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dakotalun · 1 year

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"Oops" | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Part 1--Eddie "accidentally" sends a tasteful pic to his best friend.

warnings: mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), strong language, description of naked Eddie

word count: 3.4k

Part 2

a/n: went a little crazy at 3am the other night and wrote this. Part two will be up later this week!! Luv y'all <3

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Eddie is your best friend of many years, the two of you being inseparable from the moment you met. So when you got a text from him tonight you don’t think much of it, figuring it was just a dumb meme he saw or a random thing from today.

What you didn’t expect to see was a picture of Eddie standing in his bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders with a prominent boner happening.

His hair is wet as if he just got out of the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry it yet. The long dark brown locks stick to his neck and chest in a way that can only be described as godly. The tattoos on his skin are glistening but covered by the towel around his neck and as you move your eyes downward the path of hair that leads to his dick is delicious.

And talking about his dick it is, mag-fucking-nificent! The way that it hangs there, the tip swollen and red, leaking the smallest bit of precum. It has your mouth watering.

You nearly choked on your own spit when you saw it. Never in a million years did you think that Eddie would be sending you of all people nudes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wonder what he was packing but you never really indulged in those thoughts, until now. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, memorizing every little detail in the photo.

Eddie sends another text but you’re too distracted to see what it is. Then a stream of texts start flooding in from him.

‘SHIT!’

‘I DID NOT NMEAN TO SNED YIU THAT!’

‘IGNORE THE PICTUREA’

‘HOW THE HELL DO I DELETE THE PIC?!?!?!’

‘GOD I AM SOSOSOSOSOSOSSOO SOORRY!!’

You giggle at his frantic typing, noting all the typos. Curiosity gets the better of you and you scroll up a little to see what he had said after he sent the picture. You’re eyes go wide at the words displayed on your screen.

‘Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Jerked off twice while in the shower and I’m still hard. Wish you were here with me right now ;)’

You had no clue who this was really meant for but if it was meant for you you would 100 percent be on your way to him right now. The bottom half of the picture stares back at you as your eyes acan over the text again and again. You can’t deny the small hint of wetness that you feel on your underwear while looking at the two.

Twice? He came twice and is still hard. Whoever he thought about must be really hot if he can go 3 rounds without breaking a sweat. Could he go more?

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone receiving a call, from none other than Eddie himself. You sit up in bed and pull your knees towards you as you answer his call.

“Sweetheart I am so so so sorry I sent you that. It was clearly meant for someone else. If I had known it was your contact that I was on I would have never sent that at all. I want you to know that I don’t go around sending nudes to everyone or anything, I’m not a slut I was just-”

“Eddie it’s fine. No need to apologize. I figured it wasn’t meant for me anyways.” It pains you a little at the thought that someone else was supposed to receive that message from your best friend.

“I’m still sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” His voice sounds smooth like spreading butter onto fresh pancakes.

“Hmm,” You fake thinking about what you want even though you know exactly what it is you want, “You’ve gotta tell me who that text was really meant for.” Silence. For a whole minute there is just silence on Eddie’s end, you’d think he was dead if it weren’t for the fast pace of his breathing.

“Sweetheart,” The nickname is not helping the situation you have going on right now, “You don’t mean that. Can’t I just take you to breakfast or buy you a new outfit?”

“Nope.” You respond popping the ‘p’ as you say it. “Either tell me who it was meant for or I send it to the groupchat.” You were bluffing. You couldn’t let the others see him like that, that was for your eyes only. Not that anyone needed to know that.

“You wouldn’t dare,” His voice turned deep and threatening.

“Try. Me.” You challenge back.

Eddie groans, “Fine. You win,” A smile spreads across your face, “It was meant for Callie. This girl in my chem class, we’ve been talking for a little bit.”

You’re a mix of emotions right now; happy that Eddie found someone he’s interested in and took his shot, confused because he never told you about it, sad because you thought he trusted you with things like that, and slightly jealous because you want to be the one Eddie sent nudes to, purposefully.

“Sweetheart? You still there?” You completely forget that you’re still on the phone with Eddie until he says something.

“Uh yeah yeah I’m here. I’m um happy for you Ed. Glad you found someone. Look I gotta go to sleep, big test tomorrow, talk later. Bye.” You hang up before he can say anything else.

Why did you feel this way about all this? You shouldn’t be thinking of Eddie in this way, he was your best friend. Best friends don’t think about going down on each other, or the way it would feel to have his cock inside you, or the moans he would release when he finally cums in you.

You shake it off and lay back down, setting your phone on your nightstand to charge. You try for half an hour to fall asleep but your mind can’t stop thinking about that damn picture. So you unlock your phone and go back to your messages with Eddie, looking to see if he deleted the picture or not. And to your luck it was the latter, the picture and text below still there for your viewing pleasure.

You’re still horny from the initial thought of him so it doesn’t take long for your hand to wander under your shorts and underwear to your clit. The thought that your fingers were his and the way he would whisper in your ear egging you on to finish.

The images of him jerking himself off in the shower flood you, his hand on the cold tiles, water hitting his back as he fists his cock, rubbing it slowly at first but becoming impatient and going faster until he cums all over the wall and his hand.

The image of his face when he does and the moans that would leave his mouth is what throws you over the edge yourself. Wishing it were him between your legs pulling it from you not your own fingers. Finally your body is tired enough to let you go to sleep, dreaming of Eddie once more.

---

You’re sitting with Eddie and the rest of Hellfire at lunch a week later. Neither of you have talked about what happened that night, both too embarrassed to say anything.

Things were normal though, Eddie would pick you up and drop you off to and from school. You’d talk on the phone every night about whatever happened that day that the other wasn’t there for. You liked the thought that the text didn’t hinder your friendship but you can’t help but be a little jealous about Eddie fucking someone else. It’s not like you were expecting him to confess his hidden undying love for you the next day but the realization that Eddie really did send you that accidentally; hurt.

The freshman are talking about some video game coming out when Eddie lean over to you.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?” There’s a smile on his face, one that you always loved seeing.

“Nothing,” You go back to eating your fruit.

“Alrighty then. Hey I was wondering what time you wanted to come over tonight?”

Your eyes grow wide, mind going back to the text, “Why?”

“Um it’s Wednesday. Horror movie marathon night, remember?” His head cocks to the side a little, his hair falling into his face. It reminds you of a dog questioning what it’s owner has in their hand.

“Oh right yeah. Um I don’t know if I can make it tonight.” That was a lie, you had nothing going on. But being in the trailer alone with Eddie after knowing what he looks like naked is not what you need right now.

“Awe come on! I rented Scream, Saw, and Halloween for tonight. You can’t make me watch them all alone,” He lowers his voice and leans closer, “What if I need protection from the bad guys?” His big doe eyes large and pleading with you.

You roll your eyes and push his face away from you, “Ugh fine. I’ll be there, how’s 8?”

“Perfect! I’ll order the pizzas, do you think you could make those amazing cookies for us?”

“You mean for you?”

“No. I mean for us, I would never eat all the cookies myself.”

“You did like 3 weeks ago! There were 30 cookies there and I had none of them.” You stare at him as he thinks back to then.

“Nope don’t remember which means it didn’t happen. So will you?” There are those puppy dog eyes again.

“Whatever but I swear if you eat all of them again I’ll castrate you.”

Eddie’s hands fly to his groin, protecting it from your threat. “Ouch, sweetheart. Didn’t know you hated my dick that much.”

I don’t. Just hate that it’s not mine. You thought, but you just rolled your eyes and continued on eating lunch until the bell rang.

---

Eddie rushed around his room looking for his favorite shirt when you showed up for movie night. You let yourself in, per usual and set the cookies down on the coffee table before heading to Eddie’s room. He was squating in front of his closet when you come in, you don’t announce yourself just stand there staring at his back.

He got a few new tattoos since last summer, two of which on his back. A skull and crossbones along with a knife wrapped in barbed wire. You haven’t seen them in person yet, it still being too cold to sit out in the sun. But looking at them now was a pleasure, the detail popping out as his muscles flex.

Eddie huffs and stands, defeated about not finding the shirt he wanted. He turns around and finds you standing in his doorway.

“Jesus! Why didn’t you say you were here?” His hand is over his heart as he catches his breath from the unintentional jump scare.

“I texted you like 20 minutes ago that I was on my way. Figured you knew I’d be here soon,” You say as you enter his room fully to sit on his bed.

“I did not see the text, I was in the shower,” The mention of this brought back memories of the photo, and what you did whilst looking at it, “Anyways pizza should be here soon and I’ve got beers and soda in the fridge.”

Eddie walks around you to his dresser, grabbing a random shirt and throwing it on. You’re sad at the loss of his bare skin but quickly shake the thought away. You get up from his bed and head to his living room, Eddie following in toe.

“So what are we watching first? I’ve seen Scream a few times but the other two I haven’t seen,” Eddie remarks as he grabs two beers from the fridge, opening them before handing you one.

You mumble a thanks before taking a sip, the bitter liquid coating your tastebuds. “I’ve seen Scream and Saw but not Halloween. Heard good things about it though, at least that’s what Robin said, Steve had other opinions.”

“Lemme guess pretty boy hated it and wished he never saw it?” Eddie laughs as he sets up Halloween on the tv.

“Yeah pretty much,” You laugh along. The thought of your friend sitting there watching the movie curled up in a blanket next to Robin bringing a smile to your face.

Eddie finishes setting up the movie and walks back the kitchen. He grabs a bag of chips and some dip before returning to your side on the couch. He opens the chips and pops one in his mouth, crunching it loudly.

You smile at the normalcy of everything right now, it’s as if nothing ever happened between the two of you. Which if we’re being honest nothing really did happen, Eddie just sent you a nude on accident. It’s not like you kissed or anything. Not that you’d hate it if you did.

You snack on the chips and dip with him while waiting for the pizza to show up, never starting the movie without it. The two of you talk about nothing in particular while you sit there. Eddie tells you about the upcoming DnD campaign he’s been working on.

His eyes lighting up and hands flying around erratically as he explains what he planned, the animation in his character brings an even bigger smile to your face.

Just as Eddie concludes his explanation, inviting you to come sit in and watch it at the end, the doorbell rings notifying the both of you that the pizza was here and it was now time for movie night to begin.

Eddie pays the guy and happily walks over to the couch and sets the food on the table in front of the two of you, he can’t even wait til the movie starts playing to begin eating. You laugh at him as he opens and closes his mouth quickly trying to cool the hot pizza in his mouth, you just hit play and start watching the movie.

The pizza is gone, same with half the bag of chips and the cookies. Eddie actually let you eat a few of them before he scarfed down the others. You’re nearing the end of Scream, the third and final movie of the night when you look at your phone for the time. 12:25 stares back at you, you groan knowing that your parents are going to kill you for coming home so late on a school night.

Eddie hears you and turns to see why you made that noise. You just wave him off and go back to watching the movie, watching as Skeet Ulrich gets shot for the final time in the head. A few minutes later the credits roll and Eddie turns off the tv, letting the trailer fade into silence.

“Wanna tell me what that groaning was about?” Eddie asks turning to face you completely.

“Nothing, just didn’t realize that it had gotten so late. Parents are gonna kill me if I go home at this hour.”

“So just stay here,” He says with no hesitation, “You still have a few clothes here after last movie night. They’re just siting in my drawer.”

You think about it for a minute. You and Eddie have had sleepovers in the past, nothing special about them, just two people sharing a bed, occasionally cuddling because of the small size of it. But now the thought of it made you nervous, having him so close to you, so near yet not being able to touch him. It killed you, but it’s better than going back home right now and having your mom and dad rip you a new one.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to shower though. Coach had us run the mile today at practice and I still feel disgusting.”

“Yeah no problem, you go ahead and shower, I’ll clean up here.” He stands and starts clearing the trash from the table. You get up too and head into his bathroom, but no matter how hot the water is or how long you stand under it you can't get the thought of the picture and the words under it out of your mind.

He was right here, jerking off to the thought of someone. You scold yourself for thinking about him like that, again. But you couldn’t help it.

Recently you’ve thought about him more and more; his smile, the dimples that show when he’s really happy, how animatedly he talks, the way his hair is always unkempt but still looks so damn soft. You thought about him in ways you never did before seeing that picture; his arms, his muscles, his hands, his rings. Everything about him turned you on and you needed it to go away.

Eddie finished up cleaning and sat down on his bed, beer in hand while he took out his metal lunchbox for a joint. You walk into his room, towel wrapped around yourself, hair dripping wet from the shower. He stops his actions to just stare at you, the same way you did earlier that night.

“Uh could I borrow some clothes? I don’t have anything to sleep in,” You say wrapping your arms under your boobs, pushing them up ever so slightly.

Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, sure.” He gets up and walks over to his dresser, rummaging through it to look for something you can wear tonight. He pulls out a pair on your underwear that you “left” there a while back and one of his Hellfire shirts. You denied his offer of some pants, saying they would be way to big on you and you’d rather just sleep in the shirt.

Eddie’s mind went straight to the gutter at that thought, you sleeping next to him, in just his Hellfire shirt and a pair of underwear he stole from you. His dick was growing hard just thinking about it. He quickly got back to looking for his joint and lighting it upon it’s appearance. He took a few hits while you changed in the bathroom, his mind slowly fogging over.

You return, hair still slightly wet with the towel in your hand. You toss it into his hamper before laying on his bed, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. You lay back and close your eyes, letting the serenity of this moment wash over you. Eddie offers you a hit but you decline, being that you don’t ever mix weed and booze together.

He finishes the joint while you finish his beer. The two of you just sitting there with the light sound of whatever record Eddie has playing. Your thoughts are quiet for the most part, just soaking in the time with your best friend, until you think of something. A question you’ve been meaning to ask for a little bit.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He responds head leaning back onto the wall where a headboard should be.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, hit me.” You reach your hand out and hit him in the thigh.

“Ouch! Not literally, I meant with the question, sweetheart.”

“I know,” You giggle.

“Brat,” He mumbles back.

“Anyways, I was gonna ask -and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to it’s just something I’ve been thinking about- but did you really not know it was me you were sending that picture to?” The words lay heavy on your tongue as you say them aloud. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, it’s hard not to.

How did he not know it was you he was texting, your name was right there at the top of the screen. And if he was sending it to someone else how could he not double-check to make sure he wasn’t sending it to someone like Wayne or Robin.

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking about the best way to tell you that, yes he did know it was you he was sending it to. And yes he knew it was stupid but he wanted to try something to see if you felt the same way about him that he does you. Eddie’s loved you for about a year and a half now, never saying anything to anyone in fear of running your friendship.

But that night he was watching a show and one of the characters did this thing where they pretended to send a text to someone “they didn’t mean to”, to see how they’d respond. He thought that maybe this was an easy way of figuring out how you felt about him. But when you didn’t respond to his photo or texts he got scared and called you. Needing to clarify what he sent, and why.

Eddie Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis

#eddie stranger things #munson #eddie munson #eddie my love #eddie my beloved #female reader #oneshot #smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #stranger things season 4 #eddie x reader

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staff · 1 year

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Let the games begin.

Well. Well, well, well, well, well. It’s here. The day has finally come. We’ve enjoyed witnessing you set dashboards ablaze the world over with your fandom hot takes, your cats, your dragon art, your recipe polls, your incorrect quotes, your Barbie memes. (But, really, mostly your cats.)

Starting April 20, you will be able to Blaze each other's posts: You’ll be able to scroll through your dash and see a post that tickles you, and then make thousands of complete strangers see that post also.

We made this for fun, but you remain in charge of your stuff. So here are some important details:

Blog-level settings: All blogs will be set to Blazable by default in your blog settings. We’re giving you this heads-up so you can toggle Blaze off on any blog you don’t want people to Blaze posts from (quick link for web). Remember to do so for any secondaries you might want to keep Blaze-free.

Post-level settings: These override your blog-level Blaze settings. You can enable Blaze in the post editor—before or after posting—via the cog (web) or the meatball menu (mobile), regardless of your blog's Blaze settings. Any posts you previously disabled reblogs on will remain unsharable via Blaze. Unless, of course, you edit the post to enable Blaze.

Real humans moderate all posts being Blazed before they go out. If something’s fishy or seems like it might be harmful, it won’t go through.

When someone Blazes your post, you will receive an email, push notification, and/or activity item (depending on your settings).

You can cancel the Blazing of your post before it happens—or extinguish a post that is already being Blazed—either by responding to the aforementioned notification, or via the “Active” tab in your Blaze interface.

We will only accept posts that comply with our global advertising guidelines. Interested in advertising directly? Find out more here.

Here are some FAQs.

So that’s it, really. Be nice! Have fun!

And, as always, if you want to get in touch, drop us a line on @wip or Support, and keep an eye out for more updates on @changes.

#features #Blaze

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darnell-la · 20 days

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Darkceo!logan and employer!fem-reader when he's using his power to control her fully as employer and plaything💯

pairing: dark!boss!logan howlett x employ!reader

warnings: controlling, unprofessional, threats, choking, hair pulling, sexual harassment, high power, forced creampie, rough sex, marking, baby trapping, etc.

note: I’ll be Logan’s slut coworker anytime.

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

———

“Logan, I can’t stay after hours to help the kids in detention. I’ve got work to do myself,” y/n said after the man called her in his office. This was his third time within a week, making her stay back.

“Well, I’ve got paperwork, and need someone to watch the kids when I’m not looking,” the man fixed his glasses before looking back at the computer he was typing on.

“You’re in the same room as them — I’m sure they’re not gonna up and leave,” y/n tried convincing the man to let her go, but that wasn’t happening, just like the other nights.

“When I tell something once, I expect you to listen, y/n. Don’t make me tell you again,” the man had looked up at the girl.

Y/n stood in the middle of the man’s office, wanting to fight for some kind of break, but last time he had scared her into staying.

“Yes, sir,” the young lady said before turning around and walking off. She could see the smirk on the older man after her sentence. He owned her, and she had no one to go to and tell.

“Y/n, stay back — We need to talk,” Logan said after y/n dismissed detention for the kids. Some laughed as others ran out, ready to do whatever teenage mutants did at this time of night.

“Mister Howlett, I really need to get to my own work-“ she tried saying. “Don’t start,” the man cut her off at the end of her sentence. The way he always looked over his glasses, made her shut up in an instant.

The class was finally empty. Logan stood outside of the door, waiting for all of his students to leave before closing and locking his classroom door.

“You’re the best teacher I’ve got, y/n, but your attitude — It ain’t pretty,” Logan finally turned around, eyes burning into hers. She didn’t want to get fired. She’s done everything he’s asked, but she could feel something coming.

“Ima need you to work after hours right here with me. Confused it a mild punishment for your recent behaviors,” he said, confusing the girls.

“Mister Howlett, I’ve donen’t everything you’ve asked me to for days. If I don’t get my own work done, I can fall behind. The stress isn’t good for teaching,” she tried telling the man.

Logan walked toward the girl, letting her talk for once until he stood right before her.

“I know you love this job, y/n, but you will lose it if you don’t obey me,” the man said. Obey? “Logan, this isn’t some kind of joke. I can’t be around you all day and night for no reason. I have papers myself,” y/n tried standing her ground, but it was hard. His gaze intimidated her.

“Then take ‘em down here for now on. Don’t argue with me anymore,” the man looked down at her as she rolled her eyes. He didn’t like that.

“Look-“ Logan said as his hand raised, gripping the girl's neck out of nowhere. “I don’t know who the fuck told you, you can act a certain way towards me — But I’d advise you to cut that shit out,” he said.

When the girl didn’t give a response and just looked up at the man, he dragged her until her body was pinned against the cold thick wooden walls.

“You think I’m a joke, Bub? I’ll fire you right now. I don’t give a fuck how important you are to my school. I’ll fire you and throw you out tonight,” the man threatened as his body pressed against her.

“So as I said, cut the fuckin’ attitude, before I do it for you,” another threat was made. “You can’t just-“ y/n tried saying. “I can’t just what? Hm!?” Gripped her neck tighter, waiting for her to tell him what he couldn’t do with her.

“Y-You can’t just do this, Logan. I have a job to do, just like you, and you’re getting in my way. Y-You’re distracting me,” she finally said.

She had been trying to tell the man for weeks now, but every time, he’d threaten the woman’s job. It was unprofessional of him shaking up in her room one night, and telling her she needed to come to her rooms at times and work. She didn’t know what the man's problem was, and she was scared to ask.

“Oh, I’m distracting?” He asked in a low voice which slightly came out as a growl. He couldn’t help but smirk and scan the young lady. She looked so good like this.

“Maybe I am too — Those lips aren’t very easy to ignore,” he said, face coming close to hers. Once his hot breath hit her skin, her heart dropped and reality hit her. This man has been hitting on her…

“M-Mister Howlett,” the girl spoke, earning a groan from the man. “Yes, princes?” He asked as one knee moved in between her leg, pushing until he grazed her clothes folds.

Y/n regretted listening to the man when he demanded her to look more professional by wearing skirts and dressed to teach.

“T-This is unprofessional,” she said, instantly making the man laugh as he tilted his head back. “God, you’re so fuckin’ dumb. Lucky me, I like ‘em that way,” the man said before he slowly leaned at her neck.

The young girl whined softly, her heart rate raising as her boss sucked on her neck. “L-Logan,” she pushed at his shoulders softly, but what would that do? He was stronger and wanted this.

The man growled in her neck, loving the way his name rolled from her tongue. “L-Logan, stop this,” y/n pushed harder at the man’s shoulders, but all he did was laugh at her skin.

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears as she noticed her cunt throb on his thigh. She was growing wet as well, and she knew he knew that.

After Logan realized how much she was leaking, he pulled her off of the wall by her hair, pulling her over to his desk. “Be a good coworker, and spread for me,” the man pushed her down onto his desk, almost breaking it.

“Ow, Logan,” the girl whined. He loved how venerable she was. The girl wasn’t a mutant, so she knew he was too strong for her. He loved the power he had over her as a mutant and boss.

Y/n repeatedly begged the man to let her go, telling him she’d do whatever he wanted from now on with no attitude, but all he said was “Ima get that anyway,”.

Logan pulled the girl's tight dress up, eyes filling with darkness as he saw her wet spot. “Fuckin’ slut got wet on the job,” the spat before ripping them off clean.

“P-Please, Logan,” y/n begged again, legs already shaking from the fear in her body. She’s never been with a mutant, and having her boss be the first, isn’t professional of her. She can’t do this.

“Don’t worry, Bub — Gonna fill this cunt right up. Give her what she needs,” he made up his own thoughts on what y/n wanted as he pulled himself out, stroking until he felt pre cum leak from his tip.

Logan knew the young lady wasn’t on birth control. He made her sign work papers, having that down as one of the questions. She didn’t think of it at first because she just wanted a job. A normal job, but now she knows it’s not so normal.

Logan forcefully pushed at the girl's entrance, making her grip his table. He was huge, and he hadn’t even filled her to the brim yet.

“L-Logan, please!” She begged as tears slipped from her eyes. The man groaned as he slipped into her walls, feeling the instant warmth and grip. “Fuck,” he couldn’t keep in. He’s been waiting on this for a while.

L-Logan,” the girl's cracked voice filled the room as he pushed all the way into her. She felt full. She felt pain. She felt pleasure. He knew she liked this deep down.

“Ah huh, baby — You like it?” He asked as he slowly pulled back before pushing back in. Y/n’s body went stiff at the length he was. He was too deep, and he loved it.

“T-Too much, Logan,” she cried low, gripping his desk harder. “I know, Bub, but whose fault was that for not being nicer to me? I would’ve trained you with my fingers, but you’ve been pissin’ me off lately,” Logan leaned over y/n, rubbing at her cheeks.

“Got me so fuckin’ angry, but all I could think about if fuckin’ it out. All out, into you,” the snap on his hips made the girl yelp. “So, you’re gonna lay here, and fuckin’ take it — professionally,”

Logan couldn’t help himself. He tugged on the girl's hair and gripped the side of her waist, pulling her into every hard thrust he could give. He knew the screws on the table were loosening, but he’ll fix it later.

“Can’t walk around here this tight and think I don’t want a taste, baby. Gonna be havin’ this cunt whenever I want, and however I want from now on,”

Y/n’s cunt was finally stretched and wet, good enough for Logan to slip into her with ease, but still rough enough to punish her. He neared to use the power he had over her, and he was.

“For now on, you’re in my room. Don’t need you unsupervised when you’re this tight,” the sounds of y/n’s juice filled the room as he talked. She couldn’t control her system. She was leaking worse than before. “And leave the panties alone. Need ease access in what’s mine,”

The girl's cunt throbbed at his words, not knowing why, but she knew she was fucked. If she tried telling anyone she didn’t want this after knowing the knot in her stomach getting harder to hold, they’d laugh in her face.

“Petty girls gonna cum, hm? Well, that ain’t so professional of you, ain’t it? Tellin’ me how unprofessional I am, but you’re about to cum on my jeans like the whore of the night,”

Y/n tried holding herself back, angry that he read her like a book, but she soon failed. She came all over his lower body, making the sounds of his thrust louder and more sloppy.

“That’s it, baby — Cum in my cock, and I might give you a raise,” he chuckled as he felt himself eat close. Y/n felt horrible. She clenched around the man after he mentioned a raise. That could only mean she was fine with this, as long as she got paid.

“Gonna have to save after the baby forms in your stomach. Can’t have my pretty girl workin’ too hard,” a whine left the girl's mouth. A very sexual moan that made him know she wanted this. Deep down, she couldn’t hide it. She couldn’t hide how good he was fucking the life out of her.

“That��s it, baby — Keep moaning like that, and Ima put a village in this sweet cunt,” the man said between his teeth, now slamming into her. His thrust was brutal, knowing the wind and trapped moans from her mouth any time his pelvis slapped her ass.

“Fuck, yes, baby. Grip me — Grip me and show me you want it,” the man's cock twitched in her walls, warning her, he was close. Before he could say another teasing sentence, he was cut off by his groans as he filled the girl up.

He spilled in her for what felt like hours, pushing his cock deeper into her cunt to make sure one of them would be a winner.

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norringtondeservestheworld · 7 months

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"It's bloody hot in here"

We are in 2024 and I still see (stupid) people claiming that Braime shouldn't have happened because it was "awkward" and they use as argument Jaime saying to Brienne "It's bloody hot in here" making memes of how Jaime looks like a stupid teenager at the first crush and how his flirting sucks.

But the thing is that.. his flirting IS SUPPOSED to sucks. Jaime Lannister is a 40+ years old man who has been all his life in an abusive and incestual relationship with his sister who manipulated him since they were kids and used sex to have something from him in return and because of that he never slept with another woman because he never felt attraction for another woman.. until now. Brienne is the first woman he sexually and romantically desired outside his sister so IT'S HIS FIRST TIME TRYING TO SEDUCE A WOMAN.

Just look at him. The awkward smile, the eyes constantly moving. HE HAS NO IDEA WHAT HE IS DOING. HE IS SO NERVOUS HE CAN'T EVEN UNDRESS HIMSELF.

And Brienne is as awkward as him. She is a virgin who has been mocked because of her appearance since ever, she wasn't estethically attractive and she knew. She never knew what it meant being courted or desired because she thought this day for her wouldn't come. So after Jaime patethic way of flirting she initially doesn't understand what the fuck is going on and gets confused, until she realized what is happening and all you can see is her completely disbelief.

The scene is supposed to be awkward because Jaime and Brienne are feeling awkward. Because it's their first time. Because they are getting vulnerable to someone who they disliked at first, but that now they love. Because they are living something that they never thought it would happen to them.

Just another prove of how Nikolaj Coster Waldau and Gwendoline Christie always understood their characters. While these people never did.

BONUS Jaime's face when he realized it's finally happening MY GOD I CAN'T WITH THESE TWO-

#braime #jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #nikolaj coster waldau #gwendoline christie #anti jaime x cersei #anti twincest #anti lannincest #THE CHEMISTRY THEY HAVE IS INSANE ASJHAJFHGJ #MY HEART #LOOK AT THEM THEY ARE SO SCARED AND VULNERABLE AND AAAAAAAHHHHHH

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darqx · 20 days

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If you didnt come to party [get the hell out of this club]

In which there's some links to old art - I've been getting a number of asks that are already technically answered so that's just what I'm gonna be doing if i can even remember what RAD they originally came from lol.

❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

UNFORGIVEN.

Yes he can speak at least two demon languages (commons and a more specialised one).

Not really cos the ichor will eventually disappear if it's not in contact with Rire for a while lol. You ever wonder how someone could mysteriously drown whilst not being around anything they could have drowned in? Yeah.

I have drawn several such instances a long time ago. But it's not really Rire flirting with Ren it's more him being like...subtly condescending to Ren since Ren's submissive level is not very interesting to him |D

I...think you may have possibly mistaken me saying Rire might cry if he was in severe pain to mean that's the only time he could cry XD; To answer your q, yes Rire can cry from emotions - the point is he would choose not to (esp in public) as that would be a weakness.

🤔 You could probably get away with the same dress design but in black, tbh (if it was Lady Rire). Since the outfit design is 1930s/1940s based Rire's equivalent would be like...a 3 piece suit with a long overcoat/trench coat.

Got you covered bro [from a suit meme I did before]

Rire has a very long life span, but he's not immortal XD;

Tbh I don't really have thoughts about any of other peoples headcanons. Like I'm generally quite neutral towards headcanons because I primarily deal with the canon; the extent of my thoughts would be like "hm i wonder how they came up with that" lol.

This is actually in my FAQ :d but good of you to check for permission! If it's your own artwork then yes it is ok to make fanmerch of Rire. Similarly Gato allows fanmerch of her BTD and TPOF characs as long as it's your own art you are selling (and not like, our art/someone else's fanart that they didn't give permission to turn into merch).

It would be in Cain's best interest not to.

Cain is literally saying Olé Olé because i happened to be listening to this song at the time.

I can barely keep up with my ask box as myself let alone do it while pretending to be a charac lol, so no 😅 You can find a bunch of the most common qs in the FAQ pages though.

No and not really - though he is a bit more sensitive to light compared to a human as he has much better night vision than a human. He may also be able to see more colours than humans 🤔

There is technically no "stereotypical" demon in my 'verse, there's a bunch of different species each with their own looks/powers, so if he was another species then he'd have their physical characteristics. Rire's species is considered "plain" because outwardly they can pass more easily as a human than say; Izm's species (who have a really noticeable Glasgow smile-esque mouth as one of their physical features).

Yes he was born a demon...to his demon parents...|D;

He's the king of his sector and his sector is pretty well-to-do, I think you can draw your own conclusions from that lol.

Maybe, depends on what the human in question does with that.

Your second q has two answers depending on what context I answer them in, so I'll reply in the BTD context keeping in mind a charac like EP's Cain :d Basically yes Rire would be able to sense them like he does other demons. It's not a specific sense of "THIS CHARAC IS AN ANGEL" but more like "this charac is not human" and depending on what else he gets from it a "in your best interests to not engage".

Something big with long black fur and yellow eyes, maybe like a Norwegian Forest Cat or a Maine Coon.

#boyfriend to death #answer dump #rire answer dump #art #doodle #long post

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avocado-writing · 1 month

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Hi dear! I would like to appreciate your works. I really enjoy everything you wrote, Wish you have a great day! 💗

Since you're taking requests, could you please write Wade with a polite, sweet and delicate partners. He's with a person who's the definition of "Too pure for this world and MUST be PROTECTED at all cost" His partner showers him with love and validation, and always love to listen to him! Thanks! 💓

possibly based on real life events.

Wade Wilson is so in love, it must be sickening to everyone around him.

In fact he knows it is and he does not care. He’ll say “look at this meme the love of my life sent me!” and the person who he shows will roll their eyes, as if you don’t have incredible taste in cat pictures. He’ll monologue constantly about how cute you are and how much he loves that scrunchy thing you do with your nose. He’s recited committed-to-memory facts about you so many times that his friends can parrot them too.

“Yes, I know what their favourite film is, I know you took them to a special viewing of it for their birthday. It’s cute, Wade,” says Laura, patting him on the arm condescendingly. Well, it’s not his fault you’re so wonderful! There isn’t a single thing about you that’s not perfect. He’s constantly bowled over about just how much affection he can fit in his body for you. The other night he was going on about something stupid - he can’t even remember what now, maybe it was about the new Taco Bell menu? - and then realised you hadn’t interrupted him once to shut him up like most people would.

You’d looked over the top of your magazine at him when he’d pointed this out, brow cocked.

“Why would I want you to shut up? I like listening to you talk, Wade.”

Marry you. He’s going to marry you. Every day, then divorce you every day too so he can marry you again.

You are probably too good for him. Most of his social circle thinks so. You’re patient and kind, when you’re not at your job - where you work at a charity adopting out senior animals, as if you could be any more of a fucking angel - you like to spend your time in his shitty little kitchen, baking desserts for him to get home to. He’ll find you getting Al to taste test for you and his apartment full of laughter and joy.

Man, he’s definitely put on like, six pounds since the two of you started dating. He needs to be stronger in the face of your cupcakes.

They are really fucking good though.

He walks in that night with a plushie under his arm. It’s a cow. He remembers you mentioning offhand how cute you thought cows were, so he decided to grab the biggest one the toy store one the way home had just because he knows it’ll make you smile. You don’t need any more stuffed toys; you sleep with them all in the bed and they’re pushing him off the side at this point because of their sheer number but, well, he likes seeing you happy.

And then he hears sobbing.

“Sweetheart?” he asks, immediately panicked. Are you injured? Has someone come to hurt you - has he painted a target on your back because of his job? Bile fills his throat as he stumbles forward…

…and there you are, sitting in front of the TV, PlayStation controller in your lap as tears run down your face while the end of the game plays out. Wade has never felt such relief in his life, laughing as the ache of it is taken from his chest. You turn to him with wide, watery eyes.

“Don’t you laugh at me, Wade Wilson!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But babe… are you crying at the end of Kingdom Hearts?”

“No!” you lie, trying to mop your face off with your sleeve. Then the music hits its crescendo from the crappy speakers and you start wailing all over again.

He loves you. He’d kill a million billion people for you. It would take a hell of a long time but hey, one word and he’d do it. If anyone even lifted a finger to hurt you he’d execute them so thoroughly that every generation of their family would be wiped out of existence too.

To put it in terms you’d approve of, he’d do anything for you. But he also knows you’d never ask him to. You’re just that wonderful.

“… would it help if I got us take-out and you started playing the second one?”

“Uh-huh,” you manage to confirm.

“I could be in this fucking game, beat Donald Duck’s little feathery ass. Disney, make it happen.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it. Pizza or Chinese?”

Taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk

#My writing #mcu x you #mcu x reader #mcu imagines #mcu x y/n #mcu imagine #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x y/n #deadpool x you #deadpool imagine #deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson imagine

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting.

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself…

Now that is pure hell.

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to.

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today.

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown.

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you."

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too.

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm.

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?"

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling.

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows.

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you.

"I'm just…"

Jesus, this is just humiliating.

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise.

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one.

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–"

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…"

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven.

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing.

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know."

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done.

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to.

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to…

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is.

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months?

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain.

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess."

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution.

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to.

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok."

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly.

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender.

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty.

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him?

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy.

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left."

Whoa.

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop."

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in.

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end.

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you.

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard.

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all.

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core.

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load.

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…"

He sounds dazed.

Relieved.

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..."

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even.

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

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