#she's pretty much tied with him right?

[zabiume]

it's 2025 and orihime is still my favorite bleach character ever because of just. everything she is, all of it. from the very first peek we get into her life, we learn that she's so fundamentally unlikeable that even her parents despise her (a literal baby), and this pattern repeats yet again into middle school, where she falls victim to bullying. her own brother turns into a monster and resents her for trying to bounce back from grief. everything she does is wrong. even from a meta standpoint, orihime has never been widely liked, and even when she has, it's sometimes followed by a disclaimer or an 'i like her, BUT-" which is soooo congruent to how she is in canon as well? in a way, perhaps, no other bleach character is? what she is and goes through in-universe is exactly what she is and goes through out in the real world as well. of course, in canon as well as outside of it, there has always been a small group of people who fiercely love her too (in-universe, it's her friends, and outside it's...well. it's us, those of us who love her). but the point is. i've never seen a character who is so meta in her existence, who is always going through things on a double-layer - how other characters respond to her in the story vs how fans respond to her in their discourse. there's no separation from Orihime The Character (as she exists in text) and Orihime The Topic (the discussions we have about her as a character). there is a certain type of bleach fan who is a loly and menoly equivalent in the real world, there is a certain type of bleach fan who is a shishigawara/kon equivalent in the real world, there is a certain type of bleach fan who is an ulquiorra, challenging her worldviews, pushing her into corners to prove herself, and of course, there is a tatsuki or an ichigo, fighting for our lives defending her and it's just. so interesting. it makes orihime more real, more grounded to me than any other bleach character. how characters respond to her in the story is often EXACTLY how people respond to her in real life. plenty of times, we've gotten to see characters' inner thoughts and their POVs, but we haven't gotten much insight into the ways other characters see them, how they're perceived by several other characters, but orihime is. she is so discussed (BOTH by the other bleach characters, AND the fans), and the diversity of these discussions is so present too. her powers, her love life, her flaws, her personality,,,,,all of it is a major part of the storyline, as WELL as the discourse. it's inescapable. SHE is inescapable.

[dietmimo]

The Ex.

Contrary to popular belief, they still get along well.

[bunnyyyuu]

includes: f! reader, aged up! characters, dom! maki / sub! yuuta, cunnilingus, bondage, overstim

maki using you to teach yuuta how to eat pussy !!（〃∀〃；）

well, teach might not be the right word. it's kind of like when parents throw their kids into the pool and force them to learn how to swim.

her hand has a vice grip on the roots of his jet locks, shoving his pretty face between your legs — legs that are tied by the ankles to either side of the bedframe. yuuta clearly has barely any clue what he's doing, but, to his credit, he can barely breathe.

his tongue is lapping at your sopping cunny so so so desperately, no direction or technique in sight. it's not even close to enough to make you cum, it's barely even stimulation at all. ugh!!

maki can tell you're dissatisfied — it's written all over your face and clear in your lack of moans — and it brings a scowl onto her face. "yuuta," she hisses, dragging his face against your sex, "try harder."

yuuta tries to mumble some sort of apology from his useless mouth, though it comes out as just a weak whine.

"listen to me," she scolds. and, again, it's just a whine in response.

though, he seems to actually listen. you can almost hear the cogs of his brain turning as his tongue tentatively flattens on the underside of your throbbing clit. the moan the bubbles from your parted lips is enough confirmation that he's finally doing something close to right. so, he does it again. and again. and again. until your choked moans and the lewd, wet sounds of his tongue lapping at your weeping bud fill the room.

"that's better," maki grumbles, and you can feel yuuta's lips curve into a smile at her half-hearted praise.

it's not long before your strangled, pitchy moans grow louder and yuuta's slurping the cum you're despoting onto his eager tongue. maki smiles a little as your squirm and whine through your orgasm — though your writhing is heavily reduced by your restraints. she uses her free hand to gently rub up and down your trembling thigh in a stark contrast to how hard she's gripping yuuta's hair, forcing his mouth onto your twitchy, overstimulated cunt again.

"too much, maki! tell 'im i need a — ah! — break," you gasp out when yuuta's tongue doesn't let up, flicking your throbbing clit like it's all he's ever wanted.

she almost laughs in your face at that. too much? no. he won't be done until he's mastered the art of making a pretty girl cum. "not yet," she says with a small head shake , "put your tongue in 'er, yuu," she instructs the boy.

and, he is so obident to her every command — she has him on the shortest leash, you think — sinking his hot tongue into your hole. he moans against your pussy when it excitedly clenches around the pretty pink muscle. he fucks his tongue in and out of your spasmodic entrance, a small smile on his lips as another climax seems to crash over you.

and, true to maki's word, yuuta spends hours learning between your legs until he is an expert! though, unfortunately for you, you end up a shaking, sniffling mess after far too many orgasms (o^▽^o)

[bi-writes]

I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon

mail-order bride

reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+

simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.

when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.

but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.

a pretty girl.

he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.

but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.

simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).

when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.

and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).

it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.

"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.

one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--

"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."

bloody fuckin' christ.

your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.

"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"

instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.

you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.

he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.

he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.

you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.

"we shouldn't," he mutters.

"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--

you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.

"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"

"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.

he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.

holy fucking shit--

"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"

"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.

"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"

"shit--"

you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.

he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.

your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.

"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.

"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."

"w-wha--! simon!"

you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.

but when you laugh, he does, too.

[rafeysbunny]

heyyyyyyyy! I have a thought. Do you think that reader could get rafe to beg? Like maybe he did smth that pissed reader off so she’s been ignoring him but rage just can’t take it anymore? I love your writing so honestly just go crazy

-👻 anon

a/n. first ask, i'm so excited! in answer to your question: yes! absolutely, yes! this man is soo pussy whipped, he'd do anything for reader. ty for the request, babe!

two hours of you giving rafe the cold shoulder it's all it takes for him to break. he knows he fucked up greatly, but you're just being so mean that he cannot help the way his lips curl into a pout as he kneels in front of you, pleading for your forgiveness.

only you could get rafe motherfucking cameron to beg like this.

"baby, 'm so, so sorry," he apologizes, big hands gripping onto your plush thighs tightly so you can't get away from him this time, not again. "forgive me, yeah? i know i screwed up, and i'm sorry."

his lips start peppering kisses over the sliver of bare skin under the hem of your top as he keeps muttering words of repentance, the actions making your heart melt. "it won't happen again, i promise to you, angel."

"i'm really pissed at you right now, rafe," you address him for the first time in hours, voice tone sharp.

he doesn't care how cold you sound, though, the fact that you're finally talking to him instead of ignoring his presence nearly makes him cry happy tears. how embarrassing is that? he can't believe you got him this hooked. he should be the one in charge, not you, but, let's be honest, he's too in love with you to even care anymore.

"i know, baby, i'm sorry," he repeats for the hundredth time, puppy, blue eyes staring up at you entreatingly. "what can i do for you to forgive me? i'll do anything, just please, stop being mad."

"anything?"

a mischievous smirk spreads across your pretty face, your mind already conjuring up all the filthy ways he could make it up to you.

"anything, angel."

that's how he ends up tied up to the bed, hands desperately tugging at the fluffy, pink handcuffs in a failed attempt to break free of them while you ride his pretty face. he's fucking drowning in your pussy, dick achingly hard inside his pants.

what a shame you won't make him cum this time, as a little punishment.

your hips rock against his face unabashedly, feeling the way his eager tongue parts your chubby folds to drink up your sweet essence, occasionally slipping inside your pussy to fuck you with it. his nose is rubbing your puffy clit every time you grind down, which has you mewling and shuddering atop him.

"i love you so much, baby," he'd mumble against your cunt, totally mesmerised by the hypnotic sway of your hips and your taste.

your flesh muffle his words and grunts, but you understand what he says and look down at him with adoring eyes, just to find him staring up at you in the same way, pink lips glistening with a combination of your arousal and his spit.

the sight is enough to send you spiralling into a mind blowing orgasm that makes you let out the most lewd moan you've ever made, body shaking as your legs close around his head, almost suffocating him.

"fuck, i love you too," you breath out, the aftershocks of your climax making your brain dizzy. "i forgive you, rafey."

honestly, he doesn't quite understand how this could be a punishment for him, but he's not one to complain.

more.

[mostly-imagines]

There’s A String Tied to My Lower Left Rib, Third From The Bottom

dick grayson x afab!reader

aka the professional boyfriend

warnings: she/her pronouns used, reader wears dresses, sexual content at the end (18+)

Dick Grayson is a vigilante. He’s a master martial artist and gymnast. He’s something of a playboy and a heavy flirt. But the claim he really takes pride in is that he’s basically a professional boyfriend. That he’s your professional boyfriend.

And pride really is the right word. He’s so proud that he gets to have this pretty girl on his arm and buy her pretty things even when you insist you have enough. He loves getting to help you take your makeup off when you’re too tired and make you laugh like it’s his job. He’s absolutely gratified that he gets to be your prodigal, sweet boyfriend that, despite your protests, insisted on carrying all five of your shopping bags for you.

You step over an uneven stretch in the sidewalk and lean slightly against Dick’s shoulder. “I’m worried the navy one is too…much.” You say, thinking back to how the blue cocktail dress fit on you, how it stopped barely below your ass.

He furrows his eyebrows with a pout, “Too much?”

You look over at him, matching his expression. “It’s really short. I mean it’s cute and I like it, but…I don’t know, this is kind of a fancy event isn’t it?” 

He puckers his lips, shaking his head. “Short’s good. I like short.” Yeah, you’d noticed with the way his eyes had been glued to the hem of your dress, willing it to slip up just a little more.

You laugh, “And I’m sure you and all the old businessmen will appreciate it greatly.”

His face drops at that, not thrilled at the prospect of those, usually very sleazy, old men getting to see so much of you. “The black one’s good too.”

You peer over into one of the bags, “Or there’s the red one with the—”

Dick shakes his head quickly, “Not red.”

You snicker at that, knowing full well what his problem is with it. “Then why did I get it?”

“Just for me.” He pauses, “Or for something my brother won’t be at.” He mumbles, scanning both sides of the street. He shuffles the bags in his right hand onto his forearm so he can take your hand in his as you step into the road. “No, the black one looked great on you. And we won’t have to go searching for a matching tie.” 

Once you reach the other side he lets go of your hand and he circles behind you, nudging you over to the inside of the sidewalk.

You glance down at the row of bags littering his arms and the red indents beginning to mark his skin. “Will you please let me hold some?” You frown.

“Will you please hold my hand?” He echoes, matching your serious tone with faux urgency of his own. You deadpan him but take his hand anyway. You don’t notice it, but he’s got a dedicated gaze focused on your fingers intertwined in his.

You continue on down the street, hand in hand, the warm sun shining on your necks. You pick up the pace a bit as you approach your apartment building, aiming to get the door for your boyfriend. You reach for the handle only for Dick to call out, “Don’t touch that!” followed by him clamoring like you’re about to touch a hot coal, rushing over to beat you to the punch.

“Oh my god..” you mumble to yourself, biting back a smile. The bags haphazardly fall further down his arms, no doubt uncomfortably as he pulls the door open for you, pretending to be far more eloquent than he actually was. He gestures you in and smiles sweetly at you when you give him a flat look. 

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder at him with amusement glittering across your face as you dig for your keys.

“Not a thing.” He grins, watching with adoration as you open the apartment door. Frankly, you’re surprised he didn’t attempt to juggle the bags and unlock the door himself.

He kicks the door shut behind him as you help slide the bags off of his wrists, piling them on the counter. “When do we need to leave?”

“Uh…” he glances at the wall clock, “Not till seven.” He places his hands nicely on your waist, looking down at your lips. “You wanna get something to eat before we go?”

You muse, “This is the one with those mini stakes, isn’t it?” He nods. “No, I wanna get my fill on those. Oh, and the bruschettas! I love these caterers.”

His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, a sly smile playing on his lips. 

You break away from his gaze and turn to the counter, preparing to scoop the shopping bags up when you’re interrupted by his relentless fervor.

“Ah, ah.” He hooks a finger into the loop of your jeans, tugging you back to him. “Give me a kiss.” 

“Dick.”

“Just one.” Yeah, right. You oblige him though, pushing up on your toes to meet his lips. His thumb strokes your cheek as he kisses you deeply. You break the kiss after a moment only for him to chase your lips to follow it up with another. And then another. And another. He hums against your lips, smiling wide. “Thank you, baby.”

You pull back again and smile as you stop his chest with your hand when he follows. “Ah, I’m not new around here. I know where this’ll go if I let you.”

He nods complaisantly, “Then let me.” His eyes are focused on the small space between you, where his touch lingers along your ring finger. You lean up again and place a kiss on his forehead that has him getting hopeful, only to be met with disappointment when you back away from him, bags in hand. He throws his head back with a groan just to really hammer home the severity of his dismay.  

It doesn’t last too long though because the second you’re back in the room he’s trailing after you like a puppy, following you down to the couch. You roll your eyes at him when he opts to sit ridiculously close to you, though there’s a ghost of a smile on your lips that makes your act lose all credibility.   

He nestles his face into the crook of your neck and is clearly very pleased when you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You exhale contentedly, resting your cheek against his head. You lie idle like that for a few minutes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and casting a daydreaming gaze out the window. And apparently, he was daydreaming too. 

“I wanna marry you.” He murmurs into your neck after a while. 

You laugh incredulously, “Have you been drinking when I have my back turned?”

“‘M serious.” He nudges you off him so he can look at you.

You hum, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. “You’re being very…” you scrunch up your mouth to the side, “…Ostentatious today.” 

He barks out a laugh, “Wow. Word-A-Day teach you that one?”

You shove at his forehead back with no real force, biting back a giggle. His eyes flicker back and forth between your mouth and the crinkle in your eyes as he grins. “I’m going to let that one go because you got me some really nice clothes today. As your repayment.” you say, running your finger over his lips. 

He takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it. “Let me marry you?” 

You sigh bashfully, “Dick—”

“Please?” He sticks his bottom lip out and gives you his puppy eyes, causing you to avert your gaze quickly. You’re not convinced he doesn’t have a superpower in that area.

You know he’s not really proposing right now, he’s too much of a romantic to do it like this. He’s just getting the idea in your head, getting you excited about it. It’s working.

“I’d be such a good husband to you.” He kisses your collarbone, “So good.” He murmurs against your skin, lips never departing. You struggle to keep your face neutral, making a point of closing your eyes in an attempt to increase your odds of success. He’s being nice though, you know. To let you play pretend right now when you know he could break your facade in a second if he really wanted to.  

“Mrs. Grayson…” he squeezes your hips, lips traveling further down. “Doesn’t that sound pretty?”

It really does. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about marrying him before. He’s nothing if not husband material and honestly you really really want to hear him call you his wife. Call him your husband.

Your hand moves to his hair, petting it softly as he goes on. “Buy you a nice ring. Pretty white dress ‘n a big party just for you.” He brushes your shirt up and trails open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your chest feels warm and you can feel your pulse thrumming all throughout your body.

He slowly guides your underwear down your thighs, his lips following the hem close behind. “Come home to you every night, kiss these pretty thighs,” He scoops both of your hands up in one of his, pinning them to your stomach. “Kiss this pretty pussy.” He places a chaste kiss on your clit and looks up at you expectantly.

You’re not nearly as hesitant on this as you’re pretending to be, and you both know it. But he’s perfectly fine with begging a little while you pretend you’re not lightheaded at the idea of marrying him. “I’ll think about it…” 

He grins at you before going in on your core without mercy.

He’s trying real hard to land that promotion.

🩵 reblogging = supporting; likes don’t do the job

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Perfect Size

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is described as short, name-calling, swearing, Daemon being a horny menace, soft!dom! Daemon, talk of impregnation, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, smut

Summary: It was Daemon’s life mission to remind you of your size difference, in every aspect of your shared lives.

A/N: This is part of the wonderful @targaryen-dynasty 3K celebration, congrats by the way!!!! I had so much fun with this prompt. Enjoy everyone and enjoy the other wonderful and talented writers' fics. 3K Celebration Masterlist

My masterlist

The gods make humans in their image. They make them grow until they see them as perfect. Or so your Septa used to say whenever you were frustrated about your small stature. And it was no help that the greatest rake of the realm, Lord Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince himself, made it his life’s mission to remind you of how small you were.

As children, you had been a bit taller than him. He had a problem with it. The need to be bigger than a stupid girl was great. His growth spurt came and he nearly towered over you, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. “How is the weather down there?” He would often tease. “Just fine.” You would retort back. “I hope your small brain will get enough air up there. A shame if you lost more of it.” Was your sarcastic comeback.

The older the two of you got, the taller he would get and you would only grow a few inches if you even grew at all. First, he was slightly lanky. His muscles had yet to grow. He would remind you of a newborn horse whenever he would stumble over his two long feet as he trained with his sword. Often giggling to his dismay.

“I will cut your head off, and then you will be smaller!” He would shout in anger when he saw you snickering. Daemon’s temper seemed to grow with every inch he gained. You enjoyed it immensely when it would rise because of you.

As young adults, it was fairly certain that you would grow no more. If you stood behind one of the large dinner chairs you could easily hide behind them. Everything seemed to dwarf you.

Daemon prided himself in the knowledge that he was taller than you. Towering over you like the Hightower in Oldtown. And he never passed down the opportunity to remind you. “Shouldn’t you be with your nurse, little one? I think you got the wrong room. The nursery is that way.” Or other things.

You would glare at him. Often kicked his shin when no one was watching. He would yowl in pain. Jump around and hold his leg. “You little pest.” “Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds.” You teased back.

But there were the times he would call you more affectionate words associated with your small stature.

“Why the sour face, my little love?” He mumbled into your ear as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been hiding from his grandmother and her attempts to put boring and plain noblewoman under his nose.

A huff of annoyance escaped your throat. “Mother forced me to wear this ridiculous gown.” You seethed. Your teeth bared like a wolf snarling.

Daemon found your discomfort rather amusing. You looked like a pretty doll all dressed up. Your hair braided into the style of the land you came from. The gown so unmistakably the colours of your house, shining in the light of the candles.

"Oh, no - you're a lady and you have to wear pretty dresses and jewels and oh no, how horrible!" He teased you lightly. He leaned his head on top of yours. A habit he adopted quite recently. Loving the way you fit under him.

You snorted, very un-ladylike. But he was used to your characteristics. You were not one of those up-tied, boring wenches who tried to turn his head. He would rather gauge his eyes out before he gave them a second of his attention.

His attention was only worthy of one woman. And she was right literally under his nose.

He leaned down, just next to your ear. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive shell. “Do you think it would fit?” You could feel the smirk in his voice. You turned to him with a confused look on your pretty face.  It stayed that way until you felt something. You felt it, him. Hard as a rock, pocking you through the fabric of your wedding gown.

Your face grew hotter than the flames of Caraxes. Your body stiffened as you felt him softly rub against your buttocks. He only laughed lowly. His chest vibrates, sending chills up and down your spine. “You scoundrel!” You lowly scoffed. Your heart beating faster.

Not from his antics. Oh no, you were used to them by now. About the whole banquet finding out about Daemon’s little innuendo. “Oh, little love. I am your scoundrel now. It was ordered by the Queen herself.” He chuckled darkly.

She hit his shoulder lightly. “Stop it!” You tried to reprimand him. But your words fell on deaf ears. “Oh, my little love. How funny you will look with my seed growing inside you.” He began to whisper his lewd words. “You probably won’t be able to walk, so large your belly will grow.”

Your body grew hotter and hotter. It didn’t help that he had you pressed to his chest. His erection pressed against the cheeks of your perfect ass. His hands wander lazily over the front of your dress. Stopping over your belly before wandering further down.

“Oh my little love, will it even fit in your little tight hole? Or will I have to mould your little cunny so only my cock can fit inside?” Your breathing hitched at his dark, lustful words. Daemon’s predatory smile grew at your body's reaction to his scandalous words whispered so softly into your ear.

He often wondered if he was unfair to his wife. She was small, her body had nearly strained from the weight of the beautiful two children she had already given him.

He was right at their wedding feast. Her swollen stomach looked too large for her body. It hadn’t been long before the first signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

From the small bump only three moons after they conceived. He still can remember how his hands could cover it until she was seven moons pregnant. She had been ordered to rest. To not exhaust herself too much.

Daemon, looking at the image of her laying in their bed, their little one nestled in her belly. The sight did things to him. Things where his darkest desires seemed light in comparison. Oh, how he had spent his days behind her, driving himself into her tight cunt instead of sitting in a boring small council meeting. His wife and unborn child needed him, and he needed them.

“Another one?” You looked at him from where you stood. Children’s toys in your arms as you helped your daughters clean the room for the day.

Daemon just shrugged. “Why not? Add another one to our hoard. What about you girls? Do you want another sibling?” He crouched down so he was level with Alyssa and Visenya. Both girls looked away from their task to clean up the solar, screeching with joy as their father spoke to them.

“They are tots, Daemon.” You protested. Picking up more of the girls’ toys. “They will agree to anything if you say it with enough enthusiasm.” Daemon chuckled. “Oh, I think they know what I am saying, elillus (honey).” He smirks softly. His eyes roamed her body without shame.

“It has been so long.” “It has only been a few hours. You had me in the morrow.” You snapped back. Cleaning your daughters’ toys from the floor. Putting it into the chest designated for their toys. “I did not mean our coupling, prūmȳs ñuhus (my heart). I meant another child. The girls are six and four.” He mumbled gently.

She looked up at him sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet where the girls were playing moments ago. His violet eyes were dark as he watched her like the hunter his prey. “I don’t know, valzȳrys (husband). You heard the maester's words after Visenya’s birth.”

Daemon saw the change in demeanour. He nearly had you, only a small push. “It is your choice, ābrāzȳrys (wife). I do not want to force you.” He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you with cleaning the toys up.

You were tossing and turning in bed. Nothing seemed right. Thoughts swirled through your head. So many voices at once.

You wanted to scream. But you would only wake up your family.

“Tell me what is keeping you from sleep, ābrāzȳrys (wife)” Daemon's gravel voice rang through the room. He sounded tired. His back turned to you.

“It’s nothing.” You whispered. “Bullshit!” Daemon groaned. Turning to face you. “It feels like I am sleeping next to a bloody sack of kittens. What is it.” He tiredly glared at her. Knowing full well what was going on.

“You’ve gotten into my head, you menace!” You growled out. Pouting at him. His usual smirk grew on his lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “Apologies for that, ābrāzȳrys (wife).“ „You are not sorry, Daemon.” His grin widened more. “You know me so well.”

A huff escaped your lips. “Why must you torment me so?” Daemon sat up on his forearm, looking down at you. Your hair was splayed out in a messy halo. A bright smile adorned his face as he saw the light, tired glare and the pout on your lips.

“Oh, little love, I vowed to be the bane of your existence since we played with the small dragon figurines our daughters’ play with now. And ever since it was announced you would be my dear lady wife I swore to torture you even more.” He softly nipped at your collarbone, his large hands coming to rest on your rips, just under your breasts.

“Let me help you with your decision-making. Let me enter your little cunny and stay there when I cum. Let my seed fill your womb once more.” His imposing frame loomed over you. Covering you like a blanket.

“What if the maester is right?” “The maesters are cunts who want to see me unhappy and you in doubt. They told you after Alyssa you could not carry another child. Two years later they said the same after Visenya.” He kissed your shoulder gently before his expressive violet eyes stared at you. “What is your body telling you?”

You bit your lip gently, A small rumble going through Daemon’s chest at your gesture. But he restrained himself. “I want another one.” You whispered gently.

A smile broke greater than before out on his lips, his dimples showing. “I will not let anything happen to you. The moment your body is resisting, I will get you moon tea or whatever is necessary.” You nodded gently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Now before we can even discuss the pregnancy, we must make it happen.”

He lifted himself so his arms were on either side of your head. “Oh my sweet, I longed to fill up your little cunny. Seeing it overflow with my seed. Stuffing it back in.” He laughed gently as you shuddered.

With haste born of his pent-up desire, he ripped all of your clothes off your and his body. You gasped softly, scolding him for literally ripping your nightgown. “I never liked it anyway.” He mumbled against the skin between your breasts. Slowly moving down to your stomach.

He worshipped your body, caressing your thighs and hips. Squeezing the flesh around them, even gently nibbling on it.

He kissed each and every lightning-bold-like scar. Mumbling with every kiss a small thanks. These were the marks of his children. Evidence of your brave sacrifice.

He went further down. His lips ghosted over the soft locks, his eyes watching you heave out breaths of anticipation.

A loud scream ripped from your throat when you felt his tongue plunge deeply into your wet core. The eagerness of his lapping overwhelmed your senses. His nose ever so lightly brushed against your pearl. Teasing it to shoot lightning throughout your body.

You came undone. His tongue, nose and two of his digits working in tandem to torture you. And it worked. Your back arched off the bed. Loud cries of his name and pleas for him to stop accompanied your downward spiral into the abyss of your pleasure.

He stared down at you hungrily. His vibrant eyes were dark with lust. He looked every bit the dragon he ought to be. “Little rabbit.” He growled out. “Sweet, little rabbit. Trapped beneath the large dragon.”

He leaned down again. Like Caraxes would decent upon his pray, Daemon came down upon you. Devouring you once more.

He held your thighs wide open as he ploughed into you. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin rang through the room. His large hand wrapped around your delicate neck, softly pressing against it. Your breathing coming out in small pants.

“You should see yourself, little darling. My large hand is like a necklace on your throat. I can nearly wrap it around.” He chuckled darkly.

His words elicited shivers to run up and down your spine. This action causes your body to tense slightly. Daemon roared as he felt you squeeze his cock. “Seven fucking hells, woman! Do you want to kill me?!” He panted out. Driving his cock deeper inside you. The stretch is a familiar pain. But not too unpleasant. He had prepared you for him. And he would hate for you not to enjoy your coupling.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It was so different from the way his hips moved. So slow and loving. “I am not hurting you, am I, my little darling?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Nothing I am not used to from you.” He grinned, nipping at your lower lip, “That’s my good girl.” He whispered.

He picked up his pace. His hands on your thighs clawing into your skin. His knuckles are white. He groaned and grunted, looking down at you with an intense stare. Your own moans and cries mingle with his. Creating a symphony of pleasure.

He came with a roar of your name, his face buried into your neck. Panting heavily next to your ear. Your own climax is triggered by the feeling of being filled with his potent seed. Both your eyes closed in bliss.

He stayed inside you even as his member softened inside you. The grip on your thigh remains tight. Like he needed to be grounded by you.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, softly caressing his head. He hummed gently, letting you know he loved what you were doing. “Do not dare to stop.” He mumbled gently into your neck. You continued with your caress. Softly petting him like he was a dog.

He fell asleep like this. His spent cock inside you, keeping his precious seed inside you. His body acted like a blanket. Your hand in his hair.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐞.𝐦.

This piece contains 18+ content.

Pairing Eddie Munson x Female Reader [friends → lovers]

Summary Eddie holds good on his promise to take you out on a date, and as the night comes to a close, you realize you’re not ready to say goodbye [fluff, smut, 4.3k].

A/N This is the long-awaited continuation of come whatever may. You can read that first if you'd like, but enough context will be provided here. Spoiler alert: the sex is very soft, teasy, and desperate because they’re in l-o-v-e. Haven't written smut in nearly two years, but I evoked the muses of times past—and thus!...

PART 1

∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summer is long gone, but when you open the door to Eddie holding flowers, the warmth that rises to your cheeks makes it feel nearer than ever. It’s a vibrant bouquet composed of white roses, red lilies, baby’s breath, and leafy foliage. The wrapper crinkles as he extends them to you with an easy smile and soft hello. Your eyes flick back up to his after admiring the delicate blooms. 

There’s a healthy flush to his cheeks, his curls neat and defined. The black leather jacket he’s wearing clings to his slender frame with a polished edge. Under the weight of your gaze, he huffs out a chuckle that reminds you you’re still on earth. 

“Gonna let me in, sweetheart?” Charm drips from his voice and shimmers within his chocolate eyes. 

Nodding, you shuffle backwards, allowing him to enter and push the door shut behind himself. As he steps further inside, you can feel his gaze sweeping over your outfit. An olive-green corduroy dress layered over a beige turtleneck that’s soft against your skin. His smile grows, glinting bright enough for anyone to believe he just won the Lotto when, really, it’s just the pretty sight of you holding the flowers he bought. 

“These are beautiful.” You raise the bouquet, but Eddie’s eyes remain on you. Seeking refuge from his gaze, you tuck your nose down to inhale the sweet fragrance of the petals. “They smell amazing too.” 

“That’s all you, sweetheart.” 

You get shy when his eyes meet yours. “You like my outfit and everything?” 

Eddie swallows back a degree of his earnestness so he doesn’t sound too far gone. “Of course I do, are you kidding me?” 

Seemingly out of nowhere, Robin descends the staircase with a bag slung over her shoulder like she’s prepared to leave, hair tied up in a messy bun. Given your parents were away in Indianapolis for the weekend, you’d asked her to come over and help you get ready so you wouldn’t be alone. 

Eddie’s eyes flick to her, clearing his throat. “Did you help her pick this out, Buckley?” 

“Obviously,” she smirks. “Nice hair.” 

“It is really nice,” you agree with a soft smile. Eddie lifts a passive shoulder, chest fluttering. 

“Rob, do you think you could…” she takes the bouquet without you having to ask. The two of you had shuffled through the attic and dug out a vase earlier that afternoon. 

Eddie had promised this date, along with flowers, a week ago when you slipped away from Steve’s party to be alone. That night, he’d kissed you in the heat of the moment but wanted to backtrack and do things right. You deserved that much. 

The time you’ve been looking forward to has finally come. 

With your hands now free, the only thing you can think to do is wrap your arms around Eddie. The world goes still as he hugs you back, nerves quelling beneath your skin. For a moment, you merely enjoy the warmth of the same arms you’ve been wrapped in countless times before. With your head tucked into his chest, enveloped by the faint scent of his cologne, you release all the worries that ride on the sweeping coattails of change. For a moment, he’s just Eddie, your best friend. 

When you pull away, he leans in, tilting his head with that familiar, boyish curiosity. “You alright?” he asks quietly, searching your gaze.

You nod, a smile breaking through. He takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze, “Just checkin’.” 

Robin soon walks back into the foyer. “I put the flowers in a vase for you,” she announces, taking her hair down and shaking it out. “Hate to admit it, but you two are actually cute. It’s disgusting.” 

“Hey,” Eddie lifts his hands, laughing. “Little victories.” 

She adjusts her bag on her shoulder with a content sigh. “Welp, I’m about to go pester Harrington at Family Video.” She turns to Eddie, playfully narrowing her eyes. “You better treat her right, ‘cause best believe I’ll be hearing all about this date.” 

When she slips out the door, Eddie smiles at you in silent assurance. 

●・○・●・○・●

The sun hasn’t quite begun to set, but orange and pink faintly blend on the horizon. A cool fall breeze flows in through the cracked windows as the radio plays softly. Eddie had asked his Uncle Wayne to borrow his pickup truck because it’d be more romantic than his bulky van. You can’t say whether he was right, only that you’re grateful to be riding shotgun with him—headed to an unknown destination, no less. 

You’d already guessed through a list of places that Eddie denied with amusement. Sighing, you look out the window to people bustling about, walking dogs and strolling out of shops. You’re coming out of the more commercial side of town, nearing Lover’s Lake and the state park.  

“I give up,” you sigh. 

Eddie chuckles, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze, ignorant to his warming effect on you. “Okay, fine, I’ll give you a hint.” That makes you peer over at him in interest. “If I had to guess, I’d say not a lot of people have had the chance to try it out yet.” 

That’s a dead giveaway. Your mouth falls open in surprise. “That new place along the lake—Stillwater Grill?” The twitch of Eddie’s lips is telling. “No way!” The excitement in your voice makes his chest tighten.

Stillwater was supposed to be good, from what you’d heard. A slightly elevated dining experience minus the formalities and steep pricing of a restaurant like Enzo’s. Where classic American favorites embrace small-town charm, according to the paper. 

Upon your arrival, the parking lot houses a pretty decent number of cars. Lover’s Lake provides a serene backdrop that catches the evening light. Couples stand outside admiring the view. Eddie opens your door and helps you out of the truck like a proper gentleman. You happily tuck yourself into him as you walk inside. 

When you were younger, you often wondered what love would be like. Books and the movies always presented countless possibilities, but you always believed it’d be special for you. So different that nothing else would be able to compare—perhaps, selfishly. One thing for sure, you never could’ve dreamed up someone like Eddie. 

As he sits across from you under the dim glow of the lights, laughter and chatter filling the air, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to put all this into words. Belly full, you realize what you’ve enjoyed even more than the food and cozy, rustic atmosphere was is company. 

Eddie has an inexplicably magnetic way. There was a magic in getting him all to yourself. In relishing the lovely sparkle in his eyes that suggested he was always on the verge of laughter. The passion he exuded made it seem like the way he loved a given thing was biblical. He could talk the ear off a cornfield if he wanted but knew instinctively when to listen. Even your passing remarks seemed to bear some semblance of importance to him.  

Conversing with him had always been easy, but without other people vying for his attention, you were truly able to admire the boy before you. To embrace the deepening attraction. 

As you wait for the waiter to bring the tab, you don’t realize you’ve grown silent and begun blinking at him with the fondest eyes. 

●・○・●・○・●

The wooden stairs of your front porch creak under both your footsteps as you climb them, stopping in front of your front door as the night settles around you. Moths flutter around the lanterns framing the door, crickets chirp in the lawn. Eddie kicks at a dead leaf, combing through a sea of thoughts in search of the right words. 

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says. You wait for him to continue. His doe eyes search yours for the briefest moment, seeing right through you it seems. “Would you like to be my girlfriend? ‘Cause I think it’s gonna be hard for me to quit you.” 

Your mouth opens a couple times in a mix of giddiness and surprise. “Yeah,” you finally breathe. “Yeah, I’d love to be your girlfriend.” 

Smiling, he steps forward to capture your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that you feel everywhere. It manages to outshine the first, more desperate, kiss you’d shared a week prior. This one is steady and sure, like a promise sealed with a prim bow. When he pulls away to look into your eyes, you shyly duck your head. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” he asks, lifting your chin. 

He doesn’t want to go, instead wishing he could stall and stay right here with you. He’s parted ways with you hundreds of times before, but now he can’t seem to figure out how he ever did. That’s how he knows he’s in trouble. The best kind. 

“I’ll pick up,” you promise. 

He stands at your door until you see yourself inside. It’s quiet without him. Your eyes land on the flowers he got you, now in a vase in the living room thanks to Robin. Too quiet. The sound of your front door reopening stops Eddie in his tracks. He turns around with a slight furrow between his brows. 

“Everything okay?” he calls, mindful of his volume. 

You make a small motion for him to come back to you. He listens in a heartbeat. 

There’s a weighted look in his eyes beneath the playfulness, “Miss me already?” 

“No,” you lie. 

●・○・●・○・●

It’s a wonder how you manage to make it feel like there’s a pleasant fire kindling within him. What started out as yet another easy conversation, has turned into you straddling his lap on the couch, the fabric of your dress riding up your thighs as the TV drones in the background.

Everything feels heightened now. The brush of your lips against his, your fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck. 

Eddie’s lips part in a soft, shuddering breath when you roll your hips over him. 

“Hold on a second, sweetheart.” His eyebrows are pinched as he pulls back from the kiss, hands stilling you. 

You blink down at him all owl-like. “Did I do something?” you murmur, purposely shifting over him again.

He restrains from canting his hips upwards. There’s a softness to his gaze even though his cheeks are flushed hot. 

“If getting me worked up counts. You’re real good at that.” His shamelessness is dizzying. “Just don’t wanna get ahead of myself.” It’s a subtle invitation, a chance for you to call things off in case you aren’t on the same page. 

But you can feel warmth pooling low in your belly. “What else am I good at?” 

He knows you’re game then. For whatever this is, whatever it’s bound to become. 

“Trying to pretend I’m not driving you crazy too.” He chuckles when you duck to hide your face in the crook of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. 

There’s a gentleness to the way Eddie’s hand slips beneath the hem of your dress, meeting the delicate skin of your inner thigh. 

“Eddie,” you murmur, lifting from his neck as his fingers continue their trail upwards.

“Hmm?” He pauses, thumb stroking your skin in soft circles. 

“Can we go to my room?” A slight shiver runs through you as his fingers move to trace along the crease of your thigh.

“Your call, sweetheart.” 

Before he withdraws his hand, he snaps the waistband of your panties and grins when you straighten.  

●・○・●・○・●

The lamp on your nightstand casts everything in a dim, warm glow. Eddie shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over your desk chair, eyes roving over the notebooks and pens strewn about. The sight of his tattooed arms makes you move to kiss him again, letting your lips wander to the corner of his mouth and his chin in a trail of warmth. He throbs in his jeans when you slip your fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and curl them into his stomach. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away from your lips and steps back enough to pull the fabric over his head in one swift movement, muscles rippling as the dark ink on his torso is revealed. With newly disheveled hair, he kisses you backward onto the bed, crawling over top of you as you settle into the mattress with a pleased hum. 

Having the upper hand allows him to press hot kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck as you huff out sighs and caress his milky skin with buzzing fingertips. Nothing about his movements is rushed, each press of his lips intentional enough to believe he'd had them planned for years.

Eddie didn’t know your body yet, not in the way he’d like to. But he was reading it in real-time. Cataloging every writhe and hitch of your breath so he knew where to return. The obsessive part of his brain often gets on his nerves, but he’s grateful for it now. Grateful he wants to see every move and sound you can make. There’s an artistry to it, a musicality. 

An inkling of panic arises when he begins to suckle on the side of your neck as you offer it. Not because he’s being rough, but because it’s overwhelming enough to want to crawl out of your skin. A soft whimper rises up your throat as your hands find his flexed biceps, digging in. You’re unsure of whether to pull him closer or push him away. 

Eddie rises from your neck on his own accord, running a finger over the spot. “You like it when I kiss you here, huh?” There’s a slow, honeyed quality to his voice. 

When you offer a helpless nod, he leans back down again, and you shudder as his mouth laves over the same sensitive area a little ways beneath your ear. Exasperated, you blindly paw for the waistband of his jeans, fingers shaky as you fiddle with his belt buckle.

Feeling your struggle, Eddie moves to press a final kiss to your throat before pulling away from your neck. 

“Stupid thing,” you pant, pouting up at him for help. 

Chuckling, Eddie reaches down with one hand to undo it with ease. Then, watches with blown pupils as you hurry to undo the button and zipper. He slips off the bed as smoothly as he can to remove his pants, black boxers tented and straining. A spark of heat surges through you as you press your thighs together at the sight. 

No sooner is he crawling back to help you out of your clothes. The lacy underwear set you’re wearing beneath is a pretty shade of baby blue, and Eddie can’t help but palm himself. 

“Jesus,” he sounds awed and devastated at the same time. “You’re so gorgeous...” 

Before he’s even had time to process, you take off your bra, baring your chest for him to see. Your nipples pebble with the new exposure and all of two seconds pass before he’s surging forward, sending you tumbling back to the mattress in a breath of startled laughter he swallows down like a lifeline. 

You gasp into his mouth, back arching, as he cups one of your breasts, circling and rolling your nipple between his fingers. You’re barely kissing him back anymore, but he continues licking into your mouth as your lips part around shallow exhales. 

That’s when the phone begins to ring. Eddie sits back on his haunches despite your attempt to stop him. 

“Might be important.” His voice is rough. 

“They can leave a message.” 

He smirks, dragging a hand through his hair. “You sure?”

Lifting your leg, you run a careful foot over the swell of his boxers. He twitches at the contact. 

“You’re all I care about,” you murmur. “Need you, E.” There’s a desperate edge to your voice that draws him right back in.

“You’ve got me.” He runs a lone finger down the front of your panties. “Can I take these off?” You’re only half listening to his words, nodding to whatever. “Lift up for me.” The muscles of your thighs tremble as you do. 

Tossing your panties aside, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your belly button. Then another one just beneath it. A surprised sound rises up your throat when he gently spreads you open to kiss that swollen, sensitive part of you that’s pulsing with need.  

“Oh, gosh—” you stutter out, hands threading into his hair.

“Need me right here?” His voice is laced with a smile, and you can’t help a breathy laugh. Prideful warmth ignites in his chest. “Or do you need me somewhere else?” He trails playful, ticklish nips along your inner thighs, making you squirm. 

“Eddie, please…” 

He’s gracious enough to begin rubbing your clit in precise, measured circles, intently studying the pretty scrunch of your face.

“Firmer,” you instruct breathily, “—just like that, just like that.” Your legs spread wider instinctively, arching when he collects your slick with a slow, heavy finger. 

You’re already so on edge from his previous attention that it only takes a few moments before you ascend into bliss, muscles growing taut as your mouth falls agape. The strong, rhythmic pulses serve as your only touchpoint to reality along with Eddie’s tender caress at your slick, fluttering entrance. One he didn’t even have the chance to breach. 

“Look at you…” he says, voice thick. “Made it easy for me.” He laughs a little, more turned on than anything. 

“It’s not funny,” you halfheartedly assert, cheeks prickling. 

“No,” Eddie agrees. “Just super-duper hot.” 

As he raises up, you realize his other hand is tucked into his boxers, lazily stroking himself. A second wave of desire builds within you, overlapping the remnants of the first and any sense of embarrassment that had begun to kindle. It’s spurred by the deep flush of his cheeks, the way his eyes are soaking you in like he’s just witnessed the most beautiful unraveling. 

Under your hazy, watchful gaze, he scrambles off the bed. Without warning, he shoves his boxers down, kicking them from around his ankles. His arousal impressively springs up towards his stomach. You bite your lip at the rosy, leaking tip, the gorgeous vein snaking prominently along the underside. 

Eddie peeks over at you with a dazed quirk of his lips before retrieving his wallet from his jacket. He pulls out a square foil packet and promptly rips it open with his teeth. 

Upon crawling back into the bed, he isn’t expecting you to take his cock in a loose hold, stroking upwards from the curly hair at the base to circle your thumb around the tip. There’s a pleasant tug low in his gut as he kicks up in your palm. 

“Sweetheart…” His voice is soft, nearly a plea. You let your hand glide back down, this time venturing lower to cradle the soft weight hanging beneath. He nearly buckles forward. “What're you doing to me?” he rasps. 

“Nothing,” you murmur innocently, wetting your hand and giving him a few more easy strokes, enjoying the warm, veiny feel of him before withdrawing your touch. 

He curses under his breath as he rolls the condom down, his gaze never leaving you as you reposition yourself to take him. 

“Eager beaver,” you lilt as he crowds over you. 

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I am.” 

He lines up at your entrance, tip catching as he collects your slick with a wavering breath.  

You open your legs even wider. “Want you,” you murmur, breathy and sweet. 

The expression on his face is like something from a painting, raw and rapturous as he eases into your encompassing warmth. He takes it slow, giving you time to relax around him as you breathe through the dull ache of welcoming him in. A low, guttural sound escapes him once he’s buried all the way. 

Your chests brush. Tears prick in your eyes at the closeness, the feeling of being filled so completely. 

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, lips clumsy against your chin. “Like I made you up in my head.” 

He begins moving, slowly drawing back only to push back in. A steady rhythm finds him as your mouth falls open, legs hooking around his thighs. The muscles of his back ripple with his effort, and you chart every tense line with your fingertips. 

With a low groan, he makes a minor adjustment to better reach that spongy spot within you. You arch into him with a whimper, breath catching in your throat. 

“There she is,” he whispers, reaching between your bodies to rub firm, steady circles against your clit. 

“Oh, god…” It sounds like you’re in pain even though you’re the furthest thing from it. When you close your eyes, tears stream down your face in twin streaks, surprising both of you. Eddie tenderly wipes them away, gaze soft. 

“You’re okay,” he promises. “It’s just me, angel.”

Except, Eddie isn't just anything. You’ve never felt so close to someone, so in tune, and somehow, it’s Eddie—sweet, goofy, wild-haired Eddie—who knew exactly what you needed. He picks up the pace as you arch and writhe beneath him, body yielding without question.

“You feel so good,” you whimper, clenching around him. 

His groan reverberates against your neck as his hips jerk sloppily, “Can’t say stuff like that…” Those words only make you tighten around him again.

The dazed way he mouths at your shoulder lets you know he’s clinging onto composure. You’re too warm, too everything—snug, and soft, and beautiful. He’s not ready for this feeling to end. This heady, binding haze of pleasure.  

“Eddie,” you breathe softly. “Wanna ride you…” 

Your plea nearly finishes him off. “Yeah?” he croaks.

You nod, whimpering. He barely withstands the feeling of slipping from within you. Shifting onto his back allows him a moment of reprieve, but he nearly loses himself when you straddle him, sinking back down with a circle of your hips. 

You brace your hands on his ribcage, steadily rocking on top of him as your head tips back. Sweat glistens in the divot of his sternum as he attempts to move in time with you. When you speed up, he closes his eyes to calm himself down. 

“Hey…where’d you go?” You croon, grazing your nails from his chest to his quivering stomach, relishing the feeling of his warm, dewy skin beneath your fingertips.

The wrecked way he forces his eyes back open almost makes you fall apart. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips as a greater sense of urgency awakens between you. It’s in the way you speed up, both eager, desperate, chasing. He memorizes the way your body moves over top of his, the bouncy sway of your chest. 

“You look so pretty taking me like this,” he shudders. “My pretty girl.” 

“Eddie…” you coo, high and breathy. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he chokes out. “Wanna feel you come around me so bad.” He’s babbling now, “Shit, I’m not gonna last. I can’t take it anymore, angel...I can’t—” 

The earnest crack of his voice sends you tumbling over the edge, vision spotting. Pleasure radiates throughout every fiber of your being as your walls contract around him. He stills your hips with a firm hold, bucking upwards and coming undone in surging waves. You slide your hands over his abdomen to feel him flex with each strong jolt that wracks him. 

As your body begins to relax, you blink down at him, lips parted as you catch your breath. Eddie throws an arm over his face as he sucks in air, neck and chest flushed pink. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. 

Both of you shudder as you ease off him. The pleasant ache of loss pulses between your legs as you partially lay down on top of him, hooking a leg over his waist. He traces along your thigh in light, soothing passes. You can feel his chest rising and falling. 

“You okay?” he eventually murmurs.

You nod, kissing his shoulder. “You?”

“I think so,” he chuckles weakly. 

●・○・●・○・●

The afterglow brings a quiet stillness to the air. Clean and beneath the sheets, you study Eddie’s long lashes, his nose, his plush lips. He eventually cracks a self-conscious smile.  

“What?” he questions. You shake your head because you don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look like he believes you. “C’mon...” 

So, you think of something, a small truth you’re willing to give him, “I just really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”

He hums, a mischievous glint flickering in his eyes. “What was your favorite part?” 

“Probably the food at Stillwater,” you say, though your fingertips are tracing along his jaw, then down his neck, trailing to his waistline to lightly brush between his hip bones as he squirms. “Best I’ve ever had,” you lilt. 

Eddie breaks into a flustered laugh, leaning over to sleepily kiss the coy smile from your lips. 

“But really, though,” you say afterward. “Thanks for tonight. Never met a guy quite like you.” 

Eddie realizes then that he’d better get a head start on counting his lucky stars. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

NEXT PART | PART ONE

MORE

[harrysfolklore]

can you write something about lando and p since the new video is so cute

OBSESSED WITH THE LANDO AND P CONTENT !!! also i posted a different version of this on patreon if case you want to check it outttt

You're standing in the paddock with Kelly, who's resting her hand on her growing baby bump, while P rummages through her little backpack frantically.

"Careful sweetie, don't mess up all your things," Kelly says softly, but P is too focused on her mission.

"Found them!" P exclaims triumphantly, pulling out a sheet of sparkly racing car stickers. She's been saving them specifically for today, the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, refusing to use them despite having them for weeks.

"When can we see Lando? Is he in his garage? Can we go now?" P asks for what feels like the hundredth time this morning. Max exchanges an amused look with Kelly, who's trying to hide her smile.

"Patience, little one," Max tells her, but P is already at your side, tugging at your hand.

"Please? Can we go see him now? The stickers will bring him extra luck!" Her big eyes look up at you pleadingly, and you can't help but melt at her enthusiasm.

Kelly chuckles, "I think we better go before she explodes from excitement."

When you finally reach the McLaren garage, P spots Lando immediately and runs toward him, "Lando! Lando!"

You see your boyfriend turn around, in his race suit with the top half tied around his waist, his face breaking into that bright smile you love so much. P skids to a stop right in front of him, suddenly shy.

"I… I brought you something," she says, holding out the stickers with both hands. "For luck."

Lando crouches down to her level, looking at the stickers with exaggerated amazement. "These are incredible! Are you sure you want to give them to me?"

P nods enthusiastically. "They're special racing stickers. If you have them, you'll go super fast!"

"Well, thank you very much," Lando says seriously. "This is the best gift ever."

Without warning, P launches herself at him for a hug, wrapping her little arms around his waist. Lando hugs her back, careful not to crush the stickers.

You walk over to join them, but as you try to get in on the hug, P immediately protests, "Nooo! This is my Lando hug! You get him all the time!"

Everyone bursts out laughing, including Kelly who waddles over with Max. "P, sweetheart, sharing is caring," she reminds her daughter gently.

Penelope shakes her head firmly against Lando's waist. "My hug first. She can have him later."

"I see how it is," you tease. "I've got competition from a five-year-old."

Max can't stop grinning. "Better watch out, she's quite the charmer."

Penelope finally releases Lando but stays close to him as she excitedly tells him about how she's going to watch the race with her mom and how she drew a picture of his car in school.

"Promise you'll win?" P asks Lando seriously.

"I'll try my very best, just for you," he responds, carefully placing the stickers in his pocket. "These will definitely help."

Eventually, Kelly announces it's time for P's snack break, and after extracting a promise from Lando that he'll wave to her on the podium, Penelope reluctantly leaves with her parents.

As soon as they're gone, Lando wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close. "Finally got my turn for a hug," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours.

You loop your arms around his neck, smiling. "I don't know, those were some pretty serious heart eyes she was giving you. Should I be worried?"

Lando laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. "Definitely not. Though I have to admit, the stickers might be the sweetest gift I've ever gotten."

"Sweeter than when I got you that gaming setup for your birthday?" you tease, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Hmm, tough competition," he grins, leaning in for another kiss. This one lasts longer, soft and sweet, until you hear wolf whistles from the McLaren mechanics nearby.

Lando pulls back slightly, rolling his eyes but smiling. "I should probably get back to work."

"Probably," you agree, but neither of you moves. "Good luck out there today. P's not the only one who wants to see you win."

"Well, with lucky stickers AND my girlfriend's support, how can I lose?" he says with a wink, giving you one last quick kiss before reluctantly stepping back.

[fairy-angel222]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃? 𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ⋆⭒˚.⋆༄

—gojo satoru x fem! reader

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ your husband’s already given you two children, one more wouldn’t hurt right?

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ cw: fluff, smut, breeding, praise, petnames, squirting, impregnation, dirty talk

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘ a/n: requested by anon, i loved writing this so much

Eight years.

You and Gojo had been married for eight years. Having met each other in high school, him being the one to get down on one knee the second you both had finished college. He knew you were the one for him ages ago.

That you were his from the moment he met you.

Some would say that you two were living the dream life, despite how young you both were. Gojo never hiding the fact that he was willing to spoil you day by night.

He loved you more than anything. And he never failed to show that through the many acts of affection. His favorite one being buried deep inside you as he whispered the sweet nothings into your ear.

The sex drive of your marriage was high, that was a fact. It was how you ended up with two children in the first place. Two girls who looked exactly like their dad, not even bothering to try with your genes. They had his complexion, his hair, his overly beautiful eyes. They had everything of his.

When you had your first daughter, most people in your life assumed she was an accident. Assumed that Gojo had simply “forgotten” to pull out.

They didn’t know how noisy you’d gotten that night, holding onto your husband tightly as you begged him to fill you up. Begged him to put a baby in you. You wanted to feel all of him.

Your second child was all him. Him begging to give you another one. To pump you nice and full with one more baby. And who were you to say no? You two were building a family and you loved it.

Four and two.

Those were your daughters’ ages, beautiful girls who looked almost identical to each other, obviously. You liked to call them and Gojo triplets. And it made his heart swell knowing that they were something you had both created. Together. Even though they clearly had a favorite already.

His daughters clung to him every second that he was around them. Refusing to let daddy go as your youngest sat in his lap with an adorable grin. Giggling softly as her big sister tied scrunchies into the soft bed of white hair.

“Mommy look! Daddy’s all pretty now,” she clapped, clearly proud of her work as she pulled lightly at the short ponytails.

You watched Gojo grumble under his breath, unable to hide his smile as he looked up at your standing frame. Cheeks tinted red when you laughed softly. “He is baby, he’s very pretty now. Looks just like you two.” Leaning down to peck both their cheeks with a smile of your own.

You yelped softly as you were pulled down, sat on the other side of your husband’s lap as he smirked. “You know who’s just as perfect as you two? Your mommy.”

Your older daughter hummed, cuddling into your lap with a nod. “You are very pretty mommy. Wanna look like you when i get big.”

You couldn’t find the words. As much as you knew that was impossible, it warmed your heart to the core. Especially when your other daughter nodded in agreement, fitting herself on you beside her sister. “You’re very very pretty mommy.”

“Thanks my babies.” You smiled warmly, an arm wrapped around each of them as Gojo wrapped one around you. “Now, you owe me a little kiss too.” He pouted. You giggled, pressing your lips to his in a short kiss before pulling away.

Neither of you wanting to hear the exaggerated ewww that escaped from your daughters’ mouths when you kissed for even a second too long.

You liked to think that you got lucky to have such sweet children. The kind that makes others actually want a child of their own.

—

You loved your life. Everyone could see that. But it had been way too long since you and Gojo were able to spend some alone time together.

It wasn’t your idea, it was his. And you couldn’t not give in when you allowed yourself to think about it. A weekend all to yourselves with complete privacy. A chance for you both to relax.

It was Friday, and you rung the doorbell to your dear friend Nanami’s house, a childish grin on Gojo’s face as he waited for the door to swing open.

Nanami raised a brow upon seeing you two, a cup of coffee in his hand as if you’d interrupted his peaceful morning.

“Uncle Kentooo!!” Two high pitched voices rung out. Little legs running to hug the blond man by his own. Nanami’s eyes widened momentarily, steadying the mug in his hand away from the two latching on to him.

A small smile gracing his face when they grinned up at him. “Well hello you two.”

Gojo grabbed the cup from his friend when your daughters started making upsie signals with their hands. Nanami picking them both up on either side of his torso, turning sharply on his heel as he asked them about their week.

“If that isn’t the sweetest thing I don’t know what is.” You giggled, Gojo’s hand on the small of your back as you brought in two pink princess bags. “So.. Kento-”

“We need a favor.” Gojo was quick to cut to the chase, Nanami not bothering to even watch him as he let small hands play in his hair. His emotions far from the bored expression on his face.

“I’ll watch them.”

“Thank you so much Kento. My parents will be coming for them tonight.” You smiled, the man only nodding with a hidden shrug. “You’re just lucky they’re nothing like him.” Pointing his head in the direction of the man sat next to you.

“Hey!” Gojo gasped in faux offense, “I’m awesome thank you very much.”

Nanami only scoffed. And you and Gojo stood up to give your girls a final hug and kiss to their foreheads. “We’ll see you on Sunday okay my darlings? Grandma and grandpa will come for you later yeah? Mommy and Daddy love you so much.”

“Uh huh, bye mommy, bye daddy!” They sung together, something else that they tended to do from time to time.

As you walked out of Nanami’s house, ready to go home and pack a few clothes, your head tilted. Confusion evident on your face when you looked up at Gojo. “Doesn’t he have work today?”

“Yeah but he adores them. He’d skip work everyday if he had to.”

It was true, Nanami was one of your biggest supports. He was always willing to take them off your hands for even an hour. He hated to admit it but he loved them like they were his own. He truly thought of himself as an uncle.

You found it adorable how serious he was until he was sure you left. Allowing himself to give into their tea parties and makeovers. He was one of the people you trusted most.

You knew that your daughters were in good hands for the day, especially since Nobara and Yuji would be there. Their inner children coming out whenever they were around your daughters.

—

Gojo had taken you to a hot spring resort nearly two hours away. One of the best that he could find.

You were in awe the second you stepped into the place. Never getting used to the amount of money Gojo was willing to spend on you.

The room was huge, and to say it was gorgeous was an understatement. But it paled in comparison to the view. The large steaming pools which were adorned with large marble sloped rocks and tall trees. The whole resort enclosed within mountains which seemed to touch the clouds. The sun setting behind beds of luscious green as the sky glimmered pink and orange.

It was perfect.

Snd the first thing you did after settling in was head into the heated waters. Breathing out contented sigh as you sunk neck down. Allowing the warmth to calm every last one of your nerves. The tension you didn’t even know you had in your shoulder slowing subsiding as you leaned your head back onto one of the large rocks.

“This is amazing.” You smiled, blinking your eyes open to look at your husband, who kept complaining that the area he was in was too hot. Not allowing himself to go any further than his legs until you pulled him into a hug.

Letting the water flow in place at your shoulders. Ignoring the over dramatic faces that your husband was making at the “heat”, simply resting your head in his neck as you relaxed in each other’s arms.

—

The tv blared ever so slightly as you cuddled into Gojo’s side. The coolness of the room unable to beat the warmth that still stuck to your skin. You had just got off a call with the girls. They were at their grandparents’ house. No doubt having way too much dessert before bed. Though they’d most likely get to stay up late watching cartoons.

“You know..” Gojo started, his fingers trailing soft shapes on your skin, “We should have another one.”

You lifted your head off of his chest, “I don’t think they’ll sell us drinks right now love.”

“I’m not talking about drinks.” Your stomach fluttered when Gojo turned you over, his knee in between your thigh as his lips ghosted over your ear. “I’m talking about putting another baby in you.” Allowing it to brush over your clothed clit.

Your lips parted in a whimper when he kissed down your neck. Swiftly pulling off your shirt to kiss at your chest, taking each of your nipples into his mouth while he fondled the other. Your hips bucking up into him when he began grinding his hips slowly into you.

You shivered when his lips touched your belly. Peppering it with small kisses as he hummed against your skin. “Let me make your belly swell.”

You moaned softly, nodding your head eagerly. “P-please.”

“Hmm, gonna give me a third one sweet girl? Gonna make us a pretty family of five?” He husked, kisses getting more aggressive as he trailed back up. His cock twitching at the little whimpers that you failed to contain when you made a noise of agreement.

“Mhm, ‘m gonna give you another one. Wanna give you another one.”

“Yeah?” He breathed, looking for that final bit of confirmation before his lips smashed onto yours. The kiss hard and needy as he worked on removing the rest of your clothes. His fingers dipping down between your folds with a groan. “You’re so soaked f’ me pretty.”

He ran his hand up your slit teasingly, rubbing tiny circles onto your clit making you whine out. “Toruu, no teasing.”

He chuckled, his thick cock prodding at your entrance as he lifted your legs to wrap around his waist. Your hands instinctively draping around his shoulders so that he was pressed into you. A loud moan sounding through the room as he sank into you.

You let a small mewl escape your lips with every movement of his hips. His thrusts gradually increasing in pace till he was hammering into you. Pulling his length almost all the way out before slamming it back into you.

Bright blue eyes met yours, your breathing getting heavier as your back arched off the bed. Nails digging into the skin of his back as you were rocked back and forth. Your husband’s thick cock stretching you out so deliciously as it repeatedly kissed your sweet spot. The position allowing him so deep inside you that he bulged lightly in your stomach.

“Toru, nngh— so good. Ahh.” You were getting noisy. Your cute babbles mixing with the loud echoes of his skin hitting yours. The mere force of his loving making it twice as loud.

You could only moan shakily as you pulled him even closer. Drool covered lips parting in sweet cries when your nails scratched down his back. “O-oh fuck. Ahhh.”

“Taking me so well. My pretty little wifey, can’t wait to see you carrying my child again. Fuck,” He grunted, squelching noises growing louder as your sticky pussy leaked onto your thighs and his. The whole roomed filled with your lewd sounds of pleasure as you both fell into each other. “Gonna fill you up real good baby. Stuff that messy pussy so full of my cum and watch that belly swell.”

Your legs trembled at his words, your hold on him tightening as the rhythmic slapping clouded your brain. Your vision blurring with tears as your stomach tightened. Every nerve along your walls being set on fire as you were fucked like you’d disappear in any moment.

Gojo’s sinking to elbows at the sides of your head for you to cry into his broad chest when you felt yourself nearing your high. “Toruu— so good Toruu, so g-good.”

“Hmm you’re close f’me,” he groaned, your pussy holding him snug as your body shook. “Shit, gonna make you a mama of three. Gonna give it to ya so deep— f-fuckk. Look at me when you cum.” He whispered lowly, your glassy eyes peeling open to blink up at him dumbly.

“Nngh— ‘m, a-ahhh, Toru ‘m so c-close.” You couldn’t think. Your brain unable to process anything but him and the way his cock was fucking into you so good. Your thoughts blanking out as you were engulfed by an indescribable pleasure. Mouth opened in a final cry as you fell off the edge.

“That’s it. Cum f’ me baby. Make a fucking mess on my cock. There you go— just like that.” His thrusts never slowed as a high pitched scream bubbled in your throat. Your body trembling uncontrollably beneath him as you let go. Sopping pussy gushing all over him just the way he liked it. His thrusts never losing their pace as you squirted with a continuous string of moans.

Your husband’s thrusts got sloppy. Head falling into the crook of your neck as he unknowingly slowed down. His thrusts hard and deep as he moaned into your delicate skin. Finding it adorable how your little mewls began to match his pace.

“Love this pussy so fucking much. Could pump her full of my cum every fucking day. Shit— here it comes baby.” His slow thrusts synced with his words, lips capturing yours hungrily as he buried himself deep inside you. Tip sat at your cervix’s entrance when his cock twitched. Spurts after spurts of the the thick substance flooding your insides with heat.

Gojo pulled away from you, a small string of saliva connecting your lips to each other’s. You stayed clung to him like a koala to a tree. Tiredly smiling up at him when he pecked your nose. “If we keep having children every two years we’ll end up with fifty grandkids.”

He chuckled, resting his forehead against yours. “So, what are we gonna name her?”

“Her?”

“We only have girls so far baby, i don’t think it’s in my blood to have a boy.” He joked, both of you laughing as you thought of any possible truth of his words.

“I wouldn’t mind a boy,” You sighed softly, using your finger to brush away the loose strands of hair that fell over his eyes. “I think he’d look just like you.”

Gojo’s hand rested on your belly, using his thumb to rub over it softly. “I’d love either, only cause i’d know that i made them with you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I love you so much.”

“ And I love you more than you could ever imagine sweet girl.”

[julymusings]

simplicity

out there they're afraid even of the killer's shadow, and here i reside in his heartbeat like a home

or; the big bad red hood has a soft spot only for you [3.4k]

jason todd x fem!reader; tiny bit of angst but mostly fluff; aggressive unwanted advances, implied roofie attempt, violence & blood, slut-shaming; Jason “my girl can wear whatever she wants I can fight” Todd; in da clerb, we all fam ⎯ based on this !

A humid, crowded, upscale club isn’t the most ideal way to spend your Friday night, and Jason knows this. Frankly, it’s not his either, but as the owner of the humid, crowded, upscale club, he had to make some appearances at his own business.

“It’s a night out,” he had said. “Let’s make the most of it.”

If you’re being honest, it’s also not the worst way to spend your Friday night. Not when Jason dressed up so deliciously, in a fitted t-shirt, jeans, and his leather jacket. Not when he took you to a booth in the corner of the club and had them bring over your favorite drinks and snacks with the order to keep them coming. Not when you got to wear that cute little black dress that’s been hanging in your closet for months with your favorite strappy heels, the ones with ribbons that wrapped around your ankle and tied into a bow in the back. Not when Jason sat you on his lap and settled a large hand on your thigh, where it stayed the whole night.

All in all, you would say you’re making the most of it. 

You’re sipping on your drink, chatting about something or the other with your boyfriend. He’s half listening, half drawing circles on your thigh and pressing kisses to your shoulder when one of the employees finds you. She’s freaking out because one of the performers hasn’t shown up, and there’s no one else to go in her place.

Jason huffs. He lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the seat. “I’m sorry, baby, I just gotta take care of this. I’ll be right back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.” You smile over the rim of your glass.

He looks around for a moment, then gestures to someone across the room. One of the bouncers make their way to you.

“Just keep an eye out,” he tells him. “I don’t trust these entitled country club fuckers.”

He gives a curt nod. Jason leans in close, smirking, and says, “Especially not when you look like that,” and gives you a quick kiss before disappearing into the crowd with the employee.

A couple minutes later, a crash snaps your attention towards the bar. A young, college-aged-looking man is berating a waitress while a mess of shot glasses litter the floor around them. The waitress looks about to cry.

“Jesus Christ,” the bouncer says to himself. Then to you, “Gimme a second.”

You move to the edge of the booth to watch as he goes over and tries to pacify the man, but that only seems to make him angrier. He shoves the bouncer, yelling about “shitty customer service.” 

You don’t get to see what happens next, though, because your field of vision is obscured by an enormous, very shiny, and very douchey silver belt buckle. You look up for its owner, and a greasy-looking, white-haired man looks down at you. 

“Hey there, sweetheart.” A fake gold tooth catches the flashing lights and it glints in your eye. Uninvited, he slides into the booth across from you. He places a drink on the table, sliding it towards you. “You look thirsty. Got this for you.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got one.” You hold your own glass up.

He rolls his eyes. “Pretty thing like you should be takin’ advantage of all the free drinks you could be gettin’.” His smile sends a chill down your spine.

“Again, I’m fine,” you say, a little harsher. “My boyfriend has brought me plenty of drinks already.”

He laughs. It’s a high-pitched, scratchy, wheezing sound. Like a kazoo. “I don’t see this boyfriend of yours anywhere. He should know better than to leave you alone. I’d treat you much better than him.” His eyes travel down your neck and stay there. You stand from the booth and take a big step back. It’s not entirely personal; no matter how much of a threat he may be, Jason is a worse one. And if he’s still in this neighborhood, never mind this building, you fear for this man’s safety much more than your own. But the man follows, bringing the cup with him. “Come on, honey, it’s a compliment. Show a little thanks. I don’t bite.”

You don’t have to be the world’s finest detective to know that is most definitely a lie. Or to know to avoid that cup at all costs.

You could just rebuff him, walk away. But you’re willing to bet he’d just move on to the next woman. One who’s probably a little less sober, and a little less aware of her surroundings. You feign a stumble and knock the drink out of his grip. It tips toward him, drenching him with its contents. He chokes out a shocked gasp.

“Oops,” you deadpan, not at all trying to hide your indifference.

“You bitch,” he snarls. He lunges forward, snatching your wrist. You try to pull it back, but his grip is iron and bruising. “I was doing you a favor. Do you see anyone else here looking at you?”

You’re suddenly grateful you didn’t put up much of a fight after Jason came home from patrolling one night insisting he show you some self-defense moves. Far be it from you to cause a scene, but this guy isn’t giving you much choice. You employ the cardinal rule of women’s self-defense: go for the crotch. You shift your weight to your non-dominant side and launch your dominant knee right into his groin. The sharp metal edge of his belt buckle slices the skin just above your knee, but it shocks him enough to release your wrist and double over. The same leg used in your attack plants itself on the ground, and you use the momentum to pistol your opposite fist forward. It collides with his nose in a bone-cracking cross. Your stacks of studded rings didn’t do him any favors, either. He cries out in pain. His hands fly up to cover his nose, and the cup falls from his grasp and shatters on the floor, garnering the attention of some surrounding patrons. Blood seeps between his fingers.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for that.” His tone drips with poison. He reaches into his coat pocket and brandishes a switchblade (because of course. You’re not surprised, though. It is Gotham). You look around in a panic, hoping to find Jason towering somewhere over the crowd. He’s not there. A few guys who work for him, though, have since taken notice of the commotion and are making their way towards you. You know they won’t make it in time. You weren’t scared a moment ago, but you definitely are now. Jason only briefly covered disarming techniques, and you didn’t have his practice to stay calm in situations like these. He steps closer, shoes crunching over the glass shards, and you step back. You’re backed into a corner, literally. Your back is pressed against the table. His eyes are glassy and void of color.

There is a resounding pop when the man’s knife-wielding hand is yanked to the side. Too fast for your brain to register, he thuds against the table next to you and the knife clatters to the ground. You look over and see Jason, one hand pressing his face into the table and the other twisting the man’s arm behind his back. 

When his men finally reach you, Jason is seething. They look almost as afraid as the man, whose whimpers are muffled by the pressure with which he’s flattened against the table.

“Who the fuck let this happen,” Jason glowers. Uncomfortable glances are shared between the men, all sharing the same sentiment; we fucked up big time.

Jason’s livid gaze flits back and forth among them. His veins flex against his forearms, rippling with effort. It looks like he’s putting all his strength into incapacitating the man, but you know better. He’s putting all his strength into restraint. The look on his face is cold and steely, with hardened, venom-green eyes and a clenched jaw. This isn’t Jason, the sweet boyfriend, or Jason the easy-going yet respected club proprietor. This is Jason the crime lord. Jason the anti-hero. This is the Red Hood. Who makes his own rules and kills anyone who breaks them. It’s a bit off-putting for you to see him like this; he’s never like this with you. He’s always just…Jason. Your Jason.

One of his men speaks up. “We’re sorry, Boss, we were keepin’ an eye like you asked, but there was trouble up at the bar.”

Jason scowls. “Trouble that required all of you?”

At their silence, he rolls his eyes. “Idiots,” he says under his breath. He jerks the man up to stand, the hand that was pressing him to the table now gripping the back of his shirt collar. “Someone take care of this.” He shoves the man in their direction. Hard. One of them catches him. “And for fuck’s sake, check him for anything else.” 

While they’re busy patting him down, Jason turns back to you. You get whiplash from how quick his demeanor changes. Though still tense, the rigidity of his expression is long gone, replaced with tender concern.

“Are you okay?” His wide eyes scan you up and down, searching for any signs of injury. You manage a nod, still a bit stunned by his apparent shape-shifting abilities. “I’m so sorry, honey, this is my fault. It’s my fault for leaving you alone.” He pulls you close for a hug and kisses the top of your head, murmuring further apologies into your hair.

You pull back and cup his face in your hands. “It’s okay, Jay, I’m fine. I promise.” You lean in to kiss him and feel his shoulders relax.

“Jesus, man, sorry! Wouldn’t’a come on so strong if I knew she was your whore. How much did ‘ya pay for her, anyway?” His voice rings from behind. Jason tenses up again. When he pulls back from you, he’s gone. He’s like Jekyll-turned-Hyde when the combatant that lay dormant inside him reassumes his body.

He turns around, but his large frame shields you from seeing the scene unfold. You place a hand on his arm, a silent message of support, and you can feel him vibrating with anger. His hand comes to rest over yours and gives a reassuring squeeze.

“You know what?” You can’t be sure who he’s speaking to, but you can hear the eerie smile in his tone. “I’ll take care of this.” He faces you. “Can you give me a minute? Is that okay?” His voice is calm.

You know he would stay if you asked him to. And you never would, but you know he would go outside and kill that guy if you asked him to. And maybe you’re feeling a tad vindictive after the whole ordeal, so you just say, “Okay.”

He kisses your forehead, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ll come find you,” he says, stepping away, and you nod.

“Ross,” he commands. “Take her to the office. Get her whatever she wants.” Jason then speaks to all of his men. His tone drips with disdain. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about who’s getting fired for this.” You catch some of his men flinch.

He grabs the man by the collar once again and stalks towards the exit, dragging him along.

You’ve met Ross once or twice, though never exchanged more than a few words. He smiles at you. It’s amiable, if not slightly nervous. You know where the office is, but you’re still grateful for the guide. The mesh of moving bodies under dim lights makes all four corners of the room look the same. With the adrenaline wearing off, your hands ache and you become acutely aware of the stinging shock that shoots up your knee when you walk on it but, persevering, you follow him to the back. He holds the door that reads ‘RESTRICTED - DO NOT ENTER’ open for you, and you smile in thanks.

Various employees, servers and performers alike, mill about in the back hallways. You know some of them, having met in passing during other visits to the club, and offer polite greetings as you walk by. When you arrive at Jason’s office, Ross unlocks the door for you and you step inside.

It’s a nice office, noticeably homier than it was when you and Jason met. The first time he brought you back here it was just a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. You perched yourself on his desk while he sat in his chair and you teased him for not having a place for guests to sit, saying something about ‘men and their awful interior designing skills.’

“It’s not ‘bad skills,’ it’s cost-effective. ‘M runnin’ a business here, baby. If you need a place to sit that badly, you can sit right here.” He joked, patting his lap. And he said it with such conviction you believed him, but the next time you visited there was a brand new, plushy suede couch pushed against the wall.

You find a seat on said couch and try to get comfortable despite your protesting joints. From here you can spot a framed photo on Jason’s desk; the two of you smiling while bathing a shelter dog at the Wayne Animal Sanctuary. But while you smile at the camera, his gaze is trained on you.

 Ross stands in the doorway, stoic as a bodyguard should be. “Do you need anything?” He asks you.

“No, I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“‘Course. I’ll be outside. Just yell if you need anything.” He moves to exit, but pauses. “Look,” he says, “We’re all really sorry about what happened. It was our fault. You have every right to hate us.” He chuckles self-deprecatingly. “God knows the boss does.”

You purse your lips, unsure how to respond. Technically Jason did instruct them not to leave you alone. But really, the only person at fault is that horrible man, and he was currently getting what he deserved.

“It’s okay, Ross,” you say, and you mean it. “I don’t blame you. And Jason’s not gonna fire any of you, okay? I won’t let him.”

He exhales. “Okay, you—yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He loiters awkwardly in the doorway for a moment. “Listen, Todd’s always been a great boss. But it’s no joke when it comes to you. Don’t know exactly what happened, but after meeting you, he’s just…different. Not sure if I believe it, but after the first time you were here, one of the bartenders swears they heard him whistling. Anyway, just mean to say…we’re glad he has you.”

His sincerity warms your heart. You thank him, and he assumes his post outside, closing the door. 

At last in decent lighting, you take the time to examine yourself. Your knee, knuckles, and wrist are splotchy with bruises. A small scrape rests just above your knee from you were scratched. There’s a splattering of blood on your knuckles and on the rings you’re wearing. You grimace, the reality of what just happened settling in. Someone pulled a knife on you. If Jason hadn’t been there…the thought leaves you cold.

There are voices on the other side of the door, then receding footsteps. After a few seconds, a knock.

“Baby? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you call out. Jason enters, locking the door behind him. There are some smatterings of blood on his hands and face, and he’s holding a first aid kit. Your immediate instinct is that he’s the one who needs first aid.

“Are you okay?” You ask as he kneels on the floor in front of you. “Did he hurt you?”

Jason tilts his head like a confused puppy, eyebrow raised. Just like that, The Red Hood is gone. He’s Jason again. He speaks softly, with a hint of his usual boyish charm. “Should I be insulted by you asking me that?” He picks up your un-injured leg and places the foot on his thigh, beginning to unravel the ribbon wrapped around your ankle. He removes the shoe and places it to the side, then repeats with your other foot. But when he moves it, your knee twitches and you wince. He frowns but doesn’t say anything. He sees the way your eyes travel between all the spots of blood. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, none of it’s mine.”

You sigh in relief. “You didn’t…kill him, did you?”

He chuckles, lightly massaging your foot. “Nah…did you want me to? ‘Cause I can still—”

“No.”

He smirks at you, before leaning down to press a kiss to your bruised knee. It’s so gentle, so loving, it completely contradicts the bloodstains that adorn him. As his hands move up to your calf, your hand moves to his hair, fingers threading through the white streaks and pushing them back so you can get a better view of his eyes. They’re a silky teal, bordering on sea green. They remind you of lake trips in the summer, and ice skating during the holidays.

“How bad is he? Like, on a scale of ‘he can walk it off’ to ‘he needs to go to the hospital.’”

Jason pauses his movements, looking thoughtful for a moment.

“He…he’s walking himself to the hospital.”

There’s not much you can say to that. After all, you gave him to okay to go fuck that guy up.

From the first aid kit, he retrieves a box of Band-Aids. They’re the children’s ones, decorated with cartoons and various characters. A specific one catches your eye, and you pick it out of the carton.

“Robin? Really?”

Jason breathes out a small laugh. “One of my guys’ daughter loves him.” He unwraps the bandage and sticks it over the scratch. You admire the small red plaster. Jason traces a finger over the emblem in the center, a black and yellow ‘R’.

He moves from your leg to your hand, gingerly laying it in his palm. One by one he slides each of your rings off. They’re not particularly special, but you still like them and you try to protest when he tosses them in the trash. He’s quick to assuage you with promises to buy you new ones with, hopefully, less blood.

"Did you see how good I got him?" You suddenly feel shy asking such a question. Like a child seeking validation.

"I did see," Jason says. And there's not a hint of condescension in his tone. "I'm proud of you. You remembered what I taught you."

You beam under his pride.

He uses a sanitizing wipe to remove the droplets of blood from your knuckles, kissing each one along the way. He reaches your wrist last. There’s a purple hand-shaped mark that wraps around it, and he stares at it. You can see his thoughts race at sixty miles an hour, and you know he’s beating himself up about it.

“Hey.” The hand in his hair moves to stroke his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I promise. I love you.”

He leans forward to press his forehead to your wrist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I’m sorry.” He places gentle kisses on the purple skin. “I’m sorry. I love you.” He moves to the scratch above your knee, pressing more kisses, repeating the words like a prayer. Your hand is still enclosed in his hands, and his cool fingers soothe the throbbing swell. You pull his head up, holding his chin in your fingertips. His eyes close as he soaks in your warm touch.

You reach for another wipe and begin wiping the blood from his face. Some of it has dried, so you press the wipe a little harder, and blood rushes to his cheeks to give him an adorable flush. You repeat the process on his hands. Blood erased and wipes discarded, you pull him up to the couch to lie down with you. He stretches out, so large that his feet hang over the armrest. You snuggle up to his side and your head rests on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. It’s surreal, how utterly soft he is, and just for you. How no one else gets to see him like this. He goes out at night as a fighter, a crusader, a deadly threat. And then he comes home to sleep in your arms. In your bed.

You place your hand against his chest, right over his heart to feel it thrum beneath your palm. It beats simple and steady, and just for you.

am i the only one who likes the whole jason owning the iceberg lounge storyline (aside from the whole penguin prisoner thing but i only write according to canon that i like and leave out the things i don't! whoops🤷‍♀️);

the feminine urge to write more fics that take place within the universe of this one...

divider is from here

[elixirfromthestars]

Sink Your Teeth In Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Neighbor!Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are supposed to attend Sam's party on Halloween. However, when you show up to his place looking like temptation itself—he gets other ideas on how to spend the night with you.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warning(s): spooky fun vibes / smut / fluff / female reader / mutual pining / love bites / dirty talk / unprotected sex / pet names / 18+ mdni / sprinkles (who am I kidding it might be a little more than just sprinkles) of possessive Bucky / breast play / a tiny moment of drinking / smut with little plot

Prompt(s): human (vampire costume) / treat (fluff, smut) / neighbor / “Why are you looking at me like that?” + “Spread them. Further.” + “You’re pretty like that.” + “There you go. Doing so good for me.” ཐི❤︎ཋྀ

a/n: uhhhhh this is what happens when you let me write while on medication post surgery lol please ignore how late this is, your girl was going through it 😭 This is for @buck-star ‘s Trick or Treat fun 🎃🧡 Also based on this ask she sent me, so this is for you Sydney 🤭🧡. I hope you all enjoy!! Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ❤️🦇❤️

vampire divider ♡ // main masterlist ♡ // bucky masterlist ♡

You’ve heard all the superstitions about the full moon before. The way it seemingly makes people act strangely—far from themselves. The word lunatic and lunacy are tied to the moon as well, having been believed to incite mania in people. An unrecognizable version of themselves whose impulses bordered on primal. Tonight was no exception to such superstitions as the full moon hung high in the sky on Halloween. Promising to pull the sentiments from the deepest depths of each person out into the open. 

However, in this instance, an argument could be made that the moon was not at fault for how your pulse quickened or how your heart hammered in your chest. No, not even if the moon’s glow reflected in Bucky’s eyes so beautifully that they resembled a pair of sapphires staring right back at you. Freezing you to your spot right outside his door. 

The moon was also certainly not telling you to push Bucky into his home and crash your lips onto his until your lungs begged for air. No, oh no, that was all you. 

“You here to drive a stake through my heart, doll?” Bucky’s playful tone broke you from your trance, biting his bottom lip as he held back a smug grin. A flicker of something bewitching crosses his eyes as they search yours for an answer. 

You shifted on your feet, mortification prickling your skin as you collected yourself. “I might if you don’t keep those fangs to yourself,” you quip, tapping his chest with the fake wooden stake in your hand, trying to disperse the attention away from the way you had ogled Bucky. You wouldn’t say you had a thing for vampires, but his costume was giving him this mystic allure that was fueling an unspoken desire you had been harboring for him since you met half a year ago.

Bucky’s vampire costume was far from the cheesy kind you could find at any corner pop-up Halloween store—it was quite the opposite. Bucky dawned on a crisp white dress shirt underneath a black vest that wrapped around his torso—emphasizing his broad build. A few buttons on the shirt were undone, revealing just enough skin to make your eyes wander. His black trousers fit his legs as if they had been tailored perfectly to their length. His velvet cape was an onyx color with a deep crimson lining that swayed behind him at every movement. To top it off, a pair of fangs poked out from his smile that sent a shiver down your spine from their playful danger. 

He certainly looked the part of a vampire—dreamily menacing in the best way. 

A deep chuckle leaves his lips, his eyes glinting mischievously as he winks at you, “Don't worry, doll. I won’t bite unless you ask me nicely.” His words bore a hint of a promise that caused your heart to skip a beat. Flirting with him wasn’t unusual—you’ve been doing it since you became neighbors—despite that, tonight, it felt different.

You let out a sound between a snort and a laugh—pushing away the heat that wants to spark itself into a flame, “I’ll pass on the biting, thanks, but I would appreciate a drink before we head out.” Your words are punctuated with an expression he can never say no to. 

When Bucky is met with your soft eyes and sweet smile, that appeals to him like no other—there’s no way he can say no. He opens the door wider for you to step inside, welcoming you into his home with a passing comment that he could use a drink too. You walk in with a familiarity as if the home were your own. Which—if you asked Bucky—it might as well be. You spend so much time here he’d go so far as to say this was more your place than his.

He didn’t mind that. On the contrary, this place hadn’t felt like home until you came into his life. Since you started coming around, these four walls transformed with your presence—traces of you woven into every corner. The stray hair ties that lay scattered throughout the rooms, a few of your sweaters in his closest in exchange for stealing some of his, the cat mug you claimed as yours, and your latest read left unfinished on his coffee table to be picked up and continued while he cooked dinner for you two on his nights off. All these little things and more made his house warmer, fuller, and undeniably a home. Turning this space into something he longed to come back to every night. 

You close his front door and follow him to his kitchen, the butterflies in the pit of your stomach not going away. Not that they ever did in his presence, but on some days it was easier to ignore the fluttering. 

Today would not be that kind of day. 

He reaches up into his cupboards, taking out two crystal glasses while idly chatting about the Halloween party Sam was throwing. You weren’t listening, mind elsewhere as you attempted to distract the inappropriate thoughts away, simply watching as he promptly poured out two servings of wine. He handed one to you, his hand brushing against yours at the motion—sending a jolt of electricity through it. You grip the glass a little tighter than you should and hastily take a sip. 

You would definitely need more than one drink. 

“Are you even listening, doll?” Bucky was staring at you with an amused expression, wine glass hovering at his lips as he called out your inattentiveness. Your attention gets brought back to his mouth which no longer hosts the fake fangs. He had removed them so as to not stain them with the wine. 

When had he done that? How long had the passage of time escaped you?

A warmth found its way to your face, trying to hide behind the crystal glass in your hand. Bucky knew you weren’t listening to him and his only theory as to why was clued in by the fact that your gaze continued to drift to his lips. 

“Huh? Oh, I was—it’s just…” you trail off trying to find an excuse, but when you can’t find one—or at least one you can tell him—you concede. “Sorry, what did you say?” He leans against the counter at your question, a smirk dancing on his lips. His eyes darken ever so slightly, as he ponders how far he can take the flirting tonight. 

“I said you look good, doll. I really like your costume,” he repeats his unheard compliment, shamelessly raking his eyes over your form. You gulp the rest of the wine in your cup—the spark of tension reigniting. Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away from how the black lacy gothic corset top hugged your breasts perfectly, and the matching leather pants clung to you like a second skin—leaving nothing to the imagination. And to Bucky’s added torture, you decided to strap a leather harness to your thighs that he had to resist the urge to grasp by the straps and pull you flush against his frame so you could feel how hard you made his—

Bucky stopped himself from letting his mind wander to places that would cause all of his blood to rush south. 

You looked down at your costume, not thinking much of it when putting it together. When Bucky told you he was dressing up as a vampire you thought it would be fitting to dress up as a vampire hunter. You were on a budget though, so between your closet and thrifting you came up with the outfit you’re wearing now. 

“Thanks, Bucky. You definitely did a better job though,” you compliment him, thinking that if anyone deserved praise for their costume—it was him. Bucky shakes his head, taking another sip of his wine, “Not me. Sam. He’s dressing up as a twenties mobster, so he let me borrow his costume from last year. Apparently, he goes all out every Halloween.” 

“Does he? Can’t wait to see how the party turned out then,” you comment, your nerves over meeting his friends for the first time bubbling its way into your system. Bucky gives you a small smile, the sight easing your anxieties ever so slightly, “Speaking of which—we should probably head out now. The party starts soon and Sam’s due to blow up my phone any second now,” he grumbles, finishing off the rest of his wine. A single deep red droplet runs down the corner of his mouth. Your fingers itch to wipe it off, but instead his tongue darts out to catch it—licking his lips in the process. A soft intake of breath was heard from you, an instinctive response to what he had done. The subtle sound revealing more than words ever could. 

There’s a shift in the air—it’s inevitable—you both feel it. 

The space between you is now charged, the kitchen feeling smaller and yet the space between you two, too far apart. Bucky’s eyes shine with a gentle intensity as he saunters over to you. Delicately towing at the lines you both wish to cross tonight. 

Your eyes search his for his intentions the closer he gets. Trying to decipher what you can as his left arm reaches out behind you to grab his keys—momentarily caging you. Your lower back presses against the counter, heart stuttering in your chest as the scent of cedar and spice from his cologne encases you.

“Yeah we should…” you swallow hard, voice barely audible as your eyes lock on his lips, the wine having stained them a deep crimson color. Resembling that of a vampire’s after they’ve feasted on the blood of another. A rich shiver makes its way down your spine—one he easily catches. This emboldens him, his own eyes travel down your face and then further down to observe the way your breasts strain against the corset.

Bucky was tempted to sink his teeth, and something else, into you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you found your voice somewhere between the longing that plagued you and the urge to pull him closer.

“Like what, doll?” 

“Like you’re seconds away from changing everything between us.” 

When those words leave your lips, Bucky knows there’s no point in denying it. “Maybe because I am,” he responds in a low murmur, before wasting not another second and crashing his lips against yours. His hands finding purchase at your hips and giving a light squeeze. Your lips part in a soft gasp at the sensation, his touch kindling the craving you’ve had for him from the moment you stepped foot into his house. Your hands find their way to his robe, the velvet soft underneath your fingertips as you pull him closer, wanting to leave no space for air between you. 

Bucky’s on the verge of losing his mind with your body pressed so close to his. His tongue prods gently at your mouth seeking entrance—something you eagerly give. When your tongues tangle you let out a soft moan that teeters on a whimper and it stirs something deep in his gut. He so desperately wants to pull more sounds out of you, but he needs to know you want this as much as he does. 

He pulls away from the kiss momentarily, resting his forehead against yours to catch his breath. Your hands relax and let go of his robe to rest against his chest instead. Savoring the way oxygen finds its way into your lungs again. 

“Tell me to stop and I will…” Bucky swallows hard as he says this. His mind reeling as he tries to calm the tightness in his pants. You shake your head, “I won’t. I want this, Bucky. I want you,” to assure him of your words, you pull him in by the loops of his dress pants, rolling your hips slowly against his bulge causing him to hiss at the pleasure. 

“Fuck, doll. The things you do to me.” 

“Show me.”

Your plea makes Bucky throw all hesitation out the window. Grabbing onto the straps of the harness at your thighs to press you into him and grind against you—groaning at the friction. You reach up and card your fingers through his hair to pull him down for another searing kiss. Your mouths moving with a sense of urgency and purpose. Needing to make up for all those days you only let yourselves flirt and never truly gave in to what you really wanted. 

The spark of desire bursts into embers as the intensity of the kisses increases—tongues dancing, teeth clashing, and your breaths entwined as you lose yourselves to the taste of one another. Every inch of your skin titilating in anticipation for Bucky’s touch. It’s evident you both need more, so Bucky snakes his hands down to cup your ass, hiking you up and around his waist to carry you over to the nearest surface. 

“You’re. So. Goddamn. Beautiful,” Bucky punctuates every word with nips to your jawline as he places you on the granite island. Your fingers brush past the edge of something plastic as you steady yourself on the cool surface. Your eyes reflexively look over and see the fake fangs Bucky had on earlier. Your remember the way they looked on him and your mind wanders to what his own teeth can do.

“Bite me,” the words slip out before you register how demanding they may sound. A deep rumble resonates from Bucky as he laughs at the way you said it. He removes himself from your jawline to get a good look at you—his cock twitching at the sight of you. 

Your chest heaved with exertion from all the air Bucky stole from you, your breasts threatening to spill out from your corset—lips swollen and pupils blown wide with desire. Knowing that this was your reaction to his kisses, to his touch, to him before you’ve even gotten to the main part—Bucky had to stop himself from coming undone then and there knowing he had such an effect on you. 

“Didn’t I say you had to ask nicely, doll?” he mocks playfully, eliciting a needy whine from you. The sound goes straight to his dick as it painfully aches to be inside you. He doesn’t think he can hold out much longer, as much as he’s enjoying the kisses. 

“Spread them. Further,” Bucky mutters the command into your lips, his hands sliding up your legs. You oblige his request, giving him more space to settle between your thighs. Your fingers thread through his hair as he trails open-mouthed kisses down to your pulse point—nipping and sucking hard enough to leave marks.

Bucky relishes in the soft whines and whimpers that leave you whenever he bites down just enough to hit the bliss point between pain and pleasure—soothing any remaining sting with his tongue. He catches the way your nipples harden underneath your corset—pressing against the fabric—making him crave a taste. 

“Gonna mark you up pretty girl—everywhere,” the low murmur of a promise is sealed into your skin, teeth grazing your neck delicately as he holds off on marking you there for the time being. His fingers hastily unhook the clasps of your corset, your breasts spilling out. He cups them in his hands, kneading the soft flesh while you moan copiously. Bucky greedily swallows every single one. 

His head dips down to pepper kisses across the valley of your breasts before dragging his tongue across one hardened nipple—teasing you as your breathing grew ragged. Your chest arches into him, moaning out his name as he moves to the other breast. Taking the unkissed bud into his mouth and sucking on it with a hunger that borders on savage.

“I know I said bite me, but watch those teeth.” 

“I’ll be good, doll. I’ll be real good to you.” 

He chuckles against your breast, causing delicious vibrations that send shivers down your spine. He moves over to the other nipple, giving it a playful nip that causes you to hiss out a watch it. He laughs again, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he continues to worship your breasts. The pleasure shoots straight to the throbbing between your legs, your underwear dampening. 

Nimble fingers find their way to his dress shirt and vest where you do your best to unbutton as much as you can, needing to see and touch more of him. You run your fingers down the hard planes of his chest and abs—your touch leaving heat in its wake. Bucky continues to lavish attention to your sensitive buds, his lips swirling and sucking the peaks insatiably. 

When his lungs burn for air he reluctantly releases your nipple with a wet pop—pulling away to see the evidence he’s left on your skin. “Mmm, you’re pretty like that doll—all marked up by me,” his fingers trailing and tracing over the marks he’s left on your neck, your collarbone, and your breasts. His thumb brushing over them with feather-like touches as an almost affectionate gesture. Your body shudders at the possessive gleam in his eyes—one that only intensifies the more his gaze lingers on your skin. 

You’ve never seen him look at you like this before—and you didn’t mind it. Not one bit.

“Bucky…please…I need more of you.”

“I know, baby. I’ll give you what you need.” 

As if the word baby wasn’t enough to have your heart leap out of your chest—Bucky’s fingers toying with the harness at your thighs, and the button of your pants certainly did. Swiftly, he proceeds to undo it all and the zipper. You eagerly help him slip it all off, and when his gaze meets the soaked front of your seamless cotton panties, a husky growl reverberates in his chest. His fingers hook at the edges while his teeth graze along the front of the fabric. The action takes your breath away, your heart racing a mile a minute. His hooded eyes bore into yours as he takes the fabric between his teeth and drags it down your body, baring your slick folds to him—he groans at the sight. 

“Fuck, doll, so ready for me.”

Bucky takes your panties and pockets them. Just as you're about to give him shit for it, he springs up to kiss your lips fervently. Hands at your thighs massaging the soft flesh, his thumbs brushing ever so slightly where you need him most. All prior thoughts are forgotten as you reach for Bucky's belt, desperately removing all obstacles until you can easily slide your hand into his pants. You palm over the bulge in his boxers, stroking him through the fabric. Your eyes widen at the feel of his size causing him to grin at you wolfishly.

“Something the matter, doll?” 

“Nothing I can’t handle.” 

Your confident tone provokes a deep rumble in Bucky’s throat. His hips jerk forward involuntarily, seeking more of your arousing touch. He pulls his pants and boxers down and off, freeing his cock. It springs forth, long and thick, the tip already glistening with precum. "Got me all worked up, baby. Just look at it—fuck," his voice is thick with lust, guiding your hand to wrap around his shaft. Your hand glides against him, causing him to let out a low grunt followed by the neediest moans. His nose brushes against yours as he tries not to entirely lose himself to the sheer pleasure that courses through him at your touch. 

Almost desperately, he leans in to capture your mouth again, kissing you deeply, his hips rocking into your hand at the rhythm of your movements. His flesh hand grabs the back of your neck to keep you close as he devours you, while his metal one trails up between your thighs—the coolness teasing the delicate skin—contrasting the heat that builds with the kiss. You moan into it, reveling in the feel of Bucky’s length in your hand as you stroke him slowly, becoming familiar with it. 

Bucky groans into your mouth, a resonant growl of pure want. His fingers go higher up your thighs until the cool metal grazes against your center, drawing out a whimper from you. Your thighs part further in response causing him to smirk against your lips. A smirk that falls into a ravenous hiss as his fingers brush your folds, the sick arousal coating them as he dips to circle your entrance teasingly—your hips bucking in response. 

“Bucky…” his name falls from your mouth with a carnal yearning that snaps Bucky's control entirely. His hands grip your hips to pull you closer to him—balancing you on the edge of the counter. He takes hold of his cock, positioning himself at your entrance, the head brushing against your cunt. Your patience is nonexistent at this point. 

“Bucky, if you tell me to ask nicely I swear to ah—” Bucky cuts off your whiny gripe with one swift thrust, burying himself inside you until he fills you completely. “What was that?” his cheeky question does little to hide he’s just as overwhelmed with how good it feels as you are. Yet, with the cockiest grin, he drinks up your hazy expression as you adjust to his thickness. 

Something shifts inside him when you look at him with soft adoring eyes, filling his heart with a thing that can only be called love. It causes him to pepper kisses—gentle and tender—all over your face to help ease the achy stretch. You melt into them, so contrastingly soft to the prior ones that your heart does a little flip. The deeper feelings behind them not lost on you. Even more so when he whispers the sweetest words of devotion at every kiss. How beautiful you are, how good you feel, how good he wants to make you feel, how he’s dreamed of this, and so much more. All the meanwhile, his thumbs massage comforting circles into your hips. 

“There you go. Doing so good for me, doll,” he praises you when he starts to feel your hips slowly move against him—pleasure replacing the ache. He reciprocates your desire, rocking into you slowly, letting you feel every inch until he goes as deep as possible once more—both of you calling out each other’s name by the time you’ve fully adjusted. 

It’s like this at first—slow and deep—dragging out each thrust to savor the sensation of intimacy. Breathy kisses with exchanged whispers blend with one another, your hands wrapped around his shoulders to keep him close. Fingers gently tugging on his brown locks at the nape of his neck, which only serves to drive him crazier. Making it hard for him to keep his restraint in check.

“Been dying to have you, baby. Fuck, you feel incredible,” he groans out, continuing to bury himself deep into your welcoming heat. But it’s not enough—not for either of you. Not when it does little to help fully unleash all the pent-up hunger that has built up over the course of months. You feel it in the way Bucky grips your hips tight enough to leave bruises to ground himself, and he can feel it in the way your legs wrap around his hips and lock behind him—pushing him in impossibly deeper.

One of you is bound to break soon—and it won’t be you. 

You cup his face in your hands, eyes glazed over and needy as you tell him, “Bucky, don’t hold back. It’s okay. You don’t need to hold back,” you assure him, his pace faltering slightly. Bucky’s blue eyes search yours for a reason not to give in. “I don’t want to hurt you, Y/n. I don’t know if I can trust myself,” the vulnerability in his voice tugs at your heartstrings, your thumbs gently caressing his face to soothe him. He instantly leans into your touch, the comfort it offers addicting. 

You shake your head, planting a soft kiss on his forehead, “You won’t. I trust you, Bucky. I told you—I can handle it, baby—please, baby,” at the term of endearment the rope of restraint inside Bucky snaps. You had never called him baby before, but now that you had Bucky wanted to know what else he had to do—or not do—to keep making you call him baby like that. 

“Keep calling me baby and you’ll get everything you want, beautiful,” Bucky nips at your bottom lip—eyes darkening—turning his pretty blues into a storm. One that’s ready to consume you. He grips your hips harder, picking up his pace until he’s pounding into you with reckless abandon, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core. You meet his powerful thrusts with equal fervor, a stream of curses and sobs of his name falling from your lips. The counter beneath you shakes and for a moment you’re worried he’s going to break it, but the worry washes away instantly as it feels too good to give a damn. 

“Gonna keep marking you up, doll. Want everyone to see my pretty girl all marked up,” he growls, head dipping down to nip and suck on your neck. Bruising kisses strewn along the delicate skin of your collarbone until his teeth graze your shoulder. Your cunt throbs in time with the relentless onslaught of his cock—bodies synced in pure desire. Every touch, every thrust, every kiss, and every word is a brutal assault on your senses. All filled with his overwhelming want of you. 

“Bucky, s-so good, please…” you plead breathlessly for who knows what. Mind fuzzy and gone, only focusing on the searing pleasure in your veins. Bucky lets out a deep chuckle, lips finding their way to yours, metal hand snaking to palm your breast while his other keeps a tight grip on your hips.“Atta girl—taking me so well,” he grunts out, cunt fluttering at his praise, causing him to let out a half moan half chuckle. You’re close to finishing and he can feel it. 

“Cum for me, doll. Be a good girl and cum for me, baby,” Bucky commands, pounding into you with renewed vigor as he works to get you both to your releases. “Baby…I’m gonna…I’m close,” you whimper out and Bucky's response to you is immediate, his hips snapping forward even faster, harder. His metal hand lowers between your legs to apply pressure and circles to your clit. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing through the kitchen—the room forevermore ingrained with the actions of tonight. 

Your body bows off the counter as you scream out his name, your orgasm crashing over you with a hot intensity. Bucky keeps you close and steady, your inner muscles clamping around him like a vice—triggering his climax. Bucky lets out a guttural growl of your name, biting down on your shoulder as his release pours out, burying himself to the hilt as he fills you. The intense contractions milking his shaft for all he’s worth. 

You collapse back onto the counter, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath—body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Bucky shudders from the force of his climax, cock twitching and pulsing as the last of his cum drips out. His upper body collapses on top of you, holding you close as his face buries into the crook of your neck, both of you trembling with the aftermath of your coupling. He trails loving kisses from your neck to your shoulder, not wanting to be apart from you. 

“You did so good, doll—my doll,” he mutters into your shoulder, kissing the area he had previously bitten, nuzzling the marks he left. You can only muster a breathless whimper as he gradually pulls out of you, your combined arousal spreading along the inner skin of your thighs and down onto the counter. He raises his head just enough to admire his handiwork—you, flushed and disheveled, with multiple bite marks and hickeys proudly displayed across your skin.

"I could get used to this—seeing you like this," Bucky says with a satisfied smirk, his gaze roaming over your figure appreciatively. You let out a breathless laugh, “Yeah? I think I could too, baby…” You can feel the way his cock threatens to harden again, the look in his eyes warning you to not push it. He lowers his mouth onto yours again in a hopeless attempt to silence you. 

“Doll, you can’t say it like that. I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

“What about the party, baby?”

That about does it for Bucky. 

“Screw the party. I’d rather show my pretty girl, my baby—a good time here,” he mumbles against your lips, his breath hot and uneven as he picks you up from the counter. You giggle out a gasp as he carries you over to his bedroom where he does indeed show you a good time—a great time, in fact, all night long. 

Happy Halloween to you. 

[sunderwight]

Bingqiu AU where Luo Binghe's the chosen village sacrifice to the evil deity who lives up the mountain.

Normally the village sends maidens, but they've more or less run out of expendable girls of the right age and, ahem, "virtues". So of course Luo Binghe's early life bad luck kicks in. In the wake of his mother's death there's no one to really care about what happens to him, he's fairly pretty, and the village leaders decide that if they dress him up like a girl the teenaged homeless kid should pass well enough. And hey, y'know, he's probably got a hard life ahead for him anyway -- dying in a brothel of some venereal disease or on the streets of exposure or starvation. At least as a sacrifice, everyone else gets to benefit from his loss! And the kid will get added to a shrine and be remembered as a hero! If anything, he should be happy about this!

Binghe is not happy about this.

But he's also a skinny underfed nobody who is easily overpowered, dressed up like a bride, and tied to a post. So. Not much he can do but wait for the evil deity to come and do whatever horrible thing he's gonna do to him.

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is pretty sure he's been isekai'd into the over-powered hero of some kind of supernatural adventure story? He's not totally sure because he doesn't recognize the setting, but the signs are there. He's got a shrine-like base of operations (though it seems to have become corrupted/ruined, probably he has to restore it somehow), he has a very resilient and handsome new body with spiritual energy of some kind flowing through him, and a very clearly magical sword. Plus lots of neat starter powers! Though it feels like he has other abilities that have been blocked somehow? Probably he has to level up in order to access them.

When he treks out of his "base" and finds what seems to be a distressed maiden, he takes it for his beginner hero mission. The girl claims that she's been doomed to be sacrificed to an evil god. That sounds a little above Shen Yuan's pay grade for dealing with, so he unties her and decides that they had better just get out of the whole region altogether. He already packed up anything useful from his base, anticipating he might get caught up in an adventure once he left, so they follow the river away from the settlement until they reach another one.

While they travel, Luo Binghe tells Shen Yuan about the cursed deity, Shen Qingqiu, who was cast out of the heavens for slaughtering one of his brethren and has apparently being do-who-knows what to maidens from the local village in exchange for his "protection" ever since. Sounds like a real asshole! And also mid-level boss type bad guy at least. Shen Yuan hopes he doesn't have to fight him, but he probably will.

Thank goodness he found Binghe, though! Clearly the helpful little sister type! He's definitely going to require her assistance if he's going to figure out how to navigate this world and level up his skills enough to take on a god.

[osachiyo]

'TRYNA GET YOUR BABY MAMA FULL OF THAT DICK !

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — jing yuan, blade, luocha x fem!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 & 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — n/sfw content, cheating, squirting, dumbification, neglect (from the husband), overstimulation, toxic relationships, dirty talk, petnames, reader is married, cucking, cowgirl, possessiveness (blade), vouyerism, luocha is your family doctor, etc • i never thought id write something like this but here we are lol anyway, happy reading and i hope you enjoy !! minors dni & not proofread

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐀𝐍 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"bounce on me just like that, baby," jing yuan groaned, palming the fat of your ass as you rode him on your husband's couch. "s'big — you're so big, ji," you bit your lip, trying your best to suppress any moans — not wanting your neighbours to suspect anything.

"yeah? even bigger than him?" a sleazy grin adorned jing yuan's lips, your back arched so sinfully as he thrusted up into you. "ngh —!" you threw your head back, clawing his broad shoulders with your pretty nails, that your husband paid for you to get done.

"answer me, sweet girl," he whispered, fondling your bouncing tits before pulling and pinching at your hardened nipples. "d-don't tease!" you swatted at his hand, which only made him pinch harder.

" 'm not teasing, so serious right now baby," his droopy eyes were glinting with mischief — he knew he looked good. you gasped when his hand reached down to flick and rub at your clit, licking his lips at the way you clenched down on his cock.

"gonna cum, pretty?" he captured your lips in a heated kiss before you could even answer him — as if he already knew what you were gonna say. you could practically feel your eyes rolling from the pleasure behind your closed lids, pussy gushing all over his thighs and abdomen — drenching his cock in your juices.

" yesyesyes — 's so big, so much bigger than him —!" you babbled into the messy kiss, back arching even more and pressing your tits against his own chest —

"that's what i thought."

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐄 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

muffled grunts of complaint escaped your husband's gagged mouth, hard cock straining against the rough fabric of his slacks.

"enjoying the view, cheating piece of shit?" blade had you spread eagle on you and your soon-to-be ex husband's shared bed — with you chanting his name like a prayer everytime his cock hit that one spot with unbelievable precision.

"mmph!" your husband growled — veins popping out from his forehead as he tried his best not to hump the air. fuck, you looked borderline delirious getting split open by your co-workers cock; pupils dilated with lust — practically having hearts swimming in your eyes for blade.

"look at 'em, baby — look at how fuckin' hard the bastard is," he forcibly turned your head over to your husband and the man almost didn't recognise you — tongue lolling out with each heavy thrust from blade, sweat dripping down your sinful body.

you didn't even pay attention to the tied-down man — all too focused on the way blade's thick cock rearranged your guts. "see how she turns into a dumb little slut for my dick?" blade spat, cockiness dripping from his words — sharp hipbones digging into the soft skin of your thighs with each slam of his hips.

"who does this pussy belong to?" blade turned your head back to face him, licking the tears that rolled down your heated cheeks. "y-you! all yours — it belongs to you!" you babbled mindlessly, causing a devilish smile to appear on blade's lips —

"oh yeah? and what's my name?"

"bladeee—! oh fu-fuck, bla-de!" you cried out before spraying your juices all over him — some of it even coating his abs.

"good fuckin' girl."

𝐋𝐔𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐀 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

"are you sure you wanna do this?" luocha whispered against your lips, his minty breath filling your senses. "please," you begged, rolling your hips on his lap to show your want — no, need for the blonde man.

it's not like your husband was a good man either — always out drinking and partying, while you stayed at home. alone. he brushed you off everytime you asked about the lipstick stains on his collar — saying you were being dramatic, you were sick of it. could he really blame you for wanting luocha? the young, handsome family doctor — who was also a gentleman at heart.

"i've got you," luocha's smooth, velvety voice cut off your train of thought, a gloved hand tilting your chin up before pressing his lips to yours. his other hand found purchase at your hip, before snaking up to wrap itself around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

you couldn't help but moan into the kiss — he was certainly good at this, better than your husband, at least. luocha was elegant but warm — the complete opposite of your husband, who was rough and neglectful. the softness of the kiss had you melting in his touch.

a gasp left your lips when luocha flipped you over, your back now turned to him while you laid on your tummy. "luocha.." you all but whined, pushing your ass back against his rigid cock, earning a soft groan from him. he pushed your sundress up, bunching the thin fabric at your waist — "no panties?" he mused, landing a playful slap on your plush ass. gloved hands found your cunt before you could answer, rubbing your bare folds.

an amused chuckle left the man once he felt how damp you were, "already this wet? hmm.. the mister has been neglecting you quite a bit, hasn't he? worry not, i will take great care of you."

©osachiyo— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

[lightseoul]

a/n. might turn this one into a drabble series if people like it. alternatively, i have a one-shot idea that shares similar themes with whatever this is. dedicated to my psych degree that i may never finish. (0.4k)

navigation. (you are here), part 2, part 3

bakugou doesn’t notice you at first.

in his defense, looking for girls wasn’t exactly part of his itinerary whenever he visited his therapist’s building. and if it was?

well, doing that in a mental health institution wouldn’t exactly be his first pick.

not that he is looking for someone.

rising speedily through the ranks as a pro-hero came with more and more tasks and responsibilities by the day, and as much as he wanted to downplay the weight of such endeavors, he’d be lying if he said the exhaustion wasn’t getting to him.

he’s barely making enough time to make room for his weekly therapist appointments. how can he possibly squeeze in dating into his already jam-packed schedule?

in fact, that was the point he was trying to make to his psychologist a few minutes ago who, in turn, countered his theory by broaching the plausibility of it being an avoidant technique to mask his inexperience, when time ran out and the session had to be put to a close. as always, she tied the session neatly with her spiel about them picking up where they left off next week, and then the pro-hero was already up and exiting her office.

“fucking plausibility,” he mutters to himself just as the door closes behind him, hefting the duffel bag that he carried all the way from his agency higher on his shoulders.

and really, he was about to turn to the right so he could take a piss before driving home when the door beside the restroom creaks open. now, he’s never seen any other client in his few years of face-to-face consultations, which was weird but not entirely inconceivable. so he finds it pretty excusable when he finds himself pausing, craning to hear the soft mutters emanating from the inside—not that eavesdropping on someone else’s psych appointment is fun—then immediately straightening up when a body emerges from the crack.

his first instinct is to instantly dash towards the comfort room like he wasn’t just standing there like a nosy idiot, but instead, he finds himself frozen when his eyes dart up and meet yours.

what did that proverb say again? all pretty girls are mentally ill?

he can only watch—immobile—as your eyes widen in recognition because, of course, you’d recognize him. not that he’s being fucking cocky; in fact, he’d much rather you did not identify him—fresh out of therapy, no less—but he’s aware that his reputation, unfortunately, precedes him. his reputation of being this aggressive, no-nonsense, brash pro-hero.

which is why he doesn’t fucking understand why he does the next thing.

he lifts his hand and blurts—

“hi.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra

[sunsburns]

okay but logan taking an interest in neighbor who works in fashion?? he always sees her carrying stacks of magazines, dressed in her chic attire that is sometimes a bit too tight in all the right areas, glasses slipping off her nose, always making calls on that damn phone, and yet he always wishes she looked his way…

oh anon ur cooking here. i think this is what's pulling me out of my writing slump 🥴 (wade breaking the fourth wall, suggestive 16+)

the first time he noticed you, it wasn't even in your building complex, but rather the stairs to the subway station down the street. you were rushing up the steps while he, wade, laura and al were just about to enter. it was al who noticed you first, calling out your name and poking your side with her walking staff.

you shrieked, dropping one of the fabric rolls you had been carrying, a curse at the tip of your tongue before you realized who it was. "al," you sighed, a little relieved, when you saw her and wade, who was dressed in a "i love nyc" t-shirt.

logan, being the gentleman he was, picked up the roll you dropped, handing it back to you. it was then that you looked at him, or well, briefly glanced his way with a quick "thank you" before wade started fucking talking.

that son of a bitch.

he didn't even have the courtesy to introduce the two of you to each other.

it was obvious you were in a rush, lips in a tight smile as you nodded and tried to smile at wade telling you all about how they were about to "hit up" times square.

logan felt bad for you, but only a little bit. the longer you stayed to listen to wade's painful monologue, the more he could look at you. he was a little shameless about it, perhaps not the most gentlemanly thing he could've done, but god you were just a sight for sore eyes.

a pretty thing in a mini skirt despite the cool late september breeze that was starting to kick, white, lace and ruffled. delicate with tall brown leather boots. and a washed-out denim vest you wore as a top, two buttons undone, a little pink bow tied to the pocket. logan didn't know a lot about fashion, but he liked the way clothes looked on you.

and then you were gone, al kicking wade across the shin to shut him the hell up when she realized you were in a rush. she let you go, and you left, quickly trading numbers with laura and without saying much of a goodbye or another glance logan's way.

but he watched you go, watched the way your skirt moved with the wind too.

"yeah, look at it bounce. god, i am no better than any man. " wade hummed, leaning all his weight on logan's side. "i didn't peg you as a creep, honey badger. with the way you were undressing the reader with your eyes, i would've thought you were on a registered sex offender's list."

"shut the fuck up, wade."

logan could hear the way laura snorted, her and al continuing their way down the stairs.

wade held his hands up in surrender before logan could try anything (and by anything, he meant to cut him to pieces. wade can't deal with that right now, the blood would take ages to get off his white shirt). "i'm just saying, after living with us for a few months, i would've thought you'd met her by now."

logan raised his brow, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"i mean, she literally lives across the hall." wade turned his head to the side, pointing his thumb at logan, "he can't possibly be this stupid, right? it's gotta be for the plot to build up tension or something."

from that day on, logan's started to notice you more. not that he was looking for you, he's not that big of a creep. but he's spotted you out the window some days, running down the sidewalk, always in a rush. then he was able to hear the way you slam your door shut when you leave in the mornings or when you get back home.

every single day, you're usually out and about. unless it's a sunday, those are the days you stay in your apartment, sewing and hanging out with blind old al and sometimes even fucking laura. turns out, you were the one who got laura all of those new clothes, made them for her.

jesus christ, how out of the loop was he?

you stood out like a sore thumb, always carrying something. whether it be magazines, sketchbooks, fabric rolls, or bags, you're always struggling to open your door when you get home, keys sometimes slipping from your grasp as you're trying to juggle everything.

one day, logan had come back from a run and spotted you in the hallway. well, he had heard you from floors below and was able to pick up the lingering scent of your perfume by the time he entered the lobby. it took him a bit of courage to walk up the few flights of stairs knowing he'd bump into you.

what the fuck was this?

he was a grown-ass man for god's sake. you had him overthinking and blushing at the mere thought of being in the same space again.

when he saw you in the hallway, you were on the phone, the device tucked between your ear and your shoulder, cursing under your breath as you tried to pick up your keys. you were wearing a black dress that day, a black hat and a big maroon scarf around your neck, "no, emily, don't fucking buy it in that colour. it looks like fucking vomit. i don't care what amy told you, she's basically colour blind-"

you stopped mid-sentence when logan appeared in front of you, grabbing the keys for you. "oh- uh. thanks."

"yeah, no problem."

he noticed your nails and glasses were dark red to match the scarf. lipstick too.

you didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, he could tell from the way you froze, as if you didn't know what was supposed to happen next. he had disrupted your daily pattern, everything in your life moving constantly and quickly but all of a sudden everything is slower. it left you breathless.

"you're logan, right?"

he furrowed his brows. he hadn't expected you to remember him, nevertheless, remember his name. "yeah."

"wade told me all about you," you said, and your eyes dropped from his face a little, then lower, a smirk not too different from a sly cat's. you were staring shamelessly, eyes following every part and curve of his body, the way his long-sleeve shirt clung to his skin with sweat. "you don't seem austrailan."

logan tried not to groan. the picture of wade's stupid face in his mind now that you've mentioned him. he hated that the two of you seemed close. "i'm canadian."

"aren't you full of surprises?" you laughed, a smooth, teasing sound, and finally pushed the keys into the nob, unlocking the door. you turned, lingering by the door as if you were about to invite him in, but then the voice from your phone was trying to get your attention and you nearly seemed disappointed. "i'll see you around, logan."

and you were gone again.

logan liked to see your different outfits every day, dawning a different style every time you walked out that door. it was like you could never settle for one style, but you managed to look so fucking good in everything and every colour you put on.

he could never get tired of it. never get tired of you.

you and your tiny bottoms that he swore were getting smaller and smaller every day, even though the city grew colder and the days shorter. you and your stupid phone calls that sometimes went on late at night. you and your clothes, every single one different from the last.

you and your sketches, the ones he had started to find loose pages on the floor of the small hallway between your apartments, pretty designs of lingerie on a model that looked a little bit too much like you for it to be a coincidence.

though you never made another attempt to talk to him, you knew he was watching you. but you never chased, your heels were too expensive for that. you were just trying to give him a reason to come on you.

to you**

to come to you.*

sorry. typo.