#something something tells me they are tired as f too

[lostinlovingrevery]

Old man Logan with reader who is lonely, has no friends but is still a ray of sunshine with him, always trying to impress him and give him pretty gifts and getting all dolled up for him. She is sad inside though, apart from being his boyfriend, he is her only friend

My Ray Of Sunshine (Why Are You So Sad?)

Old Man Logan X F! Reader

A/N: I hope this is okay! Started angsty, but I wanted it to be happy for both reader and Logan in the end. Loneliness is an awful feeling (smth I'm all too familiar with) If anyone ever needs to talk, my inbox is always open!! I had a little trouble figuring out where to go with this, so I hope this satisfies you!

Plot: You and Logan have been dating for some time, but you still feel the intense loneliness that wraps it's arms around you, him being the only one in your life - and you feel like he's not honest with you.

Warnings: Angsty, slight depression, mention of loneliness, happy endings

Word Count: 2021

"Hi Lo," You cooed as you answered the phone, a smile stretching across your face.

"Hey sunshine," You heard his gruff voice on the other line, giving your heart a flutter. You always loved the sound of his voice, no matter how gruff and cranky he could sound - he never takes it out on you though.

"You still coming over tonight?" You ask as you walk across the room, your fingers tapping along the small box that sat on your desk. A present you decided to get Logan, a nice little silver watch he can wear. There was a moment of silence, "Lo?"

A small sigh,

"Sorry. I can't. I have to work."

Your face fell, but you took a deep breath. "Oh, that's alright!" You say, putting on your best happy-go-lucky voice. You didn't want him to feel bad, just by the tone of his voice you could tell he was having a bad day. "We'll plan for another night baby. You get a request?"

"Yeah, Bachelors party." He says. "Big payout."

"Oooh....Nice paycheck then huh? You can make it up to me later by taking me out somewhere nice then." You tease. You couldn't see the fond smile on his face, but you could picture it.

"Yeah. We'll plan on it. Promise." He says. You chewed on your lip, as you felt that swell of emptiness build up inside you.

Another night alone.

"Sunshine?"

"Huh?" You snapped out of your thoughts. "Sorry, sorry-" You laughed. "Zoned out again. What?"

"I gotta go, got a job. I'll call you later, or in the morning. That alright?"

"Yes, of course." You smiled. "Be safe, okay tough guy?"

You heard a warm chuckle, which made you relax. "Yeah, I will. See you doll."

You heard the phone beep and sighed. Alright.

You and Logan had been dating for a little bit. Meeting in a small little diner that you waitress at. It started as harmless flirting, but then you both managed to find yourself able to talk to each other so easily. Logan listened to you, seemed so openly accepting of you. How could you not be drawn to him?

You thought yourself a little ridiculous for gaining a crush on an older man like Logan, but then his weathered charm got to you - and you just couldn't help it. You'd slip him extra treats on the down-low, not charging him for them. An extra cup of coffee, a slice of apple pie, once you even managed to slip him a stack of pancakes. He'd smile at you and your antics as you slide the plate across the counter and give him a wink- his smile being something tired yet warm that made your knees weak and butterflies shoot through you.

You put more effort into your appearance, especially when you knew he was going to be there. Dolling yourself up - not your usual thing to do but when you got a man like Logan coming around...Well, it's hard not to want to look pretty for him.

It was you that finally convinced him to go on a date with you, and you surprised him by taking him to a gorgeous museum the next city over. You had wondered initially if he scoff at that- him being the gruff and older man he is, but he seemed to really enjoy it. He listened to you ramble on and on about Vincent Van Gogh, one of your favorite painters as you listed everything you knew about him, explaining the misconceptions about him as a painter and a person.

You took the charge of the relationship that formed between you. You planned dates, which seemed to make Logan happy- your infectious happiness- not rubbing off on him but more giving him some much needed relief in what you must believe is a very stressful life for him. He deemed you his sunshine, a pet-name you wore with pride.

You believe it's stressful- or rather assume. He never really told you about his personal life. You know he was a limo driver, you know he lived on the outskirts of town - you never been where he lived. He mentioned something about taking care of his father. He's shared a few stories- always seemingly missing information in them like he was purposely leaving out parts of them.

It made it worse by the fact that he really is the only person in your life right now. You adored Logan and did everything you could to make him happy because he was the only one to give your love to. You spend the time you can together, when he visits your work, or when he comes and stays with you for the night. He's busy though, so he's not really there as often as you wish he was.

Actually, you probably love him. You haven't told him that though. You always feel though that he's hiding something from you. It's disheartening really, he'll listen to you, he's heard your secrets but you never hear his. He refuses to bring you to his place, making some excuse that yours was nicer and maybe it was but you didn't care about that. It created a space between you, something you're not sure if Logan recognizes himself.

You moved to change out of the pretty yellow dress you had on to see Logan, wiping your makeup off and pulling your hair into a messy bun as you prepared to spiral into a night of anxiety, depression, and wine.

You settled on your couch, flipping the tv on, surfing through channel after channel. The night got darker and you got more and more tired. The shadows of your living room, seemingly your only company for tonight, closing in on you as the tv flickered over your curled up form.

Your eyelids grew heavy, as your felt the sinking feeling of your heart, reminding you that you were by yourself again. Inevitably wondering when will Logan leave?

Heavy knocks on your door startled you, as you sat up on the couch and confusion stretched across your face. Worry settled in you, as you had to wonder what shifty characters were knocking on your door at night?

You stood up and crossed the apartment, peeking through the peephole of your door, you're shocked to find Logan standing there. You gasped, stepping back to unlock your door and open it.

"Logan?"

"Hi sunshine." He greeted you, and smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling in the corners as his smile lines became more prominent. He held a bouquet of sunflowers in one hand.

"What are you...What are you doing here?"

"I missed ya." He says gently, a lingering gruff in his voice. "Can I come in?"

You bit your lip, and nodded. Still, your lingering feelings stuck in the back of your head. Stepping back, you forced a smile up at him as he stepped inside, holding the bouquet up.

"I figured you'd like them because...You know. That painter who- Are you okay?" He stopped, squinting at you, as he watched your eyes met with the bouquet, and tears filled your eyes. "Hey, hey sunshine, what's wrong?" He asks softly, bringing his hand up to your chin, tipping it upwards to look up at him. You bit your lip and shook your head.

"Sorry-" You say pulling away from him, wiping your eyes. "I'm just happy to see you..." You lied through your teeth. His eyes, he looked tired.

"Don't know about that sweetheart..." He mutters, examining your expression. "What is it? The flowers? You hate em?"

"No." You let out a small laugh, crossing your arms. He turned to shut the door behind him, locking it before setting the flowers on a nearby table, his hands coming to rest on your arms.

"Well?" He looks down at you, his face serious, but his eyes held concern. "You don't need to pretend with me darling."

You were caught off guard by him, showing up suddenly when you felt your worst. Your instinct screamed at you to push him away, to pretend that it was all okay. You didn't want to bring him down. Your anxiety peeked at the idea that he may be disappointed by this version of yourself, that he would see the lonely person you are, and leave because he wouldn't want to deal with you.

But they way he looked at you, you couldn't help it as the dam broke, and he pulled you tight to his chest, holding you as you cried.

"I'm sorry doll. I didn't mean to hurt you by canceling." He says softly, his hand petting your hair gently.

"No..No, it's not you." You sniffled, stepping away for a moment. "I...I just feel so alone sometimes. I like you a lot Lo, I love us spending time together but when you're not around I'm just by myself and it...It's just terrible."

Logan brows creased, as he brought a hand to cup your cheek. "I didn't know." He says gently. You let out a shaky sigh and looked back up at him.

"You're the only person in my life." You continue. "I don't feel like I don't completely know you though. Not like how you know me. I feel like you're keeping things from me or that you're...Only sticking around temporarily."

"That's not true." He says quickly, and firmly. "I care about you sunshine." His thumb wiped away a tear. "A lot. More than I have a right too. You're....Everything sweetheart. I count myself a damn lucky guy that I met you, that you let me be apart of your life. "

You swallowed and nodded, looking away as you let out a small sigh. You both stood there in silence.

"I..." He started. "I don't know how to stop you from feeling alone but...I get it. You're right. I haven't told you the whole truth."

He grabbed your hand, leading you over to the couch, as you both sat down.

"You ready for this?" He asks.

~~~~~~~~

You stood outside the hot desert sun, as you look around the barren horizon. Logan let out a small cough, as he puffed on the cigar that he was smoking.

"It's quiet." You say.

"Yeah." He nods, his eyes trailing over you as he tried to read your body language.

After an intense conversation last night, you both passed out on your couch. When you woke up in the morning, Logan had you get dressed, and brought you to his...well, where he lives. Can't really call it a home.

That was you.

He felt terrible when you admitted to him everything you struggled with. He adored the way you always seemed to be optimistic, the way you got yourself all dolled up for him, the way you tried to spoil him and every way possible. That's not why he liked you though. He liked your character, he liked the person you are. Not just for what you do for him. You were a fresh breath of air for him. His sunshine.

He wished you see yourself the way he does. You're always encouraging him, to look at himself and see himself as a good man. He didn't know how long he got but he'll spend every second with you to prove you are the most wonderful and loveable person.

You looked at him and smiled. The sunlight gleamed off his new watch that you gifted him. He finished the cigar, flicking it to the ground and stomping it out with the heel of his shoe, before putting an arm around your shoulders.

"You ready to meet the old man?"

"Uh Lo, you're right here." You tease, wrapping your arm around his waist. He chuckled warmly.

"Real cute." He mutters shaking his head, as he led you to the decrepit water tower. He went to the door, and slid it open, a harsh grunt escaping him as it rolled open, he stood to the side and waited as you walked in.

Inside you saw two men. One, sitting in a chair reading a comic book, looking up at you. He had white skin, and yellow eyes. That one must be Caliban.

"Hello dear-" The other man greets. An older gentleman, lying in a bed with a warm smile. You smiled back as he reached his hand out to you, and walked over and took it. "I've heard so much about you from Logan. It's nice to finally meet you. Tell me...Which of Van Goghs paintings is your favorite?"

[ninguitar]

꣑ৎ　────　𝓣ANGLED IN LOVE　♱.　LR 　　　　the true queen at the game that i despise 𓈒𓈒

───﹙🕷️﹚𝓢. ｡｡　the friendly neighborhood spider meets the outlaw cat.

𝓹airing. blackcat!lara raj x spiderman!f!r 𝓰enre. fluff wc. 2.1k+ notes ! to clarify, heeseung is ned in this fic, reader is mentioned to have an ex, & reader doesn't know black cat's identity 🤞🤞 (MASTERLIST)

now playing ⋆ track 02 (dangerous lover) by avenoir & mercedes by brent faiyaz

THE THING ABOUT THE BLACK CAT was that oddly enough, she reminded you too much of a certain classmate—a classmate named lara raj, who seems to be disappearing at the crack of dawn, telling you they were merely urgent errands.

the first time you thought of them two, you told yourself it was just a small coincidence and nothing else, yet the thought still lingered in your head; the way the word 'pretty' smoothly rolls off of the black cat's tongue, almost as if she was born to say it, the same way it does with lara—the way they both insisted that you were too much of a worrywart, chastising you for it. it was just a coincidence that they shared a few common things because the alternative meant dealing with something you absolutely thought was way too much baggage.

your head buzzes painfully, and shaking your head, you try to shake off the horror that overcame you; there was no way in hell that your very own classmate was the black cat. lying down on your bed, your gaze following the ceiling fan's movement, you softly hum under your breath. the clock to your left read 2:23 in the morning, and a heavenly sigh drifts from your lips; you could practically stay in your bed for eternity if it meant not having to do anything.

before you could properly get a night's rest, keys begin to jiggle against your door, and a holler outside of it abruptly stops you, your head jolting up. cracking open the door stood a bewildered, disheveled heeseung outside, still in his luigi pajamas. huffing out a puff of air, you sit up from your bed, your arms slouching, as you lock eyes with the korean boy.

it became a routine for him to randomly barge into your dorm, as if you had nothing else to do. sometimes it was about needing your homework answers for your guys' english 1b class, or needing you to hook him up with one of your friends; other times, though, it was about your spider-man duties.

"great timing, heeseung," you grunt sardonically, rubbing your eyes and temples, your eyes barely able to open to see even a sliver of him. "what are you even doing up so late?" brushing the stray tousled hair out of your forehead, confusion washes over your face, as he hurries to your side, his lips pressed thin.

he shrugs, "i could ask the same to you!" a groan falls shortly from his lips, as he lets out a tired laugh. "but that's besides the point; i heard from the police scanner that there was some alarm going off at that really expensive jewelry place, the- the one you were complaining about the other day."

"fifth avenue one, right?" you murmur, as you immediately toss your covers to the side, pulling your closet door open, and pushing through the racks of clothes inside. shuffling through, a grunt escapes from your lips as you realize, "don't tell me it's that burglar who keeps getting away again!"

"if the shoe fits," he chuckles, nudging your shoulder, as you shoot him a glare, making him mumble an apology under his breath. heeseung watches you hastily shuffle around your room, handing you your web-shooters, "it- it could be a false alarm, y'know. i don't know though—it couldn't hurt to check it out, right?"

you hum, nodding your head, as you try to lightly slam your closet door closed, grabbing the web-shooters. sliding on your mask, you pat heeseung's shoulder, "i promise i'll hook you up with that girl in my intro to tech class." and with that being said, you crack open your room's window widely, and swung out of it and into the night to try to catch the same thief from previous nights.

"you better; you owe me for throwing up on my shoes!" the korean boy yells out the window, his voice rugged, as he shortly pulls away from your window, exiting your room.

swinging at breakneck speed, your eyes erratically flicker around each and every building, before arriving at the roof of tiffany & co. not even a few minutes in, and you could hear glass breaking from below you. a grunt falls shortly from your lips, as you maneuver around the building to quietly zip inside. the place was a disaster—an absolute mess of designer jewelry scattered across the floor, and broken glass everywhere. you bite the inside of your cheek, wandering around the store, before spotting the elusive thief, a few items clutched in her hands, a few items.

black-cat was donned in an all black, laced with white suit, and a black whimsy mask that adorned her face. turning around, she hums in delight—almost as if she predicted that you'd already be here in a few minutes. you whisper a curse under your breath in awed disbelief, the girl waist deep in a massive wall-vault, and standing tip-toe to reach the very back.

you might as well have been sitting on dynamite.

"didn't think i'd see you here, pretty," lara drawls, a grin curbing her lips, as she eyes you down almost shamelessly. every single, slight movement you made, she tracked down, her eyes keen, "i'm even impressed you could even find me this time around."

you cross your arms against your chest, barely a few feet away from her. "you knew i'd be here," your voice takes on a stern edge, as you watch the black cat turn to one of the empty display cases, a playful smile beaming through her lips. "god, you know that i have to turn you in-"

your words elicits low chuckles from her breath, shortly interrupting you, "you still with that god-awful girl of yours, or are you swinging solo now?" lara's voice was like velvet to your ears, her brow raised to emphasize her words, as she reaches out towards you, drawing a claw from your shoulder down to your elbow.

sighing in defeat, your shoulders slump, "that's a lot ofquestions," you bite the inside of your cheek, before shaking your head mentally, realizing you were playing into her games. god, there was definitely something magnetic about her—something that unremarkably draws you in against your will. and although her every word got under your skin, there was a strange type of charm to them—one that always made it difficult for you to remain guarded around her.

black-cat tilts her head, her hand resting on your shoulder contemplatively, "i'm just curious," a prideful expression washing over her features—a wide, un-bashful grin curbing her lips, as she watches worry lines crease your forehead.

"i hear that's bad for cats."

she shrugs, lightly tracing a claw along the slide of your masked face, and in a knee-jerk reaction, you jolt away, reaching up to flick her hand off. a faint frown juts her lips for a brief moment, before a half-hearted smile adorns her face, "sue me for wanting to rekindle an old flame." lara dramatically laments—as though she wasn't the same one who was currently clutching god-knows how much jewelry in her arms, that you were shocked she could even effortlessly carry all of them.

"you need to sit back and relax—always so tense, and for what?" looking over her shoulder, her hands spin back to rest on a display case's glass, and she takes slow, measured steps, leaving scratch marks trailing the cases. lara rolls her eyes, sauntering opposite of you, your gaze tracking the languid ease of her movements.

you wryly smile, humming in bored acknowledgement, "how about you tell me why you're really here? you went awol for weeks." gritting your teeth, an exasperated sigh from you following your words.

the red-headed girl shrugs, hopping over the counter, and proceeding to walk towards the broken window—only until your hand curls around her arm, halting her movements. your eyes unconsciously flicker between the flashing lights and sirens of the cop cars surrounding the street below you two, and the lips of the girl in front of you.

"you missed this, didn't you?" lara asks—despite already knowing the answer—tilting her head, and leaning closer towards you. your lips were barely an inch away from hers, a shit-eating grin tugging her lips.

you draw a deep, steadying breath, fighting the urge to play into her games, and with your voice firmer than before, you mutter, "cut it out." clenching your teeth, you could practically feel the red-headed girl's breath fanning over yours, and that surely didn't help—not when you could feel blood rush in your veins, and the way your heart could practically burst out of your chest from how much it was thumping.

your eyes linger on her lips for a split second, that lara most definitely notices, swallowing the smile that threatened to give her away. "the maggia are no joke—"

her arm extends over to your shoulder, and she pulls you closer, her hand slightly tugging on your mask. she softly hums, dismissing your comments, "i missed these little chats." the indian girl watches your expression contort into ones of uncertainty, making her coax out smoothly, "nobody's watching anyway." her hand hastily pulls the skin-tight mask just above your mouth.

it was a push and pull relationship—to say the very least. her lips curl into a sly smile, your eyebrows furrowing.

"this is a mistake."

and really, it sounded like you were more-so trying to convince yourself rather than her, especially when your hands cling to your sides, as if you were debating whether or not you should pull away. the red-headed girl leans in again, her retracting claws trailing lightly over the fabric of your suit, and resting above your heart. it was a miracle that she couldn't feel your heartbeat coming from your sternum.

by then, you'd already accepted your fate—your mind running hazy, and your eyes fluttering shut.

you nonetheless take a few tantalize steps, leaning in, while your lips slightly brush against hers; a wide grin curbing your lips as you watch the indian girl visibly roll her eyes at how painstakingly slow you were moving. her hands slip behind your neck, resting on the back of it comfortably. before you could mumble a teasing quip out from under your breath, she presses her lips against yours feverishly.

it's almost surprising that it's only taken her a few months to worm her way into your heart. she nearly beams.

for a fleeting moment, you freeze, your hands gently pushed up against the red-headed girl's chest, "maybe we should stop; we're not good for each other." she leans her head closer to yours, your noses' slightly bumping.

"we could always ignore that," lara counters, tilting her head, and leans just right by your ear, "we're not doing anything bad necessarily—just all fun, right?"

you nod absentmindedly, too enthralled to even utter out any futile protests. her arms wrap around your waist again, a smile on her lips, as she watches you exhale shakily. you could pick up on the way your heart raced by the second, a huff escaping from you, before you press your lips against hers.

the world stops; nothing exists besides the two of you—well, for only a brief moment.

flashes of blue, red, and white sear through the dimly-lit tiffany's; policemen were already trying to break in. a sigh drifts from your lips, and before you could properly pull away, lara continues to seize your lips against hers. heat curls at your cheeks, before your head snaps to the entrance of the building, making you hastily shuffle off of the girl. several policemen surround the entrance, with weaponry and flashlights aimed towards you two.

"freeze!"

muttering against the radio, one of the officer instructs, "call this in—we have spider-man and an accomplice over here." really, an accomplice? you raise your arms up, and a grunt escapes from your lips .

"see you soon, pretty," black-cat drawls, an ear-to-ear grin tugging the corners of her lips—as if she planned this out. wicked realization blooms across your face, as she takes advantage of the situation, jumping out of the window using her grappling hook, and swinging away.

see you soon—her words echo, practically turning into a mantra in your head.

heeseung. 🦌 : i saw u on the news CTFUU

heeseung. 🦌 : aint no way u lost hold of her again💔

heeseung. 🦌 : god heard my prayers and made you fumble for the 45th time🙏

yn. : shut up hee.

heeseung. 🦌 : js mad u aint pulling bitches LMFAOO

yn. : say bye to that girl in my intro to tech class then, freak.

you don't really wanna be my lady (you don't, you don't),

you know it's more than just drivin' mercedes (more than mercedes)

current 𝓽aglist : ( open. ♱ 2 be added, read this post. )

@kisshae @sed7ction @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar @jellaaa @jaythegirlkisser @falling-intoo-deep @c-yerim @ssamlovr @gtfoiydlyj @rinapomu @meganskiendielsbtc

[kxtsukixoxo]

Can you please do a heated argument like HEATED HEATED argument with Kats and y/n 😭😭

authors note - based on we cry together

a house built on tears

your blood pumped through your veins angrily, you were fuming, you understood your husband was a busy man, but you were tired. this had been going on for too long, the late nights away from home, coming back smelling like strong liquor, you grew impatient, promising yourself he’d change. izuku told you the same thing time and time again,

‘just give him time’ ‘he’ll come around’ ‘it’s not an easy job (y/n)’ 

each word felt like water, filling up a glass. the glass being you, and you were just one more word away from overflowing.

today was the day. 

katsuki twisted the doorknob to the front door, finally revealing himself, as he closed the door shut. 

“it’s 2:30.” you spoke 

“i can tell time, thanks.” 

“clearly not, is this the time to be home?” 

katsuki stopped dead in his tracks, turning around to look at you, clenching his keys in his fist. “how do ya expect me to put food on the table then? gonna do my job for me?” 

you looked at him in pure disbelief, the fucking audacity this man had. 

“do you care about anything else other than your job?” 

“wanna bring me down, even when im tryna do right” katsuki muttered underneath this breath. 

“if you’re gonna say something, say it loud you coward!” you yelled at him. 

“if this shit bothers you so much, why’d you marry me then!” katsuki yelled back at you 

“fuck you and your pity party, you’re just a moping bastard!” you pointed at him as tears filled your eyes, “you don’t even care about me! you’re late for every single fucking thing! you fuck your side bitch and come home to me!-“ 

“fucking my side bitch? you must be fucked in your head, how the hell do you even call yourself my wife if you can’t even put your fucking trust in me!”

katsuki walked to the kitchen and opened a crisp new bottle of water, downing it. 

“treat me like your damn wife then!” 

“if you act like it, i’ll treat you like it dammit!” katsuki screamed louder than he did before, hands covering his face as he leaned against the kitchen island, his head being supported by his elbows. you looked at him in shock, your tear streaked face puffy and red. 

“listen-baby-i-“ he walked towards you, reaching out for your hand 

“don’t-don’t f-fuckin’ touch me!” 

[e-dubbc11]

A Pizza His Heart

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F! Reader

Warnings: Implied smexy time but PG-13 for the most part, smooches, fluffy bunnies and unicorns. Maybe a swear word or two.

Word Count: 2.1K-ish

Summary: You never really understood the hype around Valentine’s Day and maybe you were a bit cynical because you’ve never had a valentine but maybe it will be different this year. ♥️

A/N: I know, I know…the title is wicked cheesy(see what I did there? 🤣) Ok, I’m done with the Dad jokes. I just thought this would be a fun little idea, so happy Valentine’s Day to all my lovely friends out there! I kiss you all on the forehead💋💋♥️♥️ I took elements from one of my favorite episodes, Season 9, episode 12 The Purge(“A fish taco?”).

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

It was coming up on Friday.

The dreaded king of greeting card holidays, in your eyes, was Valentine’s Day and you never could really understand what all the fuss was about. One day a year where you dote on the person you love? What a crock of shit.

Mostly, you were cynical because you had never really had someone to call your Valentine…until now.

But Dean didn’t strike you as the romantic Valentine’s Day type. That wasn’t him. He barely knew what to do in a relationship, let alone plan a romantic night out for a cheeseball holiday like Valentine’s Day. But it was alright and you loved him because he was so non-traditional.

Last year for your birthday, he bought you four new tires for your car and took it to be washed and detailed. He really didn’t know any better despite Sam trying to tell him otherwise but you didn’t have high expectations either. Previous boyfriends couldn’t even remember your birthday, let alone get you something that you needed.

You couldn’t fault Dean for trying when others never bothered.

He would bring you your favorite ice cream or candy bar if he saw them while he was out. He’d come home with those really bad tabloid magazines or newspapers because he knew you loved them (he did too) and you would read through them out loud to each other and laugh together at how ridiculous the stories were.

It wasn’t a normal relationship but it was as normal as it gets for Dean Winchester. He loved you more than anything and that was enough for you.

**********

Monday

Watching him pack his bag for a hunt always made your heart hurt a little. It was mostly because you just wanted him to come home safe but you hated to watch him leave.

“Where ya goin’ this time, baby?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Dean was packing his bag like he would be gone for at least a few days.

The sun had already gone down so warm amber glow from the nightstand lamp was the only light in the bedroom. The sleeves to his flannel shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his strong forearms.

Without even trying, he was incredibly sexy.

Unconsciously, you were biting down on your lower lip as you watched him toss clothes into his bag and place his leather toiletry bag on top.

Moving away from the doorway, you walked over to sit down on the bed while he finished. Dean placed his bag on the floor and looked down at you as your gaze met his and he gave you a smile that would melt your insides. His thumb brushed the soft skin of your cheek as you closed your eyes and melted into his touch.

“Stillwater, Minnesota, sweetheart.” He replied in his deep gravelly voice as he sat down next to you.

As you inched closer to him, you gently placed a hand on his chest, and planted a soft kiss on his lips.

“And what’s in Stillwater, Minnesota, handsome?” You asked, in barely more than a whisper.

“Don’t know yet. Sam said a guy weighing over 300 pounds was found dead in his car but I guess when they found him, it looked like he weighed no more than 100 pounds. Sounded like our thing so we’re gonna go check it out.” Said Dean.

There was a breath of room between your bodies and as he brushed his fingers along your collarbone, it sent wild tremors along your nerves from the top of your head, down to your toes.

You kissed him hard, he growled against your mouth as he parted your lips and his tongue stroked against yours.

“You make me not wanna leave when you kiss me like that. Well, I-I mean I don’t r-really wanna leave anyway. You know what I’m tryin’ to say.” He stammered.

Chuckling, you replied, “I know you don’t, Dean. I just wanted you to remember what you’re missing when you go away.”

“Makes me excited to come home, baby.” He said with a sly smile.

You kissed him again.

“As it should.” You said with a wink. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Talk to you soon, sweetheart.”

And with a squeak of a car door and a loud growl of the engine, he was gone.

You may end up spending Valentine’s Day alone afterall.

**********

Wednesday

Dean called just like he always did.

“So you’re at a wellness spa?” You asked in a confused tone.

Dean was trying to be as quiet as possible because he was still at the spa.

“Yeah, Canyon Valley Wellness Spa. Sam got a job here as a yoga instructor and the only thing I could get was in the kitchen.” Dean whispered.

“So you’re preparing food.” You said.

Dean quipped, “This is not food, baby.”

You laughed. “Ok, well do you know what you’re dealing with yet?”

“Sam thinks it’s something called a Pishtaco.” Said Dean.

You narrowed your eyes and replied, “A fish taco?”

“That’s what I thought he said! But no, a Pishtaco is native to Peru and they’re fat suckers.” He whispered. “So a place like this is a perfect cover for them.”

“Ew.” You replied.

“So that’s why people are thinner when they leave here and why they have marks on their back. Oh shit, someone’s coming. Gotta go. I love you and I’ll talk to you soon.” Dean said, hurriedly.

He hung up before you could tell him you loved him too but it sounded like they were close to solving the case and hopefully he would be home soon.

**********

Thursday Evening

You didn’t hear from Dean at all today. He tried to call every day that he was away but it didn’t always happen. A quick text was all you would get some days but you didn’t even get that today.

Distracting yourself from the fact that he didn’t call or text was difficult but you managed alright. You went out for “Galentine’sDay” with some of your friends from work. They invited you out for dinner and drinks which was just what you needed. It was the perfect distraction and it was a great night but in the end, you still had to come home to an empty house.

You had hoped to pull up to the house to see Baby parked in the driveway and Dean waiting patiently for you on the couch. But the house was dark and the driveway was empty so you knew he wasn’t home yet.

With the pillow gently cradling your head, you stared up at the ceiling in the gathering darkness and listened to the ceaseless winds outside your windows. It sounded like they were trying their hardest to unearth the trees as you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep.

Your last thoughts before falling asleep were of Dean. The way he looked at you with his sage green eyes like you were the only woman in the world, joking with him about wanting to connect the splash of freckles across his nose, or wondering if he was thinking about you right now the way you were thinking about him.

Wherever he was, you just hoped he was alright.

**********

♥️Valentine’s Day♥️

Dean called that morning, said he was on his way home, and that he couldn’t wait to see you. But he made no mention of Valentine’s Day which wasn’t surprising but it didn’t mean you couldn’t do something nice for him since he had been gone all week.

He didn’t know if he would be home in time for dinner or not so he told you not to cook but he didn’t say anything about dessert.

You were lucky enough to scoop up the last heart shaped pie dish at the store so along with that, you bought everything you needed to bake him a heart shaped cherry pie.

As it sat cooling on the counter, you thought about just having pie for dinner when Dean came home. Knowing he probably already ate on his way home and not wanting to eat alone on Valentine’s Day, you decided to eat a little snack and open a bottle of wine because why not, right?

So you enjoyed your glass of wine, cracked open your book and patiently waited to hear the rumble of Baby’s engine and signature door squeak followed by Dean’s handsome face as he walked through the front door.

He was so happy when he walked through the door and you were very happy to see him, unharmed. A lot of the time he’d walk back through your door with cuts on his face, bruises, and sometimes even gunshot or stab wounds.

“There she is. Hey sweetheart, miss me?” Dean asked with a wide smile.

He was carrying a pizza box along with his travel bag.

“Of course I missed you! Hey baby!” You replied. “Is that an empty pizza box orrrrrr?”

Dean knew you were trying to be funny but he still shot you a “look.”

“Very funny, y/n. No it’s not empty, I thought we could have dinner together.” He said, setting it down on the table. “Do I smell pie?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You replied with a chuckle.

After retrieving a couple of plates from the cupboard and getting Dean a beer from the fridge, he carefully watched your face as you opened the pizza box, revealing a heart shaped pepperoni pizza inside.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” Said Dean, softly.

“Oh Dean…you brought me a heart shaped pizza? That’s so thoughtful, baby!” You replied, getting ready to snake your arms around his neck before he stopped you.

“Crap, I have something else for you. I left it in the car, hold that thought though.” He said with a wink.

When he came back inside, he was holding a single red rose with baby’s breath, wrapped in plastic. It melted your heart.

Dean handed you the rose and nervously said, “All the flower shops were closed by the time I found one on the way home, I found this at the gas station. I know it’s not much but I hope it’s ok.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, flashed a wide smile at him before pressing your lips to his. Dean kissed you back, hard and pulled you in closer to him in a crushing grip. His spicy familiar smell helped you relax into his embrace as his tongue tangled with yours.

Warmth radiated through his shirt as his body pressed firmly against yours. Dean walked you backwards until he had caged you in against the kitchen counter. A low growl escaped his lips and you could feel his hardening length through his jeans.

“It’s perfect baby, thank you. What’s not to love about a heart shaped pizza and flowers?” You asked, rhetorically.

“It’s just one flower, sweetheart. I had every intention of getting you an actual bouquet of flowers but—“ He said, before you gently pressed your fingers against his lips.

“Shh, shh, Dean. When I tell you that this is perfect, please believe me. It really is.” You said.

He finally took his gaze away from you long enough to see the cherry pie sitting on the counter next to where you were standing.

“You did make a pie.” He said, looking back at you with raised eyebrows. “And it’s heart shaped.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” You said, as your lips curled into a warm smile.

Dean tilted your chin up so he could kiss up and down your neck, your throat, and the deep V-neck shirt you were wearing allowed him to gently kiss you in between your breasts as a strangled moan broke free from your mouth.

“Thank you for my pie, sweetheart. Now, can I show you how much I’ve missed you?” He asked in a low whisper.

Those words in his deep gravelly voice sent a shiver down your spine. The desire behind his hypnotizing green eyes matched your need for him as you clenched your thighs together in anticipation.

“Couldn’t hurt to work up an appetite. I love you, Dean.” You said softly with a smile.

Dean lifted you off your feet and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you off to the bedroom.

“I love you too.”

Your first Valentine’s Day with Dean would be a hard one to beat but you didn’t doubt he would do his best to try even harder next year.

Tag List: @munsonownsmyass @gijos @stoneyggirl2 @vaguekayla

Others that might enjoy: @k-marzolf @jvanilly @fluffyprettykitty @deans-spinster-witch @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @savorxe

If you would like to be added to(or removed from) my tag list(s) for this smexy Winchester, just let me know!

[stronginawayjbb]

Hold My Hand - J.B.

hi hello I have another entry for @elixirfromthestars 's cinema! this fic IS CA: BNW spoiler free, and I would appreciate for there to be no spoilers since I haven't gotten a chance to see it yet! thank you so much <3

rating: 18+

pairing: Congressman!Bucky x f!reader

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, angst. mentions of blood/violence/hospitals, happy ending because I can't write sad shit

prompts: pretzel, Hold My Hand by Lady Gaga

word count: 3.8k (not sorry)

Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end.

When you got the news that there was a HYDRA attack happening in the Capitol building, you didn’t think. You took off from the Manuscript Reading Room in the Library of Congress, only one thing on your mind - or one person, rather. 

You ran as fast as your heels would carry you, getting across the street and to the steps of the building before you were stopped by security. You flashed both your federal ID and Avengers clearance card, which granted you access. You weren’t necessarily an Avenger, but you did work on their research and development team. And you were dating one. In order for you to stay quiet, you took your heels off, not wanting to alert anyone of your presence. Dating a super soldier, he’d taught you enough to keep your wits about you and defend yourself if he couldn’t be there to protect you. You tiptoed around, making your way to a stairwell so you could get to Bucky’s office. You smelled smoke as you got closer, and when you opened the door to the second floor, it was hazy. You knew you should turn back, but something in you said Bucky needed you. 

So you kept going. The destruction got worse as you got closer to his office, and when you reached it, the door had been blown off. You didn’t see him immediately, so you assessed for any threat of danger, and seeing no one around, you entered carefully. 

“Bucky?” you called out carefully. You heard a groan behind his desk, so you rushed over. You knelt down, your knees landing in a liquid - one you quickly realized was blood. His blood. “Bucky,” you gasped, trying to find the source of his bleeding. Even with his healing abilities, he was still losing too much too quickly. “What happened? Where are you hurt? Talk to me, baby,” you said with urgency, gently pulling him out from under his desk. He yelped in pain, and you felt terrible, but you had to help. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, his throat already dry and eyes looking glassy. 

Once he was out from under his desk, you found the source of his injury: a deep stab wound in his femoral artery. Luckily, there was enough space for you to be able to put a tourniquet on him. You went to work quickly, taking his belt out of his pants and tightening it down to try and stop the bleeding. Unbuttoning his collared shirt, you tore a part of his t-shirt he wore underneath to pack in the wound. Your hands were shaking, eyes clouded with tears as you did your best to stuff strips into the gash. 

Weakly, he grabs your bloody hand, trying to stop your shaking. “Cupcake,” he breathes out. You look at him, lacing your fingers together. “I’m here, baby,” you promise him, voice cracking with your tears. He shakes his head, a small smile on his tired face. “I love you,” he says, and it looks like it takes all his strength. “I’m always going to love you.” “No,” you sob, “No, stop. Stop talking like that. You’re going to be fine.”

You didn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth, but you didn’t need to. You needed him to believe them. Because he had to be. This couldn’t be the way he goes out. You’d been with Bucky for two years, and loved him more than anything in the world. The thought of losing him felt like your soul was being ripped out of your chest. You leaned down, taking your free hand and pushing some of his hair out of his face. It smeared a bit of blood across his forehead, but you’d clean it up later. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, cradling his face in your hand. “Keep your eyes open, baby. Stay awake for me, okay? Help is coming. You’re gonna be fine,” you assured, whispering sweet nothings to him like they were going to keep him alive. You glanced down at his leg, and it seemed as though the bleeding was slowing down, but you didn’t know when help was going to arrive. 

Bucky’s breathing was shallow, every breath labored, but he was doing it. After another moment, Joaquin comes in, looking around for Bucky. You perk your head up from behind the desk, waving him over. “Over here,” you alert him, tears in your eyes. “Is he hurt?” Joaquin asks, eyebrows furrowed as he assesses Bucky. You nod. “Stab wound in his thigh. I put a tourniquet on it and packed it, just like he showed me,” you told him. Bucky was struggling to stay awake, but he was trying - fighting. 

Joaquin gives you a small smile despite the situation. “You probably saved his life,” he tells you, and while you know he’s right, Bucky is barely clinging to life. “Fix him,” you sob, letting Joaquin take over. He does, telling someone on his comms that they need a stretcher and medical assistance. The next few minutes were the longest of your life, trying to keep Bucky awake before help came. When it did, they had all kinds of medicines at the ready, pushing you out of the way to get Bucky stable. You found yourself standing next to Joaquin, and with one look at you, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and let you sob into his chest. Bucky’s blood was dry on your hands, evidence that you did everything you could to save him, and you still weren’t sure it was enough. “We’re gonna follow him to the hospital, okay?” Joaquin tells you, feeling you silently nod against him. He leads you out of the office, glancing you over. “Hey, where’s your shoes?” he asks softly, and you nod towards the desk. You’d dropped them next to you before tending to Bucky. He goes to quickly retrieve your heels, helping you into them before getting you downstairs and out of the building. You catch a glimpse of Sam, who has a grim look on his face, but nods, trying to offer you some silent reassurance. You quietly follow Joaquin to Happy’s waiting car, ready to take you to the hospital. 

The car ride to MedStar Washington was silent. Happy didn’t try to engage in conversation, and you were grateful. Once at the hospital, he dropped you off at the emergency room doors, and told you to call him when you were ready to come home or if you needed anything. You nodded, giving him a grateful smile and a small “thank you” before walking into the building. Your pantyhose were still bloodstained at the knees, but you didn’t care. You went through the procedures of checking in as a visitor, brokenly asking where James Barnes was. “He’s in the trauma center, in room 4,” the receptionist tells you with a sad smile. You nod and begin making your way towards the trauma center, visitor sticker displayed on your grey blazer. You were doing research in the Library of Congress today, so you wore a grey skirt suit with a royal blue blouse, and you were laughing because your suit unintentionally matched Bucky’s today. You giggled and took selfies with him this morning, holding hands as he walked you to work. That felt like a lifetime ago. 

Slowly, you trekked to his room, steeling yourself for whatever condition he was in. Once you made it to the trauma center, you stopped at the nurse’s station. “Hi,” you greeted, voice strained. “I’m (y/n) (y/l/n), James Barnes’ girlfriend and emergency contact. How’s he doing?” You knew he’d signed the forms to have medical information released to you, which they had on file, so they should be able to give you updates. The nurse pulls up his chart, careful to keep a poker face before looking up from his computer. “He’s getting a second pint of blood. After he’s stable, he’ll need to go in for surgery to repair the artery, but we were able to get the bleeding stopped for now. Whoever packed the wound and put the belt on him as a tourniquet saved his life,” he tells you. He sees the blood on you, and knows it was likely you who did it, so he’s trying to offer some reassurance. “Is he going to be okay?” you ask quietly. 

The nurse gives you a faint smile as he nods. “He’s going to be fine.” 

You take a deep breath and head to Bucky’s room. You step inside carefully, not wanting to disturb him. You check his vitals, and he’s holding steady. His blood pressure is a little low, but everything else looks good. You quietly pull up a chair on his left side and take his metal hand in yours. You feel a slight squeeze from him, and it makes you smile. His second blood transfusion was almost done, and you knew he’d probably be heading in for surgery soon. “Hey, cupcake,” he rasps out, opening his eyes to look at you. He looked so frail in a hospital gown, despite his bulkiness. You carefully reach out and tuck some of his chestnut hair behind his ear. You loved when his hair was long like this. “Hi, baby,” you greet, your emotions threatening to spill over again. He nuzzles into the palm of your hand, the scruff on his cheeks and chin rough against your skin. “They said you saved me,” he states, looking into your eyes. You shrug and shake your head, dismissing him.

“I had to. I couldn’t let you go just yet. I won’t let go till the end, and this couldn’t be how our story ended.” The words tumble out of your mouth as you try to envision a world without Bucky. That wasn’t a world you wanted to live in. The corner of his mouth quirks into his signature smirk, and that alone makes your heart flutter. You grip his hand just a little tighter. “What happened, love?” He rolls his eyes, obviously annoyed with the organization that’s been after him for 80 years. “HYDRA found out about our mission to double cross them, found out I was undercover in Congress to try and expose them once and for all. Tried to take me out with a pocket knife. Dumbasses.” 

The fact that he was joking around and being sassy meant he was feeling a little better, which made her smile and chuckle a little. “Sorry the mission ended like this,” you apologize, looking at him with some sympathy. He shakes his head. “Not your fault, cupcake. I don’t know what tricks you pulled to get into the Capitol, but do not do that shit ever again, understand?” He looks at you, his voice slightly stern, and that makes you giggle. 

“No way. I’m coming after you every time. And I’m glad I did,” you say, staring him down. His cheeks flush lightly. “You don’t need to save me. That’s my job.” 

Your thumb strokes across his metal knuckles, reassuring him gently. “And you are my hero, Bucky. Always have been, always will be. But you don’t have to wait to tell me you need me. I can see when you’re bleeding, literally and figuratively.” He swallows hard at that, nodding. The one person he thought he could lean on was now stuck in the past, and while he had a few people he trusted in the present, namely Sam and Rhodey, he still got worried that he couldn’t always share his true emotions. With you, he knew he was safe, but he still had a deep seeded need to protect you. You were the one modern thing he loved. Your moment was interrupted by the trauma doctor and a cardiologist entering his room. You both looked up at the doctors, and you introduced yourself and shook their hands. They explained that since Bucky had been stable for the better part of an hour, they needed to get in and repair his artery before the temporary cauterization they put on him stopped working. It was enough to get him stable, but it wasn’t the permanent fix. They explained an operating room was open, so they were going to prep him for surgery. They said it shouldn’t take long, an hour or two at most. You soaked in the information, looking over at Bucky. He seemed a little nervous, and you knew why. You looked at the doctors. “Can you give us a minute before you take him, please?” you ask politely. They look at each other and the trauma doctor checks his watch. “We can give you two minutes, but we have to go after that. It is an emergency, and the cauterization won’t last,” he explains. You nod, understanding, grateful for the two minutes. They walk out, leaving you and Bucky alone. As soon as they’re out of the room, Bucky’s heart rate picks up. He looks at you with genuine fear in his eyes. “Listen to me, Bucky. It’s going to be okay. You’re gonna be fine, and you’re gonna wake up the same person you are now, okay? I won’t let them hurt you,” you swear to him, resolve and determination lacing your tone.

“You promise?” he asks, still worried, but trusting you. You nod, your eyes never leaving his. “I promise, lovebug.” 

He takes a deep breath, not feeling great but knowing you’re telling the truth. “Gimme a kiss,” he requests, and you smile, happily obliging him. “I love you, cupcake,” he grins, squeezing your hand with his metal one. “I love you, sweet pea,” you tell him, meaning it with your whole chest. Just then, the doctors come back in, telling you and Bucky it was time for surgery. You stand up from the chair beside his bed, and let the nurses get his bed prepped to roll him out. Before he leaves, you promise him that you’ll be right here when he comes back, and with that, he and his team are leaving for surgery. 

An hour later, the cardiologist comes in to his room to find you with a cup of coffee. You look up, your heart pounding in your chest. By the relaxed smile on her face, you were hopeful. “He did great. They’re closing him up now and once he wakes up from anesthesia, he’ll be brought back here. We’ll keep him overnight to monitor him, but he’ll be discharged tomorrow morning. The sofa in here turns into a bed, and you’re welcome to stay with him,” she explains, clearly pleased with the results of the surgery. “He needs one more pint of blood, and some more fluids, but with his advanced healing, he’ll be fine in a few days. He just needs to take it easy while he heals. He lost about half of his blood, which any normal human would have died from. He got really lucky. He’s lucky to have you, Ms. (y/l/n). He wouldn’t stop talking about you before we put him under.” 

The weight of everything comes crashing down on you, and tears well up in your eyes as you thank her. Bucky was going to be okay, and you were so grateful. The cardiologist steps out of the room, and you sit back in your chair, waiting for Bucky to come back. In the meantime, you text Happy, asking him to bring you an overnight bag and to retrieve your purse from the cloak room of the reading room you were in before this all went down. Your phone stayed in the inner pocket of your suit jacket, but your wallet and purse was still with your things in the cloak room. He texts back, affirming he would bring you everything. 

A half hour later, Bucky was back in the room, still dozing as the anesthesia wore off. While he was asleep, Happy dropped off your bag, so you went to the attached bathroom in his room to change. While you were in there, he woke up, calling out a gruff “Cupcake?” 

Immediately, you stepped out, only half dressed. You had your yoga pants and a sports bra on, and when you came into his view, he grinned. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…” 

You rolled your eyes and came over to his side, lips brushing against his forehead. “How are you feeling, honey?” you ask, looking him over. He seemed to be doing okay. He had some color back in his face, not as pale as you saw him earlier. “Good. Sore. Better now that you’re here,” he answers, leaning back into his pillows. You adjust the one under his shoulders, leaning him back a little to make sure he was comfortable. “I’m gonna finish getting changed and I promise I’ll be right back, okay?” you tell him, kissing his forehead one more time before running back to the bathroom. You slipped on your t-shirt, an old AC/DC one, and quickly rejoined him at his bedside. You pulled up a chair again and dutifully enveloped his metal hand in both of yours. It held onto the slight chill of the operating room, so you did your best to warm it up. “They told me they’re keeping you overnight to monitor you, but I can stay, too. Happy brought me a bag. He brought you a change of clothes, too. We can go home in the morning,” you say softly. You see him nod, understanding why they want to keep him. “They said you lost half your blood…” you trail off, wondering if he knew.

You see his chest seize up for a split second, a sign that he knew and didn’t want to tell you. He sighs, and doesn’t dare look into your eyes. “I didn’t think I was gonna make it… When you came into my office, I--” he pauses for a moment, trying not to get choked up, “I thought my world was ending, and all I wanted was to be next to you.” 

“Bucky,” you whisper, holding his hand tighter. “Did the doc tell you I wouldn’t shut up about you?” he asks, trying to lighten the mood a little. You nod. “She did.” 

“Did she say what, exactly, I said?” he asks, eyebrow cocked in curiosity. 

“No, lovebug, she didn’t,” you affirm. You looked at him with the same curiosity, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean. “Why?” you ask.

He shrugs, his bottom lip poking out. “No reason, I just may have spilled my guts and was trying to figure out if she ruined anything.” 

Now you were definitely confused. “Ruin what?” you pushed, trying to make sure everything was okay between the two of you. Noticing that you were starting to get upset, Bucky started rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of your hand.

“It’s all good, cupcake, I promise. I just have a… surprise planned soon, for our anniversary, and wanted to make sure she didn’t tell you, that’s all,” he explains, hoping it was enough to calm your nerves. It was. Relief crosses your face as you tuck some hair behind his ear again, just like you did earlier. 

“Okay, baby. I trust you,” you assure, a soft smile on your face as you stroke his hair. That lulls him back to sleep, and you stay like that for an hour or so until a nurse comes in to start his next bag of fluids and blood transfusion. They’re giving him some preventative antibiotics, too, so he didn’t get an infection. 

The nurse wakes him up to check his vitals and get his pain level, and while he tries to hide it, he reluctantly admits it’s a 6. So he gets some extra pain meds, and you help him order a late dinner, ordering a meal for yourself as well. 

After dinner, he’s tired but restless. You make up the pull out bed with sheets his nurse provided, and an extra pillow. You had your pajamas on, a tank top and shorts set, and the sight made him feel like you two were back home. But to him, home was wherever you were, so he supposed that as long as you were here, he could handle it. 

“Come get in bed with me,” he finally says, breaking the comfortable silence in the room. He scoots over a little, making room for you. You get in on his left side, not wanting to disturb his arm with two IVs in, or his injured thigh. You lay on your side, your arm draped over his soft middle. Since he’s been on an undercover mission and not training as hard, he’s gotten a little softer, and you adored it. Your hand splayed protectively over his stomach, and he covered yours with his flesh one. 

Your exhaustion was just about ready to take over, and he could feel your body getting heavier against his as you relaxed. Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the feeling of laying next to the love of your life. Just as you were about to drift off, his warm lips brush against the top of your head. “I love you, cupcake,” he whispers, metal arm squeezing you tighter against him. 

“I love you,” you whisper back, already half asleep. He finally lets you drift off, thanking his lucky stars for not only the blessing that is you, but for you saving him. Your third anniversary was in three weeks, and he had a four word question he couldn’t wait to ask you. Up until now, he was scared shitless about it, but now, as you lay in his arms, protecting him the best way you knew how, he realized that the butterflies in his stomach weren’t fear, but excitement. The two emotions had been conflated in his head for so long that he wasn’t sure he could name the difference. He can now. 

Bucky smiles as he falls asleep, letting the pain medicine take over his aching body. The future was bright for the two of you since he survived today, and he knew he could do anything as long as you held his hand.

So cry tonight, but don’t you let go of my hand. You can cry every last tear. I won’t leave till I understand. Promise me, just hold my hand.

[gretavanflame]

Baby Breathe

Jake Kiszka x Reader (f)

Cw: SMUT including: vulgar phone sex, use of pet names, mutual masturbation, rough penetration, technically exhibitionism but like not really I swear, slight pining

Word Count: 1.4k

“Hey baby” his voice is a low whisper, sounding gravely over the phone and quiet enough not to be heard by the other boys on the tour bus. 

“Hey Jake!” You blink the sleep from your eyes, sitting up to lean against the wall.

“I miss you so much.”

Jake closes his eyes, a smile creeping on his face as he hears your sleepy mumble. 

“I miss you too.” He sighs, sounding tired as well. He pauses. You can hear his breathing, and it sounds like he’s just walked up a long flight of stairs.

“What time is it for you, cupcake?” 

“Umm…” You check your phone screen. “Almost 12 am here.”

“Oh shit-” he chuckles. He sounds exhausted and his deep voice is a steady rumble. “I didn’t mean to make you stay up late. Please forgive me.”

You giggle at his charm and the way he so effortlessly makes you smitten. 

“What time is it for you?” 

“It’s almost 2. We just got back, but I wanted to call you before I went to bed.”

You hear him shift on the tour bus cot. 

“I miss you so fucking much y/n. You know that right?”

“Of course I do. I miss you so much. The house just feels so empty without you. Are you doing okay? You sound tired.”

“Yeah we’re all good here- just a long day is all. Wanted to talk to my favorite girl.”

You roll over to the side of your bed, holding the phone right up to your ear in the pitch black room, smiling so hard you feel like your lips might fall off. 

“Well I want to talk to my favorite boy.”

You wait for his response, closing your eyes to conjure up an image of your sweet man when you hear something that grabs your attention. A moan- the softest sound, drifting gracefully off his tongue. You freeze, positive you’ve imagined it but straining your ears to hear it again. After just a beat, it comes- this time with a sort of desperate breathy quality. Your thighs clamp together. 

“What are you wearing?” he chokes, sounding half desperate.

“I’m just wearing underwear” you lie, turning on your back as your legs fall open. “The black lace one you got me before you left.”

“Fuck.” he whispers.

You hear something wet. Something slick, moving slowly to a steady beat. It’s so quiet over the phone that you hold your breath just to hear it.

“Take them off,” he demands cooly. 

You quickly slide the panties down your legs, letting them fall to the floor. Your legs spread in anticipation. 

“Touch your tits baby. Just squeeze and pinch those nipples for me.”

You do as you're told, sliding your hand up your tank top to touch and squeeze yourself.

“Spread your legs y/n” Jake groans.

“I already am.”

“Goodgirl.” 

You feel a rush of heat to your core.

“I want you to open the drawer, and pull out your little dildo. Tell me when you’ve done that, okay?”

“Okay” you reply promptly, eager, as if responding to him is as instinctive as breathing.

You open the drawer, searching blindly until your hand reaches silicone.

“I’ve got it.”

“Give it a kiss.”

You bring the toy to your mouth, kissing the spot just under its tip, just how Jake likes it. You imagine his cock twitching in your mouth- the precum mixing with your saliva, making the hot, pink skin shine. 

“I bet you look so fucking sexy right now. Alone is bed already riled up just because of the sound of my voice. I bet you want me y/n” he states, leaving no room for disagreement, although there wouldn’t have been anyway.

“I want you so fucking bad Jakey. When you get home, I need you to fuck me right away so I don’t have wait any longer for your cock.”

He lets a whimper slip out before quickly regaining his footing.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard that all you won’t be able to sit for a week. I wanna feel you stretch around me, squeeze me till I fucking burst.” A tiny, “fuck” followed by a moan. “My hand doesn’t feel as good as your pretty, little, pussy.” 

His hand works over himself faster now, breath becoming louder. 

“Put it in your mouth.”

You lick the underside of the dildo, momentarily forgetting that it isn’t actually him before you rest in on your tongue, sliding into your mouth.

“Imagine it's me. Suck my cock baby. Suck it real nice and deep.”

You push it in an inch deeper, eyes shutting tight when a small gag forces its way from your throat.

“Good job baby. You sound so fucking good. My cock hurts.”

“I wanna suck on it Jakey.”

You bite your lip, listening to the sounds of him stroking his wet cock thinking about you.

“Fuck yourself with it y/n. Just slide it right in.”

You bring the dildo down to your entrance, running it up and down to gather up slick. You nudge the head in, moving it in circles before your body opens up to let it inside. When it pops in, you gasp suddenly before sighing out a long moan. 

You push it in slowly. Taking it inch by inch as it stretches you out.

“I bet it doesn't make you feel as full as I do. I wish it was me who could fuck you in two right now. I wanna fucking break you.” he groans low and long, his hand working rapidly.

You pick up speed, bottoming out the toy and fucking yourself along to the rhythm of his movements. You feel the pleasure start to build up and soon small moans and pants escape you.

“Fuck yourself harder for me, cupcake” he spits the name out like a curse, gaining speed as he pulls himself closer along from the sound of your pathetic moans.

You push the toy in fast, faster, and then as fast and deep as it can go. You feel your leg begin to shake as you teeter on the edge.

“Touch your clit too. You think you can do that? Think you can fuck yourself and stroke that pink little clit all at the same time?”

You moan as your thumb swipes over your aching clit with every thrust of your hand. You feel yourself so close- white hot with tension.

“Keep talking Jake. Please” you cry.

“You wanna hear my voice? Does it make you so fucking wet. I can feel how you taste. If I close my eyes and imagine. You’re so sweet y/n, that’s why you're my little cupcake. And when I get back home, I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m just gonna fuck you over and over again until I get bored, and maybe then, I’ll have you touch yourself, just like this, right in front of me while I just watch.”

You gasp and moan shakily as your hips twitch and shake. You’re so close that if you just-

“Cum.”

It explodes inside you. Your stomach tightens and contracts, legs shaking as you chant his name over and over again in a hushed whisper. You curl your toes and your mouth falls open as your hand thrusts the dildo harder and harder into your poor, convulsing pussy. 

You hear a loud grunt followed by a sigh and little shudders that make you worry that he’ll be heard. He lets out a long exhale and you picture his cum dripping down the side of his knuckles.

Your own breath starts to even out as you come down. Your legs finally settle themselves over the sheets.

You lay your head back, resting it as a huge smile spreads across your face.

“That was amazing Jake. I love you so much.”

You pause for a second before being met with the soft sound of snoring. Your heart swells as you pull the phone away from your ear to look at his profile picture. Poor baby probably had the longest day of his life but still made time to talk to you. 

You rest the phone gently on the bed while you go to the bathroom to clean up. When you come back, you place the phone on your nightstand and allow yourself to fall asleep to the sound of Jake’s breathing. 

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[salty-autistic-writer]

Tragic that 60 % of the journalists try to make every 911 article about Buddie. If I were writing about the show, I would ask them all about puppies, cake, their favourite books/songs and their ideal vacation. And if they wanted me to tell something interesting about their headcanons about the character they play, that would be awesome too.

[lucyvaleheart]

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[kurooh]

I’MA MAKE U SCREAM ★ S. GOJO & S. GETO

⊹₊˚. a series of unrelenting, mysterious phone calls late at night leads to you being sandwiched between two hot ghostface slashers who’ve got you fucking for your life.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, ghostface! gojo & geto, threesome, knife play, landline phones, mentions of death, oral (f receiving), double penetration, anal/fingering, tongue piercings, pussy slapping, biting. 5.2K words whew (pls read anyway 🧎‍♀️)

xoxo, juno. happy halloween!! thank you to my dearest wolfy anon for beta reading <33 comment & rb if you enjoyed!!! 🎃

“hello?”

“why don’t you wanna talk with me?”

“who is this?” you roll your eyes, unimpressed by the cheery voice coming through the phone. “it’s like eleven at night, what do you want?”

“ya tell me your name, and i’ll tell ya mine,” that voice lilts into a teasing tone, words dripping with persuasive sweetness.

“nah, i’m heading to bed. nice talk.”

“aw, bedtime already? you’re not even gonna watch a movie before you sleep?” the question has your brows furrowing in aggravation, but you sigh, choosing to answer anyway.

“i didn’t have anything in mind,” the caller lets out a laugh, straight into your ear. “what, you’ve got a suggestion?”

“do you like scary movies?” and you can hear the smile in the caller’s voice; he’s amused, probably laughing with his friends over the prank call in the moments of muffled silence.

“i suppose so.”

“don’t you have a favorite? why not watch it?”

“well, i won’t be able to sleep,” you reply simply, twirling the phone cord between your fingers. “but the longer we talk, the more sleep i lose out on. so, have a good night!”

“wait!” the caller snaps, demanding as ever. the sudden outburst sends chills straight down your spine. “don’t hang up on me.”

“and why shouldn’t i?” the blatant defiance has the caller letting out a laugh that sounds rather menacing . . he clears his throat, seemingly returning to his more even tempered tone.

“we’re not done talking,” he says simply, sounding a little crackly through the phone. “so don’t hang up, you’ll—”

a rational person with an interest in talking would certainly call during the day, and only once or twice before quitting altogether to wait for a call back. an irrational person would have your house phones ringing off the hooks while you were in the shower, calling nonstop and then getting far too arrogant once you finally picked up. just as you slam the phone back down, it starts to ring again.

you decide to leave the room, figuring that the caller will tire himself out quickly, but he doesn’t. in the time that you left the phone to go to another room, there wasn’t a single beat of silence. furious, you race toward the phone, fingers sliding on the kitchen counter as you snatch it up.

“fuck you! listen to me, you’d better stop—”

“no, you listen to me,” the caller snarls, and the harshness of his voice has your heart kicking hard against your rib cage. something in your gut tells you that this isn’t just a talkative caller. “don’t fucking hang up on me again, got that?”

you recover some of your composure, goosebumps rising on your skin. the cool breeze blowing through a nearby window adds to the chilling feeling that’s washed over you in only a matter of seconds. “w-well, what do you want, then?”

“i wanna see your insides, dummy,” is the crazed response, and you can’t stop the way your face immediately twists in horror. a clicking sound is heard as the second phone in your house—the one upstairs—is picked up, and another person hops onto the call.

“now, now,” this new voice is smooth, immediately drawing your attention as you listen attentively through the phone. “that’s no way to talk, you’ll scare her silly.”

“what the fuck?” you ask aloud, although you hadn’t meant to. all you can think about is the fact that two weirdos have you almost . . cornered on the phone.

the crazy voice scoffs, ignoring your mumbling. “well, you heard her! trying to hang up and shit,” he clicks his tongue in disapproval before sighing. “anyway, where were we?”

you don’t even say anything, and the other voice exhales into the phone. “see, look at what you’ve gone and done now. our girl’s too scared to talk to us, isn’t she?”

“look, i-i’m just gonna go to bed. goodnight.”

“you’re not going anywhere, honey,” the calmer one of the two says, but this time his voice is much clearer, almost as if he’s standing beside you. you take a step backward, trying to shake off the weird feelings and relentless goosebumps spreading across your skin.

you might as well be wearing nothing.

the satin slip dress you were planning to sleep in is as thin as plastic wrap; you’ve backed up into someone’s strong chest and thanks to the thinness of your pajamas, you can feel each sharp ridge of muscle. the pecs are strong, firm to the touch, and the abs are hard enough to cut diamonds. fear races through your body, so overwhelming that your lips part to let out a scream—but the noise is muffled by a large palm that pulls you back, flush against the muscles. separated only by a few layers of clothing, you can feel the warmth of their body and the casual rise of their chest as they breathe. if you weren’t being silenced, this would be comforting, in a way.

“promise you won’t scream, baby?” that calm voice has a dangerous edge; you nod immediately, frantically, desperately — as you feel a few tears gather in your eyes. this . . does not look, feel, or sound good in any way imaginable. who even are these people? and why you? a seemingly normal thursday evening had gone entirely downhill, and you didn’t even know why.

“good girl,” the person hums, dropping their hand from the lower half of your face and instead replacing it with the sharp edge of a knife. “let’s head upstairs, shall we?” as you ascend the steps, the blade drops lower, until it hovers over the tender skin of your throat. you can’t even turn around and see who the person is, for fear of getting cut over the simple action.

“could i at least turn around?”

“what for?” he asks, nudging the bedroom door open. you’re met with the frightening sight of a person in robes lounging on your bed, against your pillows. they have a spooky, ghostly mask, but you know who it is the second their mouth opens.

“you took the knives out that quickly?” the figure clicks his tongue, raising a hand to his face to pull off the ghostface mask. so this is what this is—some kind of ridiculous scream roleplay . . but the feel of the knife and the way it gleams is too real. “what happened to playing around, suguru?”

“it’s—it’s you! from the phone.” you say, straining against the man behind you, who pulls the knife a few inches away from your throat.

“careful now, doll. you’ll hurt yourself.”

“if you let me go, maybe i’d—” the man on the bed sits up then, pulling off his mask. you can’t see who he is just yet, the shadow from his hood obscuring his face. in a moment, he grabs hold of your face with a gloved hand, fingers squeezing cruelly at your cheeks.

it’s utterly nasty, the way feelings of attraction twist in your stomach. heat rises to your cheeks and you swallow, looking into diamond blue eyes that have your heart fluttering despicably. how is it possible to even be focused on your grim reaper’s looks, almost entirely forgetting their intentions as you lose yourself in those eyes?

“cat got your tongue? i said i wanna see your insides and you didn’t even look fazed.”

beneath the robe, you can see the tips of snowy hair, along with a face that’s far too handsome to belong to some kind of murderer. you shake your head in disbelief, sucking in a breath. “uh . . huh? sorry, i didn’t hear you.”

he drops your face with an annoyed scoff, stepping back to plop down on your bed before fully pulling off his hood. “y’know what—suguru, you deal with her.”

the man behind you pushes you forward, and you awkwardly take a seat beside the sighing killer. suguru tugs off his mask and inspects the knife closely, running a gloved finger over the edge before nodding. “might as well use the knives on you. maybe you’ll hear us then?”

“what’re you—why’re you doing all this?” you ask, the words sputtering out of your mouth nervously. “is there any way i can convince you not to cut me open?”

suguru looks at his literal partner in crime, pushing his black bangs away from his eyes as he speaks. “oh? trying to cheat death, sweet thing?”

you shrug, casually flopping onto your back. the satiny fabric of your dress flips up, and you unintentionally give both of them a great view of your panties. now that they’re deliberating how to move forward with you, the fear of the situation has dissipated greatly. “i just wanna go to bed and live to see another day tomorrow. name the price for my life and i’ll pay it.”

“those are fighting words,” suguru remarks, “don’t you agree, satoru?”

satoru nods, eyes glued to the thin fabric covering what’s between your legs. his mind runs wild as he imagines what he and suguru could impose on you. they’re practically in sync—suguru looks over just as satoru looks up, the two of them sharing a knowing look.

“hmph. sit up and listen.” satoru nudges your thigh, and you do as he says, looking bored. the whole night has done one too many 180s, giving you the most severe case of whiplash in your life. you’d initially been annoyed, terrified, then mildly attracted, and now . . almost indifferent.

“you’ve got my full attention.”

“we’ll let you live, on one condition,” satoru raises a finger before you can object, while suguru’s eyes covertly sweep over your body. “think you could handle us at the same time?”

a proposition for a threesome is something you certainly did not see coming! you bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to maintain composure. suguru spices it up with a smirk, dragging that sharp knife of his along the edge of your jaw.

“you’ll have to fuck like your life depends on it.”

it does. tension weighs the air down, filling the room with a thickness even suguru’s knife couldn’t cut through. sweat beads along the skin of your spine and you exhale in defeat. being between these two would be hard—in all ways possible; but one mistake and they’d probably end up slitting your throat.

truthfully, you’re willing to risk it. most girls don’t usually cross paths with two men that are each extremely attractive and willing to share you between one another. you squeeze your thighs together, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“y-yeah, okay. i’ll do it.”

“atta girl,” satoru praises, the corners of his eyes crinkling. a wicked smile finds its way onto his rosy lips, but you don’t back down, instead spreading your legs. you look between them, a silent invitation extended in one glance.

“lie back for us.”

“you were the one who told me to sit up—” perhaps the unnecessary snark isn’t a good idea, not with the way suguru eyes you warily.

satoru leans in hastily, connecting his lips with yours to effectively shut you up. his body barrels into yours, pushing you into suguru, who catches you and cages you against his strong chest. the knife is abandoned as he strokes his fingertips along the tender skin of your neck, sighing into your ear while satoru occupies your lips.

“so pretty. heh, you’re pretty every night.”

suguru’s touch has you letting out a moan that satoru eagerly swallows, his gloved hands roaming your body. however, he seems to remember he’s got gloves on; without pulling away, he snatches them off.

“her tits, suguru—play with her tits.”

the mumbled words are audible only to suguru, who complies with a chuckle. unlike satoru, he makes no move to do away with his gloves. you moan, his hands squeezing at your tits while his fingertips stroke over your nipples until they grow hard.

“s-suguru,” you mewl, pulling away for a moment to suck a breath into your deprived lungs, “keep touching me there—just like that.”

satoru’s palm comes down hard against the side of your thigh, and he grips your face, forcing you to look at him. “focus on me, got that? wouldn’t want him to stop, would you?”

you shake your head, and in a split second, satoru’s got your upper lip between his teeth. he bites down playfully; the impact makes you gasp, and he seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. arousal pools in your panties, and you fidget in your spot between them, hoping that you’ll finally get the attention you’ve been craving sooner rather than later. suguru’s tongue drags against your neck while he takes in the scent of your body wash from earlier’s shower. there’s a cool sensation coming from the center of his tongue—you can feel a firm ball of some kind.

it’s a little shameful, getting this hot and heavy from a simple kiss. only, his tongue rolls against yours, and any semblance of embarrassment melts away. suguru’s fingers pinch both of your nipples at the same time, sending shockwaves right to your pussy.

“fuck,” you sob into satoru’s mouth, practically lightheaded from how overwhelming it already is, as well as the lack of air. “i-i need more.”

suguru hums, continuing to toy with your hardened nipples. “already slutting yourself out for us, sweetheart? that was fast, wasn’t it?”

satoru finally draws back, a glossy string of spit connecting your lips to his. he doesn’t move just yet, savoring the moment like a piece of special candy—you’ve practically got hearts in your eyes, all hot and bothered because of him. well, suguru is a factor, but he didn’t put in nearly as much work as satoru.

“lie back for us, babe.” this time you don’t fight them on it, scooting off suguru so you can comfortably prop yourself up on the mountain of pillows.

“tsk. this dress ought to go.” suguru brandishes his knife, and cuts through the satin material of the slip as easily as a stick of butter.

“hey!” you snap, the remains of your dress sliding off to the sides of the bed like rags. “what about you two!? you can’t just cut up my clothes like that when neither of you are naked!”

satoru rolls his eyes, tossing your legs apart. meanwhile, suguru clearly isn’t done with that knife; he trails it along the slopes of your naked body, the edge of the blade sharpened in a way that has you gasping. he applies a little bit of pressure, and your skin splits like it would after a paper cut.

“a-are you cutting my skin open?” you ask incredulously. you know the answer, but for whatever reason, you don’t pull away from him.

“maybe,” he replies breezily. “‘s nothing deep. you can handle it, can’t you, honey?”

“would you look at that?” satoru wolf whistles, and heat rises to your cheeks as he gathers your legs together, tugging them up. the knife pauses at your collarbone as suguru leans backwards to take a look, and his eyebrows raise immediately.

“she’s fucking soaked.”

“put the knife down ‘n come give it a taste.”

satoru’s request is breathless, but effective. the knife falls onto the blankets, and for a moment you use your head to consider what might happen in the future—someone could sit on that thing, lie down on it. satoru’s tongue rips the thought out of your head and replaces the words that were on the tip of your tongue with a sweet moan of bliss. your clit throbs at the prospect of more, and their balmy puffs of breath fanning over you only arouse you further.

their faces press together, side by side as they start to eat your pussy in a way that immediately has your back arching and hips bucking. satoru focuses all his attention on your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over it while suguru slurps up all of your slick. there it is again, that cool sensation—he’s got a tongue piercing. the moonlight shines through the flowy curtains, illuminating the killers in an almost angelic glow . . maybe they’re actually pussy killers.

“‘s like fucking candy,” satoru moans, tongue dipping down to gather up your slick. it bumps into suguru’s, and he only lets out a laugh that sends vibrations through your entire core. “sweetest pussy i’ve ever tasted, shit.”

the room fills with the lewd, nasty sounds of their slurping and licking as they devour your pussy together. you slip a finger between your teeth and bite down once one too many noises threaten to escape you, and suguru pulls back to land a smarting slap on your pussy.

“ah ah. do not try to go quiet on us.”

“sorry, ‘m sorry,” you stutter dumbly, mind and body reeling from the delicious sting of the slap.

“we want you screaming,” he emphasizes, spitting onto your cunt and watching as it flutters, the glob slipping down more rapidly due to the movement. “and you will be, by the end of all this. understand, doll?”

you nod hastily, and his eyes flick upwards to your face, the hardness in them a simple warning. “yeah, i understand.”

satoru’s drawing hearts and letters on your clit, each one making you shudder more than the last. each drag of his tongue makes him moan as he takes in more of your taste. beside him, suguru’s dips his tongue between your folds, the sensation nothing more than a tease. they plan to split you open on their cocks, and getting you desperate for it is only the first step of their plan.

“ngh, t-that’s so fucking good,” you cry, thighs quaking on either side of their heads. “please, i’m gonna cum.”

“give it to us,” satoru is the first to speak, his voice clear as it cuts through the lewd sounds in the air. he’s got one hand on the side of your thigh, holding you open just for them. “on our tongues, like a good girl.”

satoru’s ministrations on your clit grow more insistent; he’s working to pull your orgasm from you, while suguru continues to slurp at your messy pussy, his eyes falling shut. a familiar and overwhelming sensation coils in your tummy; it’s one that has your hands flying to both suguru and satoru’s heads, fingers finding purchase in their hair.

“i—i think ‘m gonna cum,” you cry, back arching off the bed while your hips jolt forward into their faces. after hearing the first word of your delirious warning, satoru replaced his tongue with his finger and moved beside suguru, the two of them slurping all your cunt has to offer. to them, it’s like drinking ambrosia.

you’re pulling hard at their hair, only encouraging them to groan against you. suguru speaks, eyes rolling back from just a little hair pulling. but it makes sense, with hair like that. of course his scalp is very sensitive.

“cover us in your cum, baby.”

obedient and right on time, your pussy gushes, hole fluttering around nothing while your clit throbs beneath satoru’s finger. the intense orgasm has left you twitching from the aftershocks, gasping for breath, and overly sensitive. of course, satoru and suguru take advantage of the aforementioned sensitivity with smirks on their faces.

“no, wait, i-i just came,” is all you can sob, your hands smacked away once you try to tug them off your aching cunt. “satoruuu, suguruuu.”

suguru only laughs, mimicking your tone with a roll of his eyes. “aw, babyyy. that’s too bad, isn’t it?”

with how sensitive you are, it’s not hard for them to drag a second orgasm out of you. this time, a few tears cascade down your cheeks as you fall over the edge with a pitched cry. satoru spanks your still twitching cunt and laughs at the way you gasp and recoil, legs still trembling.

“suguru, whatcha think? you wanna take her mouth ‘n i’ll fuck her pussy?”

“that’s far too considerate, satoru.” he shakes his head, talking about you as if you’re not in front of them. “c’mon,” suguru purrs, gesturing for you to get up as he slips off his robe and boxers. “lie on top of me.”

you can’t help but ogle, a little starstruck by his body and the thrill of everything. he sticks out his tongue playfully when he notices you staring, the metal ball in his tongue gleaming. his abs flex and his cock bobs as he lays down on your bed, beckoning you over with a gloved finger. satoru gulps, panting softly at the sight. following his best friend’s lead, he slips off his matching clothing and mounts the bed, which sinks under his weight with a creak. part of you wonders if the bed frame will give out by the end of this.

“hand me the lube,” suguru grunts, catching the small bottle in his larger hand. the liquid is cool, even through the leather of his gloves. he rubs his fingers together to warm it up a little for you. his fingertips prod at the tight ring of your asshole, and you let out a squeak of surprise.

“c’mon. relax for me, doll.”

you take a breath, body sweltering with arousal. this is certainly new for you, but you don’t complain—and anyway, the slight coolness of the lube feels good against your hot skin. satoru bites down on his lower lip as he watches his best friend prep you to take both of their cocks at the same time. something wicked has the corners of his lips curling up into a smile as he pictures you screaming for them.

likely picturing the same thing, suguru tongues at your jaw, kissing the tender skin wetly before nipping hard. you can only cry out, his lips serving as a simple distraction while his fingers push inside and stretch you out.

you gasp, and he feels you squeeze down hard on his fingers, hips jerking away. “come now, don’t run from it,” suguru coos, twisting his body beneath you to angle you the right way again. he ignores your whining, and satoru silently strokes his cock to the sight. “i know, i know. just breathe for me, ‘kay?”

slowly, your body accommodates the new stretch without any more sting or discomfort. in fact, your hips begin to rock into his fingers, chasing them when he starts to pull out.

“i-i think she’s ready, suguru,” satoru finally speaks up, clearing his throat. his voice is a little choked, and you can clearly see the flush on his cheeks even in the dark. “for both of us.”

“you hear that, honey?” his warm breath fans over the shell of your ear, making you shudder against him. “let’s see who can make you scream the loudest—me or satoru.”

“as if,” the man in question huffs, pushing your thigh to the side and looking over your dripping pussy with an obvious hunger. “fuck, baby. i’m gonna ruin you.”

with that, satoru grasps his cock and guides it inside your needy cunt. suguru does the same, pushing his length into your ass. the three of you moan collectively, a harmony if ever there was one. you sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of the stretch.

satoru grits his teeth and grips your hips for support, then pushes all the way inside you. he bottoms out easily, his cock sliding against suguru’s, separated only by a thin layer of tissue. so thin that they can feel the shape of one another’s cocks through you.

“fuckin’—shittt, oh my god,” satoru’s easily overwhelmed, heart pounding in his ears while sweat covers his entire body in a sticky sheen.

suguru bites your neck hard, but the pain registers as pleasure despite the fact that he tastes a few irony drops of blood on his tongue.

“do either of you plan to move?” you complain, lips parting in an ‘o’ shape around a whiny moan. “or are we just gonna sit here—”

“shut the fuck up,” suguru groans, clapping a dry and gloved hand over your tits before squeezing them. “we’ll move when we fucking feel like it.”

waves of almost euphoria wash over your entire body, leaving you breathless and panting. when you’d first met these two, you’d been sharp and aware of your surroundings, but now everything is hazy and your body burns as though you have a fever.

the bed creaks dangerously as satoru jumps into action, slowly rocking his hips into yours with a few choked, wanton moans. before long, he’s more confident, fucking into you with a tight grip on your skin and at an invigorated pace. you’re so hot and oh so tight—satoru fucking loves it—you feel perfect. he loves the way you squirm on top of his best friend, hips canting forward eagerly to meet his. the evidence of how good he’s making you feel is painted all over your face, apparent in the wobble of your lower lip and the tears in your eyes.

you hear a sigh from behind you. “can’t lose the bet,” suguru’s voice is laced with faux sympathy. it takes him a few seconds, but he finally starts moving, groaning in approval at the shake of your body and gasping, ragged breaths.

above you, sweat rolls down satoru’s face, the snowy tips of his hair sticking to his forehead while others fall in front of his eyes. “y-you like it like this, baby?” the question is rhetorical, but your whimpering tells him everything he needs to know. the corners of his lips curl into a smile that’s soon wiped away by overwhelming pleasure. “you’re taking us so fuckin’ well, sweetheart . . driving me insane, goddamn.”

“i second that,” the metal ball of suguru’s piercing clicks as he sweeps his tongue over his teeth, panting hard into your ear. “really, baby . . feel like the luckiest fuckin’ guy in the world right now, heh.”

as if you’re not the luckiest girl—being sandwiched between these two is a dream you didn’t even know you had. inside you, their cocks throb against one another, dragging in and out of your holes ruthlessly. the tempo only speeds up, becoming too much too quickly.

you nudge a weak, clammy hand against satoru’s waist, arching your back on top of suguru and nearly nailing him in the face with a reverse headbutt. before the latter can say anything, satoru snatches your hand and intertwines your fingers with his, then pins it down to the bed. he advances forward, his chest now against yours to keep you still.

“ah ah,” he tuts, his nipples hard as they press against yours, “move your damn hand, baby. this is what you wanted, remember?”

“i certainly do,” suguru titters, nipping at your earlobe. “don’t be like that. you can take it, can’t you?”

his words are convincing; he’s got you nodding in acceptance. he’s right, of course. this is what you wanted earlier—you’ve been taking both of their cocks so fucking well. just as you tell yourself you’ll make it through this, satoru’s fingers ghost along the soft skin of your stomach. despite the exhaustion that’s setting into his body, his hips don’t even stutter as he focuses on your swollen clit.

“oh . . oh my god,” the words are torn from your throat, which only grows more sore with all the noise you can’t seem to stop making. a familiar shakiness settles in your voice, and you’re fighting to keep the breath in your lungs, but it escapes you far too easily. “i’m-‘m gonna cum for you, ‘m—”

as you hurtle closer to all encompassing euphoria, the sounds of skin slapping against skin fade out and grow foggy. yet, you manage to hear their voices eagerly spurring you on, the two of them in the same boat as you.

“yeah, ‘s right. fuckin’ cum for us, baby.” satoru’s own orgasm creeps up on him, his head tipping back as your pussy starts to flutter around his cock. of course, suguru can feel the throbbing of his best friend’s cock and the quavering of your needy pussy. he releases your tits, seeing the bruising he’s left before squeezing his eyes shut in concentration.

“ya heard him, honey,” he utters after a long groan, his voice low and husky. “take all of our fucking cum.” you gasp out, nodding your head frantically as you teeter over the edge.

everything happens fast, and all at the same time. satoru cums inside you, his broad shoulders shaking as he rides it out while your pussy practically milks him for more. your cunt spasms, hips jerking upwards from the intensity of it. the movement pushes out suguru, his cum leaking out of your bruised ass and spilling in white puddles on his pelvis.

satoru looks down, biting down on his lower lip as he pulls his cock from you. this is quite the reward, seeing cum pour from both of your spent and twitching holes. your shuddering, sweltering body finally begins to cool after what feels like hours. suguru’s exhausted, but he kindly lifts you and lays you down on the bed beside him. satoru flops down beside you with a heaving sigh, only to lay on the knife from earlier.

“ow, fuck!” he jolts, sitting up and tugging the sharp blade from where it’s tangled in the sheets. he unceremoniously hurls it to the floor, laying back down with a vengeful huff.

you’re too tired to laugh, but a small smile plays on your lips. “do you still wanna kill me?”

“not right now,” suguru throws an arm over his face, gesturing in the direction of the floor. “the knife’s down there, anyway.”

you sit up, craning your neck to take a look. from what you can see, the floor is littered with their dark costumes and two masks, the knife completely out of sight. “i don’t see it.”

“hm, remember we talked about making you scream for us?” satoru speaks up, and in your dizzy haze, you don’t notice that glint in his eyes.

“uh, yeah, i think so? i thought you already did.”

“don’t you watch scary movies?” suguru scoffs, looking at you from beneath his forearm. “you should know what happens next.”

you laugh, rolling your eyes. “yeah, whatever. what happens next, you kill me? very funny. let me convince you again,” and you clear your throat. “no, please don’t kill me, mr. ghostface! i wanna be in the sequel!”

satoru simply shakes his head, and the knife plunges into your back. with a gasp, you sputter out a few garbled words, blood pouring down your bare back as you fall backwards onto the bed. you writhe on the mussed sheets, blood spilling from your lips and trickling down your chin in vermillion rivulets. beside you, the blood covered suguru and satoru let you struggle aimlessly until your body stills; then they slip their masks on again . .

“andddd cut!” the director jumps from his seat with proud claps, and the production assistants rush in from every direction to help clean up the mess.

“satoru, fuck! that knife was so sharp,” you sit up, sending a glare his way as you wipe the fake blood off your skin. despite being a fake knife, the shiny plastic point was rather jagged.

“excellent performances, the three of you! our halloween special is sure to be a hit!” the director is gushing as he praises the three of you.

“yeah, yeah,” suguru says, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “i’ve gotta take a shower. seriously, the corn syrup is so fucking sticky.”

[inkedells]

pairing: old!logan x f!reader

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

wc: 3.5k of pure smut

warnings: heavy smut, lap sitting, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), dirty talk, facials, p in v, ruined orgasms, snowballing, kind of angsty, the claws come out, logan is angry with you, kinda toxic, definitely mean, but still kind of sweet, pwp basically, blood, but it's not bloodplay, it's just logan not caring if he's hurt, if i missed any let me know.

Logan comes home and throws himself back on that torn-up leather sofa, thumb flicking his lighter while the other holds a cigar. It’s less of a distraction from the ache in his bones, and more of a device to push you away. Because if you think he’s tired or angry or hurting, you won’t ask him to fuck you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Of course he does. It’s the sympathy in your eyes when he gets tired from just a couple of minutes of thrusting that he hates. The whispered, “It’s okay. baby, I can ride you.” The gentle touches across his body and his neck and his face and his beard. It all reeks of pity. And if you were to sit him down one day and ask him why he hates being taken care of, he wouldn’t have an answer. He would push the voice in his head down into the void that all the strength he had left fell in, the voice shrinking until it’s nothing as it screams, because I’ve never been taken care of, and I would’ve loved it back when being taken care of wasn’t my only choice.

But it’s fine. You wouldn’t ever ask him that question because he knows for a fact that you don’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t be climbing onto his lap quietly, hands rubbing his sides as you press kisses to his neck.

“I missed you, Logan,” You whisper. Your hips aren’t moving; He knows he sat here like this to avoid fucking you, but he almost wishes you were seeking exactly that. Sex, as embarrassing as it would be for him, is better than your sick love. He doesn’t think you love in the way lovers do. It’s the kind of love meant for sick puppies, or the lonely old woman sitting on the bus with all her belongings in plastic bags.

He turns his head to take a drag of his cigar. Silence.

You hold his face, forcing him to look at you as you kiss him. Slow, chaste, no tongue. He feels scrutinized by your touches, and something nervous seats itself deep in his belly.

“How was your day?” You ask, your gaze snapping between his eyes.

Logan closes them. “I’m tired,” He says flatly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

There it is again. Pity.

He scoffs. It’s quiet. Barely there. He didn’t mean to. He watches your face fall the smallest bit. A year ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, and if he would’ve, he would blurt out an apology. Now, he does notice, but he secretly wants to watch it fall even further if it means you’ll realize how much you’ve been hurting him.

You swallow, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “I found an American poetry anthology in the basement today. 20th Century. My favorite poem was in it.”

He mumbles, “In a Station of the Metro. T.S. Elliot.” Remembering the poem you told him about months ago sounds too much like sorry. He wishes he’d pretended to forget.

“Ezra Pound,” You correct. Your smile tells him he’s forgiven for an apology he never offered. “If you can recite it I’ll be impressed.”

“I’m not reciting a goddamn poem.” He sounds sarcastic, and it relieves you, but then you kiss him and he’s wound tight again.

You sigh as you pull back. “What’s bothering you, baby?”

“Nothing’s bothering—”

“What’s bothering you?” You interject.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. He makes the decision to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of stopping this conversation. You never could resist an orgasm, especially one caused by him. “Enough of that.”

“What?”

But he’s putting out his cigar and lifting you off his lap with a suppressed grunt, then pushing you down on the couch.

“Logan,” You protest.

He continues undoing the drawstring of your pajamas, with a kind of slippery urgency that tells you he's trying to shut you up more than he's trying to satiate his own desire.

You sit up straight, swatting his hand away. “Stop.”

He withdraws immediately, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at the floor. He was wrong, before, about you not knowing. You definitely know, because you don’t place a loving hand on his thigh and you don’t kiss his shoulder. He’s grateful.

Instead, you observe his profile, then the quiet tremor in his hand. The impossible stillness of the rest of him. He tends to do that when his nerves are on fire. Thinks being a statue is what people who aren’t in chronic pain do.

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles, feeling your eyes on him. “I don’t need you feeling sorry, or whatever—whatever the fuck else goes through your head when you’re around me.”

You say nothing. That’s the most he’s said about his feelings in a while. He knows it, so he forces himself to say nothing, too. It doesn’t last long.

“I’m not dying.” His voice cracks a little at the end and he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I know.” The words come out in a tumble, as if you’re rushing to participate in his lie.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

“Okay.” Tears prickle your eyes but you blink them away.

“Okay,” He repeats.

You take a deep breath. “But it’s okay to be cared for, Logan.”

He laughs incredulously, and suddenly his volume is rising and his voice is firm. “Would you just—Would you just quit being my fuckin’ mommy? Would you?”

He only lets your silence marinate for a second before he rushes in to kiss you, ignoring the cramps in his muscles as he tugs your neck forward roughly. You squeak against his mouth, fighting his impossible grip on you, but you give up with a shaky exhale through your nose when your efforts prove useless.

“I can take care of you, too,” He grits out. It would sound sweet if it weren’t for the frustration in his tone. He pushes you onto the couch the same way he did moments before as he opens your legs by your knees and settles between them. He sucks a dark mark onto your neck, his fingers digging bruises in your ribs.

“I know you can,” You reassure him. You can see where this is going. “And I love when you do.” You gasp when he pulls your shirt up over the curve of your breasts.

“No. You don’t.” He pinches one of your nipples and sucks the other into his mouth for a brief second. “It’s okay. I’ll show you so you don’t forget again. You won’t want to get ruined any other way.”

“Logan,” You sigh.

He hums against the soft skin just underneath your breast as his hands ravage your body. He begins to unsheathe the adamantium claws in one of his hands so he can rip your top open. It’s slow and excruciating, so he closes his eyes, but the pain is over too soon and his suspicions are confirmed when he opens his eyes to see them stuck halfway.

You don’t expect him to lean back and individually tug each blade free. There’s blood, and now it’s dripping onto your belly, and he mumbles something that sounds like an apology as he wipes the dots of red away with his thumb.

But the hazel in his eyes is alive again. You hope it’s you that did that. Hope it’s not the pain or the sight of his own blood. You want to ask him, just to make sure. You don’t like hurting, right? You just really like me—

He slices through your shirt, careful not to graze your skin, and you try to ignore the fact that he’s never that cautious with himself, but you can’t.

“Logan, you’re bleeding.” Your voice is unstable.

“It’ll heal,” He says quickly, passively. He wipes his burning palm on his wifebeater.

“But that takes a long time now.”

He meets your eyes, his movements frozen. He’s angry and you’re not stupid. You’re pitying him again. He needs you to stop fucking pitying him. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough and slow, and you would be scared if he wasn’t your Logan. “Are you done?”

You don’t know what to say, so you just close your eyes and nod. You hear his claws retract faster than when they came out, and almost simultaneously, he’s shoving that same hand under your waistband as two of his calloused fingers push themselves into your cunt.

You arch toward him involuntarily, a ragged moan falling from your lips as he tugs your pajamas off your legs and spits on your pussy to ease the slide of his fingers.

Each groan he pulls from your throat is a step toward dispelling the doubt from your body. Doubt of his capabilities, of his strength, of his devotion to you.

“Beg me to fuck you,” He demands, fingering you roughly.

Your mind is cloudy at this point, from sadness or arousal or both, but you give him what he wants. “Fuck me,” You whisper, your eyelids about to flutter shut as you shed a tear.

But then you catch Logan smiling.

He grabs your jaw with his free hand, and you look at him immediately. “You’re gonna let me use it, right? Get myself off?” You lazily trace his features with your gaze—His nose, his wrinkles, his beard—because you know if it were your fingers instead he’d mistake it for tenderness and get mad again.

You nod, but it’s weak with how hazy everything is.

“Good girl.” 

“Please,” You sigh, “I need you inside of me. I need to—I need it.”

“I know. I know what you’re feeling before you feel it.” He lets the pad of his thumb draw quick circles on your clit. “What? Thought I couldn’t hear you playing with yourself in the shower? If I can hear your heartbeat when I walk through the door, what makes you think I wouldn’t have heard you whining my name?”

“Logan,” You sigh, your hips lifting off the couch, coaxing his fingers deeper for as long as possible before he’s shoving you back down with the heel of his palm.

“I’m gonna play with you now. I’ll fuck you after, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“What do you mean, play with me?” You breathe, fighting to keep your eyes open as he finds your g-spot.

He grins dirtily, in a way that makes your head spin and your thighs clench around his hand. You’re barely processing his words as he bends down to mumble in your ear, “Right when you’re about to make a mess on my fingers, I’m gonna stop. Then I’m gonna go down on you. And I’m gonna lick your pretty pussy, maybe even fuck you with my tongue if you’re good. And guess what? Guess what I’m gonna do when you’re this close?”

“You’re gonna stop,” You whine.

“I’m gonna stop,” He nods, and it’s mocking, but it’s gentle, and he’s fucking killing you with the way he’s talking right now. “But I’m not mean. I’ll give you a break. You can calm down when my dick is in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathe, your hips unabashedly grinding on his fingers. But you want to reassure him he is mean, and you especially want to tell him how much you love it. “Logan, I’m gonna—”

He withdraws his fingers from you so fast it almost burns. You clench around nothing, your lower half spasming as your orgasm barely approaches before falling away again. Only a hint of pleasure is able to make it through the cracks, and you cling onto it, hoping if you focus hard enough, the wave will come back. It doesn’t. You should regret warning Logan that you were about to finish, but all you feel is comfort now that he’s finally proud of you again.

Another tear streams down the side of your face, landing in your hair. Logan’s watching you as he pets your thigh, his lips parted when he leans down over you. He kisses your wet cheek softly, his beard rough on your skin. It’s unlike him to offer you affection this gracefully during sex. It’s always shaky limbs and suppressed groans and dirty kisses. Both of you know it. 

He moves down your body, until his face is hovering over your cunt. He doesn’t have his reading glasses on, so he has to pull his head back and squint as he spreads your folds with his thumbs, studying what you look like. He licks a stripe over you. A second, longer one, before he zeroes in on your clit. You can do nothing except lay there and take it as your hips twitch from overstimulation under his firm hands.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, your fingers twisting in his hair. “F-Fuck.”

He moans at that, pressed right up against you, the sound deep and delicious and vibrating. “Feel good?” He asks teasingly with a nip to your inner thigh.

“What do—What the fuck do you think?”

He breathes a laugh. It’s short and airy, not frustrated like before, and a warmth ignites itself in the back of your mind. It’s overpowering even the feeling of his mouth licking and sucking your most sensitive area; It’s the relief that he’s still hiding the Logan you fell in love with somewhere in there.

You wind your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp. You try to do it lovingly, although it comes across as sexual and Logan’s breath hitches in pleasure against your pussy instead. So as you suppress a gasp from the pure skill of his tongue, you show your affection differently—you hold the wounded hand he has resting face-up beside your hip. The cuts embedded there are easy to avoid as your thumb rubs the lines of his palm, because even though you can’t see his hand, the puffiness surrounding each slash on his skin are your cues.

He doesn’t move his hand away, but his tongue falters for a fraction of a second before slowing down.

The kind of love you’re pressing into Logan’s skin with each gentle stroke is unrecognizable to him. It’s not the pitiful love he’s so used to. He thinks it might be the opposite. Admiration. Reverence.

“I’m so empty,” You whisper, bringing your hands to grope Logan’s biceps. They’re sweaty and hard and flexing under your touch, and you wonder if he would let you ride them one day.

When your climax starts to creep up on you, it’s thanks to the image of Logan forcing you to lick your arousal clean off his bicep. Indulgently swirling your tongue along his pronounced veins, savoring the taste of his sweat mixed with yourself. He’d probably say somthing like, fuckin’ filthy. Getting yourself off on my arm. Who does that? Are you that obsessed with me?

Logan feels you squeezing his tongue, harder than all the other times before, so he withdraws at the last moment, ruining your orgasm once again.

 You convulse silently, your breath coming out stuttered with your twitching jaw. As if he can read your mind, he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and boxers. But he doesn’t strip himself of his wifebeater, stained with blood.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

You blink, and suddenly Logan is hovering above you with his cock over your face. He rubs his leaking tip on your cheeks first, then your lips, and when you open your mouth to take him, he moves his cock away and nudges your jaw shut with his free hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

A whine lodges itself in your throat as Logan spreads his pre-come over the plush of your lips. It escapes only when he lets go of his cock in favor of massaging his wetness across your lips and on your tongue with his thumb. His hard cock is bobbing above you, almost tantalizingly, the occasional drip of arousal landing itself somewhere near your eyes, then your hair, then your mouth, and you watch Logan’s brow furrow as you try to lick whatever you can.

His resolve snaps. A calloused hand squeezes at your cheeks until your jaw falls open. His cock is in your mouth before you can process it, thick and heavy and wet. So. Incredibly. Wet. You start to wonder how it’s even possible that he’s this hard at his age, but you know he wouldn’t want you to be wondering that, so you happily push the thought away.

You suck your cheeks in, swirling your tongue around his tip as you bob your head to meet the subtle, almost imperceivable thrust of his hips. You’re taking it well, you know you are. So you keep taking it, until Logan can no longer successfully suppress his moans and his hips are jerking out of rhythm.

He moves back until his cock slips out of your mouth. “I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He stands up and turns you on your front, your knees pressing into the soft couch cushions with your ass in the air.

“Logan,” You plead as you feel his tip pressing at your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” He says quietly, pushing in until half of his cock is comfortably squeezed by your cunt. Both your breathing is loud and labored, and there’s a specific kind of intimacy in knowing you’re both feeling this identical need. Overwhelming and hot and unquenchable by anything other than each other.

His first thrust is shallow, but it ruins you all the same. With how thick he is, it should feel like an intrusion, and it does. But all you can think about is how perfectly he fits inside of you, filling you extraordinarily with only a few inches.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes. “Look at that.” He traces around your entrance with his thumb. “Stretching so wide to take me.”

You moan, pressing your cheek against the sofa as you rock with his thrusts. He still hasn’t pressed all the way in yet, and you’re growing impatient. “Come on,” You urge, pushing yourself back to force more of his cock into you.

You expect him to chastise you for being so greedy, but he listens to you instead with a slow, full thrust. His tip nudges your cervix with how deep he is, and a ragged moan escapes you. “Yes,” You whine, “Oh god, yes.”

Logan’s breaths are coming out heavy through his nose, quick and occasionally intertwined with a grunt. His thrusts are getting quicker, and it’s starting to burn, but you welcome every sensation he has to offer you. He pulls out, spits on his cock, then shoves himself back inside, and this time you’re both unabashedly moaning the minute you’re joined again. 

His fingers dig in the plush of your ass as he observes himself disappearing into you. It hurts, but you love it. He knows you do, so he spanks you quickly before gripping you and rutting against you again.

“I love when you fuck me,” You whisper, feeling ashamed as soon as the confession leave you. “When you properly fuck me.”

He slows for a moment so he can watch his cock glisten with how wet you are. “I know.” He picks back up his punishing pace.

Your eyes begin to water, from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell. “I love you.”

“I know,” He repeats, this time breathier. His hips stutter. You can tell he’s close.

“I want it on my face,” You tell him quickly, his impending orgasm giving you no time to worry about being too forward.

He pulls out again, letting you turn onto your back as he shifts up your body. He jerks himself furiously, but you swat his hand away and take it upon yourself to stroke him.

“Come for me,” You tell him honestly, softly. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part around a trembling exhale.

He groans as his release coats your face in long stripes. Some of it even lands in your hair, but you don’t care. Your own fingers work your clit as you stick your tongue out and taste him. Logan bends down to kiss you, chest heaving and hands shaky, and you rub yourself faster as you swap his release between the two of you with a hum. He pulls back to let you swallow, then he kisses your cheeks with his rough beard, uncaring about the mess on your face.

You don’t know you’re coming until it’s over and you’re breathless, and it’s almost excruciating with how much he’s ruined you, but you’re so exhausted you can’t find it in yourself to dwell on it a second longer.

You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down for another kiss because you can hardly remember the one he just gave you.

“I’m sorry I had been treating you all wrong,” You say carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice is rough.

You nod, your lips brushing his as you smooth sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. These touches are hard for him. Any variation of your chaste affection is a reminder that he’s not really Logan anymore.

But the shame in it is gone. Replaced by the reassurance that he can still surround you with safety and firm hands and blatant desire;

And for a moment, he’s his old self again.

A/N: it's been so long since i've written anything, but logan has been consuming my brain for weeks so i had to get this out. i hope it's true to his character. <3 also, my asks are open, so feel free to request anything you want to read about.

[tojisteddy]

After Care with Toji.

cw: no use of ‘y/n’ I use ‘[+]’, depicting after care (obviously), sub space, softdom!toji, fluff, dom/sub dynamics, treading the line of dd/lg (anyone could digest this), pet names (baby, doll, mama, ma), it’s LONG (idk how many words, I know know it’s LONG), toji is the sweetest bf ever.

Toji knew your limits. He knew just how much he could push and pull, throw you around until you were delirious. And he knew when you were fucked out of your mind, when you couldn’t think properly, you who’d only knew how to moan and spew gibberish.

He’d had half of his manhood in you, slowly sliding out of your gushing cunt as he looked down at your ravished body. He had hickies and bite marks from the top of your neck to your toes, both of juices on your stomach down an absolute mess coming from both of your thighs. He adored the sight of it.

He gently lifted your chin to look at him, your eyes kept wandering around, “no, no, look at me mama, focus.” His voice was gentle but it was a command.

It sorta sounded like God was calling you, maybe the pearly gates were opening. You wouldn’t have minded.

“Where’s yer head at? Tell me.” He always asked when you were blissed out.

You couldn’t verbally answer though. You reached for the back of his knee and tapped. Once, twice, three times. Toji’d known from the first tap alone you were calling it quits, he sat you up on the pillows. Running to go get a damp towel or two to clean you off.

“Such a good girl f’ me today Doll. Did so well.”

You hiccuped, rubbing your face that was once full of tears. “Really?”

Fuck, you were so damn cute like this.

“Course mama,” he lifted your hand and kissing your knuckles and intertwined your fingers, “Loved bein with you. You love it too?”

“Course papa.” You replied, using his same sweet tone.

The ends of his lips curved up, leaving a quick kiss at your temple, “Yer so sweet baby.”

You hadn’t even realized when Toji finished cleaning you up and had sat you up, legs dangling off the bed. You felt his fingers going into your hair.

“I-I can take care ‘f myself Toji.”

“Sure you can ma, but not right now. Let me help you.”

Togi was consistent with after care. It was something he learned how to do after being with so many women, to look out for them. Help them clean up, get them properly conscious, relaxed.

It was different with you, though.

Not that he wasn’t a fan of it already, but after pushing you to your limit, manhandling you every which way known to man, forcing you to take everything he had— he loved taking care of you. To the point that even when his dick K.O’ed you into darkness, you’d wake up at 3 am, the moonlight slithering it’s way into the your shades bedroom through the curtains. You’d sit all the way up, rubbing your tired eyes to find yourself completely wiped down, in one of Toji’s sweatshirts that hung off him just right but gave you sweater paws, a pair of underwear and a scarf to protect your hair because he knew you’d be grumbling all morning if you woke up with out.

He didn’t mind because he loved you.

You, who never asked too much of him or pushed him too hard. You, who felt every need to be independent, and he had to teach you to rely on him. You, who had every wall built up as far as the eye can see, worse than him— it was Toji who broke every one of them down, breaking his own in the process.

Yes, you were his play thing in the bedroom, a messy girl, his slut— but everywhere else, you were his baby, his gorgeous girl, cute future momma to his kids, his lover.

Oh how he absolutely adored you.

“What’ddya wanna do, huh? Take a drive, eat, a bath?” He had put your curls up with one of the silk scrunchies you left lying around, leaving peppering kisses on the back of your neck.

“A bath.” You mumbled.

“Yeah?” He carefully rubbed your hips, thankfully they didn’t bruise this time.

“Go on, take a shower first ‘nd I’ll meet you there. You know what to do.”

With a pat to your ass, you were off. Legs wobbly from so much action.

Toji took care of everything. From changing the sheets, lighting candles, playing whatever music you wanted to hear to wind down, running the overly hot bath water with bubbles, just how you liked it. Whatever you wanted at the moment, Toji would give it to you. He loved how reliant you were when you were blissed out.

He liked it when you were completely relaxed, completely trusting of him with not a care in the world. Your only focus was him and being with him. He also loved being needed by you, how you were like two peas in a pod— both of you needing each other.

You pressed your head on the cool tile of the shower, closing your eyes as the soap and water ran down your body. It felt soooo nice against your skin.

“Oi, if yer tired sit on the hinoki!”

He snapped you out of whatever trance you were in with the wall, but you closed your eyes again with a scuff, “fuck off… ‘m not tired… You’re fuckin tired.”

Toji chuckled, setting both of your pajamas on the bathroom counter and then joining you under the hot water.

“You talkin shit?” An amused look on his face, leaning down closer to see you. As if he wasn’t already following your every move, just to make sure you were safe on your own.

“You get in my face… talkin- talkin ‘bout me… you’rrre the one yellin. Yoouu must be tired.” You slurred out, a grin forming on your face.

“ ‘S that right?”

“ ‘M always righ—”

You yelped out, Tojis devious fingers immediately going to your tummy, your arm pits— anywhere he knew he could get a bustle of laughter out of you. At the best and worst times, Toji was a literal tickle monster. He could get anything out of you that way.

“That’s— haha- you’re cheating! Ah! Hehee- you cheater!”

“Come on! I know yer tired, I’ll stop if you sit.”

“Oh, come awn!”

Without another word, Toji had you trapped between his body and the tile wall of the shower, tickling you so much it hurt.

You groaned, still giggling up a storm, slapping his large arms that held you, “Damn it! I give! I give!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his fingers were off of you body, taking your hand and guiding you to the hinoki.

“Doesn’t that feel better?”

“Whatever.”

It did feel better, your legs had been contorted in every in every way imaginable. Above his head, above your head, spread out from the Atlantic Ocean to the pacific. It felt good to take a rest.

Your eyes trailed up Toji’s body, skin riddled with scratch marks from his arms to his back, a few hickies on his neck, water cascading down his toned muscles, chiseled cheek bones—

“You starin mama?”

Toji hummed to himself, he loved when your eyes were on him. They were so pretty to him, especially when you were in the sun and he could really get a look at them. Like two Hershey kisses staring back at his green ones.

“Look so cute when you blush.”

“Shut up! You can’t even see it!”

He couldn’t, your brown skin didn’t let it peek through.

But it was in the way your eyes immediately went else where, unconsciously going to feel your heated cheeks or even trying to hide your face that had a small toothy smile— so fucking cute.

“Is the bath done?” Your eyes going to the tub a few feet away back to Toji who was washing his body with a wash cloth.

“Course, but you always fall asleep in there Doll ‘nd I told you I don’t like. It’s not safe.”

“I’ve never fallin asleep in there!”

His eyes met yours, eyebrow raised. Try it [+], I dare you.

“Maybe once.”

He shook his head, going back to washing his body. Unbelievable.

“More than once.” It came out more like a question even though you knew the answer to it.

Toji peered down at you, your eyes back at the tub. The steam was rising from the water, bubbles floating to and fro in the water. Slowly disappearing. Then your eyes went back to him. Big brown doe eyes, a tilt of your head and the cherry on top; a pout on your two tone lips. Not two big, not too small- just enough to push.

You were hell.

How could he say no when you were looking up at him like that.

“Fine- fuck baby, take your time!”

You slipped twice getting to the tub. Once because of how wet your foot was because of the water and another time because your legs felt exactly like the water under your foot. If it weren’t for the bath, you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Now you would be able to, a little limp like you worked out (I mean you probably could consider what you did an hour ago a workout) but you’d be able to!

Toji was right there with you, towel in his lap just barely covering his manhood, sitting on the hinoki and washing his hair. Talking to you about anything from the lunch you packed him last week to the new sake he wanted to try. You loved it, Toji’s voice was like a melody, deep, scratchy because of all the cigarettes yet smooth— a shot of whiskey.

“Scoot.”

You moved forward so Toji could sit behind you, it was his spot whenever you took baths together. After care or not. He loved getting to hold you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, leaving kisses at every place he left a hickey, maybe placing one or two new ones there.

Tonight was quiet, The Light In by Lana playing. You really were tired, unwilling to fight it but at peace— right where you needed to be. Toji was rubbing your arms, your thighs, your shoulders, just in the right places— he had some godly hands. Toji looked at you, who was completely slumped, your head resting against the tub, your long lashes slowly meeting each again and again.

“Ready for bed?”

“Mmm.”

You don’t know how, or when but by the time you’d realized— Toji had you in bed, teeth brushed, pajamas and scarf on and was rubbing the small of your back. Whispering how you did so well for him, how good you were, his adorable baby— a total sweetheart.

“Love you papa.” You mumbled, drifting off without a second thought.

Toji smiled, taking in your gorgeous face one more time before closing his eyes.

“Love you too mama.”

[hyeinette]

✿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌 𝗆𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝗆𝖾!⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ─── ⠀ their fav places to be kissed by you.

f!r⠀ ♡ ⠀ est relationship fluff kissing skinship 𝑓.⠀ ───⠀ 16OO >ᴗ<

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦⠀⠀⠀୨୧ ⠀⠀⠀𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀⠀〝⠀ 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚⠀⠀⠀𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑠

"just one more, please.” heeseung asked, though there was no question in his tone.

you’d kissed him again for the somethingth time that night. at first, it started out chaste, so how you were now on your boyfriend’s lap kissing him like there was no tomorrow was beyond your knowledge.

“hee, i really need to—” your words were muffled and fruitless against his lips.

heeseung knew it’d soon be too dark for you to leave, but pulling away seemed like a crazy thought, especially now, because of the way you were kissing him so dearly while tugging at his hair.

he loved kissing you, for your lips tasted honey and something foreign that only you wielded.

to his dismay though, you pulled away too soon, staring at him with swollen lips, ragged breaths, and flushed cheeks.

“stop,” you booped his noise playfully; a stark contrast to the zeal prior. “i have to go.”

“maybe one more kiss?” he bargained, pushing your handbag back to the floor when you tried to pick it up before his hands once again found purchase on the slightly exposed skin of your waist.

“well, one turns into twenty turns into fifty with you, so no.” you said, giggling at the way he groaned and threw his head back dramatically.

“you’re boring.”

you feigned a gasp. “i’m plenty fun, thank you very much.”

heeseung scrunched his nose and dumbly tried to stop you from leaving by nudging your lower leg with his foot (it didn’t work).

“if you were fun, you’d kiss me again.” he said with a shrug.

“no,” you responded curtly, gathering your keys and scarf.

he groaned again as you slipped out of his room, sticking your tongue at him. “boo!”

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚⠀⠀ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑

jay was the type to be romantic, and you were the type to pick up on your lover’s little habits. you noticed how jay always kissed your hand: before a date, before bed, while in the car… anywhere, really.

soon enough, you found yourself returning the gesture.

one day, the two of you were curled up in bed, his arm around your shoulder and your head atop his chest.

you were near the point of sleep, but you felt the need to stretch this moment with his for as long as you could.

as your eyelids betrayed you and nearly shut, the sound of jay’s laughter vibrated through his chest, jerking you back awake.

“sleepy?” 

“no,” you lied.

“liar,” he said, “what’s making you stay up?”

you hummed some response and lifted your head off his chest, turning towards his hand before placing a lingering, sleepy kiss on the back of it.

jay tensed under your lips for an instant, but then he smiled and relaxed, the familiar feeling of your lips on his hand gave him déjà vu. you were doing what he so often did to you.

he held your chin and turned your head towards his, so that you had no choice but to stare into his doting eyes.

“get some rest, my lovely girl.”

and with that, you did, falling asleep to the cadence of his heartbeat and the lullaby of his presence.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡⠀⠀𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑒

“jake!” you whined, running up to the boy who was seated in his gaming chair, clicking at a controller which you never understood.

your voice greeted him before your face did, and he turned abruptly, looking for you. at the sight of you, spent and so so tired, with bags under your eyes and a telling pout on your lips, his heart dropped, and he opened his arms for you.

you accepted the offer, burying your face in the crook of his neck and sighing against his skin, eliciting a shiver from him. his arms wrapped around your waist and ran along your back.

“i—” kiss, “am—” kiss “so—” kiss, “tired—” kiss, “today!” kiss.

between every word, you trailed an open-mouthed kiss down his collarbone. you weren’t exactly sure why, but you just wanted to make sure he knew how much you appreciate him. and you wanted to kiss him, too, but hey.

jake’s smile grew with every kiss. you were so cute in his eyes, always knotting up his mind with every action—especially when that action was kissing his neck.

whenever you did so, you made his heart stop, and then beat at a rate tenfold faster. it was just such a sweet, intimate thing to him.

he pulled your head up to face him, memorizing the sight of you. still pretty, even when exhausted at 11:41 PM.

“well,” he teased, “not too tired to kiss me, i guess?”

your eyes narrowed. “don’t ridicule me.”

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡⠀⠀𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑

sunghoon felt you were the only person he could let his guard down around. usually so rigid, he always eased up when he was laying between your thighs, staring into your eyes as you worked your fingers through the slight tangles in his hair.

he was tethering between sleep and wakefulness, and you could tell. you didn’t mind him falling asleep like this in your arms. 

he shifted slightly and looked up at you, eyes flickering to your lips. you didn’t waste another second before leaning down, pushing his hair away from his forehead and then kissing him there.

sunghoon let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding before smiling up at you, running his hand across your cheek gently.

“you seem comfy,” you teased, leaning into his touch.

“i always am with you.”

you blushed and bit your lip, not entirely sure how to answer.

“go to sleep.”

you didn’t have to tell him twice. sunghoon found himself drifting off to sleep, with the thought of your warmth and your lips on his forehead still fresh in his mind.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢⠀⠀𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦

the two of you decided to bake a strawberry sponge cake this sunday. rather an impromptu decision, really (actually, it was because you wanted homemade cake).

you were tasked with cutting up a bowl of strawberries, while sunoo made the chantilly cream. simple, in theory, but sadly, you had no baking experience whatsoever!

sunoo was at first staring at you with a smile, the erupting adoration he held for you in his chest reflecting through his dilated pupils. but then, as his eyes shifted to your rushed slicing, he gasped dramatically; his reverence turning into repulse.

“what are you doing!” he exclaimed, taking the knife from you.

you shrugged innocently, tilting your head so that your hair poured over one shoulder. “what you told me to?”

“i didn’t tell you to slaughter the strawberries,” he huffed before cutting the strawberries, this time more gracefully.

you giggled, plucking an uncut strawberry from the bowl. “whoops.”

“put that down,” sunoo said with mock-seriousness in his tone.

he wasn’t actually annoyed at you. never at you.

you looked at him with faux innocence, and then brought the half-eaten strawberry up to his lips. sunoo bit down on it, and that made you blush. an indirect kiss.

“well,” sunoo said, but his voice was less dictatorial now, and noticeably more soft, “you could at least pretend to help me with the baking.”

“right!” you nodded and furrowed your brows. “i’ll preheat the oven. you know, we should just heat it at 8,750 degrees for one minute, rather than 350 for 25.”

“y/n, no! don’t touch that oven!”

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡⠀⠀𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡

the first time you kissed his wrist, it was before a dance performance.

his nervousness was evident, manifesting in the frenetic way he'd paced back and forth and adjusted his loose tie for the nth time.

"you'll do great. you always do," you assured him, looking up at him with a supportive smile and a slight tilt of your head.

jungwon furrowed his brows, staring down at your perched figure, “but what if i mess up?”

his hand sought your face (it eased him, or so he said), running his fingers over your cheekbones slightly. you couldn’t help not leaning into his touch, holding onto his forearm.

“you won’t,” you placed a feathery kiss on his wrist, his pulse and cologne fluttering right under your lips. “i know you won’t.”

the action of your lips on his wrist, though small and barely even tangible, was there; for reasons inexplicable, it soothed him, and a blush ripened jungwon’s cheeks. he found himself suddenly smiling, as if his prior worries were a thing of the long past.

“you always know just what to say, baby.”

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜⠀⠀𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑘

riki was already really tall, and standing next to your shorter figure just accentuated his height, if anything.

whenever the two of you were in public—say, in a crowded shopping mall—and you wanted a kiss, you’d sometimes be too shy to ask, especially with all the people standing around the two of you.

so, you’d pull on his arm, so that he was slightly more level with you, and then you’d tip-toe, leaning up just enough to reach his cheek.

at this point, riki was turned towards you, his attention fully on you, more so than it always is.

you placed your chin on his shoulder and peppered a casual kiss there.

riki liked your little shoulder kisses. one, because they were sweet, and two, because they always led to him grabbing your chin and tilting it up to face him.

he’d admire your coy grin for maybe a second or two before his eyes darted towards your lips, and he was suddenly filling the distance between the two of you, pecking your lips tenderly; all the people around you two suddenly seemed to disappear.

sure, he might’ve hated PDA, but to kiss you, he could make an exception.

[rhaenyratargcryen]

you're my shotgun lover and i want it all | tyler owens (twisters)

masterlist ❈

summary: Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells. author's note: i...wrote this...in one.......single......afternoon. my fingers hurt anyway he's so hot i have had a crush on glen powell since 2018 (set it up supremacy) but this movie reawakened something in me. i should probably watch top gun now

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader word count: 9,123 (...oopsie) warnings/tags: pWp (with, y'all!), alternate universe: canon divergence, friends to lovers, friends with benefits

also cross-posted to ao3 okay love you bye xoxo your comments and reblogs are appreciated but not required i will love you all the same i hope u like !!!! <3

all characters are 18+ these are 18+ activities minors pls do not interact my eye is twitching as i write this 

It has been one hell of a week.

The tornadic activity has been off the charts – more storms built up under ideal conditions for weather hell-bent on destruction in a multiple-day stretch than you can remember ever tracking before. Your team had obviously been up for the chase, but now that the storms have passed, and the sun shines on the cleanup efforts, you can’t help but wish you’d chosen a different life path. You love what you do, but God, were you tired. Blisters have formed on the palms of your hands despite the gloves you’d donned. You could practically feel the knots forming in your neck. You shovel one more load of leaf litter before heaving the blade into the ground and leaning against it. Across from you, a backhoe is demolishing and excavating the remains of a house.

You close your eyes and try to just let the sun warm your face, thinking about how fast it can all just be gone. Mother Nature’s a beautiful force, but she can be cruel.

“Hey, don’t be slowin’ down on me,” Tyler jokes, clapping a hand between your shoulder blades. You hadn’t heard him approach, and his voice has startled you, pulling you from your thoughts. “We’re ‘bout halfway done with our part, I think.”

“No,” you reply, swiping the back of your arm across your forehead, trying in vain to clear your bangs from your eyes, but they won’t budge. Tyler reaches up and, almost as if he isn’t even thinking about it, takes the unruly pieces of hair between his thumb and forefinger and tucks it behind your ear, underneath the temple of your sunglasses, to make sure it stays this time. The action is so intimate it sends a flush crawling up your neck. You chance a look around to make sure no one else has seen. “Not slowin’ down, I promise. Just thinking about how lucky we are to be alive. How sad it is that all these people just lost everything.”

You’ve known Tyler since the two of you were in college together, fast friends who’d stuck together through a lot that could've put a strain on any other relationship, although you hadn’t studied meteorology – you’d been in school to be a librarian. 

One night, he’d asked you to stay up and help him with a lab he’d missed for one of his classes, and he loves to say he knew it then – that you were hooked – but you were too far along in your degree to do anything about it now. Switching from an arts degree to one in STEM? You’d have had to start over from scratch. 

Tyler had formed his team while you were in grad school and he was working as a cowboy for the rodeo back home, and you’d dropped out without a second thought when he asked you to be a founding member, to travel the country with him every tornado season. Said he wouldn’t – couldn’t – think about doing it without you. You’ve been riding with him ever since.

The two of you share everything, always have, and sometimes you wonder if it might be too much for the professional relationship you’re supposed to have.

“That’s what we’re here for,” Tyler grins, the hand still glued to your back rubbing gently, sending goosebumps across your skin under your shirt. “To help ‘em feel like their luck is turnin’.”

Always the optimist, Tyler Owens. He clears his throat, the hand on your back pulling away, and steps slightly closer to you.

“One of the folks over there gave these to me,” he says, gesturing to a group of people gathering in front of a house that looks like something had tried to suck it into the ground from dead center. “I saved their cat from their screened-in porch, poor thing had been yowling all night apparently. Know these’re your favorite, so, here you go. I think you earned it.”

You take the tin from him and open it, your mouth instantly watering at the sight of the small, round butter cookies inside. “God,” you groan, picking one up and taking a bite, savoring it over your tongue. You can feel Tyler watching you carefully. “Thank you. You get me.”

“Do we get cookies, Tyler?”

Lily’s voice sounds from your left, and you glance over at her. The shit-eating look on her face tells you she did see Tyler fix your hair for you. Your stomach somersaults.

“If you’re good,” Tyler says, smirking, “after the sun sets, we can head back to the motel, find some shitty bar, and drinks’ll be on me, okay? How’s that sound?”

Lily whoops, turning to Dani, who’d since appeared beside her, and the two snicker and fist bump. 

“You need any help over here?”

You look back at Tyler, cupping one hand above your eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Despite your glasses, it shines bright from directly behind him, and you can hardly stand to look at him. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” you murmur in reply, bending down to toss some siding that had been blown off one of the houses on this street into the wheelbarrow you’ve been using. “You should go see what Boone’s up to – I don’t think anyone has seen him in a minute.”

No doubt Boone was hiding somewhere with one of the breakfast burritos Lily and Dani have been rolling since early that morning, seeing how long he can get away with not doing his part. He’s a good guy, but the manual labor side of the job isn’t really his thing.

“Eh, he’s better off wherever he is,” Tyler laughs, and a small smile takes over your face, too. “Hey, you sure you’re okay? You don’t need a break? You can take a minute to yourself, no one’ll judge. I know how this can all get to you a little more than it gets to everyone else.”

You know him well enough to know he’s not calling you weak-stomached, that he’s genuinely concerned for how you feel, but he’s right. It does all get to you. Settling in to help survivors of these natural disasters is just something that comes with the chasing – there isn’t one without the other for you and the rest of the crew. You nod, glancing back up at him. 

“I’m okay, Tyler. Go off and be the face of the operation – you don’t have to worry about me.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between your eyes, trying to find evidence you’re withholding the truth from him, but he seems to find nothing. With a minute tip of his head, he turns to resume working through a long-term plan for rebuilding the town with the mayor and some other members of the local government. 

This is something else you know he loves to do – shmooze with higher-ups, show off his people skills. Not only are they higher-ups, they’re small-town folk. His kind of people. He knows how to get through to them, how to get them to trust him. You love that about Tyler. He’s never condescending – he always has a genuine desire to help. He’s been through this hundreds of times, and these people may only have been through it this one time. You look around at them, at the people of all ages picking up the pieces that remain of their community, then cross your fingers and send a thought out to anyone listening:

Please let it be the only time.

After a few more hours of genuinely back-breaking work, you hear Tyler’s sharp whistle and know it’s time, meandering over to his truck where it’s been parked for almost eighteen hours. Using your teeth, you pull your gloves from your hands and hiss. They’ve been rubbed raw, the skin blistering where each finger meets the palm. You try to ignore the throbbing sensation, leaning against the passenger side door and closing your eyes. The rest of the crew sidle up to you, taking long drags from water bottles and cigarettes and trying to make peace with how you’re leaving this place tonight.

“Does anyone else want to break off to shower first?”

It seems Dani’s the only one, and they shrug, putting their hand out, palm up, to Dexter, who hands them the keys to the RV.

“Meet y’all there,” they say, stifling a yawn, and you know it’ll be a bit before you see them. The rest of you will have to pile into Tyler’s truck, and before you can object, the other three crawl into the back seat and leave you on the front bench with Tyler. You let yourself in and close the door behind you, buckling and watching as Tyler shakes someone’s hand and hustles to meet the rest of you. His Texans cap hits the bench before he does, between the two of you, and he turns his keys in the ignition, buckling his own seatbelt.

“Where we headin’?”

“There’s a place with a mechanical bull nearby. I vote there.”

“How nearby is ‘nearby,’ Boone?”

“Uh,” he pulls his phone from his pocket, does a quick Google to double-check. “Forty-five minutes?”

Dexter leans over and grips Boone’s phone, reading the screen. “In the opposite direction of the motel, Boone.”

Everyone groans, objecting, and you press your hand against your temple to alleviate the pressure there. The noise, God, the noise.

“Could we go somewhere closer to the motel, maybe?”

“It’s got a mechanical bull,” Boone stresses, and everyone rolls their eyes.

“Boone, you know damn well we’re not making it back to the motel if we go that far away.”

He groans, and you pull your own phone out, checking Maps to see what’s around the motel.

“This one’s three minutes from where we’re stayin’,” you say, showing Tyler your screen, and he nods, shifting into reverse, backing out, and starting down the one lane of the street that’s been cleared of debris. 

“Hey Boone,” you toss over your shoulder as Tyler shifts into second gear. “By the way. Long time no see.”

Lily snorts, smacking you on the shoulder to let you know she thought that was a good one. Boone shakes his head. 

“Hey, just because you didn’t see me all day doesn’t mean I wasn’t out there, too. How do I know you were workin’, weren’t sitting on your ass in the shade somewhere, hm?”

You hold your raw, red palms out for him to inspect and that shuts Boone up quick. Tyler whistles as he gets an eyeful of your skin.

“God damn, girl,” Lily murmurs. “That looks like it hurts. I think I might have Aquaphor in my bag back at the motel if you want some.”

“I’ll be alright,” you reply, knocking your elbow against her knee behind you in thanks. “Appreciate you.”

The rest of the drive is taken mostly in silence, everyone in the backseat trying to rest their eyes, but you stay up, your eyes on the road, so Tyler isn’t the only one making the thirty-ish minute drive back to where you’re staying, where you checked in only after it’d been decided which towns had been hit the worst, so you could reach all of them easily by truck.

“What’s goin’ on in your head? Hm?”

You turn to look at Tyler and he glances at you from out of the corner of his eye, then at your lap, at the fingernails you’ve picked down to the quick. “Real quiet over there.”

“Nothing,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t let Boone get to you,” Tyler says, tapping his right fist on your thigh once, twice, then letting it rest there. You brush your knuckles against his and he opens the fist immediately, taking your hand in his but not squeezing, careful not to put pressure on the blisters on your palms.

“It’s not that,” you start, then realize your mistake, your admission. “I really – I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

You’re acutely aware of your hand in Tyler’s. It’s not like you’ve ever been shy around him – your cheeks flush at the thought – but this is…different. Sweet. More.

“Yeah, that it has,” he sighs, adjusting his left hand on the steering wheel so he can drive a little more comfortably, but his right hand stays in yours. 

You settle back into silence, Tyler seemingly having dropped the subject, and your eyes return to the road, but you feel him looking over at you, checking on you, every once in a while. You try your hardest not to meet his gaze. 

Soon enough, Tyler is putting the truck in park, then shutting the thing off. The noise – or lack thereof, you guess – wakes Dexter in the back, then Lily, who snorts when she sees your hand in Tyler’s. You pull away and unbuckle your seatbelt, watching as Tyler, with a hurt look on his face, wipes his hand on his jeans and swings himself down and out of the truck.

“C’mon, Boone,” he shouts, slapping a hand on the door that Boone has his head resting against, and the man sits up straight, wiping sleep from his eyes. “The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. Drinks on me, pal!”

The motel really is that close to the bar, so you all decide you’ll leave the truck parked there and walk home at the end of the night. The unspoken verdict is that you will all be getting shitfaced tonight.

The lingering smell of cigarettes in the air seems to rejuvenate everyone and Lily pumps a fist when she spots the old-fashioned jukebox across the room, then claps a hand over her mouth when she realizes there’s a TouchTunes sitting right next to it.

“Oh, I am so forcing you fuckers to listen to Chappell Roan all night,” she says gleefully, and you laugh along with her, looping your arm in hers and letting her pull you across the room while the boys settle in at the bar.

“So what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” You play dumb, shrugging when Lily gives you a hard look and unhooks her arm from yours.

“Girl, seriously,” Lily scoffs, bumping your hip with hers and slipping a twenty dollar bill into the TouchTunes. Evidently she wasn’t joking when she meant you’d be listening to Chappell Roan all night. “I saw that thing earlier, the hair thing, don’t think I didn’t. And y’all holding hands in the truck. What’s going on there?”

You shake your head but she grabs your wrist. “I’m serious, Lil. Nothing’s going on. We’re friends – good friends. He noticed I was having a hard time today, and wanted to make sure I was alright. That’s all.”

You can tell she doesn’t fully believe you, and when she opens her mouth to object, you cut her off.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, okay?”

Lily watches you, trying to read the small line between your eyebrows, but eventually she nods and lets go of you, letting you turn away from her. You push through the door to the women’s restroom, your nose wrinkling at the smell, but you ignore it. Standing in front of the sink, you watch yourself, hands shaking. This isn’t you. You’re better than this at shoving these feelings for Tyler down, way down – or, rather, you had been, up until this week broke you, apparently. Turning the knob for the cold water to the left, you let it run over your sore hands, hissing at the feeling. Carefully, you cup your palms and watch them fill, then splash the water onto your face, soothing the flush. There. That should help.

There’s a cold bottle of Coors in front of the seat next to Dexter when you arrive back to the group, “Red Wine Supernova” playing from the speakers. You almost snort at all the old men – regulars, no doubt – groaning out their distaste for whoever chose the music all across the room.

“Thanks,” you toss over your shoulder at Tyler, sitting on the other side of Dexter and Boone. He nods and nurses his own. You frown and settle onto the stool, leaning an elbow on the bartop so you can turn and face your friends. The cold beer against the palms of your hands feels so nice.

What’s wrong with him? He won’t make eye contact with you, and you notice his jaw clicking as he grits his teeth. What’s got his panties in a twist?

As the night unfolds, you find yourself laughing more and more, loosening up, letting the stress of the last week fade into memory. Someone has produced a deck of cards from God knows where and Dani – who did join the group eventually – is showing off card tricks you didn’t even know they knew. You feel a warmth spreading through your body, and you can’t stop thinking about how much you love all of these people. Your friends. Your family. Empty bottles are swiftly replaced with full, cold ones without notice, and everyone is languid, relaxed, unburdened by the work that you’re all doing.

You take a pull from your drink, using the cover of the bottle to risk a glance to Tyler three seats down from you to find that he’s already watching you, and the look in his eye tells you exactly what he’s thinking. That somersault-y feeling is lower than your stomach now. You’re only three beers deep, but the air in your head reminds you that you’ve barely eaten all day, so you’re a little more affected by the alcohol than you’d usually be. Impolitely, you reach across Dexter next to you to grab a handful of peanuts from the basket to his left.

Glancing back up at Tyler, you meet his heady gaze again, and he smirks around the lip of the bottle against his mouth. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. You swallow nervously around another sip of beer.

Every once in a while, the two of you will get a little too drunk, stay until last call, sneak back to your motel room, and fuck. Nobody knows – at least you don’t think they do – and you never talk about it when you’re sober. Tyler will generally stay until you fall asleep, but he’s always gone when you get up the next day. Only once has he woken up in bed with you the next morning, and you’ve never made that mistake again. There isn’t a name for what you feel for him, you don’t think, and you can’t tell what he thinks of the arrangement. Clearly he likes it, or he wouldn’t be making eyes at you from across three people’s laps as you pull these peanuts from their shells.

“Alright, y’all,” Lily says, slapping a hand on the bar, startling you out of your thoughts. You watch her, popping a nut into your mouth. “Think I’m gonna head out. I suggest you all do, too, fuckers, it’s late.”

Everyone starts to protest, but one glance at the clock tells you you’ve all stayed much longer than you thought – it’s a quarter past midnight, and you’ve got to be up with the daylight. You balk, but if you want to talk to Tyler tonight, you know you’ve got to shoulder your exhaustion and stick it out a little longer.

“I think I might stay for a bit,” you murmur, watching everyone stand and gather their things. You glance over at Tyler, who you can see clearly now that everyone’s out of their seats, and he’s watching you, too. The look on his face reads plain, now – he wants you.

“I’ll stay with her,” he says, eyes on yours. The green in them has disappeared almost completely, you notice, his pupils blown wide. “Walk her back. Y’all head back if you want.”

“I might stay, too –” Boone’s voice cuts off, coughing as Lily elbows him in the stomach, maybe a little too hard. “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’re going to bed, too, Boone,” Dani interrupts, a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the door. They poke him once when he starts to protest. “C’mon, now.”

Everyone shuffles out the front, Dexter calling good night, and all of the sudden, it’s just you and Tyler. You don’t know why, but your palms begin to sweat at the thought of being alone with him again. He stands, palming his drink, and slides onto the seat next to you, his body angled towards yours.

He’s never made you nervous like this. You don’t know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“So,” Tyler starts, grinning at you. “You come here often?”

You snort, emboldened by the booze, and he chuckles in response. “Idiot.”

“God, but I do love making you laugh.”

You blush under his scrutinous gaze, and take a quick swig of the dregs of your drink, unsure what to say to that. He mirrors you, taking a sip of his own while his eyes bore into yours. Accusatory.

“You don’t do it much anymore, you know that?”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

You press your fingertips to your mouth and Tyler’s eyes follow your hand. “I guess I just haven’t had much to laugh about lately,” you start, sighing deeply. “Tornado season’s been hard this year, and you know how much that – it gets to me. As much as I love what we do. You know. Remember that family a couple weeks back whose daughter was stuck under her bunk bed when it pressed on her too long, lost her leg below the knee? That got to me, Tyler. It did.”

“It gets to me, too,” he murmurs, knocking his knee against yours. “I guess I’m just better at hiding how bad it affects me. You can talk to me about it, though. You can talk to any of us.”

“I know I can,” you breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking. “I know. Sometimes I don’t know what to say, though, you know, what is there to say? It’s not fair to complain about how sad it makes me to watch these people lose everything.”

“You’re allowed to feel sad. And to feel frustrated. It’s not fair, you’re right, but we’re doing good work, yeah? Fighting the good fight. Figuring out what makes these things tick, how to warn people when they’re in the path, get them outta the way and safe. Maybe they lose their house, their car, but they won’t lose themselves, or each other. That’s what matters most. Just remember that.”

You look up at him, set your elbow on the bartop, and prop your chin on your open palm. Your hands don’t hurt so bad anymore, you notice. “Thanks, Tyler.”

“Anytime,” he smiles, but you shake your head. 

“Seriously. You always know what to say.”

A look crosses his face then, too quick for you to read, and he sets his drink down, flagging the bartender over to close out the team’s tab. You frown, wondering if you’d, ironically, said the wrong thing.

“What’s up?”

Tyler looks back to you, and this time, the look in his eyes is unmistakable. It burns. “Taking you home, sweetheart.”

The walk back to your motel is done in silence. Tyler’s hand swings next to yours, and you feel it searching for yours more than once, but you don’t take it. You climb the stairs together, slowly, and he walks you to your door. His room is one more floor up.

You can tell he thinks you won’t invite him in, that you’ve changed your mind – or maybe that you never made it up. He hadn’t, after all, told you plainly that that was why he’d stayed with you at the bar. You unlock the room with your key card and step inside, opening the door only far enough for you to fit through it. You turn back to look at him, his face awash in the street lights shining into the hallway. You flip the lightswitch on next to you, illuminating the room behind you, too.

“Well,” he murmurs, making to head back down the stairs. “Good night.”

“Tyler?”

His head turns back to look at you, watching as you hold out one hand and he takes it, letting you pull him closer to you. You press yourself into him, push your whole face against his chest, your hip keeping the door from closing on the two of you. You inhale deeply, the smell of him overtaking your senses. His cologne, yes, but underneath that, the smell of dirt, earth. Home.

You feel his arms wrap around your back and you turn your head to the side, press your ear to his heartbeat. Your hands come up to scratch down his back and you feel it when he shudders.

“Stay?”

You hear his breath hitch in his chest, then the deep rumble of his voice as he says, “Alright, baby.”

With a short inhale, your eyes flutter, nearly closing at the term of endearment. You step back, pulling him with you, and as you close the door behind you, he pushes one hand up into your hair and pulls your head toward his.

“I, uh,” you whisper against his lips when they get close enough to yours, “I think I might shower first, if that’s okay with you?”

“Alright,” he murmurs, unlacing his hand from the strands of your hair before toeing his boots off and carefully setting them under the chair next to the front door. “You want company?”

You swallow. You’ve never done anything like that before. It’s always been quick. When you do this with him, you hardly ever have time for a chat before he’s got your shirt over your head and his mouth on your skin.

“Sure,” you reply. You feel him watch as you turn around and pull your shirt off, reaching back to unclasp your bra. The modesty feels redundant, but you can’t help it.

“Not gettin’ shy on me now, are you? S’not like I haven’t seen you naked before,” he chuckles, and you throw a look at him over your shoulder just as he’s pulling his own shirt over his head. He left his hat at the bar, you think. You’ll have to go back in for it when you pick up the truck.

“Tyler,” you scold, and he laughs at you, steps across the room to wrap an arm around your torso and press a kiss to where your neck meets your shoulder. The place he knows makes you melt. You sigh and push back against him, the feeling of his hard chest against your bare back a welcome one. This feels more like what you know, what you’re used to.

“Shower,” you remind him, and he nods, his forehead pressed into that spot now, and he pushes his fingers underneath the waistband of your jeans, running them along the bit of skin there around to the front, where the fabric splits at the button. He pops it undone, then uses his thumb and forefinger to grip the zipper and slowly – so slowly – pulls that down. He can’t help himself, you know that, and so you hold your breath and wait for him to push his hand into your panties. Ever a predictable man, he does just that, and you gasp at the feeling of his warm hand against you.

“Are you sure?” Tyler’s breath against your neck makes you shiver, and you press your ear to the side of his chin. He runs his fingers along the seam of you, finding first your clit, your legs twitching at the sudden rush of pleasure when he brushes his hand against it, then pushing down to find you wet and wanting. You cry out softly. “You don’t sound sure. You don’t feel sure.”

You hum, your neck stretching back until your head is pressed to his chest, and he pulls his hand back up to start working small circles on your clit, your wetness on his fingers allowing for smooth movement, with just enough friction to have you panting for more. 

“Sounds more to me like you kinda want me to fuck you with my fingers.”

“Tyler,” you whimper, telling him with just his name that you are getting close. He smiles against the side of your neck, pulling his hand away and shoving your jeans and underwear down just enough that his hand has room to smack your clit lightly. You squeal, right leg kicking out at the feeling, and he continues moving his hand in circles to soothe the hurt.

Your breath is coming out of you in short huffs, and before you can come, Tyler takes his hand off of you and wraps it around your stomach to join the other. You pant and whine, rubbing your thighs together to chase the feeling he’d had you practically pressed up against, now ebbing with the loss of his fingers.

“You said you wanted to shower,” he whispers in your ear, pulling your panties back up, and you scowl, pushing away from him. He laughs and holds his hands up in defense as you pick your t-shirt up off your bed and crack it at him like a whip. “Let’s shower, baby.”

“I might kick you out right now, Owens,” you snark, but the small smile on your face gives you away, and Tyler unbuttons his own jeans, leaving them in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed. Your jeans join his, and you’re both left in your underwear.

“You wouldn’t,” he replies, pulling his briefs off slowly, biting his bottom lip as you watch him. “You like this cock too much.”

You can’t help laughing at him, but the sight of him bare in front of you does have you biting your lip. You step forward to cup his growing length in your hand. Before you can move it, Tyler puts a hand on your wrist.

“How’s your hand?” He makes to pull it away, presumably to turn it over and appraise your blisters, but you shake your head.

“S’fine,” you whisper, tightening your grip. You tug once, twice, and press a kiss to his bare chest, then tip your head back to search out his lips. He leans down to oblige you, his lips parting against your mouth as you twist your fist. You love these moments you share with him, when you’re both bare, physically, emotionally, away from the real world, and you can pretend this is an everyday thing. When you’re not trying to tell yourself you feel nothing for him. Like this is just how it is between you.

Tyler groans when you pull your hand away from him and you click your tongue, press that same hand against his bicep.

“Doesn’t feel so good, now does it?”

Before you even know what’s happening, Tyler is picking you up, one arm underneath your back and the other around the backs of your knees. You look up at his face and laugh. “Put me down, Owens!”

He grins and carries you the few paces into the bathroom, placing you on your feet in front of the tub. Tyler leans down and pushes his thumbs underneath the waistband of your panties, waiting for you to put your hands on his shoulders and step out of them.

He lets you pull away from him to turn the hot water on, adjusting the cold side until the temperature is perfect, before pulling you against his chest once again. This time, you can feel his hard cock pressed against your backside, and you hum appraisingly. You reach behind you to fist him again, but he shakes his head – you feel his chin brush against the top of your head – and he groans out, “Mm-mm.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna shower, baby, c’mon.”

You glance back towards him and watch as he flicks the overhead light on. “So we don’t slip and die,” he says, and you laugh, pushing the shower curtain to the side. Holding Tyler’s hand, you step over the lip of the tub and under the steady stream of warm water, inhaling deeply when it hits the sore muscles in your shoulders and back. Tyler groans at the feeling, too, when he steps in behind you.

“Here, switch with me,” he murmurs, guiding you by your waist until you’re the one underneath the water. You let it fall onto the top of your head, over your face and down the back of your hair, for a moment, eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Tyler reaches both hands up and brushes the water out of your eyes, runs his hand over the top of your head. 

“Shampoo?”

You open one eye, the other shut against the water, and nod. You gaze up at him, heart squeezing at the way he’s watching you. His smile widens and he takes the tiny bottle in his hand – it looks even more comically small now – and dumps the product into his other palm, setting the bottle down onto the edge of the tub and rubbing his hands together.

“Turn around.”

You do as he asks, inhaling sharply through your nose when you feel his hands run through the hair at the crown of your head. Your stomach aches with longing as you register how unnaturally intimate this is. His fingers feel so good against your scalp, which is slightly sunburnt, you’re now realizing. He massages the shampoo further into your hair, running his fingers down the back of your neck and across the tops of your shoulders. When he’s satisfied with his shampoo job, he steers you by your arms to face him again, then carefully helps you tilt your head back and rinses it all from your hair.

You watch him pick up the other small bottle from the shelf, warm water still running down the back of your head. 

“I’ll do my conditioner,” you murmur, taking the bottle gently from his hands. “It’s a – it’s a science.”

“I am very good at science, if you can recall.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s something I’ve gotten perfectly right. It’ll take just a sec.”

So you work the conditioner through the ends of your hair, avoiding his gaze as he watches your hands first coat your hair in the product, then rinse it out. He reaches forward to run his own fingers across it, as gently as he can.

“Hm,” he makes the noise in the back of his throat, pulling his hand away. “Soft.”

You can hardly look at him, the twisting feeling in your stomach shifting to something warmer, something further from apprehension, something that feels a lot like want. “You?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m good. Here,” he says, rubbing his hands across the plane of your upper back. “You’re tense. You worked hard today. Let me help.”

You weren’t going to protest, but before you can, Tyler guides you forward and out of the direct spray of the shower, then presses his thumbs into your muscle. You groan, your head falling forward onto his chest at the feeling, and he chuckles at you, continuing with his hands. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you whimper, and you feel his cock twitch against your stomach.

“You fucking dog,” you joke, and Tyler laughs against you, pushing your hair off the back of your neck and pressing his thumbs in there, too.

“Hey, what can I say? I like making my girl feel good.”

You freeze. His girl? His girl. He hasn’t noticed your reaction, and he keeps pressing his fingers into your sore muscles, pulling one hand away briefly to push the showerhead down and away from the two of you. You glance up, already missing its warmth, but you find that the steam rising around you is doing a good enough job at that.

“Here, baby,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding you to press your hands against the tiled wall to your left, running his hands down your back.

“What are you –”

Before you can finish the thought, you feel Tyler’s fingers parting the seam of your cunt from – from behind, and you groan at the feeling of his middle finger slipping inside of you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he groans, his knees hitting the floor behind you. You toss a glance at him over your shoulder and your own knees nearly buckle at the way he’s looking up at you – with hunger, and with reverence, and with something else entirely unrecognizable. He looks wild. He looks in love.

One of Tyler’s hands clamps down around your hips and he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh as his finger starts to shift in and out of you. You shiver and push your face into the cool tile, groaning softly when he finds that rough bit of flesh inside of you, the one that makes you come undone if he works it long enough.

“Yeah?” Tyler sounds fucked out already, his voice breathy against your skin, and you can picture the look on his face, the concentrated expression he gets when he’s trying to make you come. You try to focus on the feeling of the shower’s spray where it hits the edge of your foot rather than how good his finger feels inside you because if you think too closely about how good it feels, you’ll get lightheaded. And nobody wants that.

“Yeah,” you reply weakly, and for a few minutes it’s just like that, the only sound in the bathroom the shower, your panting moans, and the noise your pussy makes as he pulls his finger in and out.

“Sound so good for me, baby,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your thigh again, and you whine, trying to protest when he slips his finger from you. He laughs deep in his chest and lightly smacks the swell of your ass.

“Don’t complain when I’m doin’ somethin’ nice for you,” he jok, and you can feel then that he’s shifting himself around. You want to look over your shoulder, want to see for yourself what he’s doing, but freeze when you feel his palms cupping your ass, his nose pressing against the inside of your thighs.

Your mouth forms the word oh, but no sound comes out until you feel his mouth press against your cunt, tongue pushing inside of you, and then you cry out, chest heaving, when he presses a sloppy, wet kiss to your clit. You pull your face from where it’s still resting against the tile and look down at Tyler to find he’s already looking right up at you. His grip on your ass tightens when you make eye contact with him, and he spreads you open wider for him, eyes narrowing as his tongue flicks again, and again, and again.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he moans against you, the vibrations causing your legs to twitch. You already thought you were going to burst, the steam from the shower, the way he’d washed your hair, the fact that he was in your room at all – it all made you feel slightly insane. To add insult to injury, he’s just pushed two fingers inside of you and immediately found the spot that takes you out, and you start to shake a little.

“Tyler,” you whine, pushing one hand down to grip his hair. He groans when you tighten your hold on it, fucking into you a little faster. “Tyler, fuck, gonna come.”

“So come, baby,” comes his reply, and you do, you come so hard that the toes on your right foot curl until you’re on tiptoe and Tyler has to reach up and grip your waist to steady you. You feel it crest, and peak, then subside, but he keeps working you through it, his mouth moving against you still, and a second, smaller – though still good – orgasm wracks your body right after the first.

You breathe through it, push your foot down so you’re standing flat on the surface of the tub again, and wait for Tyler to pull his fingers out of you. 

“Baby,” Tyler groans, squeezing your hips, his fingernails biting slightly into your skin. “You gotta let go’a me, if you want me to get up.”

His voice, fuck, his voice, you think, releasing your grip on his hair and turning to watch him rise from his knees, the tile cold against your back. You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth and he catches you, smiles against you when you part your lips to taste yourself on his tongue.

“Was that good?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, pressing one, two, three more quick kisses to his mouth, before he reaches behind you to turn off the water. “So fucking good.”

Neither of you bother with a towel, instead opting to stumble toward the queen bed in the middle of the room and climb right underneath the covers.

“Hi,” you whisper when you’re settled in, the duvet pulled up under your chin. Your eyes rove over his face, then glance over to the alarm clock behind him. 1:56 in the morning. “You still wanna fuck?”

Tyler snorts, reaching over to poke you in the side, gripping the skin there until you start to laugh. “You still wanna fuck?”

“Yeah,” you reply, grinning, when you catch your breath. “Wanna?”

He’s quiet for a second, watching the duvet rise and fall with each breath you take, before he peels it off of you, using his elbow to push himself up until he’s leaning over you. There’s a rosy flush on your chest, your breasts heaving and it’s all he can do not to lean down and take one of your nipples in his mouth, the one closest to him. Instead, he runs the back of his other hand across your chest, catching against the hard peak, and watches your breath stick to the inside of your throat. You feel yourself subconsciously leaning toward him as his face comes toward you. You want him to kiss you, but instead, he angles his mouth to kiss the skin below your chin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against your neck, pressing his open mouth to you there, and you gasp at the feeling – of his mouth against you, and of his praise. It all feels so nice. He just made you come in the shower, and now he’s going to make you come in this bed, hopefully more than once. 

You wrap your hands around his back and pull him toward you, watch as he settles in between your thighs. You can feel his thick cock, heavy, insistent, where it presses against you, and you want to take him into your hands, but he has other plans. 

With one hand pressed into the pillow on either side of your head, Tyler uses his knees to knock your legs out further, sitting back against his heels when he’s satisfied. He wraps his big hands around your thighs and pulls you closer, smiling down at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blush when he repeats himself, suddenly feeling very bare. He’s just as naked as you are, but you can’t help but feel like he’s seen your whole hand, meanwhile you hardly have any idea what cards he might hold. In the dim light from the lamp beside your head, you notice that you can see the green of his irises again. It seems like the shower sobered the two of you up very quickly.

His gaze locked on yours, Tyler takes himself into his hand, groaning at the pressure of his grip after neglecting his own want for so long, but he suddenly curses, pausing just as he’s about to press inside of you.

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom,” he breathes, sitting back again. He runs one hand through his hair, visibly weighing the options.

“It’s okay, Tyler,” you murmur, leaning up onto your elbows. “It’s okay. I have an IUD, and I got screened after the last time I was with someone. I’m good. I’m good if you’re good.”

Tyler heaves a heavy sigh, running his hands up your thighs. “You’re sure? I’m clean, too, cross my heart. But only if you’re sure.”

You nod. “My head is clear. I think I shook off my drunk an orgasm or two ago.”

A grin crosses his face, and you roll your eyes at him before he even opens his mouth. Two? he mouths, then whistles lowly. You smack his stomach, and he grabs your wrist in his hand, lightning quick, pressing a kiss to the pulse point there. Your jaw falls slack, and you go all soft and pliant, letting him pin your hands above your head. His body comes down over yours, and his mouth presses to your cheek, then your forehead, and when your eyes flutter shut, the ghost of a kiss crosses them, too.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he murmurs, and normally if a man were to say that to you, you would immediately regret letting him into your bed. But for some reason, when Tyler says it, it sends that familiar warmth spiraling down into your gut. You know he means it.

Slowly – too slowly – he guides himself back to your entrance, shifting his hips so they’re resting comfortably against yours, and he presses himself inside of you. You hiss; the girth of him, although a welcome stretch, is also a bit of an uncomfortable one. He leans down to kiss you, working you through it with a thumb pressing circles into your clit, sliding himself in bit by bit until he’s fully seated. 

A groan pushes out of him when you clench around him, testing the waters.

“Careful,” he murmurs, easing his hips back. “I’d like it if this lasted longer than ten seconds, please.”

You laugh against the side of his head, pull your hands down from where he’d left them above you and wrap yourself around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Tyler grips your thighs and starts to work himself in and out of you, carefully, gently, but you squeeze his waist with your knees. Encouraging him. Asking him to pick it up. You can handle it.

His hips start to pull back and snap against yours quicker and quicker, Tyler panting in your ear, lifting up onto his palms and pushing himself off of you. He sits up onto his knees and tilts your hips up for a different angle, one that sets sparks dancing in front of your eyes. You groan, head tossed back, and dig your nails into his thighs as his pace picks up.

“Fuck, yeah, that it, baby? I can feel you – fuck, feel you squeezin’ me.”

You hardly have a voice with the rate he’s slipping in and out of you, barely enough to squeak out, “Fuck,” before your cunt has him in a vice grip, working through another orgasm.

“Ohhh, that’s it, huh, that’s it.” His mouth is going a mile a minute, neither of you really paying much attention to anything he’s actually saying. You’re both focused on his own mounting orgasm – you don’t feel like your body is capable of much more than that – and you weakly clamp down around him once more. His eyes squeeze shut, his hips stutter, and he grits out, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck,” before he slots against you and you feel him filling you. You run a hand down his back, soothing him as he comes, biting your lip at the feeling, foreign but enjoyable.

Tyler groans and glances down to where his cock is softening inside of you. He eases his hips back, cupping your face and pressing a kiss to your forehead as he does. “Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You nod meagerly, pressing the back of your hand against your warm cheek. He watches you and, assured that you’re not going to pass out on him or anything, stands and hobbles into the bathroom. The sink turns on out of sight, and you close your eyes, listening to the water run. Tyler returns with a warm, wet towel and wipes the inside of your thighs, swiping gently across your cunt, before folding the towel and letting it fall to the floor at your bedside.

You feel loose, calm. Safe. You hardly notice him turn the light off, but you do feel the bed dip beside you as he rejoins you under the covers and pulls you into his arms. You melt against his sturdy chest, his heartbeat under your face a comfort, the rhythmic tick tick tick of it lulling you to sleep. But there’s still one thing you have to know before you can relax completely.

His breathing has started to even out, but he hasn’t snored yet, so you know he’ll still hear you when you ask, “Are you gonna leave?”

He grunts an acknowledgement of your question, nuzzling down into the top of your head.

“Do you want me to stay?”

You know your answer, but you still bite your lip, considering the question. You hadn’t thought before that maybe he left after every night you spent together because he thought you didn’t want to wake up with him. “Yes.”

“Okay,” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Then I’ll stay.”

If he’s at all worried about what will happen when you wake up tomorrow, he doesn’t show it, but anxiety courses through you at the thought of anyone finding out. Does he want the others to know? Because that’s what it feels like.

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispers, like he can hear your thoughts racing. “It’ll be fine. Just go to sleep.”

Easy for him to say. He’s out like a light. And you’re left alone with your thoughts until you fall into fitful, dissatisfying sleep sometime around when the world outside starts to turn blue.

A pounding on your door wakes you from deep sleep – the deepest you’d gotten all night, at least – and you try to sit up but find there’s a heavy weight on your chest blocking you. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing down at the sleeping body next to you. It takes a second for it to register: Tyler’s here. 

Tyler’s here. Sidled up against you, arm thrown over your stomach like this is where he belongs. He didn’t leave. He stayed, like he said he would. His face looks so peaceful – so beautiful – you almost hate to wake him.

“Come on, sleepyhead! Time to get a move on!”

Almost. You scramble to push Tyler off of you, ignoring his noises of protest, jumping out from under the covers and grabbing various articles of clothing off the floor to pull over your naked form. You plop back down on the bed, this time on his side, right next to where he’s starting to wake.

“Dude, get up, they’re gonna know you’re not in your room. They’re gonna know you’re in here.”

“So what,” he grumbles, rolling over as you push him and settling deeper into the bed. “Let ‘em.”

You sit up straight, one hand on his arm. “You mean that?”

He hums and turns his neck to glance at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re my girl.”

Your face flushes a deep pink and Tyler grins, reaching over to wrap an arm around you and drag you back down into the bed, pinning you under him and peppering an assault of open-mouthed kisses all over your face. You grin, thinking that you could get used to this – just not right now.

“Seriously, Tyler,” you laugh, pushing a hand against the side of his face. He squeezes your hip. “We have to get up. We gotta get back out there.”

Tyler sighs, loosening his grip on your body and kneeling over you. “Yeah, you’re right. Alright, alright.”

He stands and takes the top sheet with him, wrapped around his waist, and heads to the bathroom. To brush his teeth, you hope. God.

“You know,” he says, head popping back out into the room, mouth full of toothpaste. “Yesterday. I wanted them to see us holding hands.”

You watch as he smiles at you and disappears back into the bathroom, then fall back onto the bed, hands pressed over your eyes. 

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are dressed, teeth brushed, hair taken care of, day packs slung over your shoulder, and you’re pulling the door closed behind you when you hear a whistle that pulls your attention to the parking lot.

“Damn, Owens!”

The voice makes you jump, and you groan. You thought you were going to get away with the sneaking around, but the rest of your team is watching from next to the RV as the two of you descend the stairs together.

Lily and Dani turn to Boone with smug looks on both their faces, and he rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. They hold their hands out for him to slap two twenty dollar bills down into.

“What’s that?” You ask when you get close enough to them.

“We had a bet that you and Owens would come out of that room together. Well, that one or his. Didn’t matter which.”

“A bet I just lost,” Boone groans, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I thought for sure…”

The rest of the crew snickers, including Tyler, who won’t look at you. You poke a finger into his chest.

“Did you know about this?”

“No, I swear,” he says, hands up, and you don’t know why, but you believe him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t drunkenly confess to Lily weeks ago that sometimes we, you know…”

You scoff, almost mad, but then Boone shouts and the scoff turns into a snicker because, hey, you love him, but you can’t help but relish in his defeat.

“So they knew?! That’s cheating!”

He storms off while the rest of you laugh, Dani clutching their side and following him around the side of the building to try to make amends, trailing off, “If it makes you feel any better…”

Lily looks over at you, then at Tyler, a grin swallowing her face. “So, are you guys, like, together now? Or something?”

You look up at Tyler, who’s smiling softly at you, clearly deferring to you to answer that question. You feel a surge of affection for him swell in your chest. Clearing your throat, you turn to Lily.

“Or something.”

[starlightsearches]

All Yours

"I'm going to fucking ruin you." / "I won't apologize for marking you up, everyone should know you're taken." / "I don't want anyone else. No one can make me feel like you do."

@somethingvicked tagging you because I accidentally deleted the original ask 😬 just wanted to say thanks for the request and a big, fat SORRY for taking so long. i was scrolling through my drafts the other day and saw this was like a year old and the shame managed to motivate me enough to finish this. Ooops again and I hope you enjoy!! Comments, likes, and reblogs are always cherished 💖

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

AN: 18+ only!!!!!!, car sex, partially-clothed sex, piv, semi-public, titty worship, humping, dacryphilia, unwarranted jealousy, porn with a little plot, eddie's self-depricating at the beginning but he fucks like a god, very possesive! eddie, multiple orgasms, one (1) mention of pregnancy but it's off-hand and mostly unrelated to the sex, unprotected sex, I took the spirit of the prompts more than the literal wording, this is very different for me and maybe rushed? idk you tell me 🙃

Eddie always jokes that you're his second love.

His van—with its stained upholstery, rattling frame and the battery on its last leg—was here first, he says. And despite everything previously mentioned, he treats that car like his baby.

So when he slams his door hard enough to rattle the glass in the window, it wouldn’t take a genius to know something is up.

Eddie sits silently in the half-light, gripping at the steering wheel with both hands and gnawing at his bottom lip until the skin turns white.

"Everything okay?"

He won't even look at you when he shoves the key in the ignition.

"Sure," Eddie says, but there's a bite to his voice, quiet over the roaring grind of the starter, "why wouldn't it be?"

The car does start—despite his abuse to the engine—and you prop your feet up on the dash, raising your brows as he tears out onto the empty street.

"Ohhh-kay. Is this about—"

You don't even get a chance to take a guess.

"It's not about Steve."

Eddie spits Steve's name at the window and the passing trees, their leaves blurring into inky smudges. You watch his jaw tick, eyes flashing from the road to the rear-view mirror, but never to you.

His resolve falters with the press of your hand against his on the gearshift.

"Really? ‘Cause I was going to ask if this was about Patrick Swayze?”

The speedometer ticks up for a quick beat, and then drops, and Eddie squirms in his seat.

He steers off to the right, and the van shakes as the tires bump off the smooth pavement to the gravel edge of the road, little twigs snapping off on the trees outside against the fading paint.

"Fuck," Eddie grumbles, quiet, like he's having a conversation with himself. His fingers catch in his curls when he takes the other hand from the steering wheel. It's dark out here, away from the street lights, but you still catch the shine glazing his lower lashes, the way he blinks to keep any tears from pooling there.

"I mean, it's no big deal," you tell him, petting over his knuckles with your thumb, "I just wish you would have said something."

You're not sure what lies were spread to make sure the goofy little pre-teens didn't show up for movie night and try to break down Steve's door. You just knew that—for once—everybody piled on the couch in the living room was of legal age.

It seemed like an exciting prospect when the night started, but everything was pretty much the same: just more beer, and fewer voices shouting about whatever movie you were gonna watch.

Nancy and Robin were a united front when they pulled out Dirty Dancing, and you joined them, mostly to annoy Steve when he pretended he wasn't interested.

Eddie grumbled about the choice, arm slung around your shoulder, but he came around, eventually. Nobody can resist the allure of Johnny Castle.

However many beers you had may have been one too many, though, because as soon as the credits started rolling, Steve had yanked you from Eddie's grasp and onto your feet as Nancy and Robin were cheering jump jump jump and you ran, stumbling into Steve's arms with a surprisingly powerful leap. Then you were floating, high above the living room with a bird's eye view of the crushed beer cans and Hostess wrappers littered over the carpet for one glorious second.

Until you landed in a giggling heap with Steve groaning beneath you, the room shaking with laughter to the point of tears, until Robin threatened to pee her pants.

Now that you've sobered up a little, you recognize that Eddie hadn't been laughing along.

He lets his head fall back against the headrest, eyes big as saucers, pathetic like a little dog who's about to get yelled at for pissing on the couch, and he twists the hand that's resting beneath yours until your fingers intertwine, gives you a squeeze—a move you recognize as an apology before he's got the words for what he's feeling.

"You know I'm not interested in Steve, right?" you ask, squeezing back.

Eddie nods, but his eyes tell a different story. He carries this thing with him—a kind of self-conscious bewilderment each time you reach for him in a crowd, press your lips to his, call him your boyfriend when there are people around to hear it.

It's kind of funny how much it doesn't make sense to you, how you assumed that, deep down, Eddie knew that you loved him, but also how badly you wanted him. That it wasn't some kind of fluke or coincidence or apathy that kept you here.

Eddie's breath catches in his chest, like he's trying not to cry, and you know you were wrong. You're not doing nearly good enough a job at making Eddie feel half as loved as he is.

You slip your hand from his, resting it just above his knee—an innocent start for your more illicit plans—scooting in your chair until you're almost nose to nose, lower your voice into a whisper.

"I'm serious, honey. You've got nothing to worry about."

Your plan is working already. Eddie swallows hard enough you can see his adam's apple jump in his throat, and his gaze keeps flickering from your eyes to the hand you've got on his thigh, climbing higher with each soothing stroke.

"Yeah, I-I know, baby, it's just—" his breath hitches, but he's fighting to get the words out, wet lips parting with a heavy breath as your fingers travel higher, thumb in the crease between his thigh and his crotch, "it's Steve Harrington."

His voice jumps an octave on Steve’s name, and your quiet laughter comes out in little breaths.

“I don't want to talk about Steve Harrington."

Your words hit his mouth in a puff of hot air, and Eddie gasps into the kiss that follows, moaning a little when your palm meets the zipper of his jeans and his swelling cock beneath. The tip of his nose digs into your cheek, one of his big hands finding your waist, trying to pull you closer, or as close as he can with the center console in the way.

"God, baby. Need you- need you so bad," he huffs, but you’re already breaking from the kiss, lifting your hips from the seat as you crawl into the space between Eddie’s warm chest and the steering wheel.

“Then you can have me,” you tell him, settling your weight in his lap, grasping around for the lever that’ll give you a little extra space. The seat rattles back until it stops with a heavy clunk, and Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep quiet when your body lurches into his.

He won’t meet your eyes, looking out the blackened windows, checking the car like somebody’s gonna pop out from the back seat.

“What? Uh, I mean—like, here?”

You take Eddie’s face in both your hands, relishing the scratch of the sparse stubble peppering his jaw. Out of habit, his hands come to rest on your thighs, and you hum in approval.

“Whenever–“ you whisper, shifting your hips back just to bring them forward again, the crotch of your jeans meeting the bulge in his, rattling the chains hooked to his belt loops. Eddie’s neck goes taut, head pressed back against the seat.

“Wherever– “ you place your lips at the delicate skin he’s revealed, just brushing along the column of his throat. When you meet his eyes again, Eddie’s pupils are blown wide.

“And however you want me, Eddie. I’m all yours.”

“You’re all mine,” he repeats back to you, and his hands echo the sentiment, his confidence growing as he moves around to grip at your ass cheeks, pulling you more fully against him until he can grind up on you, his lips at your neck now, planting messy kisses at the edge of your throat that have you digging your fingers into his hair just to keep him there.

Your boyfriend's got a big dick—fucking hung like a horse, although he doesn't seem to know it, and he's already throbbing and heavy in his jeans, bucking his hips into you like he's trying to get you pregnant before he’s even inside you.

"Eddie," you sigh his name, just to admire the feeling of it, and he lets out a groan that has you dripping, the damp fabric of your panties sticking to your cunt and dragging over your clit with each shift of his hips.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, and you hardly notice his hands at the zipper on your jacket, trailing it down, down, down until he can slip it from your shoulders, gripping at your tits through your tank top.

"You feel so—fuck," he's cut you off mid-sentence, pulling the neckline of your top down until your breasts are free, nipples already pebbling in the cool air. Eddie pinches one of them in between two fingers, the metal of his rings biting at the other until you gasp.

"Yeah?" he repeats, harder this time, the word mumbled into your tits. Eddie's smothering himself, licking and kissing and teething his way as he moves to replace one of his hands with his mouth over the dark, stiff peak.

He sucks the bud between his lips, glides his tongue over the sensitive skin there. The sound of your moans fills the car, and suddenly the pressure of his cock isn't enough when there's so much fabric between you. You can't pull away, though, not with how his free arm has circled your waist, forcing the sway of your hips.

"Eddie," you call out again, but he just grunts, onto the other breast now, fucking devouring you in a way only he can.

He's not stopping, teeth scraping at your skin and his lips pursed, sucking the life out of you while his other hand pinches and flicks the other stiff bud, still damp with his spit.

It's almost frightening how close he's gotten you, and just from this—the movement of his hips and his worshiping mouth.

"Eddie."

There must be something different in the way you say it this time, because he listens, finally, snaking his hand down between your bodies, slipping the button on your jeans and shoving his fingers inside until they reach the apex of your aching cunt. Your vision goes foggy, on the verge of tears from the relief of something solid pressed right up against your clit.

And his mouth doesn't stray from your tits, single-minded in a way only somebody like Eddie could be, sucking at your nipples until they both shine.

His fingers curl, perfect, sitting right where you need them as you grind and grind and grind your hips, brain turning to jelly with the way he's making you feel.

You feel Eddie's teeth bite a perfect circle on the inside of your breast, and that's what pulls you under.

You're practically screaming, and Eddie still won't stop, letting you ride out the perfect feeling of him, maybe hoping you'll remember this moment the next time Steve sees you. Just the idea of meeting up with your friends again after this has you flushing so deep you think you might combust right here.

The sparks fade slowly, your pussy still shaking and empty, wet enough you're sure you've soaked Eddie's fingers and he finally relents, his plump, pink lips tracing your collar bones, stopping at the edge of your jaw. He takes the delicate skin their between his teeth and sucks, hard.

That jolts you from your stupor. You press his head back, one hand on his forehead so you can make him look you in the eyes.

"Hey—that's gonna bruise."

You're scolding has no effect; Eddie's on a different plane now, cocky from making you cum so easily and still a little peeved from earlier, pressing past your hold on him until he can reattach himself to your neck.

"Not sorry," he tells you, marking you up between staccato shifts of his hips, "wanna make sure everybody knows you're mine."

It's impenetrable logic—you couldn't argue with him if you wanted to, and you really, really don't want to when he makes his way to your mouth, kissing you, his tongue against yours and his hot, heavy breaths, one hand balled in the fabric of your tank top at the middle of your back.

"Turn around," he tells you, guiding you into compliance with his hands at your waist, and it makes you dizzy, feeling like you'd end up on the ceiling if Eddie didn't keep his grip on you, pulling you tight against him until your back meets his chest.

It’s like he's touching you everywhere, hands on your hips and your tits and pushing your hair up off your neck—looking for more skin that he hasn't painted yet—so you're not prepared when the chair falls back, left breathless and unmoored, staring at the stained upholstery on the roof of Eddie's van.

"You good?" Eddie asks in response to the gasp you let out, urging your hips into the air as he tugs your jeans and your underwear down around your thighs.

You just nod, too desperate for any explanation, to say anything at all. Eddie's turned you stupid, has you whining into his neck when you lean your head back on his shoulder, looking up at his jaw with wild, tear-filled eyes.

"Gonna ruin you for anybody else, sweetheart," he tells you over the sound of his jangling belt, his hot cock pressed against your back. "Gonna make sure you never leave me."

You nod, fucking rabid when he shifts and you can finally feel the fat tip of his dick at your entrance, smearing the first taste of his cum over your lips.

"Nobody else, Eddie," you promise him, "just you."

Eddie takes his cock in his hand, teasing it over your pussy, nudging it against your clit until you jump in his arms. He grips tighter at your waist, holding you just under your tits to keep you still.

"Promise?" he asks.

The tears that slip down your cheeks and onto his neck must be answer enough, because Eddie slides inside you, just the tip, and the relief at even this small feeling of fullness has you crying out.

Eddie's thrusts are methodical and relentless, slow at first, but they build quickly, his hips slamming into you, his grunts from exertion and from pleasure low in your ear. And you're moaning, too, like putty against him, totally enraptured as you watch the muscles in his jaw flex, beads of sweat collecting at his hairline.

He keeps hitting this spot inside you, has you full to the brim, and you're so wet you half-wonder if your pussy juice is soaking into the seat.

It feels like the van is rocking with the force of his thrusts, steam collecting around the edges of the windows from your shared breaths. It’s obscene how in to this you are, how loud it sounds, the wet squelch of your poor cunt echoing around the interior of his van.

"You're gonna cum for me, baby," he tells you, "wanna feel you squeezing my cock."

Four of his fingers meet at the top of your thighs, rubbing steady circles over your clit. You think you might be screaming.

Eddie has you cumming like you're being raptured, twitching in his lap, tits bouncing as he fucks into you, deeper than before until your vision blacks out and you can't see or feel or think of anything but perfect Eddie Munson and his perfect fucking cock.

It's dark when you come to. Maybe he fucked you blind.

Your vision returns, though, just in time. Eddie's chest heaves beneath you, and he pulls out with a grunt, his cum and yours dripping down your thighs in a sight so lurid it's got you flushing down to your neck.

That's definitely going to stain the upholstery.

Eddie doesn't seem to care, stroking his heavy hands over your thighs, pulling your clothes back into place—gentle where they had been rough, his mouth dotting soft kisses against the back of your spine.

Eddie shifts you around in his lap, let's his big eyes find yours. Your fingers twine with his, and he laughs a little when you kiss at his knuckles.

"You know," Eddie says, cheeks pink and a stupid smile on his face, "now that I think about it, Dirty Dancing might be my new favorite movie. I mean, who doesn’t love Patrick Swayze?"

[elliee3e]

‘primal needs’

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ logan howlett x f! reader

thinking about logan in heat/with ruts x reader who’s ovulating … ohhh my god !!

content warnings ;

piv, size difference, heat/ruts, dubious consent but it’s very slight okay mentions of breeding kink but not really ?? it’s just cumming inside but it’s implied guys

author’s note ;

guys, i’m going through a slight writer’s block urgh . but it’s christmas & so i came up with this little idea !! merry christmas to everyone & hopefully i can also get something out before or shortly after new years <33 MWAH!

the air between you two is thick and heavy as logan’s cock stretches you to the hilt like nothing else.

the sloppy mess and smell of pure, primal driven need also clings to the air — as well as the lewd, squelching sounds of him pounding into you: pulling delicious moans from both your bodies.

even after going like this for more times than you can count, both you and logan are anything but tired. and the reason for that?

logan’s in heat. all you could feel all week was him pressing up against you, whether from behind or in front, anywhere, anytime — just trying to get some friction. and as much as it pained you to shove him away each and every time, you didn’t want to risk anything in public.

however when he gets you to himself in his room, you two are all over eachother like rabid animals. he’s biting at your neck, big hands pulling at your clothes and nearly tearing them apart; not that you cared — all you wanted was to get dicked down, as your sex drive had spiked all week too.

and logan could tell. his already heightened senses only peaked when he was in heat: causing him to sniff you out from far away even, the sweet scent of your pussy dripping for him was enough to drive him to find you no matter where you were. and when he did, best believe he’ll drag you somewhere just to toy with your pussy.

“ah, look at her. always a sloppy mess for me, ain’ she?” he’d tease, lips hovering right over your neck as his hand had started to make it’s descent to slip into your panties, fingers already dragging lazy circles over your clit.

it was always a messy combination.

even in the mornings, when logan would wake up first, he’d notice you still asleep and slot his knee between your thighs and up your little short nightdress — nudging you awake by rubbing his knee against your clit through your already damp panties. by the time you’d wake up, you’d feel his warm cock already pressing against your folds, wake up to the sight of him on top of you, his arms pressed on either side of your pillow. “this okay, doll? m’ sorry, i couldn’t wait..” he’d grunt, voice still rough and tired, but you nodded in silent agreement — needing this just as much as him and feeling as he then sunk his cock into your wet, eager walls no problem — a groan leaving both him and you.

when you would wake up first, it was a little different, as you’d find yourself spreading your thighs to get onto his with a little whine. you rocked your hips against his thigh needily, awaking the man easily. he’d wake up to feel your heat rubbing up against his thigh.

“mm.. well look at my pretty princess, grindin’ like a lil puppy all over me—..” his tired voice would finally speak up as he registered the situation in his mind, his cock already starting to strain against his boxers. it made you whine for more, as his big hand shamelessly pulled your hand onto him to palm his cock — the beginning of a morning you two knew would last all afternoon.

and when i mean anytime, anywhere, i mean it. the man’s practically a dog, a dog in heat if you may. he’s absolutely rabid when in heat and will look for any excuse to get you someplace private just to get some release.

sometimes, you feel like you can barely keep up, with the way he’s manhandling you and shifting your position so he can get the best friction on his cock — for example, you could be on your back and this man, with his godforsaken huge hands, will shamelessly turn you onto your stomach and hold your head down against the pillow, slipping into your sweet pussy from behind to slam his cock against that spot he knows has you seeing stars, from the way your words turn into jumbled whines and moans.

and from that, he could also easily turn you back over into a mating press. his favorite. he’d most likely be like that for a while, until he empties his cum into you and has you doing the same all over his cock, before sitting back and starting to pull you onto his lap to ride him for another orgasm, a repeat of all week all over again.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 10th. tom riddle — oral sex, experienced!tom.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: your ex couldn’t make you orgasm, so you were certain you were broken. tom shows you just how wrong you are.

warnings: 18+, SMUTTT MDNI, tom riddle can eat me aliv—sorry who tf said that?, tom riddle is such a realist; he sees a problem and he finds a solution, tom is a munch, praise kink, oral f!receiving, experienced tom, hufflepuff!reader.

Months pass, and your project remains the only thing Tom ever prioritizes when it's you asking.

Progress is slow—slow because you're usually far too busy talking to actually focus—yet, he always stays. He listens, even when the things you say should bore him, even when they mean nothing at all. He sits there—giving you hardly the barest scraps of himself in return as you fill the space between you with everything that crosses your mind.

Things he'd never waste a second hearing from anyone else.

And tonight, to no-one's surprise, you're doing it again—rambling on about nothing and everything all at once. You've got this way of talking—weaving tangents into something almost poetic, and usually, he lets it fade into the background as he works. You're saying something about the differences between the seasons, or maybe it's just some other kind of sentimental nonsense—at this point, he's not entirely sure.

It's easy to tune out. He tells himself he's not really listening.

Until—

"Actually, I guess I should clarify that—it's all hypothetical. I don't date," he doesn't know what you said before this, but he's certainly intrigued by it now. "And really, it has nothing to do with like, self esteem or anything, I'm just broken. Best to save someone the trouble."

That stops him cold. It's not so much the declaration that you don't date—he could have guessed that himself—but more so the way you've just called yourself broken.

It's not a word he's ever heard you use before.

"What do you mean, broken?" He asks, the question coming out far more blunt than he probably intended.

It just seems so out of character for you—you've always been an optimist, far too annoyingly positive to speak of anything this way. He blinks when you freeze, and blinks again when a moment of self consciousness seems to pass over your face—and he notes how that's a first for you, too.

"Broken...as in, uh, not normal," your eyes flit down to your lap, tracing the wood beneath where you're seated on the floor in his dorm. "My ex made that very clear in his assessment of me."

The mention of an ex is something he'd been anticipating—you're in your twenties, after all—but it's the idea that your ex is the source of you calling yourself broken, that he can't quite swallow.

"You're 'broken' because of one ex?" He says, and he can't stop how derisive and skeptical his voice sounds. He doesn't care to try. "I'm not following."

"I'm what you'd call, damaged goods, I think," you murmur, and there's an almost self-deprecating smirk on your face. He can't help but think how he's never seen that look on you, either. "I've got a slew of unhealthy baggage that comes along with me. You know, childhood traumas, abandonment issues, daddy issues—"

He snorts at that—daddy issues—and your head snaps up, smirk deepening despite yourself.

"Don't snort at my daddy issues," you huff, and there's a familiar annoyance in your voice that puts him at ease. "They're valid and real."

"I'm not denying their validity," he counters, his own smirk beginning to surface. "But daddy issues? Come on. You're not some tired cliché ripped out of a teenage romance novel. I refuse to accept your declaration of brokenness until you give me factual reasoning."

You laugh at that—alive and genuine—and for a moment, he's reminded of why he even tolerates you in his space at all.

"Fine," you cross your arms over your chest. "What do you want to know then?"

He makes a low, contemplative sound at that—because there's a million questions that come to mind with the words damaged goods—and after a moment, he settles on the one that falls out first.

"What is it, precisely, that makes you broken?"

You sigh, a bit theatrically—he knows you're just putting on a show and he wants to laugh at you for it—but he reigns that in, for now, while you figure out how you're going to respond to that.

The truth is, you don't know how to tell him the real reason you're broken—the part that has nothing to do with the laundry list of emotional baggage you could rattle off with ease. It's something...different.

Something more physical.

"I don't know, okay?" You're getting defensive. You're not sure why but you are. "Just—forget I said anything. We have this assignment to—"

"You dodging the question tells me it's more than just psychological," he cuts you off, leaning back into the couch. The way he's looking at you makes it clear—there's no way he's letting this go. "You getting defensive tells me you're embarrassed by it."

You sigh again, leaning back on your palms to mirror his body language, though it doesn't feel half as natural on you as it does on him.

"And you, being an insufferable arse, is telling me I never should have mentioned it in the first place."

His smirk at that makes you want to glare at him.

"Stop dodging," he says. "You brought it up. You don't get to take it back."

It's a challenge—the gleam in his eyes is practically screaming so. You're not sure why the sight of it makes something low in your stomach clench, and you're even less sure of why you want to tell him something like this—something you haven't told anyone else—not friends, certainly not family.

Whatever the reasoning, you can feel yourself relent.

"Maybe," you pause, the look on his face makes you second guess yourself. "...maybe I don't want to tell you because I'm afraid you'll look at me differently." You glance down at your lap, fingers twitching against the yellow pleats of your skirt before finally meeting his eyes again. "And I kind of like the way you look at me now."

Something like curiosity passes over his expression at that—but it's quickly hidden by the type of skepticism that tells you he still doesn't believe you're being serious.

"You're overthinking it," he replies, unmoving. "Whatever it is you think you're going to tell me, I'm not going to look at you differently. You're still you—no filter, unabashedly verbal—"

"Too verbal. Too positive, too loud," you finish his sentence for him—because you know that's how he thinks of you. "Too annoyingly optimistic. Far too hufflepuff for your cold snake skin. I know."

"Exactly," he says, tongue running over his bottom lip in attempt to quell his smirk. "So I reiterate. There's nothing you could tell me that would change that."

"Fine," you relent, giving in begrudgingly because you know there's no other option. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He just lifts a hand at that, as if to say; whatever you think it is, I can handle it. The action makes you suck a breath into your lungs, trapping it there.

"You're right," you say after a long exhale. "I have a slew of psychological bullshit that would take the span of a year for me to fully go over in one sitting—but, I'm fine with it. That's...that's not the thing that made me call myself broken."

He says nothing, just makes a motion with his eyes for you to keep going.

"It's, uhm...physical." You whisper, and your brain is moving too much and too fast and you're not even completely sure how to say it without sounding insane. "And...I don't know, I just...I can't orgasm. No matter what. I just can't—it's frustrating and embarrassing and it's the reason my ex ended things."

There's a silence that follows, and he knows if it were anyone else, they'd probably find a way to comfort you. Reassure you. Tom, however, isn't anyone else—

"You're joking," he says, and his tone is incredulous again.

A self-depreciating laugh leaves your lips involuntarily, the sound of it making you almost want to cringe.

"Would it be less embarrassing if I was?"

He's still just watching you, dissecting your words as if waiting for you to crack a smile and confess this was all some stupid joke—and the vulnerability of it aches like a stab to the gut.

"This is the reason you think you're broken?" Is what he goes with when he finally realizes you're being serious. "Because you haven’t orgasmed?"

The bluntness of it makes you flush, makes you wish you could sink into the floor. "I know it's not normal, okay—"

"It's not an abnormality, either," he asserts, with casualty. "You might just have a disconnect."

You blink, caught off guard—not just by his choice of words, but by how matter-of-fact he sounds, like this isn't the mortifying confession it feels like.

"A disconnect?"

"A disconnect," he repeats, looking you over, something clinical slipping into his eyes. "Between mind and body. And considering how loud your thoughts are—"

"Hey—" you snap, suddenly feeling a bit indignant, but he just continues on.

"—it's not surprising that you can't get out of your own head."

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him he's not a therapist, so what the hell does he know? But the certainty in his expression makes you pause. He doesn't look patronizing or condescending, just...assured. Like he knows exactly what he's talking about.

You hesitate, lips parting, a protest forming on your tongue. Before you can say anything, though, he raises a hand to stop you.

"Come here," he says, standing up from the couch.

You blink, trying to decipher what the hell he's implying—because if anything, the last thing that's going to make you less paranoid about intimacy is proximity.

"What?"

He just looks at you, making a motion with two fingers, beckoning you to stand.

"Don't ask questions. Just come here."

It's an order, and it makes your spine tingle in a way that's definitely not comfortable—but you get up from the floor, and move closer to him anyway, closing the distance between you with only a few steps until you're close enough to him that you can practically feel the heat that seems to come off him in waves.

It's weird—he's suddenly too much all at once—you're so much more aware of him being in front of you than you think you've ever been before and it does not help that he's just looking at you—as if studying you—blinking only once as he raises those same two fingers to your neck, resting them against the pulse point at your throat.

Your entire body tenses. His touch is far more gentle than you ever imagined it being, something disarming that makes your pulse beat faster against his fingers as a result—and because this is Tom, with all his smug and certainty—he gives you a look that tells you he can feel it before he slides his fingers up to rest on your forehead.

You scowl at the motion, but he clicks his tongue, the sound as condescending as it is amused.

"I told you, you're an overthinker." He murmurs, eyes dipping to your lips. "Too much noise."

You want to refute that—mostly because you're not overthinking, you can't be—he's just so unequivocally overwhelming—

"I'm not—"

You start, but he moves his fingers from your forehead and places them against your lips—

"Quiet." He scolds, and that makes something low in your stomach clench. "Your body knows what to do. You're just letting your thoughts get in the way."

You long to protest again, just for the sake of defiance—but then his fingers are against your collarbone, and that motion in your stomach becomes a bit more of a squirm—

"Your body is trying to tell you something," he whispers, watching each little hitch in your breath. "But you're too busy talking over it to hear what it's saying."

You realize—with a sort of horror that's laced with something a little more uncomfortable—that he's right. Your body is trying to say something. It's communicating through the unsteady force of your breaths, through the clench of your fists against your skirt—

Of course, he notices. He's noticing far too much.

"Relax," he murmurs, and now he's trailing those same two fingers in an unhurried path down your shoulder. You suddenly regret every decision that led to you wearing a T-shirt. "I'm not going to bite you."

Something about the way he says it makes you wish he wasn't quite so convincing—the familiar banter you long for gone with the sharp exhale that comes out of your mouth as his fingers encircle your wrist—

"Your pulse is racing," he says casually, far too casually for how much effort it's taking you not to scream. "Does that seem broken to you?"

Gods—you want to respond—you really, really do— but your thoughts flatline when you realize his touch has shifted. He's no longer just holding your wrist; he's guiding your hands to rest against his chest, and—

"There you go," he whispers, and the tone of it tells you he knows exactly what it is he's doing to you. "See? Your body's doing exactly what it's meant to do. You—" his fingers trail up your arms, and his voice gets lower. "—are not broken."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of your hands on his chest and the way your palms are clammy against the fabric of his shirt. He's shifting you now, deliberately crowding you, and it's only when you feel the edge of the couch press against the back of your calves that you realize—perhaps a second too late—exactly what it is he's doing.

You stumble back onto the leather, and he follows—crushing his lips to yours.

You gasp, startled, because despite everything you truly hadn't seen this coming. The kiss is messy, clumsy, and his hand finds the nape of your neck, tugging at your hair with just enough force to make it sting. And inevitably, when you gasp again, he takes it as an invitation to work his tongue into your mouth, other hand slipping under your shirt—trailing up your stomach.

You're trembling now, and he makes a low sound at the realization. Your brain is racing to catch up, and the irony of this isn't lost on you—he'd just claimed you weren't broken, but he might as well be destroying you himself.

He parts from your lips only to trail his own across your jaw—

"You're shaking," he murmurs with a smirk against your throat—as if he's taking immense pleasure in the fact—you hate how smug it makes him sound. "Do you want me to stop?"

You want to tell him he's being a bastard, but then his lips press to that spot on your neck—the one that makes your breath hitch and your pulse stutter—and you find yourself whimpering at the sensation.

"No," you breathe, and you'd be embarrassed by the pleading tone in your voice if you weren't so lost in the moment. "Don't stop."

He makes another low, satisfied noise at that.

"Good," he whispers. "No thinking. Just feel."

You swallow—throat dry. It's unfair how easily he's dismantling you with nothing but his mouth and hands. Unfair how he's leaving you breathless and unraveling while somehow making you feel seen in a way you can't explain, even with your eyes shut.

"Tom," you find yourself whimpering, and you aren't even sure what you're asking for—you just know you want more as his lips trail lower—as his fingers work to tug down your skirt. "Gods."

"Shh. Feel me," he murmurs, almost possessively, his lips brushing lower, grazing over your stomach, then your pelvis. "Let your body do the talking."

You've got your hands tangled in his hair before you even know what you're doing, and you hate the fact that you're pretty sure you'd melt into a puddle if he weren't holding you together.

"I feel you," you whimper as he kisses lower. "You're all I feel."

He makes another low sound at that, and you just know it's the response of ‘yeah, that’s right’—but then he's between your legs, panties shifted out of the way, and the first sweep of his tongue against your clit makes all coherent thought shift to static.

"Oh! God," you gasp, the word barely escaping before dissolving into a whimper when he does something with his tongue that makes your vision blur. "Tom—oh, fuck."

He just makes that smug, satisfied noise against you again before his tongue swirls over your clit and you find yourself almost cursing whatever deity made him so good at this, because it's not fair how quickly he reduced you to a whimpering, shaking mess beneath him and—

"Don't stop," you find yourself babbling, digging your nails into his scalp and knowing you look like a goddamn wreck as he makes a meal out of you—tongue lapping up your slick and swirling your clit before sealing his lips around it and forcing your back off the leather beneath it. "Please, don't stop, please—"

It's all you can manage to say. Your thighs are shaking now, and you're sure he's got you dripping all over his face with how soaked you are. He knows you're falling apart and he just keeps going— your brain ceasing function in favour of just focusing on how fucking close you are—how close you are to something you've never felt before in your life—and you're not even sure what you're begging for anymore but it's incoherent and loud—

"I need—" you whimper, your hands tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan against you. You don't know what you're asking for, but you know he has it. "I need—I need—“

"Let go," he murmurs against you, the roughness in it vibrating up into your belly. "I dare you."

There's still a little bit of you functioning on autopilot, just enough to tell you that when he murmurs those words—vibrations rattling up your cunt and into your chest—you're completely done for.

It’s merely a few seconds later that your high reaches its peak and he just keeps lapping as you shake apart beneath him with an intensity you've never felt before in your life—orgasm shredding you apart at the seams. Your thighs clamp around his face, your eyes squeezed shut, ears ringing so loud you barely register his low, muttered praises: "good girl," "so good," "there you go."

You’re fairly positive your legs will never be able to support you again when you finally come back down, feeling entirely like jelly as he pulls back, tongue flicking over his lips to clean off whatever's left of you.

And without thinking, you grab him and pull him up, crashing your lips against his in a messy, desperate kiss. He tastes like you, like him, like something you can't quite describe—and it makes everything feel intense and unbearably real all at once.

He gives you a moment, as if letting you recover, just languidly kissing you back—and you have to be honest with yourself and admit that this kind of makes you want to scream.

"A disconnect," he smirks against your mouth, the tone still smug. You manage a weak smack to his shoulder, though it does nothing to wipe the satisfaction off his face. "Still sure you're broken?"

You hate that he's right. Hate that he's managed to pull a reaction from you that you didn't think was possible. But as you sit there, shaky and spent, you know you can't deny the truth: no, you're not broken.

"Not broken." You whisper back. "You will be though, if you don't stop smirking at me like that."