could make out was the word ‘Dad’.

The five students sit in awkward silence before Satoru finally breaks the ice.

“What’s up with her?”

The question was for everyone in general, but mainly towards the first years, who got to see her more than he did, which did get him jealous.

“A mission! Supposedly she’s hunting someone down.” Yu speaks up, and Satoru quickly asks.

“Who?”

“A man named K—”

“We don’t know.” Kento speaks up, and it's obvious he’s lying considering the fact that Yu was about to say the man's name.

He didn't press any longer, only narrowing his eyes. Then, humming, leaning back in her seat. It smelt just like her.

He closed his eyes, the plan running through his mind. He nods, thinking how genius he is.

Later, he finds himself in your apartment, sitting at your dining table.

You would jump if you didn’t feel his cursed energy waving from the parking lot.

“Well, here we have a rogue student.” You joke, slipping your shoes off at the door.

“Your shoes off?”

He looks down at his feet, then back up, nodding. “I remember some things.”

You grin, “I know, I didn't make you completely useless.”

It's silent, his eyes wander to the stove. The time was 3:42am, he had been waiting for her for a long time.

“What were you doing?” He asks, staring as she begins boiling water. “Hm? Mission. Tea?” You ask, trying to lighten his mood and overall pressing.

He shakes his head, and you stare at him. His clothes are changed, hair damp, almost completely dry. “Who are you hunting—”

The handle of your tea cup breaks off, the base falling to the ground. It shatters, you stare down at it blankly.

“Satoru.” You say his name coldly, the kettle begins to whistle loud.

“My affairs have nothing to do with you.”

The distance between the two of you is great, like a ripple in time, about immeasurable.

“B-but! I can help you—!”

“Satoru!” You shout, glaring at him, your eyes glowing, face darkens. You calm when you see his expression, almost hurt, and scared. His eyebrows contorted, his lips parted. “Satoru.” You whisper now, walking to him with your arm open. You embrace him, his head to your stomach. Fingers play in his white hair.

“I don’t want you getting hurt. The last thing I want of you is for you to get hurt. This is my own burden,” you take his face in your hands, smiling, “You understand? Taking the future away from children is unforgivable.”

He sighs heavily, wondering when you would stop seeing him as a child, and in a new light as a man.

“I’m not a kid.” He grumbles, his arms wrap around your torso willingly.

“Then a baby,” you joke with a coo, shaking him left and right softly.

“Mei is taking Iori on a mission, I’ll be accompanying them. So, we’ll be gone for no longer than a day.” You inform, stroking his head.

He nods, his eyes growing heavy.

“If you're tired, go to bed.”

“No.”

You shake your head, a light chuckle escaping past your lips. So stubborn. “Suit yourself.”

You go back around to the kitchen, turning off the kettle. “I’ll go shower, your tea is ready.” You tell him, walking over and holding his cup by the rim, placing it on the coaster in front of him. His eyes stare at the cup, almost cautiously. He nods, taking the cup from the table.

By the time you're done, you find the boy asleep upright on the chair, his head down and eyes closed, small snores escaping his lips.

You find yourself scurrying to your table by the door, rummaging through the drawer to pull out an old camera, snapping pictures of him. You laugh, placing the camera on the table he’s at, kneeling in front of him to stare.

You don't remember him growing up this fast, it kind of hurts.

Your hand goes up to his face, squeezing his nose to stop him from breathing. His eyes open wide, and you laugh at his panicked face.

“To bed with you.” You whisper, and he tiredly nods, taking your hand as you lead him to the guest bedroom, but he stops when you try to pull him into the room.

“Satoru,”

He looks down with a pout, his shaggy hair covering his eyes.

“I want to sleep with you.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, shaking your head with a sigh before leading him to your room. Allowing him to open your sheets and sprawl into your bed. You tuck him back in, patting his stomach as you lay down.

“Just like when you were a child. Always asking your parents to sleep over, and of course I let them. You were so cute!” You exclaim, positioning yourself to your side. He stares up into the ceiling, and you watch him. Your head on your hand.

“Stop staring into Narnia, sleep—”

“You won’t die, will you?”

His voice is soft, and he won't look at you. He doesn’t want to see how you're staring at him. Your eyes wide, lips puffed, clearly taken aback.

“Ah, what makes you say that?” You whisper, your tone dropping.

“You don’t sleep, your never home—”

“You’ve been in my house?”

He pouts, “Technically, it’s not a house.”

You laugh at his response. “Satoru, I’m a human.”

“But the strongest.”

“You’ve seen me bleed. I don’t plan on dying right now, but everyone dies, some sooner than others.”

Now, he finally turns to you and your smiling face. He doesn’t cry, not that you’re surprised. He's never cried.

You hear him breathe out a hum, closing his eyes. A smile graces your lips, and you brush his stray hairs from his twitching nose, which tickles him.

“Good night,” you whisper, before getting up and sitting at the chair beside your bed, and wrapping a blanket around yourself.

After a few days of no sleep, it finally hits you like bricks, a shame you have to wake up at seven, but you’ll be sure to thank those two hours of sleep that grace your schedule.

—

The yawn that passes your lips is atrocious. It's the 13th one that you’ve done, and Iori is growing irritated. “Sensei—”

“(Y/N) to you champ,” You correct her, and she bites back her tongue.

“(Y/N)-san.. did you sleep by any chance?” She asks, smiling with tight lips. You, on the other hand, raise an eyebrow, your head leaning on Mei Mei's shoulder, who’s clicking through her red flip phone.

“My personal life is none of your concern.” You tell her.

You swear, the younger these new sorcerers are, the more disrespectful they get.

It’s raining, the roads are wet and slippery. Silence fills the vehicle, aside from the frequent wipes of the window shields and Mei tapping through her phone. You don’t even remember dozing off, just appearing in front of a screwed up house.

Iori turns around, staring at her old teacher and new colleague. She respects her, but can’t stand her. She is the reason Gojo is the way he is.

“You have to keep watch out here in case anything happens.”

With your pinky finger deep in your ear, you're clearly disinterested. “Yeah yeah..” waving them off, Mei mei gives you one final look, her features resembled that of a feline, elegant and cool, she smiles, striding off with her umbrella behind the young sorcerer.

“Two hours!” You shout at their disappearing figures.

That's the reason you were there, to determine whether this was a time warping curse. It’s quite possible the flow of time is distorted in there.

So you sat, and waited. And waited, and waited, until two hours did pass.

With a sigh, you take out your flip phone, dialing Yaga and explaining to him the situation.

“The flow of time is different here, yeah. Utahime is with Mei. … After two days, come assist if Utahime can’t get it.”

You close your device, trudging into the building. Your eyes close, the smell of blood reeks, but you continue to follow the familiar cursed energy, followed by a high pitched scream.

“With a scream like that, you could be a scream queen.” You laugh, throwing your head back.

“Kamo-san!” Utahime exclaims, almost in relief.

“Yoohoo!” You greet, waving your hand at her, the other lost in your pocket.

“Have you figured it out yet?” You ask, your head tilting.

She stares at you, almost annoyed.

“Not yet.”

“You best hurry,” you start, fishing a cigarette from your pocket. It’s not boxed, your pocket is just full of cigarettes. The other pocket held the lighter. Your hand cups it, lighting the cigarette. A cloud of smoke hits her in the face, and you laugh at her, pointing as she waving her hand away.

“Sorry about that, but anyways,” your pointer finger is pointing in the air, moving in circles. “Time is running differently in here.”

“I had the feeling,” Mei says, standing besides you.

“Go on Utahime, figure it out.” You shoo her, sitting on the ground of the hallway. It's dirty, dust and bugs crawling throughout the space, but you’ve dealt with worse.

In a daze, you hear Utahime and Mei’s muffled voice, a couple thuds, then the ground, which you were sitting on, crumbling apart.

The three of you in a free fall, though the only one panicking seems to me Utahime.

You're falling in circles, hair flying everywhere, cigarette still in your mouth, you take off the bandage from your finger, opening the scab and drip blood. You bring the heat of your blood to almost boiling, turning it into vapor so you can stay above in the air.

Utahime is screaming bloody murder still, and no doubt in your mind that she could be the next scream queen.

You find yourself next to Shoko, listening to Satoru tease Utahime. “You cryin?"

“No! I’m not, respect your Seniors!” She shouts, crushed by the rubble.

You ruffle Shoko’s hair before coming behind Satoru, closing your fist you knock the back of his skull.

“Ow!” He whines, holding it in pain.

“Be respectful, kid.” You scold, blowing the smoke from your cigarette away from him. Your hand grabs ahold of the large rubble that crushes Utahime, allowing her to crawl out.

“If I was crying? Would you console me?” Mei asked, Gojo responding seriously, but also playfully.

“No way! You wouldn't cry, you're strong Mei!” He tells her, and you sigh.

Utahime, still on the ground, shoots up. The rubble pieces on her back fell, and you stared blankly at him.

“GOJO!”

Behind her, a large curse pokes up, startling Utahime, and even you a little. Utahime jumps on you, who is still holding the rubble piece up. You drop it, eyes wide as you stare at it.

“Yikes.” You whisper, when another curse eats it.

“Hey, Satoru. It’s not nice to pick on the weak!” You hear a familiar voice.

Suguru, under the influence of Satoru.

“How long do you plan on holding on for?” You ask teasingly, feeling the girl shake.

She stares into your eyes before jumping off, her face red as a tomato, teeth clenched while her finger waves at you accusingly.

“I-I- I DIDN’T MEAN THAT! I THOUGHT YOU WERE.. uh.. My dog! Yea, my dog!”

You raise an eyebrow, shrugging. “It was a bit, comforting..” you tell her, teasing her by showing her your embarrassed face, gaze to your side, flickering around before looking back into her eyes. Your arms hold yourself, and you laugh right as her mouth pops open.

She quickly leaves when she notices Shoko. Hugging the girl tightly,

“Sensei!” Shoko calls out, and you notice something.

It’s as bright as day. The sun shining down on all of you, the clouds on the blue sky.

You gaze up blankly, slightly in a daze.

“What is missing?” You whisper to yourself, your fingers rubbing on your chin.

Then, amongst their conversation, you hear one of them talk about a veil, presumably discussing an outfit, and you internally hear glass shatter.

The three students kneel in front of Yaga.

“Who was in charge of the veil?” He asks, and the two point to the one in the middle.

Satoru.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, groaning.

Again, your phone rings. Satoru stares at you, almost accusingly, but you pay him no mind.

“Yuki,” you start, walking out the room. Satoru looks in a daze watching you leave, and Yaga following suit, punches the boys on the head before he leaves.

“Hey, we can see the hearts in your eyes.” Suguru teases, hitting his shoulder.

“Really!? You can?!” He asks, genuinely curious.

The two stop and stare at him, and Satoru feels stupid.

“I’m obviously kidding.”

“..”

“..”

“You can’t send them on that!” You shout at Yaga, so loudly that just they can hear you as clear as day.

The school rumbles under your wrath, a fee students in the classrooms fearful. But the trio in the gym stand uncaring.

“Please, Yaga.”

Yaga looks down at you, sighing before patting your head. “It’s not my decision, kid.”

You right the corners of your eyes, chewing on your bottom lip.

“I know.” You whisper, walking away from him.

When your kids were going on a life threatening mission, you were being sent off by the higher ups, finding your father.

Kenjaku.

It would be hard, considering he changes his body every few years.

You don't understand why Riko Amanai was being in the care of two second years. You’ve already been in contact with her for a couple months, filling her in on things no one else wanted to do.

You could easily take care of this, but higher-ups said Kenjaku was first.

So you bit down your tongue, swallowed the ball forming in your throat, and walked away from the school campus.

I remember Dad, he had that scar over his forehead.

You flipped open your phone, receiving a message from Yuki, which read, Sendai City, and an attached image of a woman, bobbed hair, and that same scar through her forehead holding a toddler.

You hold your breath.

A brother.

Even though the two of you, biologically speaking, had different parents, you couldn't help but notice similarities the two of you had. Same gleam in your eyes, same cheeky smile.

You found yourself chuckling a bit at the photo, and at the boy.

“Okay,” you whisper, your phone back into your pocket with a nod. Hand clenched. “Sendai,” you tell yourself, marching off.

…

…

You should have come earlier. The Jujutsu Tech, was a nightmare. Blood everywhere, a destroyed entrance, and a failed mission.

They sent you to get rid of Kenjaku, but when you heard of what had happened, you rushed back home.

Your mind running a million times a minute. Toji killed Riko, he hurt your students.

All you could think about were your boys.

“Satoru?! Suguru?!” You shout, running towards the dorm rooms. Just as your about to knock on Satoru’s door, Suguru is beside you. “He’s not in there.”

You almost gasp at his appearance, so different from what your used to. His hair is out, his eyes purple and bloodshot from crying, he’s not in his uniform.

White baggy shirt and some sweatpants you gave him as a first year that had finally come to fit him.

You give him a broken smile.

“C’mere,” you whisper, opening your arms to him. You pat his back, rubbing it in circles, but he doesn’t cry.

He trembles, but he doesn't cry.

“It was my fault, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have left—”

“I’m too weak.” He cuts you off, his forehead on your shoulder. “I can’t keep up with him anymore.” He tells you, and your heart almost breaks.

You give him a reassuring squeeze, sighing. “Suguru, in this world, nobody is truly equal.” It's the honest truth, you think. Something you wish someone had told you in your younger days. “I just hope, in this life, you can all find happiness.”

You hold his face in your hands, smiling up at him.

“My kids are growing up so big, so fast. So I'll do this one last time.” You tell him, that last part confusing him, but you notice his eyes gloss over.

One last time.

You make your way to Shoko after taking Suguru back to his bed, who is in the second year classroom, alone.

You lean at the doorway, and she doesn’t notice you. A cigarette sticking from the corner of her mouth as she flips through her medical books. A bag of opened chips sit on the three desks she put together. The room is dim, but familiar.

“There’s my favorite girl,” you greet, finally walking up to her.

She too, seems more tired than usual.

You pat her head, ruffling her hair a bit.

“Hey! What’re you doing here?” She asks with a smile, watching you stare at the three desks, letters carved into them. You chuckle, responding without looking.

“I’m here to say goodbye.”

She blinks, then laughing. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you're.. going to die..” realization hits her.

You only smile back, hand on her cheek as you stroke her with your thumb.

“Lay off on the cigarettes,” you begin, and she takes her head out of your grasp, shaking her head profusely.

“No..”

“Make sure to make your bed in the morning, brush your teeth, wash your face,”

“Stop.” She says, chewing on the cigarette.

“Oh and make sure those morons take care of themselves as well.

“Sensei!”

You stare at her, and she looks in your eyes.

You find your eyes watering. This has never happened before. You don’t recall a single memory of you crying. But, here you are. In front of one of your old students, crying.

“Ah, this is so strange.” You mutter, wiping your eyes, and Shoko stares at you, her own face growing red, eyes filled with emotion.

“Take care, Sensei.” She tells you, hugging you hard.”

You snort, squeezing her back. “You too, I love you all very much.”

You leave her back to her studying. Your first years, took it easier. They’re too gullible, to innocent, you can’t tell them.

You wave them goodbye, and lastly was Satoru.

But he wasn’t there.

He was, somewhere.

Not where she needed him.

She laughed at herself, shaking her head as she made her way back to Sendai.

Her last phone call was made to Yuki, “Hey,” you start. And she’s silent. You hear sniffles from her end of the phone, and you can’t help but tease her. “If you start crying now I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“I love you.” You tell her, and she’s crying on the line, unable to say anything. You end the call, the last one to make, Satoru. Of course, he doesn’t answer, so you talk for the voicemail.

“Satoru, my boy. My pride and joy, you weren’t at school so I couldn’t talk to you face to face. And I have a lot that I want to say, but I'm running on limited time.”

You swallow, walking down the street, and hand in your pocket, other holding your flip phone to your ear.

“Don’t blame yourself, number one. I don’t wanna hear, I should have been there, or blah blah blah. Only I’m allowed to do that. Anyways, I'm sure at this point, you’re stronger than me. Way stronger than me. But, not the strongest. I’m the strongest. Does that make sense? I'm sorry, I'm rambling, I just wanted to tell you, it’s been a pleasure knowing you, and I'm sorry I won’t be able to see you become the man you’ve dreamt of being. I love you, Satoru, and take care of yourself and the other—”

Your time with the caller is over, your voicemail has been sent.

“Ah damn.” You mutter, standing in front of a warehouse.

Cursed energy if radiating from the center, so you bring your fingers up. Your pink and ring fingers interlock, your middle fingers curl, fitting side by side, and your pointer fingers are straight up, the tips touching each other, your thumbs too.

“Domain expansion: Bloody Mirror.”

Satoru hears glass breaking while on his way back to the school, his hands are in his pockets, and he’s care free, thinking about bothering his Sensei—

Screams is all he hears. Sobs, and Yaga, his head down and shaking, holding what seemed to me a bloodied armband.

Heh, funny. It looks like the same one that (Y/N) used.

Utahime stands in front of Yaga, head in her hands and shaking her head. This was just a dream, she kept telling herself, but her sobs wouldn’t stop.

“Satoru.” A voice called out, it was Yaga. Even from far away, his voice was just so clear.

His steps grew heavier, like weights were on his ankles. His posture even began slouching, with his heart racing.

“Hey Yaga! Say, where’s (Y/N)- Sensei? She’s always out and about—”

“She’s dead.”

“And she never comes home..” he says, whispering the words home. He doesn’t even realize his eyes go wide, of that the only sound he can hear is his beating heart. It scared him. Really badly, it scared him. His feet carried him to Shoko’s ‘Lab’, though it was really a morgue.

He didn’t expect to find Suguru, who was usually holed away in his room since the incident, sitting on the chair looking down. His hands clenched, he didn’t want to get up.

Shoko’s eyes were red, puffy, tired.

A cloth over the body, and his feet took him to it.

He saw someone, with the same hair color as you under there, and it had felt like he had died again.

He began peeling the cloth away, but that’s when Shoko stopped him, right below your eyes, that's where she stopped him.

What he didn’t get to see, what only Shoko saw, was the largest, hole in a person’s face she had ever scene in her small, but broad highschool years as a healer.

Not only was your mouth missing, but your arm was completely ripped off, and if she had to describe how it had been torn, it would have looked like string cheese, as though someone had torn it off in such a way, as to torture you.

Another hole through your chest, your intestines no longer existed and your spinal cord severed, but, through and through, they were told you still won.

Only dropping down when a sorcerer came, giving them a smile before plopping down.

“Let me see her.” Satoru tells her, but his grip is weak, his hands tremble.

“Let me heal her first—”

“Let me see her first! I want to see.. I want to see how she won.” He says, his voice going from a loud shout to a soft whisper.

Shoko lets go, turning away because she doesn’t want to have to bear the sight of the scene once more.

Satoru drops it, wanting to scream but nothing will come out, wanting to cry, but his eyes are just so dry.

He wants to say something, but his voice is gone.

He’s gone.

He stares down blankly at the corpse, The Strongest is dead.

The next one will take over, the cycle never ending.

He doesn't even realize that his breathing grows labored, his eyes, for the first time in his life, are unable to see.

His six eyes, the jewels of his clan, prevent him from seeing.

He can’t feel anything, he can’t move, but he finds himself in the middle of your apartment. Pictures of him and you and Shoko and Suguru, and Yaga—

Everybody.

With that dingy camera, you snapped hundreds of photos. He knew where you would hide the camera, so when he skimmed through it, he found himself falling apart. Pictured from days he doesn't even remember, his childhood all in this stupid old camera.

So stupid.

But he can’t contain himself. He can’t control his heart, the way his forehead hits the wood floors as he begs God, He who blessed the young Gojo, for her back. He would give anything for her back. His heart was with her, it would never come back.

The more he clicked through them the more he would ache. Looking at the photos with a trembling hand, he comes across one where the four of them are smushed in the back seat of a car. All of them sleeping, with someone else, presumably the driver that you threatened begged to take a photo for you. You were winking, finger to your lips like you were shushing.

Shoko was on top of your lap, Suguru and Satoru on either side, leaning on your shoulders.

He chuckled, and the more we went, the more silly photos he came across. He found himself wiping his tears away, replacing them with his laughter.

Shoved away in his pocket was your armband, which he now used as his blindfold, and in the other.

A dingy old camera to take photos, and make memories with his students.

But, sometimes, he’ll go back to the original camera, that hides away in the same drawer, looking at the past and reliving those memories.

He wonders how Megumi feels every time he looks at the numerous photos of you that are scattered in the house. The carvings of Gojo’s height, made by you as he grew. The two strongest, living in one house, at the same time. So, he looks Megumi, possibly as a projection of himself, but he has Tsumiki. He also finds it funny, when Itadori is with him, baring the same smoke you once had.

Wanting to laugh, it seems that the Strongest are always taking in the enemy's kid. It’s like a bong between them all.

From one strongest to another.

[floffytofu]

Random twil'ek girl at cantina : i hear jedi is a virgin, but don't worry i can teach you things to loose your muscles.

Reader : no.

The girl : what?

Reader : i said no, you wanna hear it in mando'a? nayc.

***

Force ghost Obi-wan : *proud dad noises*

Force ghost Anakin : bohoo virgin

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about your older bf!simon that cannot cope with being far from you.

when you’re in the shower, he’s sat on the lid of the toilet on his phone (watching those rug cleaning videos) enjoying your faint singing under the stream of water, the smell of your body wash on the cloud of steam- ready to pass you a towel or get your back.

when you’re at your desk, working from home or studying, he’s just on the other side of it reading the paper with one outstretched leg tangled with both of yours. he’s dead quiet when you’re on a call, just happy to be around.

when you’re doing laundry, collecting the clothes in the hamper and crouching to stuff them into the washer- turning around and accidentally colliding with a thick wall of muscle.

“sorry, love”

he steps aside but you can hear his soft footfalls as he continues to follow you throughout your home.

when you’re both watching something on the couch, what starts as his pinky locked with yours turns into his arm around your waist. that turns into your head on his chest, which culminates with you falling asleep in his lap with his cheek on your head and soft snores emanating from his lips.

when you grocery shop, you push the trolley but his chest is to your back, arms either side of you and hands clasped over yours on the handle. you can thank his military training for his uncanny ability to tell exactly when you’ll stop walking.

when he wakes up in the middle of the night, on a rare occasion when you’ve managed to slip out of bed without him realising, he’s immediately in a panic calling your name.

“in here, my love”

as soon as his heart settles, he realises the bathroom light was probably a dead giveaway. you’re taking a wee, you’ll be back in a minute.

that doesn’t stop a sleepy simon from leaning in the doorframe, shielding his eyes from the big light as he waits for you to finish up.

even on the short walk back to bed, you can feel fingers twisted in the back of your shirt- almost like you’re leading the way.

minute you’re both on the mattress, you’re being wrapped up in his arms, slotting you perfectly into the curve of his front- almost like you’re made for him.

(and you are)

[4ever-feral]

Oh, he’s a slut for pain for sure 😩

*bitting my knuckles & giggling*

[celestiamour]

god, the graying beard, it's so fucking over for me

i need him more than i need air, i fear. i'm just a girl who is gnawing at the bars of my enclosure and chewing on him like a toy

edit: THE GLASSES OMGGG

[ink-n-shadow]

currently having thoughts about the 141 having a team dinner at john’s house during one of their breaks, forgetting that he hasn’t really told them that he was married.

so imagine their shock when the door swings open and you’re standing there, apron around your waist and flour sprinkled across your cheeks and clothes. “c’mon in, boys! you can leave your boots at the door by john’s. i’m just finishing up the mash” and just as their brains begin firing and the questions begin forming on their tongues, you’re disappearing down the hall and presumably toward the kitchen, leaving the three of them dumbfounded and toeing off their boots obediently.

kyle’s finally the first one to ask the meek question of “so, how’d ya meet the missus, cap’n?” while all of you are halfway through dinner, plates half full and drinks half empty. none of them miss the giggle you let out or the way one of your eyebrows raises as your hand reaches to pinch at john’s cheek.

“y’ never told ‘em how we met? do they even know how i was your captain first? where else did you learn all you know now, baby?”

[ang3licsins]

thinking about olderbf!simon coming back home after a long and tiring mission just to pull you into his lap and say “i missed ya today, darlin’.. ‘m, needa hold ya. cap’n told me ya texted, askin’ when i’d be home..” because under that cold and rough exterior, is a man, that is human with FEELINGS. :(🖤

[bunnys-kisses]

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ i like my men older - simon riley♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

you knew that your friends from school raised an eyebrow when you told them that you were dating a man almost double your age. you were in your twenties, while this 'simon' guy was close to fifty. you told them that he was an army man who had a gooey center for you.

your friends could see the upgrade in your laptop and the new knapsack with a logo that proclaimed it was expensive. the small chain around your neck with a 's' on it that you toyed with when they asked questions about him.

you looked happy, healthier even! you weren't eating minute meals and surviving off of black coffee. there was a little roundness to your cheeks now and you looked more alive. a glow to you that wasn't that while you trudged through your graduate program. so honestly, how could they complain?

if you had a glow to you, it was because you were often fucked out. most women your age through that dating an older man would mean having to go slow. be patient about technical difficulties regarding their cocks. that was what you expected from a man that old. especially one with aches and pains like simon. your poor si, he had been in the military his entire life. barely had the touch of a woman during that time! poor guy! of course you'll teach him all the ways a woman should please a man. the first time you ran your tongue on the underside of his cock he cam all over your head, and while you whined. it made you crazy hot. fucking simon was like fucking a live wire. he hadn't slowed down with age. he fucked like a stallion in breeding season. and he loved when he pulled his heavy cock into you. you once told him that he could be a cervix breaker. and he simply said, "well, if i break it... i can't breed it." which made you go slack jaw for a moment before he continued to rut up against you. you didn't expect a man of his age to have a breeding kink.

you practically begged your doctor to give you birth control, because he was not buying condoms. "don't fit in 'em, lovie." he said as he patted his clothed cock when you started dating. you knew that was impossible, condoms could fit a lot of things and while simon was fairly big. he could fit in a condom. but, no. when you tried to put them on yourself, he simply took it off, tossed it to the side and pinned you under his heavy weight. legs in the air as he rutted against you like a hungry animal.

he was so much bigger than you. wide shoulders, strong thighs and a bit of a gut to keep you folded under him. there was a masculine heft to him. he was strong, picking you up was easy to him even when you tried to tell him your weight. one time he gripped you by the waist with one arm and moved you out of the way. you kicked and squeaked as you were moved. but to simon it was easy as lifting heavy equipment. but that softness to some of his muscles really got you hot all over. it didn't help that part of your role as his girlfriend was to make sure that your man was fed. you cooked him meals and he over devoured in your sweet dessert. he loved you in an apron. all domestic and sweet for him. you were real wifey material. could easily be cooking meals for him and the kids in a few years. you can have a graduate degree and a few riley babies. "look good cookin' for me, darlin'. know how to make a proper meal for your man." you wouldn't admit but his words excited you.

simon can be a little... chauvinistic. it was just his age. while he respected female colleagues in the military and was beyond happy that you were getting your degree. he'd do things for you that you could clearly do on your own. like when you tried to fix the leaky tap in your flat. or when you try to carry all the groceries inside. yes, darling, you're a strong woman. but let him take over. take care of you. that was what a man did right? he'll cut the onions for you and try to fix your buggy wi-fi connection. he's pay for dinner every time and even get you dessert after. he'd wipe your face clear of the sweet treat you'd have. "don't ask her anything too difficult, johnny. she doesn't need to be thinkin' too hard." he once said with his hands over your ears and glared at his teammate. which only made the scotsman laugh. simon didn't mind if he had to take over. he'd never pull the rug out from under you, even when you were under him. you looked prettier under him, letting him take charge of your fucking. he took care of his girl, even when you whined and told him you were capable. there was no need to whine. simon needed to take care of his much smaller, much weaker baby girl. no need to break a nail trying to do stuff that simon could easily do for you.

even with the grey in his blond hair, he still kept up to you. there were times that you were too exhausted from day-to-day that you let simon rut between your thighs until he covered your round ass with his hot cum. you'd whimper which would turn into a yelp when he easily slipped his heavy cock into your sweet pussy. where it belonged. he fucked you heavily as his cum coated your behind, even trailing down your sloped back as you had your head in the covers.

"don't spill a drop off that pretty ass, baby girl. or else i'd might have to mark you again." thank god you liked your men older. <3

[mistyorchid]

Meet-Cute

Old Man Logan x fem! reader

summary: Failed talking stages inspire you to meet someone irl. Riding an older man in the backseat of his limo makes you forget about the immature boys who ghosted you on Hinge. Ch. 2 Ch. 3 warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, smut, age gap, reader is 21+, fingering, riding, size difference, praise kink, pet names (doll, baby, sweet/good girl, sweetheart), unprotected p in v, light slapping, oral (male! receiving), creampie, car sex (nobody's around tho), logan's slutty glasses. wc: 3k

Hinge. The app designed to be deleted. You smiled as you pushed the cart, daydreaming about chucking your phone into the nearest lake. The few matches that you received often ghosted you after a week, afraid of committing to a real date.

So here you were, aimlessly strolling through a grocery store. Desperately begging the universe for a real man.

You spent an embarrassingly long time curating the perfect outfit to attract a guy worth your time. Casual enough for a quick errand, but still chic. I want to be with someone who admires my confidence. They shouldn't reprimand me for expressing myself.

That's how the feminist part of your brain explained your attire. The other touch-starved half, however, wanted to wear the shortest skirt you owned just to feel men stare holes through it.

You turned into the bakery aisle and pretended to evaluate the nutritional contents of a massive chocolate cake. Maybe this could be plan B, if tonight's endeavor was hopeless.

The comforting hum of fluorescent lights softened the sterile environment around you. Memories of simpler times floated in your mind. Handmade school lunches. Gentle kisses placed on your knee after a bad fall. You closed your eyes, lulled by the promises of love you were granted as a child. Now an adult, you yearned for a partner that could nurture you in a romantic way.

Logan overheard a bag of produce spill onto the floor as he picked up a shopping basket. The cashier dropped it when he saw Logan's blood-stained dress shirt.

Mumbling a string of profanity, he decided to release some steam. "Show's over!" he snapped, flippantly tossing his right arm behind him.

Ignoring the shocked gasps of the other shoppers, Logan sulked further into the store in search of something to soothe his palate.

His doctor tentatively ordered him to "lay off the booze," a suggestion that left three deep puncture wounds in the drywall of his office. Alcohol numbed the emotional and physical pain that plagued him, but it also further delayed his healing powers.

Logan's skeleton was withering away, and all he wanted was a fucking sweet treat.

Your body braced for impact as your chest made contact with a shopper haphazardly turning into the aisle. After dropping the cake onto the pristine white tile, you closed your eyes again, salvaging the moment of peace that was stolen from you.

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole." You reluctantly opened your eyes and were met with the solid torso of a man.

Slowly raking your gaze up his body, you raised your eyebrows at the sight of his bloody shirt before meeting his narrowed eyes.

Crows feet radiating from the corners. Prescription glasses. He appeared much older than you expected from your brief contact with his chest.

You silently cursed your luck. This meet-cute plan was steadily evolving into a meet-angry situation.

"Not smart to close your eyes in public," he huffed, staring pointedly at the fallen cake. It was hard not to notice your mini skirt. He hasn't seen a skirt that short since the 60s.

Although you had pulled away from him, the man's eyes lingered on your chest. The playful baby-doll top hugged your cleavage in all the right places. Your glossy lips donned a similar shade of pink. He quickly resumed eye contact, feeling like a dirty old man for imagining them wrapped around his cock.

She's too young, you sick fuck. Logan's internal monologue worked overtime to maintain a shred of decency.

Your face turned away from him at the impending embarrassment you were about to put yourself through. Smirking, you shyly retorted, "Not smart to stare at a girl's tits in public." You gently pushed up his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose.

Closing the gap between your chests, you tip-toed to reach his ear before whispering, "It's okay . . . I want you to."

The answer to Logan's suffering was sweeter than any slice of cake he could have indulged in. A pretty little thing was actually flirting with him, a cynical ex-soldier worn by the unforgiving rings of time.

Logan's hands found the back of your elbows and slowly pulled you closer to him. You gasped as you felt his belt buckle catch on the flimsy fabric of your top.

"Careful, doll," he grunted, leaning down to meet the side of your face. "I'm old enough to be your father."

You defiantly peered up at him through your lashes. "Yeah, and . . .?"

The man slowly distanced himself from you, gently tugging the hem of your top down to its original state.

Okay, definitely not the best response to seduce an older man. You chewed the inside of your cheek, stunned by your juvenile comeback.

"I'm sorry, kid. Forget I said anything," he muttered before turning into another aisle. He mentally kicked himself for letting the interaction go that far. Although his aching body and mind yearned for some relief, he wouldn't take advantage of some young girl.

He hurriedly stomped past the cashiers, swiping a few cigars from a distracted employee's station.

After the initial shock wore off, you quickly followed the older man to the parking lot. Totally not stalker-ish at all, right?

You wanted to take care of him. His reluctance to return your lust-sick gaze should have deterred you, but it only made you more desperate.

You watched as his hands dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. The chipper click of the limo doors unlocking motivated you to get his attention.

"Hey! Can we talk?" You yelled, raising an outstretched palm to stop him from getting inside the car.

Logan froze at the sound of your voice. He contemplated being responsible, slamming his door and driving off without a second glance.

The gentle pressure of your hand wrapping around his wrist made him think extremely irresponsible thoughts.

Turning around to meet your gaze, the older man swiftly opened the passenger door. "Get in. Now," he growled.

Words betrayed you. All you responded with was a surprised squeak as he used your grip on his wrist to push you further into the vehicle.

His eyes widened as you briefly parted your thighs to get settled in the lush leather seat. The sinfully short hem of your skirt bunched up, revealing your underwear.

Logan whipped his head to the front of the limo, avoiding the sight of your body. Unfortunately, he couldn't avoid how you felt against his. You sat at an angle towards him, knees pressing against his thigh. His body tensed as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Why were you following me, huh?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes. "I've had a long fuckin' day and I need answers." He couldn't believe that a young woman like you would be interested in him.

"Yeah, you're old enough to be my father, maybe older-" you paused to move your left hand onto his thigh. "-but I'm done playing with boys." You shyly turned your head before continuing, "Need a real man."

Logan was done holding back. Now, it all made sense. Your lack of direction in the store, the low cut of your outfit that was way too sexy for a late night grocery run. We're both adults, he reasoned. She wants this.

He gingerly cradled your jaw with his large hand, turning your head towards his. "You sure about this, sweetheart?

You covered his hand with your own, bringing your lips to his in a spontaneous kiss. "I-I need to hear you," he stuttered.

"Shut up and fuck me, . . . " you sighed, pausing to ask for his name.

"Logan . . . call me Logan, doll." His left hand snaked around your waist, bunching the delicate material and exposing your breasts.

As you leaned into his palm, he fished the limo keys out of his pocket and clicked twice, locking the doors. He fondled the underside of your tits before rolling the sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You were grateful for the tinted windows that shielded your embarrassing moans from the public.

"Already whining for me, hm? So fuckin' needy," he hummed, pushing up your top even further. You crossed your arms to undress, but Logan swatted them away, explaining, "It's cute. Wanna see your tits bounce for me, baby."

He gripped your ass with both hands and effortlessly swung you onto the broad expanse of his lap.

Your back arched as his rough palm cupped your pussy, thumb languidly tracing your sensitive bud through the cotton.

"But this . . . has to go," he drawled, tugging the elastic of your panties before letting it go with a faint snap.

It was too much. You were splayed over the lap of a stranger, hips wantonly rocking yourself over his prominent bulge and mewling as your sensitive clit caught on the rough fabric of his slacks.

He stilled your movements with his hands, lovingly kneading the flesh of your hips. "You okay with this?" he asked, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt. "Yeah, Logan . . . more than okay. Need you."

You loved that he was confident enough to take what he wanted but also gracious enough to check in, unlike the boys you were used to fucking around with.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your skirt and panties, skillfully pushing your legs against your chest as he pulled them off. He decided against slicing them off with his claws, not wanting to hurt you. "Fuck. You're so pretty. My sweet, sweet girl . . ." he cooed. You whined as your aching cunt was finally exposed to Logan's hungry gaze and the chill night air. He groaned as you resumed desecrating his lap with your juices.

Your breath hitched as Logan traced two fingers along your bottom lip. You granted him access, playfully darting your tongue around his digits.

After his fingers were thoroughly soaked, he used your saliva to gently trace your hole, noticing the faint flutter of your walls.

"Need me to fill you up, hm? Poor baby's clenching around nothing. Let me fix that . . ." Logan's palm brushed against your clit as his fingers plunged into you, setting a steady pace.

You were incredibly wet, but he needed to prep you for his thick cock. He drooled, collecting a heavy wad of spit onto his tongue before letting it fall onto your pussy.

"Ah-ah!" You exclaimed, surprised by the contact. You bit your lip, cheeks flushing at the lewd feeling of his spit mixing with your wetness.

He used his other hand to slap repeatedly against your puffy folds, mesmerized by how vulnerable you were being for him.

"Yeah, you like that?" He whispered, curling his fingers as they met your cervix. You covered your mouth, desperately trying to maintain some modesty. Logan withdrew his left hand to pry away your arm and swallow your moans, sloppily slotting his lips into yours.

You gasped into his mouth as you felt your cunt spasm around his fingers, gushing all over his tight slacks.

"Oh, fuck! Logan . . . " you mewled, biting his lower lip while he continued to finger you through your orgasm.

Your head fell into the inviting crook of his neck, nuzzling his graying beard. "Atta girl, come for me," he cooed.

Logan peered down at you, noticing wet droplets dampening his beard. You were silently crying, tears cascading down your puffy cheeks before landing on his face.

At first, he was alarmed. "Hey, hey, shhhh," he purred. "What's the matter, doll?"

His cock twitched when he realized you were smiling against his neck.

"Nothing's wrong, Logan . . . you make me feel so good, that's all."

He planted a sweet kiss on your forehead. "Yeah? Want me to make you feel even better? Fill you up for real this time?"

You nodded dumbly, still basking in the haze of your release.

"Nuh-uh. Words." The simple command made you rut into his lap.

You shuddered while responding. "Wanna feel you inside me. Need your-" Logan bucked up into you. "-cock."

He slid his hands under your thighs, briefly pushing you forward so he could unbuckle his belt. Your small hands slinked toward his waist. "Let me do it," you pleaded, hastily sliding his belt through its loops and tossing it to the floor.

You pulled his cock out of his slacks, leaning down to press sweet little kisses to the head. Your thighs burned with the effort, but it was worth it to feel him momentarily lose control. Logan hissed sharply, "Good girl, fuck-" before guiding his thick cock into your heavenly mouth.

You licked a prominent vein that teased its way above his waistband. The taste of him was utterly intoxicating. You moaned onto his length, choking back tears as he suddenly thrust up into your eager throat.

The delicious weight of his cock on your tongue was short-lived. He cupped your face, forcing your mouth to slide past the tip with an obscene pop.

"Won't last long if you keep doing that, doll. Takes a lot less to get me riled up these days," he explained.

You nodded as you straightened yourself, using your knees to hover above his lap. He teasingly ran the flushed tip of his cock through your folds before sinking into your weeping pussy.

"Oh my god! fuck-" you cried, lowering your hips to embrace his full length. Your hands found stability on Logan's shoulders as you bounced on his cock.

Logan stared in awe at your tits. They were practically spilling out the sides of your cute top, jiggling with each movement of your hips.

As he admired your form, you drunk in the sight of his coarse salt and pepper beard. His wiry glasses barely held onto the slope of his strong nose due to your eager movements. You paid special attention to his crimson-stained shirt, wondering how he was enduring the wounds.

"You're hurt." You stated, pausing to slowly unbutton his dress shirt.

Logan's hands grabbed a handful of your ass and slammed you down onto his lap, forcing you to continue taking his cock.

"Never said you could stop," he huffed. "It'll take time, but I'm healing."

You gasped as your clit hitched on the bunched fabric of his slacks, frantically shrugging off his shirt in the process. A devastating moan ripped from Logan's throat as you peppered kisses on his wounds. The coppery taste of his blood was oddly soothing, reminding you that the man buried in your cunt was real and not just a figment of your lust-fueled imagination.

Logan loved how dazed you looked, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, your pupils dilated and glossy. His cock twitched every time your soft tits brushed against his face. You whined as the steady rhythm of your hips faltered, hinting at your imminent release.

"Lean forward, baby. Let your old man take care of you," he sighed, wrapping his broad arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to slump forward, arching your back and playfully wiggling your ass in the air.

You yelped as he slapped your ass with enough force to feel the sting radiate from his outstretched palm. "Such a fuckin' tease," he growled, filling you up in one thrust. He set a punishing pace that made you sob into his chest. The loud squelches of your release echoed throughout the limo, mirroring your high-pitched wines.

"Oh, my god! . . ." you mewled, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. Your breath hitched every time his hips met yours, balls slapping against the sensitive skin of your ass.

He fucked up into your cunt, relishing the fact that you'd probably never had a cock as big as his. Logan stared at where you were connected, hypnotized by the subtle drag of your folds along his rugged length.

"Don't know what I did to deserve a pretty girl like you." His teeth tugged on the delicate strap of your top, exposing your breasts. His mouth enveloped the bud, gently sucking and pulling as they hardened.

"Logan . . . can't take it anymore. I'm close." You clenched around him, earning another hard slap on your ass.

"You gonna come for me sweetheart, hm?" He somehow increased his pace, hips drilling into your sensitive cunt. "C'mon, come all over my cock. Such a sweet young thing, so eager to please . . . " he hummed into your ear.

"And just so we're clear, I am definitely older than your father." His filthy words made you arch even higher, stilling your hips mid-air and allowing Logan to fuck you through your release.

The sound of you faintly chanting his name as you came sent him over the edge. "You can take it," he encouraged as your pathetic whines intermingled with his unabashed groans. His hips drove home, bouncing you harshly against his tense thighs and spilling into you with a low growl.

You almost blacked out at the feeling of his cum spurting into your walls, reaching even further when Logan buried his cock to the hilt. You clenched around him, overstimulated and thoroughly fucked.

"That's it, just relax . . . You look so pretty milking my cock," he praised, brushing stray hair away from your face.

You managed to sit upright and shakily moved to lift yourself off his cock, but Logan quickly steadied your hips. He's still hard, you realized, fascinated by his renewed vigor.

He panted, obviously just as spent as you were.

"So, uh, tomorrow, the Italian place on fifth street, 8 PM?"

You narrowed your eyes, incredibly confused at his choice of words after experiencing the best sex you've ever had.

"Our first date," he clarified. He kissed your cheek and you blushed at the contrast between the innocent action and the fact that his hard cock was still buried in your cunt. "After all, I'm a real man, right? And real men plan dates." He plastered on a cocky grin, repeating your earlier statements.

"Okay, old man. It's a date." You smiled, kissing his mouth with passion.

an: Ah!!! I had so much fun writing this. Old Man Logan, when will it be my turn >:[

[heavenbarnes]

there was something to be said about the fact older bf!simon made such a good house husband.

“i forgot my lunch :( ”

“forgot to make it or bring it?”

“both?”

“on my way”

because the next thing was your coworkers slowly raising their heads to the sound outside your office, a throaty rumbling of an engine right outside the doors.

not a car, motorcycle maybe? question affirmed when it revved twice.

they shot you confused looks when the sound made your ears prick up, a sweet smile on your face as you trotted out the front of the building.

behemoth of a man sat astride a motorcycle. his leathers added bulk but there was something about him that said he was big enough without them.

he watched you walk over as he raised the visor on his helmet, the black one with a ghostly image of a skull painted across it.

your coworkers pressed to the windows, trying their best to hide behind the curtains and potted plants but failing all the same.

the man pointed to his face as you got on tip toes to press a kiss to his nose through the balaclava he had under the helmet.

“don’t make it a late one, alright?”

“yessir”

as you gave him a haphazard salute, he reached behind to give you a pat on the backside before he stood to retrieve the brown paper bag he’d been carrying.

lunch in hand, you lean in to press a kiss to the visor he’d just lowered- right on top of the lipstick print that sat in the corner of it.

the print that looked a lot like your lips.

the helmet never leaves the back of you as you walk towards the office, your coworkers scrambling to not get caught staring.

you didn’t mind, just smiled as you reached into your lunch bag and retrieved a sandwich. the one that was cut perfectly into the shape of a heart.

[4ever-feral]

Never wanted to be anyone’s controversially younger girlfriend more then I want to be his

[celestiamour]

the salt and pepper beard, the v line, the hairy chest, the veins in his arms, the abs, the clenched fist, the old man pose, THE VEIN ON HIS LOWER STOMACH!!! HANG THIS PHOTO IN A MUSEUM

see that tub in the background? we’re washing each other’s hair and fucking in there 😚

ALSO CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS VOICE UGHHH

[shotmrmiller]

military issued wife but you didn't know that using the "dating app" your friend brought up once in idle talk would end with you in an office with a (signed) marriage license on the desk, actively not looking at your 'husband', the burly lummox with a skull mask who's dwarfing the chair he can barely fit in.

you'd thought it'd be like tinder. a potential dating site. as in messaging on the app, getting to know each other, exchanging personal numbers before going on a date. not marriage. not opening your front door expecting it to be your door dasher and instead it's him with a rucksack in one hand and duffel in the other.

he'd looked down his thick nose at you, grunted a quiet, "not bad", and pushed past as if you were a swinging door to a saloon. what the fuck had he been doing there? you'd only spoken a couple of times with him and left on read for the some of it. you'd chosen to move on, try to match with someone else but the app had stopped working (you couldn't swipe right or left anymore) so you'd just put it on the back burner. you had better things to worry about than another disappointment of a man then.

except now said disappointment of a overly large man is taking up most of the couch and his legs aren't even all that far apart. and he's at your house. the house you'd never sent him the address to. as a matter of fact, you'd received a text from an unknown number earlier that had said someone would be home in a few. you'd ignored it thinking it was a wrong number situation but now you're sure it was him. how he got your phone number is also a mystery.

you'd tried to argue. to threaten him with the cops. to get him out and away, far fucking away, but he'd only scooped you up and let you pelt his broad back with your fists. chuckled low in his throat while he smacked your arse to keep still. "i'd hate to drop m'wife."

whatever fight you had he ate right out of you with the heels of your feet digging into the large curve of his shoulders and his hands curled around the back of your thighs. maybe it's because it'd been a while but he'd played your body like an instrument and had you bucking your hips against his tongue, slick coating his face in minutes. (your cheeks burn furiously hot when you think back on what he'd said then. "tight little thing 'nd you've only taken my two fingers." it's flattering, sue you.)

he'd lapped at your sodden cunt until you had overstimulation clumping your lashes together, inner thighs tender from the bristles of his shorn hair and unshaven jaw, your palm on the crown of his head having both pulled him to you and pushed him away.

and then he'd wiped your release with the back of his hand, thumbed the swollen flesh of your bottom lip and rumbled that it's time for bed.

which eventually led to you being here. in front of a man he calls Price, a marriage certificate unlike any you've ever glanced upon, a large gloved hand curled snugly around your leg, fingers grazing a little too close to where he'd left aching and swollen just yesterday.

you're reading the terms and conditions of anything from here on forward. even the fine print.

and then soap comes around and plants a seed in his head of him planting a seed in you :/ at least you can tell your nosy ass aunt that at least you've got a man while she's on her 4th divorce on thanksgiving 💅🏼

[rafey-baby]

This is literally mean older!rafe who refers to himself as daddy and makes sensitive!reader sit on his lap because she’s a restless crybaby who needs his attention 24/7 or else her pouting and whining is going to piss him off even if he can't help but get hard whenever she cries.

“Just stay still and pretty right there, yeah?” He murmurs into her ear when she rests her head on his shoulder and wraps her smaller arms around his firm abdomen as he goes over some business contracts.

He’d harshly smack her ass whenever she’d so much as wriggle her hips on top of him, which makes her jump and let out a faint whimper every single time.

“What did I just tell you? Don’t wanna make Daddy upset with you, do you?” He scolds her when she tries to adjust her position once more because she's aching at this point.

“No! No! Sorry, I just…”

“You just what?” His question comes off as mocking.

“You’re being mean,” she frowns.

“I’m being mean? Even if I’m letting you sit in my lap and voluntarily listening to your annoying whining? You don’t see me complainig, do you? Why don’t you go to the bedroom and sit there alone then, hm?" His words are coarse; her eyes turning watery at the notion of him being mad at her.

“No, that’s not what I meant…don’t wanna be alone,” her voice is muffled against his neck as she sniffles.

"Why are you crying?" His tone is patronizing, yet the calloused fingertips smoothing through her hair tender.

"Cause I made you upset," her forlorn mumbling makes him soften some as he lets out a deep sigh at the thought of her teary eyes dampening his shirt.

"You wanna make me feel better?" He questions with an almost gentle rasp.

"Mhm," she eagerly nods against the side of his head and tightens her hold around him.

“Why don’t you shut that dumb mouth then and stop moving around so much and let Daddy focus, yeah?”

Finally, she listens; not daring to shift an inch anymore. Even if she can feel the obvious bulge in his pants pressing against her puffy clit and making her soak through her panties as her cunt throbs at the prospect of him rewarding her later for being good…

read another part to this here!

[rebelfell]

made for lovin’ you

older!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

A bad Tinder date gets a whole lot better…

18+ MDNI┃9k

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

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

eddie edit by @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

Holy shit, was this guy boring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In a word, he was beautiful. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And boy was it lacking tonight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus Christ on a cracker…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No such luck, you found.

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

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

There was no awkwardness, though. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uptown?” he replied.

“Ahh, I’m the other way.”

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

It was him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the reasonable option.

The logical, safe choice.

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

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

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

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

One more drink couldn’t hurt…right?

“Back so soon?”

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

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

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

“It’s taken care of, honey,” he said.

“Oh, really?” you chuckled. “By who?”

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

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

“The dirtbag at the end of the bar.”

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

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

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

“Good to know.” 

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

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

“That’s a great Malbec,” he said.

God, his voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Eddie.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No argument there.”

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

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

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

wait WHAT? Losera Annoyingus is getting a bang pass?

no he left…

…about an hour ago.

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

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

“Explain,” she demanded. “Now.”

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

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

“Is he hot?”

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

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

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

“Alright then, you better go ride him.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you exhaled. “Let’s do this.”

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” he sighed. “You caught me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A while, huh?” Step.

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scratching the itch that’s plagued you all night.

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

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

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

“Can we go back to—”

“You wanna come back to—”

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

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

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

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

Eddie wasn’t kidding about living close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you want another drink?”

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

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

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

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

“Hopefully the kind that knows how to fuck.”

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

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

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

“Sorry, what? All I heard was come.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Letting him take whatever he wanted from you.

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

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

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

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

Begging for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie had to fight the urge to lick your clavicle. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ready to move?” he asked.

You gave a weak nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When you woke, it was still dark out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Something wrong?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want you to,” he said.

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