#then keep it silk wrapped or tied back

[thepatronsaintoffilth]

trying to hype myself up to detangle my hair today so I can deep condition tomorrow

[s0dium]

Victoria Secret

A/n: For all my Geto lovers, i made sure the fucking was extra juicy. Enjoy!

Synopsis: Your secret indulgence? Buying lingerie. You've managed to keep this "hobby" under wraps until your worst nightmare, Geto Suguru, discovers your secret. Unexpectedly, he proposes a deal: he'll keep your secret, in exchange you help set up his friend Gojo with your roommate, and after that he will even buy you ten sets of your favorite lingerie. There’s just one catch—you have to model them for him. What could go wrong?

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat. "Why? Do you want me to stop?" He murmurs against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool. "Good girl."

Warnings: Teasing, praising, body worship, nipple play and sucking, soft-to-rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding

Word count: 5.5

Every Sunday, at precisely three in the afternoon, you sneak out of your apartment for what you call your "secret indulgence."

Your eyes gaze at the velvet-lined shelves, mentally dissecting the lace and silk items that sit on the red fabric. A familiar, gentle melody fills the boutique, playing overhead as soft light casts a warm glow on the meticulously displayed delicate fabrics. As you run your fingers over each fabric laid before you, you stop when you find one that feels like a whisper against your skin.

This one is perfect.

Carefully you hold the item up on either side, feeling the fabric between your index finger and thumb. Intricate floral patterns cover the lace material and you note the high-waisted cut and scalloped trim that would certainly flatter your figure. You hum in contentment. Yes, this piece of underwear will go perfectly with your collection.

Your "secret indulgence" you may ask? It is collecting lingerie.

Your indulgence was secret for a reason as well. Far too often people assumed that you collected lingerie for a boyfriend or even an audience, but it wasn't like that at all. In fact, it was the opposite, you collected lingerie for you. It wasn't like you never thought about trying it on for someone though, you just never seemed to have an opportunity too. Unlike many of your peers, you're not a social butterfly, never one to attend college parties or gatherings. Even your best friend Shoko has to drag you out of your room every once in a while. Yet, ever since you can remember, there's something about lingerie that captivates you—perhaps it's the delicate lace, the intricate patterns, or how damn good you looked in it. You were simply in love with it.

And up until now, you were pretty damn sure your indulgence was perfectly secret as well.

"Y/n! Just the person I needed to see."

Oh what the fuck.

Your steps halt instantly at the sound of the familiar voice, freezing you in place. You didn't want to look back, you didn't need to look back, you knew who was behind you. You purse your lips as a rush of thoughts floods your mind: Had he seen you leaving the boutique? He wasn't a fool; surely, he'd deduce that the two bags you were clutching came from somewhere significant nearby.

Shit shit shit. Fuck it.

With a nervous bite to the inside of your cheek, you slowly turned around, facing the tall man behind you.

"Geto." You dead pan. There’s a tightness around your mouth, the corners pulled down just enough to betray your displeasure. The usual spark in your eyes is conspicuously absent, replaced by a guarded, cool glare that clearly communicates your discomfort at this encounter.

Geto smiles and takes a few steps toward you. Your first instinct is to step back but you stay in place, taking in his appearance. He's wearing a black tank top today, one that clings to his well-defined muscles and shows off the tattoos covering his arms. He pairs this with casual grey sweatpants that hang loosely around his hips and of course, his long black hair is partially tied up in a man bun like it usually is, while the rest cascades down his back.

Of course he looks good.

Thin sharp black eyes scan you before landing on the two bags you are clutching. His smile grows. You know you're fucked. The last person you needed to uncover your secret.

"Enjoy your shopping?" He chuckles, nodding to the bags and you harshly bite your lip.

"Just some clothes for the summer" You respond dryly, making sure to be heard over the bustling people around you.

"Ah, you don't have to keep secrets from me." Geto chuckles and he gestures to the tattoo and piercing shop across the street. "You know I work there right? I see you go into the little shop every Sunday."

No. No, you did not know that.

You pause before speaking again. "Can I help you with something Geto?"

"Actually, yes you can. I need a favor."

"Favor?" Your eyebrows raise and you scoff. "What could I possibly help you with."

Geto smiles and takes another step forward. "I know we aren't friends, but Shoko is your best friend and she is also mine so I thought maybe we could benefit each other a bit."

You dont respond this time and he continues.

"My best friend, Gojo, im sure you know him."

You have to fight to hide the disgust on your face upon hearing the white-haired man's name. Of course, you knew Gojo, every one on campus knew Gojo, you specifically for the amount of girls he has "toyed" with.

"Yes, I know who the fuck Gojo is." You roll your eyes and you notice Geto has taken another step forward, effectively closing the distance between you two.

"Well, he is head over heels for your room mate-"

"Head over heels or just want to fuck her." You sarcastically snap back, cutting Geto off.

"Is there any difference these days?" he replies, a slight smirk playing at the edges of his lips, challenging the cynicism in your tone.

"And you want me to do what, exactly? Set her up with him? No way," you snap back, your voice rising slightly in indignation. "She's my friend, and I'm not some kind of matchmaker. Gojo can go screw himself."

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all," Geto quickly interjects, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just asking you to let her know that he's available, that he likes her. Just make him out to be an option, you know? Your roommate can do whatever she wants with that information."

"Still, why would I want to do that?" you question, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion and frustration. The warmth of the afternoon seems to intensify the tension between you as Geto steps closer, diminishing the gap until he's just inches away.

"Because in exchange, I'll buy you anything you want," he offers, his voice low and persuasive.

"Um, what?" Your response comes out more as a reflex than anything else.

"Let me rephrase that," he continues, nodding slightly towards the bag of lingerie you're holding, which causes your cheeks to flush with embarrassment. "I’ll buy you what you really want."

"No," you retort firmly, feeling the discomfort rise.

"No?" He echoes, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Yes, no. Besides, I'm not strapped for cash. I can buy what I want whenever I want—"

"Didn't I tell you you don't have to lie to me?" Geto cuts in, his voice lowering a bit. "Please, I know how expensive that store is, and I'm not offering just one thing. Say, how about 10 sets from that store you love?" he declares, his eyes flashing with a mix of challenge and amusement.

"10? Can you even afford that?" you retort skeptically, your eyebrows arching in disbelief. This game of his was becoming more intriguing and absurd by the minute.

He leans back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Oh, and I have to go shopping with you and see you try it on," he adds, as if the deal wasn’t provocative enough.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" You feel the tips of your ears grow red and you scoff. The idea of Geto Suguru choosing lingerie for you sounds so personal sends a shiver down your spine.

"Because," he pauses, his gaze intense, "its not about buying you lingerie, Consider it… a test of trust, can't just give you hundred of my dollars and let you do whatever you want, I want to make sure you use the money the way our deal assures you will which is... buying lingerie."

You pause, absorbing his words, the heat of the afternoon sun pressing down on you, making the moment feel even more surreal. "Fine. We follow each other on Instagram, so I'll DM you when it's done. But like you said, it's up to her what she wants to do with that information."

"Alright by me. See you soon," he replies, his tone casual yet carrying an underlying note of finality.

As you turn away, walking down the busy street, your mind races with the absurdity of the conversation.

What the hell just happened?

Your fingers hesitated over the blue send button, poised to confirm the completion of your part of the unusual bargain.

Earlier, you had shared with your friend the prospect of a date with Gojo Satoru, carefully omitting the details of the deal behind it. As expected, she was ecstatic, thrilled by the idea despite Gojo's questionable reputation—a fact that gnawed at your conscience. But what could you do? The arrangement was already in motion. Now, it was time to let Geto know that you had held up your end of the agreement, and it was his turn to fulfill his promise.

You took a sharp breath through your nose and pressed down on the screen, watching as the word "delivered" appeared beneath your message in the chat. Just as you were about to set the phone aside and start getting ready for bed, it pinged with a new message. It was from Geto Suguru. Your heart raced as you read the simple words.

When do you want to meet?

The sun blazes down as you approach your favorite boutique, the heat making the pavement shimmer like a mirage. Despite the sweltering temperature, you've donned a big, baggy sweater over your shorts—a choice more about comfort and less about fashion, especially since you didn’t want this meeting to scream 'date'. It’s your casual armor, albeit a warm one on a day like today.

As you near the boutique, you spot Geto Suguru waiting by the entrance. He leans casually against the wall, dressed in some graphic t-shirt and black jeans, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. This time his hair is completely up in a man bun that shows off his black gauge earrings and hints of a tattoo on his back. The moment he sees you, his lips curve into a knowing smile, as if he can read your thoughts about the outfit.

"Hey," he greets, pushing off from the wall to stand upright. His voice is smooth, a calm contrast to the bustling street around you. "I was starting to think you were gonna bail."

"And miss a chance at free money? I think not." you quip. "Hope Gojo enjoyed his date by the way." Sarcasm drips from your words and Suguru chuckles.

"Probably not as much as I'm gonna enjoy this." he counters smoothly. "Come on," he says, gesturing towards the boutique's door. "We got some shopping to do."

The moment you walk through the boutique doors, cool air hits you in refreshing waves, making you sigh with relief. The boutique interior sparkles with delicate lighting and the gentle clinking of hangers, an ambiance you know and love all too well. You notice that the store is unusually quiet today, with no other customers around—just the shop owner standing by the cashier, who flashes you a small, welcoming smile as you enter. As you step further, your eyes lock onto a stunning pink lingerie set draped elegantly on a mannequin right by the entrance. Its intricate lace and delicate details shimmer under the boutique’s soft lighting, radiating an aura of both luxury and temptation. It's new, and most definitely pricy.

"You’re staring," Geto observes with a smirk, catching you in your admiring glance.

"I'm appreciating," you correct him, the corner of your lips twitching upwards. The price tag hanging from the mannequin does nothing to deter you; it's clearly on the pricier side, but today, Geto’s wallet is on the line. "And since you’re offering, I think I’ll indulge."

Geto's laughter fills the air, playful and unbothered. "I should’ve known you'd go for the gold. Well, it’s your day. Let’s make my pockets weep then," he says, gesturing grandly towards the set.

Who were you to deny him?

You dive into the racks, your fingers grazing over silks and satins, selecting the most exquisite pieces you lay your eyes on. One by one, you gather a collection of lingerie sets—each more lavish than the last. There’s a daring scarlet set that promises to captivate, a royal blue ensemble that speaks of deep oceans, and a classic black lace number that's timeless in its elegance. By the time you're done, nine luxurious sets accompany the initial pink one on the counter.

Geto watches with a mixture of admiration and apprehension as the pile grows, his eyebrows raising slightly at each new addition. But he doesn’t protest; instead, he engages in light banter with the shop owner, who carefully folds each set into sleek boutique bags.

As the total rings up—a sum that makes even the shop owner blink twice—you don’t look away from Geto's face, watching for any sign of regret or hesitation. None comes. He simply pulls out his black card, the smirk never leaving his lips as he hands it over.

The transaction goes through with a soft beep, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of victory as he signs the receipt. You reach out to grab the bags and head toward the door, already planning where each piece will go in your wardrobe, when Geto’s voice stops you.

"Where do you think you’re going? We still have the other part of the deal, remember?" he says with no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice.

Geto's reminder hangs in the air, the playful edge in his voice more pronounced now. As realization dawns on you, you let out a low groan, remembering the full scope of the deal. "Oh," you say, hesitance hanging from your voice. "Right, the 'trying on' part."

"Exactly," he grins broadly. "Come on, my car is parked outside."

"HAH! You think I'm going to your house?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Why not? Or can we go to yours?" he counters quickly, his grin turning into a challenging smirk.

You bite the side of your cheek. Your place was an absolute mess right now and you don't think you can handle Geto Surguru in your room. "Fine, yours it is," you finally concede.

The drive to Geto's place unfolds in a tense silence, your gaze fixed on the cityscape sliding past the car window. Your heart pounds with a mix of dread and nerves, the quiet amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. There had to be a way to get out of this. The idea of layering your clothes under the lingerie flickers through your mind, but you dismiss it almost instantly—Geto would see right through that. The thought of making a daring escape through a bathroom window doesn't seem entirely out of the question, though it feels more like a scene from a comedy than a realistic plan.

As you mull over these scenarios, you wonder about Geto's intentions. Was this all just a game to him, a way to tease you? He'd watched you choose each piece with care, so there was no question of you running off with his money. Was this some weird way he got off?

Your so into your thoughts that you dont even realize your at Geto's door.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says through a grin as he swings upon the door. Rolling your eyes at his grandeur, you step inside, instantly taken by the loft's undeniable charm. The space is open and airy, with high ceilings and large, sunlit windows that overlook the bustling city below. Exposed brick walls add a touch of urban cool, while modern art pieces dot the walls, giving the place a curated yet lived-in feel.

"The bathroom is over there," Geto points nonchalantly towards a sleek, sliding door on the far side of the room. His tone is casual, as if inviting you to try on clothes was an everyday occurrence. He saunters over to a plush couch, settling in comfortably. "You can start whenever you're ready."

Feeling a flutter of nerves, you clutch the bag of lingerie a bit tighter. "You want me to—to try on all of them?" Your voice barely hides your anxiety.

"Nah, just two or three," he responds, his voice calm and nonchalant as he picks up a magazine from the coffee table.

With your heart pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it, you make your way to the bathroom. The cool, modern aesthetics of the loft seem to blur as your mind races. Was this just a fucking joke to him?

As the door closes behind you, you set your bags down on the bathroom floor.

Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit.

You were going to die, this was it. You were going to die out of embarrassment because of god damn Geto Suguru. Your face burns a deep shade of red, heart racing as you lean against the cool, marble sink. Fuck, you're overwhelmed, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl, but you know you need to pull yourself together. Yes, the task is simple: pick two sets of lingerie, try them on, and get this ordeal over with. Just two sets, then you can leave. That's all.

Peeking through a slight crack in the bathroom door, you see Geto lounging effortlessly on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine as if he hasn't a care in the world. A quiet curse escapes your lips at his composure— god you hated him.

Turning back to the task at hand, you rummage through the bag containing the 10 pieces of lingerie. Each piece is stunningly beautiful, making the choice unexpectedly difficult. The last thing you wanted was to make it seem like you where trying to impress him. After a moment's hesitation, your hands settle on a set of black lace lingerie—bold but the plainest out of all of them.

Slipping into the black lace, you feel the fabric glide smoothly over your skin. The lace is intricate, delicate yet firm, offering a sensation that is both luxurious and comforting. As it settles into place, you notice how perfectly it cups your breasts, enhancing your natural shape without discomfort. The fabric molds to your body, sculpting your curves in a way that boosts your confidence, even in such a vulnerable moment.

Turning to face the mirror, you take a moment to really look at yourself. The lingerie accentuates your figure beautifully—your waist appears slimmer, your hips more pronounced. Yes, this was exactly what you loved about lingerie, how it made you look and more importantly how it made you feel. Despite the situation, you can't help but feel a surge of self-assurance. It's a small victory, but in this moment, it's enough to steady your nerves.

Now was the hard part.

Slowly you step out of the bathroom, your heart pounds fiercely in your chest, echoing in your ears. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Geto's attention shifts from his magazine to you. He lays the magazine aside, his gaze instantly locking onto you. His eyes rake up and down your figure, taking in every detail of the black lace lingerie that clings to your curves.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Geto muses, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "If it isn't the bravest fashion model of our time."

"S-shut up," you stammer, trying to mask your discomfort with irritation. "Just remember, I'm only doing this because of the deal."

"Oh, and you're doing it magnificently, may I add. Who knew you hid such bold taste under that sweater."

"It's just underwear, don't read too much into it," you retort, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

"Turn for me," he commands softly. "I want to see the back."

"What?" you falter, caught off guard.

"Turn for me, I want to see behind," he repeats more firmly.

Fuck it.

Reluctantly, you turn, exposing the delicate lace detailing on the back.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the design.

"What?" you ask, your voice wavering slightly—unsure if you're more startled by the compliment or by the intimacy of his tone.

"Nothing, baby," he responds, his hand dismissively waving as he looks away, pretending to refocus on something else in the room. "Go try on the next one."

You dont say anything, instead slipping back into the bathroom and rummaging through the bag. Your heart still thumps audibly in your chest, but now there's an undercurrent of excitement mixed with the nerves. The flutter in your chest isn't just from anxiety though; it's also from a burgeoning sense of empowerment. You realize that you have control over how you present yourself, a certain power over Sugruru.

After discarding the set you were wearing, you reach into the bag and pull out the pink set you splurged on earlier. The fabric is luxurious, with a hint of sheerness to the bra that would no doubt show your nipples. The underwear is equally bold, designed as a thong with delicate straps that loop around each thigh, highlighting the curves of your hips and legs.

As you slip into the pink lingerie, the fabric settles against your skin like a whispered secret. The sheer material of the bra makes you acutely aware of your own body, and as you adjust the straps around your thighs, the ensemble frames your form in a way that feels almost artistically deliberate.

Yes, just after this you would be done. So why not go out with a bang?

As you step out of the bathroom, the transformation in your demeanor is palpable. The delicate pink lingerie accentuates your confidence, which resonates with each step you take towards Geto. His eyes lift to meet yours, and the moment they travel down to take in the full view, his expression shifts dramatically to one of... shock? His usual composure falters, and he lets out a low, incredulous whistle.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out.

You shift in place, playing with the silk hem of your underwear.

After a moment, he composes himself slightly and gestures towards him with a slight tilt of his head. "Come here," he says softly, his voice low and inviting.

You pause, the hesitation clear in your stance. The intensity in his gaze and the palpable tension in the air make your heart race even faster.

Seeing your reluctance, Geto's expression softens. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "Please," he adds, a hint of something more vulnerable in his tone this time.

The room seems to pulse with the silent energy between you as you take a tentative step forward, then another, drawn by the magnetic pull of his gaze. The air thickens with a charged mix of anticipation and desire as you finally stop just a breath away from him.

He looks up at you, standing up from his seat, his gaze intense yet tender. "You look incredible," he murmurs. You flinch when you feel his hand his finger trace your jaw and his other hand play with the hem of your lace underwear. He bends down, his lips just grazing your cheek, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down your spine, making your entire body quiver. "If you want me to stop, say it now," he whispers. When you remain silent, he brushes his mouth against the hollow of your temple. "Or now." He traces the curve of your cheekbone. "Or now." His lips meet yours.

For a moment your so shocked that he kissed you, you don't do anything. It feels like you are having an out-of-body experience like you can't believe this as actually happening to you. Then in a matter of seconds, his lips move against yours and you melt. Suguru is gentle at first, then unyieldingly hard. You feel yourself falling —not just physically, but emotionally too. You open for him and his tongue snakes its way inside your mouth. His hands move from your face to your lower back as he pulls you toward him, closing whatever space was left between you. He pushes you against him as he deepens the kiss. One of his hands remains on your hip, while the other travels to cup your breasts.

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat."

"Why? Do you want me to stop?" He mumbles against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool.

"Good girl."

Without a warning, Geto sweeps you up in his arms with an ease that leaves you breathless, carrying you effortlessly across the room to his bed.

Geto stands over you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body splayed elegantly across his bed.

"Shit baby, you let anyone else see you like this?"

You thickly gulp and shake your head.

"Oh thank god." He murmurs, climbing over you to place light kisses along your neck, trailing down your chest. Each kiss is soft yet deliberate, sending a cascade of warmth through your entire body. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be fully immersed in the sensation.

"Your skin feels like silk," he murmurs.

"Did you steal that line from a hallmark card?" You crack.

"Nope just stating a fact." He skims the underside of your bra with his fingers. "Always watched you come out of the store, always wanted to see how you'd look in what you bought." He lifts his head to give you a wry look "You're so smooth and perfect you know that right?"

You let out a soft gasp when his lips find your nipple, pulling your lacy bra down so soft lips can evoke your nub.

"Oh god sugu-" He doesn’t let you get to the last consonant, his eager, hot mouth enveloping one of your nipples and sucking. His tongue flattens, rolling your peak and swirling around your areola, fast and rough until you’re whining. His ears go hot at the sounds you’re making, all desperate and needy.

"So beautiful, fuck your tits are so beautiful" He groans into your skin like it was cocaine. He then switches to your other breast, sucking and licking until he knows you will be sore. Jesus, your breasts feel so good in his mouth, so soft and sweet, why didn't he do this sooner? How much longer did he think he could maintain this facade of being your 'enemy' when all he truly desired was to have you underneath him?

You are squirming underneath him now, the stimulation of his wet tongue on your nipple is becoming unbearable and so was the growing heat between your legs. Your tits feel so good in his mouth, supple, sweet, far better than his imagination could ever conjure

"God, sugu-"

"Love it when you say my name." Suguru breaths between licks and you feel your stomach twist with.

"Sugu please" you manage to gasp, "please touch me please anything please-"

"Fuck you?" Suguru coos, and the words make warmth blossom from your core.

"Please." You breath.

And who was he to deny you?

Without much of a word he pulls your lace panties down to your ankles, making you instinctively hide your bare cunt with your hands, but he clicks the roof of his mouth with his tongue and swats your fingers away. Then, as he stands over you, Suguru steps out of his black pants and pulls off his t-shirt. As you glimpse Suguru, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. His large, incredibly toned frame is a clear testament to rigorous workouts, and intricate tattoos weave across his skin, adding to the attraction.

You were no longer in the kiddie pool.

You are too immersed in his figure that you dont even notice he has lowered down his black boxers just enough so his long length springs out and slaps against his abdomen.

You thickly gulp.

"I dont think that will-" You stammer, the sheer size or his dick making your gut twist and turn. "I think it will hurt I dont think it will-" As you continue to stammer, searching for the right words, Geto cuts you off with a deep, consuming kiss that immediately shuts you up. When he finally pulls back, a confident smirk plays on his lips.

"It will, baby, it always does," he murmurs, his voice low and dark.

Geto positions himself atop you, his strong legs straddling either side of your body, anchoring him in place. He leans over you, the intensity of his gaze capturing yours as he methodically entwines his fingers with yours. With a firm but gentle grasp, he pins your hands down on either side of your body, his proximity reducing the world to the space between you. The warmth of his breath brushes against your face, his presence both overwhelming and exhilarating, as he holds you there under him, completely in control yet tender in his touch.

Before you can even get a word in, you gasp when you feel large pressure against your hole.

"Slowly baby," he hushes you before you can protest. "I'll go slowly."

Suguru's slow roll of hips hips into you is enough to make you scream. The way his dick parts your walls and fills every single inch of you makes your brain go hazy, especially when his tip smooshes against your cervix, sending blots of electricity throughout your body.

"Talk to me baby," Suguru murmurs, his voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt has on dick. "Want me to move?"

You're too lost in the hazy pleasure to form words, all you can do is nod, making Geto breathe out an air of what must be relief. His thrusts started out shallow and slow, testing the waters for how much he could get away with. What your limits were, and if you could fully take him for what he wanted.

You feel like you are going insane from the pleasure. Your cries came silent from your throat, eyes screwed shut in complete bliss. Your body adjusted rather quickly to him, Suguru coaxing you to relax as he peppers kisses along your neck, sucking and biting your sensitive skin. And as you adjusted, your hips began to buck against him at their own pace, beckoning him to move faster.

Of course, Suguru doesn't miss this, and without missing a beat he speads up his thrusts, the pap pap pap of his skin against your echoing in your ears

"Shit, you feel so good baby." Geto practically whines. You don't know it, but he's starting to lose his grip, the overwhelming pleasure beginning to unravel his usual composure.

The delicious friction of his dick scrapping your walls has your heart pounding in your ears and your breath close to hyperventilating. Everything is too much too good all at once. The proximity of Geto's body is overwhelming, his warm skin against yours, his ragged breath hot against your neck. When you gaze into his face, the sight nearly makes you faint—his eyes scrunched shut, lost in euphoria, beads of sweat lining his black hairline. His mouth is slightly open, panting, a sight that makes your cunt flutter from excitement.

"Su-Suguru, so good you're fucking me so good." you babble and he can only groan in response. Your toes curled and uncurled as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with the kisses he peppered on your neck and lips was all enough to end you to heaven.

He knows you're close. And you know it too. The way Suguru is fucking you is truly a primal display of affection; him rutting into your cunt like an animal in heat and you frantically scratching and clawing at his back.

Thats when an idea hits you, no, a need overcomes you, You need Suguru, you need all of him, all of him inside you filling you up and making you his.

"Sugu cum in me please," you beg through a hoarse voice. "Fill me up please please please."

He’s been pressing kisses and biting into your shoulder, but you don’t miss the way he practically whines at your words.

"Course baby, course I will."

As if on cue, you feel your seize up and your mind go blank. It feels like your body is free falling into a euphoric grave, electric arrows of pleasure coursing through your sin and directly to your core.

"Oh shit" Suguru curses at the way your cunt clamps down on him and it isnt to long before he follows you, shooting thick ropes of cum straight into your belly. In a fluid motion without leaving your insides once, he picks you up so you are straddling him, and his bare chest is pressed against yours.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs into your ear. And you can only sigh in response.

'I'll buy you 1000 more lingerie sets if we can do this again."

[joelsgoldrush]

“epiphany” | 21k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: Superheroes and mutants weren’t enough. No—the universe had to throw in soulmates who share scars. Fantastic, right? Except yours had vanished, only to mysteriously reappear with the arrival of a new face: the “Worst” Logan Howlett, fresh from another earth.

OR What happens when a hopeless romantic crosses paths with the ultimate soulmate skeptic?

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ strangers to lovers. drinking. cursing. slow burn. angst. pining. mentions of alcohol. fluff. reflecting on the art of writing/poems/books. dual POV. takes place after the events of “deadpool & wolverine”. TW: multiple descriptions of scars. worst/variant!logan. implied age gap (reader’s in her late 20s). they’re both touch starved. wade’s everyone’s friend. miscommunication/misunderstandings. oral sex (f and m receiving). fingering, grinding. some slight hair pulling. unprotected p in v, creampie. sex with feelings.

A/N: HOPELESS ROMANTICS RISE! here we go again with another long ass fic. this is a soulmates AU in which you get your soulmate’s scars. if you feel triggered by this topic, please refrain from reading. i had a lot of fun writing this even though it took me a while to get it done. thanks to @lubdubology for being my beta and allowing me to share my work with you. and also thanks to @brushworth for giving me the chance to write this. having said this, enjoy the story! i’d love to know your thoughts on it <3

Love giveth and love taketh away.

To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.

If it weren’t for love, you wouldn’t be here. No one would, actually. Human beings are the result of billions of people who loved each other just enough—or at least long enough to bring life into the world.

But isn’t it in the name of love that people act in bad faith? Why would something so pure be used in vain?

You don’t get it, but as the years go by, you slowly come to terms with the idea that perhaps you never will. Not because there isn’t a reason, but because you’re in love with the idea of love.

How could you not be? It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up.

Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

It had always been a relentless race, your only worry being to catch it before time ran out. But with each day that passed, the finish line only stretched further and further away. Now, they all blur together, to the point where you live and breathe on autopilot. 

In a Jane Austen novel, you’d be considered a lone woman. That character who’s nice, and kind, and loved by some, but not in the way she yearns for. Every time she’s mentioned, you go “Oh, the poor girl,” until the slow realization dawns.

In reality, she’s you, and it’s you who you feel sorry for, not a fictional character. You.

All in all, love giveth. And love also taketh away. 

Love maketh you miserable.

Soulmates—a nine-letter word that holds so much meaning.

It’s one of those words that you learn early in your life, one you hear at home or on the TV. Your parents never fail to mention it if given the chance. The first time you’re introduced to the topic is at school when you're older, a bit more self-conscious, and no longer preoccupied with picking your nose.

“Everybody has a soulmate. And no,” your teacher had added after a pause, already anticipating the inevitable questions from any curious 10-year-old, “there isn’t such a thing as not having one. We all do. You just have to search for them.”

Back then, that had been your favorite game—always keeping an eye open, scanning the crowd more than once in new places. You knew for sure that more than one person probably thought you’d strained your neck from all the times you glanced over your shoulder.

It must be pretty obvious now, the fact that you’re—well, alone. Saying ‘without a companion’ sounds quite outdated. They can’t see through you, but something in the way you walk or speak must give it away. 

Or is it the fact that you always ask for a table for one?

“Are you expecting someone else?” A waitress approaches you, her tone gentle as she makes sure you’re on your own. A small notebook dangles from her slender fingers, and your eyes catch the name stitched onto her apron: Emily.

The response you give her is on the verge of sounding automatic, robotic even, like one of those prerecorded messages busy people leave on their phones. “No. Just me.”

She nods, and you feel the sympathy in her gaze. You’ve mastered the art of recognizing that look—the one hovering between concern and pity.

Of course, people rarely voice it, but they’ll never know their eyes sometimes say more than they think.

As she jots down your order, you’re met with the ring on her left hand. Very pretty, very shiny. Very expensive as well. Your attention must linger on it a little too long, because she catches you staring, making you feel exposed.

Emily—you decide to call her that way from now on, because once you know her name, it feels odd to address her as the waitress—offers you a shy smile.

“I’m getting married next month,” she blurts out, happiness radiating from her pores. Her eyes glint like two lanterns in a starless night. She also looks younger than you, and the abrupt silence forces you to pinch your wrist, a reminder of the fact that this is a conversation, and not just something you're overhearing.

“Congratulations,” you manage to reply, returning the smile. If she saw how your expression faltered the second she walked away, you wonder if she’d still think you were so amiable.

Sometimes, your façade slips—you can’t help it. That’s what the ‘hopeless’ in ‘hopeless romantic’ stands for.

Some minutes later, she comes back with your coffee, and you catch another glimpse of the ring as it twinkles in front of you. Envy doesn’t suit you, so you shift your focus.

Taking out your laptop, you scroll through the latest headlines. This is your attempt at acting more like an adult and less like a girl in her mid-twenties who has no clue what she’s doing.

One article stands out from the rest: Hollywood Actress Divorces Loving Husband of 25 Years to Pursue Presumed Soulmate. “I saw his scars and knew he was the one.”

Interesting. You can’t help but feel sorry for the displaced husband, though.

“Good for you,” you mutter under your breath, clicking the link to read more. There’s a picture of the actress and her new boyfriend that makes you stop dead in your tracks: they’re smiling at each other, their faces close, noses almost touching, while they show off their matching scars—the unmistakable sign that they’re, in fact, soulmates.

Soulmates, superheroes, mutants. It all sounds like a whole lot, doesn’t it? Overwhelming, to say the least. One thing’s for sure—you’ll never get bored in this world.

But, hey! Don’t forget that there are multiple universes out there. Maybe in one of them, you’re not this pathetic.

Why are you being so hard on yourself? That’s not even the point. Shaking your head, you keep glancing at their scars—they’re identical, perfect mirrors of one another. The kind of scars that only two destined souls share.

Their happiness is evident, tangible. You can feel it by just eyeing the image. It’s a bitter sensation that metamorphoses into a warmth, which heavily spreads through your chest, filling up every empty space it finds. 

To say you understand that feeling would be a downright lie. And you may be many things, but a pathological liar is not one of them.

As if on cue, you duck your head, rolling up the sleeves of your jacket. You do the same with your shirt, foolishly hoping to find something other than smooth, unmarked skin.

No scars. No marks. No sign of a soulmate, of a lover. In the world you inhabit—this universe full of the most inexplicable things—you’re alone. 

Without a second thought, you pack your things, shoving them rapidly into your bag. The cafe feels too little and too large all at once, the walls closing on you.

The rest of the customers are looking at you. Fuck, they already noticed it—you can’t escape it.

Have they? Do you think they see you like you see yourself? The lone woman who writes poems for an addressee who will never read them?

In silence, you hand Emily the money for your coffee. You fear that if you open your mouth, a cry will come out, and that’s the last thing you need today. She gives you that look again—pity laced with sorrow, the one you despise. It burns.

At that moment, a man walks in, passing right by you. You see his face, his green eyes, and the way his lips curl into a grin as he greets Emily.

The scar on her forehead, which you'd missed before, mirrors the one on his.

They are soulmates. 

It’s on the streets, on the bus, at work. Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is.

She wishes you a nice morning as you leave the cafe. Little does she know you’ll spend the rest of the day locked in your apartment, mourning someone you never even met.

Until the day you lost them, you wore your scars with pride.

They were scattered across your stomach, back, chest, and even your legs and arms. Some were shallow, others deep. It never occurred to you—the thought that they belonged in the shadows, hidden.

Everyone has them, you thought as you stood in front of the mirror, running your fingers along their jagged paths. I just seem to have more than most people.

Over the years, you might have changed your hairstyle or the way you dressed, but your scars never did—they’d always been there, and they were yours.

Partly yours, of course, since you knew they belonged to your soulmate as well.

The older you grew, the more you realized having a good memory was both a gift and a curse. You still remembered that moment so vividly—when you found out that somebody out there was meant for you and only you.

A point of no return, that’s what it’d been. From that day on, not a single one went by without you imagining the first encounter with your Prince Charming. 

In the meantime, you dated. A few boyfriends came and went during and after high school, mostly as practice for the real thing, you’d told yourself.

God, you were determined to know everything. To be the best girlfriend ever, so that when you finally met him, he’d be over the moon.

At the age of seventeen, it sounded like a brilliant plan.

You never knew how, but your life became that meantime. All your friends began to find their soulmates: in the supermarket, while traveling, at the goddamn doctor’s office.

Everybody was fulfilling the purpose you’d been taught humans were made for—everyone but you.

The scars multiplied, yet he was nowhere to be seen, remaining out of reach. Your soulmate’s whereabouts were a mystery. What the hell does he do in his free time? was something you used to often ponder. Is he suffering? Does he need help?

“Be patient, give it some time. The less you seek, the more you’ll find,” your mother would say, trying to sound encouraging. Although she was trying to do her best, that phrase alone had the power to make you go nuts.

Be patient? Waiting was all you’d been doing. What was so wrong with you that he seemed to be hiding from you? You didn’t want to wait any longer, no—you wanted to find him. If it meant traveling to Italy like your cousin had to meet her husband, then so fucking be it.

Many nights, sleep eluded you. Lying wide awake, staring at the ceiling, you’d imagine what life with him would be like. What he would look like. You were certain that no matter his appearance, you’d think he was beautiful.

Wasn’t that the whole point of soulmates—that the bond you two shared transcended physical attraction?

Nevertheless, you secretly wished he’d have brown hair. He didn’t need to know, but you had a weakness for brunettes.

On the night of your twenty-second birthday, you were getting ready for the big event when every trace of your scars disappeared.

The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower’s stream, and as you wiped it clean with the palm of your hand, the image you saw reflected on the glass made your stomach do a flip.

There were no scars. No marks. Nothing. At first, you thought your eyes were playing tricks on you—it couldn’t be. Scars didn’t just vanish. It was impossible.

But as you lowered your gaze, tracing your limbs again and again, the truth hit you. The marks you knew by heart, the ones that reminded you, He’s out there, somewhere, were gone.

You felt it deep in your chest, too. Every sound seemed louder and clearer: the blood rushing through your veins, each shaky breath you took. Where are they? Your fingers dug into your flesh, intending to ground yourself.

Is he… dead? It was the only reasonable explanation, the rule you’d known all along. You’d read it countless times, memorizing the principles about scars.

The scream that tore from your throat brought your mother running upstairs, and she entered the bathroom with a horrified expression on her face.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” she asked, but your mind was already far away. Your whole body shuddered in her arms, a sob slipping past your lips as you crumbled to the floor, desperately hoping it was all a nightmare. “It must be a mistake, honey. I’m sure he’s okay.”

But he’s not, you wanted to tell her. The words, however, never formed—only a broken whimper escaped your lips. Isn’t that what we were taught? Our scars belong to our soulmates; they bind us to them in a way that simple words can’t explain.

It goes deeper than the skin. It delves into our bodies, our minds, reaching into the very essence of who we are. What was once his is also mine, but they’re gone.

He’s gone. He must be, because otherwise, how would you explain this void?

When one’s soulmate passes away, that person will notice the disappearance of their scars. The physical marks that once symbolized their connection fade, leaving no trace. This absence is accompanied by a distinct, unsettling sensation—an awareness of loss that goes beyond the physical, signaling the end of the bond.

A part of you died with him that day.

The first time you exchanged words with Wade Wilson, you thought he was a total dick.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t know him—not when he was so infamous for that mouth of his. Deadpool: the self-proclaimed superhero with a vocabulary that was 90% profanity, who made cracking jokes while fighting the bad guys look easy.

Super funny? Sure. But not exactly your cup of tea when all you wanted was to crawl into bed and forget the world existed.

He was apparently long retired from superheroing. No one had seen that red, sex-toy-looking suit in ages, which was why you were only mildly surprised as you spotted him hauling boxes into your building on a Tuesday afternoon.

It was late, and you weren’t in the mood for small talk. He’d been there barely a week, yet somehow, he’d already managed to fuck things up. 

You let out a deep sigh, rubbing the crease between your brows. “Look, Wally—”

“It’s pronounced Wade,” he corrected you, trying to edge his face further into the gap between the door and its frame, though you didn’t let your guard down. “You’re pretty rude, you know that?”

“I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, and I need to sleep,” you groaned, trying to push him away with one hand. Technically, he wasn’t even asking for something that complicated—he wanted to use your microwave to heat his dinner, since his had decided to stop working out of the blue.

The thing was that you’d had the kind of week that felt like a one-way trip to hell, an important detail he wasn’t aware of. “Go ask someone else. I can’t do charity tonight.”

“You’re the only one who answered,” he said, pressing his palms together in a pleading gesture, his lips curling into a heartbreaking pout. “Please, my lovely neighbor, whose name I don’t know. You wouldn’t want me to starve to death, would you?

“I thought you couldn’t die.” You raised an eyebrow, half-interested.

Wade’s arms dropped to his sides, his eyes drifting downward. “And I thought kindness wasn’t extinct, but here we are.” He spun on his heel, acting defeated and dragging his feet like a scolded puppy. “Can’t believe this is what the world’s come to. I’m sure the Bible says something about treating others how you’d want to be treated.”

Why. Just… why? Some cosmic, divine force from beyond might have been testing you that night.

“Wait,” you croaked just as he was about to step into his apartment—which was literally three meters from yours. His face lit up, expecting you to continue, and you moved aside slightly, signaling him in. “Five minutes and you’re out, okay? I really need to get some rest.”

The rest was history. Wade was just standing there, mesmerized by your microwave as if he’d never seen one before.

You could only hear the faint buzzing sound of the gadget, punctuated by the rhythmic drumming of his fingers on the counter. He was humming a tune while shaking his head to the beat.

You tried to focus, replaying the guided meditation you sometimes followed to sleep in your mind.

Allow yourself to feel the stillness of this moment. Notice your breath slowing as your body begins to calm. Be the observer of your breath, flowing in and out naturally, as your lungs—

Yeah, it wasn’t working.

“Please, stop it,” you eventually told Wade, whose gaze shifted from the microwave to you, brows furrowed.

“And why’s that?”

“They say it’s bad for your eyes,” you explained, recalling a half-forgotten news report you’d heard on the TV. Whether it was a myth or not, you’d never know. “I believe it’s because of the radiation exposure.”

Leaning back on the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest. “At this point, I think I’m safe. You, on the other hand… maybe not so much,” he nearly whispered that last part, and your desire to strangle him grew stronger.

Save me, mindfulness, you thought to yourself.

He jerked his thumb toward the pile of papers and books you had on your kitchen table. “So, you’re a writer?” 

“Editor, in reality,” you snapped, your eyelids twitching as you watched him leaf through your stuff. “Wade, don’t touch my things.”

“Sorry, can’t help myself. I’m very curious.” Flashing you a quick grin, he opened your notebook, squinting his eyes as he went through the pages. “But you write too, huh? I’m discovering plenty of material here.”

The bastard. “Give. It. Back,” you snarled, lunging at him and trying to snatch the notebook from his hands, but he was faster, raising it out of reach. “I hope your food explodes in that microwave, asshole.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about it,” he snorted, tossing the notebook onto the couch and retrieving his dinner instead. You stared at him in disbelief, opening your mouth to scold him, but nothing came out. Then, there he was, standing in front of you with his plate and a fork.

Wait. Was that your fork?

“It’s hot, I’ll give you that.” He blew on his food to cool it down, and as he glanced up, he was met with your murderous glare. “Whoa. Want some? You could’ve just asked me. No need to get so angry.”

Calling it a desire to kill him would’ve been an understatement. And the worst part? He couldn’t die. “You’ve got what you needed. Now, can you leave?”

“How long’s it been since you talked to another human being?”

You blinked, feeling the sudden urge to look around, half expecting a hidden camera. “Why do you always answer with another question?”

“All I’m saying is I’ve been meaning to talk to you for days now, but you’re practically living the hermit life,” he said between bites of chicken, excusing himself briefly to chew. “That robe you’re wearing? It’s had the same stain on it since I moved in. Also, your doormat’s buried under a mountain of newspapers, so either you really love trees, or you’ve been avoiding any sort of social interaction.”

If he had been wrong, you would’ve felt much better. But he… wasn’t, and it sucked.

“I feel like I should be scared,” you mumbled after a long stretch of silence, your eyes going round.

Wade did no more than laugh at your troubled expression. “Scared of me? That’s cute. I’m a nice guy, sweet pea. Persistent, sure, but I’ve got a knack for getting under people’s skin,” he said, grinning through a mouthful of food—which, for the sake of your sanity, you chose to ignore.

After he had finished eating, he let the fork fall into the sink, the metal striking against the surface with a piercing echo, making you jump. He stretched his arms with a satisfied yawn, and he seemed determined to leave you alone. “Well, I’ve done my good deed for the day.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, following his movements as he ambled toward the door. “Are you telling me your microwave does work?”

“Oh, you’re a smart one, aren’t you?” Wade patted your head, ruffling your hair like you were a puppy who had just learned a new trick. “Good night, peanut.”

From that moment on, the two of you became inseparable. Your personalities clicked in a way you’d never experienced before with any other friend. Wade was loyal to a fault, and he treated you like the little sister he had never had. 

Most importantly, he didn’t pity you—he saw you for who you were, not just someone marked by a lost soulmate. You never told him how much that meant to you, but deep down, you were grateful.

Which brings you to the present day. You’ve been friends with him for over a year, and he’s taken every chance to introduce you to his “weird but lovable” (his words, not yours) group of friends.

“Check your social anxiety at the door, thank you,” he’d tell you every time he hosted a get-together and you were invited.

Somehow, you had managed to bond with them—especially Althea, his elderly roommate, who occasionally forgets who you are despite living next door.

“Remind me of your name again, sweetie? All this disco dust must be affecting my memory,” she’d ask, leaning in close so you’d practically have to shout it into her ear. Then she’d nod, smirking knowingly. “Ah, yes. I thought so. Just making sure.”

She’s quite the character. A real sweetheart if you leave aside the number of times she’s offered you more types of drugs than you knew existed.

Tonight, you’re throwing Wade a surprise birthday party. Among all the party tasks, you’ve handled the decorations and the cake. The room’s a riot of color, with balloons floating lazily from the ceiling and a cascade of streamers draping over the furniture.

Guests start arriving, greeting you warmly, a feeling you once thought impossible. They’re Wade’s friends, sure, but on some level, you like to think they’re your friends now too: Vanessa, Dopinder, Buck, Shatterstar, Colossus, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, and Yukio.

As you hear footsteps approaching the door, Wade’s voice filters through the hallway. Panicking, you whirl around to the group. “He’s here! Everyone shut up!” you whisper urgently, turning off the lights and pressing your back flat against the wall next to the door.

Seconds later, the sound of keys jingling fills the air as both Wade and Peter step into the apartment.

You flip the lights back on just as Dopinder pops his much-anticipated party popper. “Surprise!” you all scream in unison, and Wade’s face splits into a grin, unsure of whom to hug first.

“You guys are lucky I’m not armed,” he quips, slinging an arm around Dopinder’s shoulders. “Six years ago, you’d all be dead!”

And you giggle, because… well, what else are you supposed to do?

As you expected, the night unfolds smoothly. You’re having fun, engaging in conversations despite yesterday’s emotional meltdown at the cafe. It’ll be okay—it always is. The food is amazing, the company even better. You remind yourself that romantic love isn’t the only kind that matters—that’s what friends are for, after all, to teach you that lesson.

The low hum of chatter fills the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the clinking of glasses, creating a lively symphony that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Yukio calls your name, waving her head in front of your eyes, trying to snap you out of your thoughts. “Everything okay?” she wonders, concern flickering in her voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, tightening your grip on your beer bottle. “Just thinking, that’s all.”

You all gather around the cake when Wade’s about to blow the candles. You know he’s preparing himself for a speech. “Another year of spinning around the moon, huh?”

“Sun, you dumbass,” Al corrects him, and you have to bite your lip to keep your laughter to yourself.

“Okay, flat-earther,” Wade shoots back, giving her a playful side-eye. “Anyway, where was I? Oh, right—I can’t thank you all enough for being here. These past few years have been... well, rough on me, to say the least,” he says, glancing down at the cake with a small, crooked smile. “But I’m happy now. We’ve got each other’s back, like a team!”

“Like The Avengers, you mean?” Dopinder pipes up, eyes sparkling with excitement. There’s a moment of silence in which you swear you’d be able to hear a hairpin drop.

It’s still a sensitive topic.

“Next time, give me a trigger warning before you mention them,” Wade mutters in a hushed tone, and Dopinder shrinks sheepishly. “I guess what I wanted to tell you was…” he trails off, his palm covering the place where his heart is, “that I'm glad you’re all here. Being surrounded by the people I love most is the best birthday gift ever.”

His words stir something inside you. Vanessa gently nudges his arm, smiling up at him. “Why don’t you make your wish?”

Wade dramatically drops to his knees in front of the cake, eyes fluttering shut before blowing out the candles, whistles and cheers erupting all around.

Just then, you hear the unmistakable sound of the doorbell ringing through the air. You exchange a curious glance with Wade, raising your eyebrows. “That’s weird. Want me to get it?”

“Nah, I got it,” he says, excusing himself to answer the door. He slips outside, shutting it behind him, and everything returns to normal. For a while, you assume he’s chatting with someone who dropped by to say hi—but that doesn’t really make sense.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that he’s been out there so long?” Vanessa inquires, her worry starting to creep in.

“I’ll go check on him,” you tell her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before heading to the door.

But when you open it, there’s no Wade in sight. Just… his toupee—or “hair system” as he insists on calling it, lying on the floor.

Kneeling down, you gingerly pick it up, a strange sensation settling in your chest.

Where the hell did he go?

After his existence went downhill, Logan turned to prayer.

Completely out of character, right? He thought so too. The number of times he'd stepped foot inside a church could be counted on one hand, so why would a man like him resort to religion?

In the past, he had been told he was part of God’s plan, but somewhere along the way, he felt like he had become God’s mistake.

After living a life plagued with loss and constantly in hiding, he wasn’t shocked that his self-worth was in the gutter.

Things only spiraled after letting everyone down, especially after that particular day when things took a turn for the worse. He had prayed, asking God to make him forget.

When that didn’t work, he just drank harder and smoked more. But not even drowning in alcohol and clouds of nicotine could put an end to his struggles—he was condemned to suffer.

In spite of everyone’s wishes, he’s still going strong, stuck with no defined purpose. It’s almost impossible not to fall into a routine that seeks to numb him, to put him under anesthesia—waking up after passing out who-knows-where, finding the nearest bar, sinking into whiskey and the haze of ashtrays.

Then he does it all over again, a never-ending cycle. His self-destructive habits don’t lead him to oblivion; instead, they intensify every sensation, making each memory and emotion painfully vivid. 

Day after day, he convinces himself he’s got it under control. Logan may be tough as fuck, and he may heal faster than anyone else, but his pride is in pieces.

No amount of strength or supernatural abilities can stop the decay he feels inside, the slow rot creeping deeper within him the longer he remains trapped in this life.

He slams the empty glass onto the counter with a heavy thud, tapping two fingers against it. “Again,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

The bartender looks at him like he's the reincarnation of all things vile. “I told you—you’re not welcome here. You’re not welcome anywhere. Now get the fuck out of my bar.”

Oh, yes. Music to his ears. If he had a nickel for every time he heard that, he’d be rich. “Just give me one more drink and then I’ll leave.”

“That’s not how it works,” the bartender replies, and Logan knows he’s screwed. Another public establishment he’s been banned from—fucking perfect.

Will there ever be a day where he’s not treated like garbage?

“It does now,” an unknown voice joins the conversation, and Logan glances to his side, arching a brow. The masked man doesn’t let his stare falter. “Leave the bottle.”

“Do I know you, bub?” 

“You don’t, but I know you.”

This serves as evidence of how pliant he’s become. Years ago, he would’ve already wiped the floor with this guy. They didn’t call him Logan “short fuse” Howlett for nothing. But now? He just can’t bring himself to do it.

“Everybody does. I’m the—”

Here it comes, the reminder of his personal calvary.

“—Wolverine.” Once he finishes the sentence, his words taste bitter. Perhaps it’s the venom on his tongue, or maybe it’s just the alcohol from yesterday kicking him again. Either way, both hit hard.

“Yes, you are,” the stranger says, continuing to stare at him, as if Logan’s worth the effort. “And I’m going to need you to come with me. Right now.”

Logan holds his breath. The worst part of it all is that his day’s just getting started. He has no clue who this guy is or why he’s claiming to need him.

But he’s got the wrong man—Logan doesn’t know him, and he sure as hell doesn’t have anything good to offer.

Or so he believed five minutes ago. Life seems to have its own way of surprising him.

Knowing he’ll regret it later, he closes his fingers around the whiskey bottle, chugging the liquor until darkness takes over his senses.

Nighty-night, Logan.

I'm aware that you're not mine, and nor will you ever be.

I’ve spent sleepless nights trying to figure out

where this need to call you mine stems from. 

You're like an antique, a rare piece displayed

in a crowded bazaar, drawing curious glances.

I’m aware that you're not mine

because I haven't bought you yet;

I hold no claim over you,

nor can I control who touches you and who doesn't.

I want you to be mine,

but no amount of money would buy your soul.

You're beyond reach—someone has already marked you.

I’m aware that you’re not mine, 

and I guess maybe that’s how life is meant to be.

“Bullshit,” you mutter softly into the quiet of your apartment, where the only sound is the echo of your own voice.

Chewing the end of your pen, your eyes narrow as they skim over the poem you’d written over a month ago.

Since then, you’ve been working on refining the details, but something is missing—that you can feel. The flow is awkward, the choice of words stiff. It’s like a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit together. 

You take a long sip from your coffee, tucking both knees up onto the chair you're sitting in. 7:30 a.m., and already, your mind is spinning, diving headfirst into a poem when countless other things are demanding your attention—like, a hundred things, really.

Right now, cracking this piece feels more important than any other task on your list.

Who do you write to? That part is easy—your soulmate. That deceased, probably buried, long-gone soulmate of yours.

It shouldn’t be funny, but there’s an absurdity to it.

Without warning, a memory slips into your thoughts—one girl you used to work with once advising you to change the subject of your writing.

“You should go for some self-love crap. People usually eat that up,” she said, not even bothering to look up from her nails, red polish smeared over the edges.

Her fingers were a mess, coated in that fiery hue, but she didn’t seem to care as she tapped your notebook with her lacquered index finger. “This is repetitive. Keep writing about the same thing, and people will get bored of you.”

“I haven’t published them yet,” you answered, your voice coming out more high-pitched than usual, betraying the doubt you intended to suppress. Her blue eyes flicked up, studying your face as you slid the now red-stained notebook back into your bag, away from her careless, messy fingers. “I thought… I thought we were supposed to write about what we feel passionate about.”

That managed to catch her attention. Passionate. She let out a laugh—sharp and cold, like something straight out of a villain’s script in a children’s movie. It grated against your ears.

“Sweetie, you call that passionate?” She waved her hand dismissively, standing up from the table.

Taller, older, and more secure—just the fact that she gave you her time should’ve made you feel grateful. “Not to be a bitch, but what you showed me is kind of depressing.” 

Kind of depressing. From that moment on, you kind of hated her. Small victories, though—the agency fired her a year later. You like to think you kind of won that battle.

Still, she might’ve been right about one thing: your writing does fall into patterns. It’s predictable, to say the least—the rhythm, the themes. Even the metaphors you include can be found in several of your poems.

Are you… lazy? Has someone revealed the way to break out of it? If there is, you figure you're fine without it.

You don’t want to write the kind of articles she’d churn out about the latest trends or the five best positions to get pregnant faster. Nor do you want to pick apart celebrities' lives for a flashy headline.

What you do want is to write about love. Real love. Even if you are not the most qualified person to do it. Even if nobody wants to read the words from someone who has never experienced it in the flesh.

And you’ll get there—how? You’re still figuring that out.

As long as you live and breathe, love will remain in your thoughts, haunting you—especially with your muse being the fleeting dream of a soulmate you never got to meet in the first place.

But it’s time to start your day—the real one. The one where you have to step outside the safety of your four walls and deal with reality.

The to-do list assembles in your mind: groceries, that book you’ve been meaning to pick up, emails you need to answer.

You let your mind take over, guiding you through the motions without a second thought. As you head back to your room, you get rid of the comfortable robe you love so much.

Next, your shirt comes off, tossed carelessly onto the bed. Just as you're about to step out of your pajama pants, you notice them.

The scars.

They’re not the same, not the faded lines etched into your skin that you could see every night behind your eyelids. New marks glow against your flesh, each one a map of something you don’t yet understand, standing out like new brushstrokes on an old canvas.

You can’t help but freeze, your breath faltering for a moment, and you nearly trip over yourself. Kicking your pants to the side, you stare down at your hips, thighs, the hollow of your ribcage. 

Tentatively, you press your fingers into the lines, expecting them to fade, to disappear under your touch like some peculiar illusion.

But they don’t. They remain. You can feel the raised edges, the subtle roughness, the heat beneath your touch.

These scars are different from the ones you had before. Under no circumstances are they the faint memories you once carried. No—these are fresh and vibrant. Marks that shouldn’t exist, the stories they’ve witnessed unfamiliar to you.

Within seconds, you’re sobbing, and you blink through the wetness clouding your vision, wiping your tears of disbelief (and maybe hope?) away with the back of your hand.

Nothing changes. They’re still there.

You've never heard of scars returning like this. It goes against everything in the manual on your shelf. Scars vanish when a soulmate dies, but they don’t come back. Not like this. And they certainly don’t change. 

Barely able to stand without stumbling, you scramble to your phone. The first person you call is your mom, your fingers shaking as you press the buttons. She screams into the phone, and all you can do is laugh through the tears.

What doesn’t sit right with her is the change in the scars. She mentions something about reaching out to a specialist, insisting that your case is rare—one in a million.

Almost immediately, you think of Wade, knowing he’d want to hear this. God, he’d be ecstatic. Before you even realize it, you’re standing in front of his door, finger hovering over the bell.

That’s when the realization hits you: he’s been gone for nearly three days, off doing whatever it is he does.

Ringing the bell, a smile tugs at your lips. News like these are meant to be shared.

“Althea, it’s me!” you call out, hoping she’ll hear you. You press your forehead against the door, fidgeting with your fingers. “I have something to tell you.”

Logan has had better days. Days that didn’t involve escaping The Void, fighting a hundred Wades, or saving an earth that wasn’t even his to begin with.

You know, normal days—of being sneered at while drinking to forget and, fuck, how many hours has he been sober? It feels like an eternity.

When the adrenaline wears off and the heroism fades, he’s back to being just Logan again. If he had a watch, he’d probably tap the glass and fake impatience to Wade, pretending he’s got somewhere else to be.

He should leave. That’s his first impulse: to escape before it’s too late, but a question arises in his mind: does he truly want to?

Wade watches as Logan rises to his feet, planning to walk away. Pretty stupid, Logan thinks, considering he knows no one else in this universe—apart from the scarred man he’s become friends with against his will.

“Logan!” Wade yells his name, his voice light but firm enough to halt him in his tracks. Logan turns to face him, greeted by Wade’s familiar, infuriating smile.

It's a silent invitation to a new beginning.

Nothing’s holding him back, so why not accept it? The odds of being the target of hateful glares are lower here, and that’s reason enough for Logan to give a small tilt of his head and return to the bench where Wade remains seated.

“We’re gonna be roommates!” the latter exclaims, a wide grin stretching across his face as they head toward the building. “Can you imagine all the fun we’ll have?”

Logan presses his lips into a thin line. “Looking forward to it,” he murmurs, a small glimmer of sarcasm slipping into his tone, although Wade takes his words at face value.

“Me too, roomie. Me too.”

“Let’s not use that word.”

Wade holds the door open for Logan with an exaggerated bow. “Why not? It’s the truth. We can even share my bed if that’s—”

The sound of Logan’s claws succeeds in silencing him. Wade recoils and covers his crotch, no doubt remembering past close calls.

“You know what? You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch. No problem.”

Was moving in with Wade the worst idea he’s had in a while? Absolutely. The reason? Althea, the elderly woman he lives with, isn’t answering the door, and he doesn’t have his keys.

Logan covers his eyes with a hand, silently questioning all of his life choices. And it’s only been ten minutes.

“This doesn’t happen often,” Wade reassures him, rubbing his neck.

“Hard to believe,” Logan mutters, some unknown muscle in his jaw beginning to ache from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “You just leave the house without your fucking keys?”

Wade huffs, jutting out a hip in mock offense. “Those TVA guys didn’t exactly send a ‘We’re here to ruin your day’ memo. I was ambushed, okay?” he retorts, keeping a finger glued to the doorbell, its shrill ring gnawing at Logan’s already thin patience. “Al, I swear to God, I’m replacing your blood pressure pills with laxatives if you don’t wake up!”

“How old is she?” Logan asks, searching for anything to keep him from snapping the other man’s neck. Peaceful thoughts.

“Compared to you, she’s basically a newborn,” Wade replies, rocking back and forth on his heels. He’s having the time of his life—meanwhile, Logan’s self-control is reaching its limit.

His claws twitch in his knuckles. He’s had enough, and with a jerk of his left hand, they gleam as they slide out, ready to break the damn door. 

But then Wade jumps in front of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there, buddy! I’m not letting you turn my door into a strainer.”

“Move,” Logan barks, not an ounce of friendliness in his tone. His stare is flat, unfazed.

“I’d rather not. You can’t just go around breaking people’s doors, man. Not cool,” Wade blurts quickly, placing both hands on Logan’s chest, pushing him away. “How about I ask my neighbor, huh? I gave her a spare set of keys for situations like these.”

“I thought you said this didn’t happen often.”

“Well, life’s full of disappointments.”

Before Logan can answer back, Wade rushes to the door next to his, slamming his fist on it like a madman, his finger hammering the doorbell simultaneously.

The devil’s orchestra—a symphony straight from hell.

Logan grabs Wade’s wrist before he can knock again, hissing: “Have some manners, will you?” 

Wade tries to shake his arm free from Logan’s tight grip. “She’s in there. I know it,” he replies in the same tone, but now he uses his other hand to ring the doorbell with greater feeling.

After a pause, he stamps his foot on the floor, throwing his head back. “Come on! Is this how you treat me after being away? Shame on you, Missy!”

This neighbor must be very patient, Logan thinks, to keep up with a guy like Wade without often seeing red.

As the door finally swings open, his grip on Wade loosens, and his hand falls limply to his side.

“What… the fuck?”

The sound of your voice—soft, slightly groggy from sleep—pulls his attention away from the door incident. His gaze is fixed entirely on you—you look as if you’ve just rolled out of bed, which makes sense since it’s still early.

Back in The Void, Wade had rambled on about all his friends, you included. Logan recalls how he had described you: a book editor who lived on her own and loved reading. You were younger—but then again, who wasn’t younger than him?

The picture Wade had shown him, with you standing in the background, hadn’t done you justice. He had found you attractive then, but seeing you in person?

You’re… far more than he expected.

More beautiful, for starters.

Fuck. Why is he even thinking about that? He must’ve been staring at you for quite a while—you glance at him like a startled lamb, clearly feeling self-conscious under his unwavering stare.

“May I know,” you start, tightening your robe, “why you were banging on my door like that? I thought I was getting robbed for a minute.” You direct your question at Wade, avoiding Logan’s presence, which makes something tighten in his chest.

He finds the way you stifle a yawn endearing, though.

Okay, that’s enough, he tells his mind. Let it go.

Wade steps in first, dropping his mask on the nearest surface. “Hello, my dear. Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just a few scratches. No, I wasn’t partying—I was kidnapped. Thanks for asking.”

You draw in a long breath, rubbing your eyes to wake up once and for all, and then you proceed to gesture for Logan to enter. Even now, you find it difficult to maintain eye contact with him. “Do you—would you like to come in?”

Not only are you pretty, but also polite. He nods, muttering a gruff: “Yeah, thank you.”

As he walks past you, your shoulders brush briefly, sending an unexpected jolt through him. A tingling sensation on the verge of being electrifying that has him knitting his brows.

His gaze finds yours, searching your expression to see if you felt it too. But you look away, closing the door to go after Wade.

Great. You must think he’s a weirdo. 

“I’m always up for company, but why so early?” you ask your friend, rummaging through the kitchen cabinets. “And are you going to tell me what happened the other day? You left without saying anything.”

Wade hops onto a stool at the kitchen counter, swinging his legs like a child. “You know Al. When it comes to sleeping, she’s like a much older version of Sleeping Beauty,” he replies with a grin, snatching the mug you were about to use for your morning coffee. “Thanks, you’re such a doll.”

“That was—mine,” you sigh, hitting him in the thigh, and Wade winces with a fake whine. “I don’t think I’ve missed you that much. Go back to being missing in action,” you say, grabbing another mug and filling it before raising it toward Logan. “Coffee?”

Logan hesitates. You’re treating him like you’ve known him for years, not minutes. “I’m… good.”

“You sure? I made it fresh, just before you guys arrived.”

“Don’t worry, I’m—”

“I love the chemistry here,” Wade interrupts your conversation, drawing your attention back to him, “but you still got the keys I gave you, right?”

You roll your eyes, blowing on your steamy coffee before answering. “I do, but I want answers first. And I want them now.”

Twenty minutes and a rambling, half-coherent story later, your drink has gone cold, and Logan’s patience is wearing thin… again.

Will he survive sleeping under the same roof as Wade? Stay tuned for more.

“And then I told Paradox ‘He has risen, babygirl’—”

“I think you’re being too specific,” Logan interjects, noting how you’re staring into space with wide eyes. “She seems confused.”

“I am,” you admit, rubbing your temples. He doesn’t blame you: Wade’s a terrible storyteller. You offer him a weak smile as you turn to him. “So… you’re from another universe.”

“Last time I checked.” His back collapses against the couch, groaning softly. He sits beside you, and the way your eyes sweep over him, taking in his disheveled and sweaty appearance, doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“And how is it? I mean, do you have—”

“I’m public enemy number one.”

Too harsh, idiot.

“Oh. That’s… good to know.”

Wade says your name, and you look to your right, lifting your brows. “Do you mind if I grab the keys myself? I need a shower. I’ve been marinating in sweat and blood for way too long.”

You grimace, pointing toward your room. “Top drawer of my nightstand.”

With that, he embarks on a quest to find them, leaving Logan alone with you. Silence stretches between you two.

He doesn’t know what to say, or if he should even say anything. Casual conversation isn’t his forte.

“You and Wade…?”

Letting out a giggle, you lean back on the couch. “God, no. We’re just friends,” you explain, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. For a fleeting moment, your eyes bore into his, and then you return to burning holes in the floor. “I’m single. Haven’t found my soulmate yet.”

It’s his turn to chuckle now—a dark, humorless sound rumbling in his chest. You chew on a cuticle, Logan’s gesture igniting a sense of curiosity in you.

“What?” you ask him, puzzled.

“Do you really believe in that? Soulmates who share scars?” If he were to think carefully, he’d watch his tone. It’s too late, anyway—you straighten your posture, your face contorting with each passing second. “I can tell you do.”

“And I can tell you don’t.”

“Why would I? Those are lies,” he retorts, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

His opinion is anything but objective, totally biased, given that every time he dove into love’s arms, he was met with the crude reality: not everyone’s meant to be loved, himself included.

The look you give him is enough to wipe the smirk off his face. 

“Soulmates exist, Logan. We all have one.” There’s a certainty in your tone, marked by the subtle way in which you say his name, that he finds alluring. He shouldn’t, especially when you seem angry above all. 

“And where is yours, then?”

He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your expression becomes inscrutable. You could be either disappointed, frustrated, or even exasperated—sad, perhaps?

Logan feels as though a weight has settled on his shoulders just from staring into your eyes.

You strike back with silence. Plain, pure, dreadful silence that has him wondering if he’s breathing properly.

At long last, Wade comes back from his expedition, keys dangling from his fingers. “It was quite the treasure hunt, you know? You’ve got a lot of garbage in there.” He sticks his face between Logan’s and yours when you don't answer him. “Guys, is there something wrong? Are you doing a staring contest? If so, can I join?”

“I need to start getting ready for work,” you announce, standing up from the couch. Logan mimics you, and you open the door, your fingers curling around the knob. “You should get going. And Wade,” you pause, acknowledging only him, “I need to talk to you later. In private.”

Without Logan. That’s what you wanted to say but didn’t.

“Sure, my queen. I live to serve,” Wade says in rejoinder, and he kisses your forehead briefly, which forces Logan to avert his gaze the whole time his lips are on you, feeling uncomfortable watching. “Take care, alright?” 

You give Wade a small nod, waiting until he’s outside your apartment to glance at Logan.

“Goodbye,” you croak, and he knows he should say something, that he—

The door almost closes on his nose.

Had he been an asshole? He was merely expressing his thoughts. The idea of soulmates didn’t sit well with him.

Once settled into Wade’s apartment, Logan steps into the shower, water rinsing off his body. Yet he finds himself unable to stop thinking about you.

The disappointment in your eyes when he asked about your soulmate.

The coldness in your tone at the end, so different from the warmth you initially offered.

He feels drawn to you, as if some sort of invisible string is tying the two of you. Were it possible, he would use his own claws to cut it, but he can’t discern where it begins or ends. Instead, he prefers to blame his touch-starved state for this reaction. 

He’s already hating this earth. So much for a man whose skin refuses to scar.

And where is yours, then?

His words shouldn’t have stung the way they did. All the charm—the gruff exterior, the mysterious personality—had vanished.

The guy from another universe, with the claws, the healing abilities, and the raspy voice, is a moron.

A ridiculously good-looking moron? Yes, but a moron nonetheless.

There is something about him you can’t quite place. A chill creeps down your spine as you replay the instant your eyes first locked. Your body had reacted in ways it never had before, drawn to him like metal to a magnet.

Why? You’d seen handsome men before, even been with some. Yet, you’ve never felt this—this gravitational pull, this inexplicable pull to invade someone’s personal space.

How would your soulmate feel if he saw you like this, lusting after another man?

You shudder at the thought. This isn’t like you. You pride yourself on loyalty—perhaps a little too much. You don’t read two books at the same time, and you’ve been buying the same brand of shampoo for the past five years.

So why now? Why him? It feels like a betrayal of your own mind, your conscience turned against you.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

That afternoon, as you take a nap on the couch, he invades your dreams. It’s not even a wet dream, but he’s there, staking a claim on a part of you he has no right to.

You wake up with your hand clutching your chest, a frustrated punch landing on the nearest cushion.

The next day, you drop by Wade’s place for a quick visit, your eyes darting around the room every few seconds, half-expecting Logan to appear out of nowhere.

“I told you, he’s sleeping. That guy’s got a fucked up sleep schedule,” Wade says, urging you to take a seat beside him at the table. “Why don’t you wanna see him?”

Because he’s messing with your sanity. Your brain cells are practically disintegrating at the mere thought of breathing the same air as him.

“I just—I need to tell you something.”

“Are you pregnant?”

“What? Wade, no! You’ve been gone for three days—pregnancies take months.”

“I’d make an amazing uncle, though.” He grabs your hand between his, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Babies are so adorable at that—”

“My scars are back,” you cut him off, putting an end to his nonsense. Pulling the neck of your sweater to the side, you show him the thin lines etched into your collarbone. “But they are different this time.”

“Different? You mean they changed?” His disbelief is clear as he reaches for your arm, frowning while he inspects more of your scars. Wade’s jaw slackens, color draining out of his face. “Fuck. Fuck!”

“Fuck?”

“Yeah, fuck!” His strong arms envelop you, and you lean into the embrace, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Is this good news? Are we happy? Does this mean I have a shot at becoming an uncle after all?”

You laugh a little at his eagerness, rubbing gentle circles into his back. “I am happy. I just—I don’t know what these changes mean yet.”

Althea steps out of the bathroom, her cane tapping the floor in rhythmic beats. “I already told you what they mean.”

Wade pulls away from you, glaring at her. “You meddler! Haven’t we talked about not eavesdropping? Hasn’t life taught you anything after all these decades?”

“Upside of being blind: I’ve never seen this motherfucker in Crocs,” she says, pointing her cane at you, though you know her aim is Wade. “Downside of being blind: I hear everything in this apartment. And you, kid, have a new soulmate.”

“I know what we talked about the other day, but... it doesn’t make sense, Al. You only get one soulmate,” you protest, feeling the tension grow as you pace around the table. “Why can’t it just be simple? My friends are getting engaged, years are flying by, and I’m still out here chasing this… this idiot who no one can even find!”

That’s when Logan appears, emerging from his room, holding several empty beer cans. He rolls his eyes and walks straight into the kitchen. “Great. Who else is coming tonight?”

Wade smirks, clapping a hand on Logan’s shoulder as he looks at you. “Sweetie, Logan’s going through his second puberty at the ripe old age of two hundred. The pediatrician said it’s just hormones, nothing to worry about. Excuse his shitty attitude.”

With a low groan, Logan shrugs off Wade’s hand, scowling. If anything, the younger man’s grin just grows bigger. “Wolvie, I gotta admit that whole ‘Don’t fall in love with me or I’ll break your heart’ personality shouldn’t turn me on, but here we are.”

You decide to take that as your cue to leave. You grab your bag, muttering a quick goodbye to Althea as you head for the door.

But Logan calls after you. “Can we talk?”

You freeze, your back to him. “How much did you hear?” you ask, not daring—not being able—to meet his gaze.

“All of it,” he admits after a beat, and you curse under your breath. “But it doesn’t—Hey!” He follows you into the hallway. “I’m talking to you!”

“No, you’re not.” You fumble for your keys, fingers shaking as you try to unlock your door. “Leave me alone.”

“I won’t,” he mumbles behind you, his voice softer now. “Come on. Don’t be so harsh.”

“I can’t believe you,” you whisper, finally finding the right key and jiggling it into the lock. The door swings open, and you step into the safety of your apartment. But when you try to close it, Logan’s foot wedges into the gap, blocking it. “Get out.”

He doesn’t budge. “No.”

“Logan, I’m not in the mood.”

“Well, me neither. But I owe you an apology.”

You wonder if he realizes the hold he has on you. No matter how hard you try to mask it, the unbearable pounding of your heart betrays you.

Scanning his features, you trace the rugged contours of his face with your eyes, lingering on the lines on his forehead—the aftermath of what it looks like a life lived through bitterness and pain.

“Can I come in?” he insists, his tone on the verge of sounding pleading.

You hesitate. The sensible part of you screams to send him away. Thinking that avoiding him would be as easy as stealing candy from a baby is a long-forgotten idea now: you’d been naïve to even consider it possible.

He’s going to find a way to sneak into your space, your home—and you’ll let him in. You’ll grant him a chance to cross a boundary that should’ve been already drawn.

It feels like you’re fifteen again, infatuated with the guy you know you shouldn’t get close to. Paul from high school wasn’t your soulmate back then—Logan isn’t now.

The smart thing would be to take a step back, accept his apology, and ask him to leave. That’s how you preserve what little remains of your sanity and protect your heart, which is already hanging by a thread.

But God, it feels so good to be near him.

You step aside. He walks in. Something tells you this won’t be the last time.

“I’m waiting.” You stay near the counter, pressing your back against it, and keeping your distance. Logan sits awkwardly on the edge of your couch, unsure of where to begin.

“Look, about what I said yesterday…I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He sounds sincere, earnest. “I didn’t know you believed in soulmates.”

“It’s not a matter of believing in them or not, Logan. My soulmate is out there—yours too.”

Your words coax a grin from him, and he shakes his head. “I guess we’ll never see eye to eye on that.” In a fluid motion, he crosses the room, and you find his unexpected proximity a bit exasperating. “Do you forgive me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Give me a break, darlin’. I’m trying my best.”

“Well, you were an asshole.”

“Yes.”

“The first time we exchanged words.”

“Also yes.”

“And now you’re apologizing.”

“Positive. I just did.”

It’s not that you’re easy—it’s Logan’s persuasive allure that gets to you.

“What else can I do to win your forgiveness?” he wonders aloud, his syrupy voice making you tighten your grip on the counter.

An idea sparks in your mind. You move toward the pile of books next to the TV, eyeing the titles, until one catches your attention: your copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, one of the first novels you’d read when you were younger.

It’s adorned with colorful post-its, and the pages, sort of rough to the touch, are marked with handwritten notes in the margins.

“How do you feel about reading?”

“Not my strongest suit,” he answers, arching a brow as he takes in your enthusiasm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“You want me to believe you’re sorry for what you said? Then read this,” you say, wiggling the book in front of him, “and we can start over.”

“What is it about? Let me guess: love and soulmates. Did I get it right?” he asks, playfulness lacing his tone. His breath hitches as you press the book against his chest, silently urging him to take it. His pinky grazes your hand, feeling your skin and sending a jolt through you.

Logan watches you with half-lidded eyes, and it takes every ounce of willpower to tear yourself away from him and his maddening touch.

You clear your throat. “Open it to page one hundred fifty-three.”

“Do you—you remember specific pages?”

“And read what’s underlined in black,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed for an instant. “Please.”

Logan must mutter something along the lines of ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ before searching for it. It’s only then that he begins to recite the passage:

He is not to them what he is to me. He is not of their kind. I believe he is of mine; – I am sure he is – I feel akin to him – I understand the language of his countenance and movements; though rank and wealth sever us widely, I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. Did I say, a few days since, that I had nothing to do with him but to receive my salary at his hands? Did I forbid myself to think of him in any other light than a paymaster? Blasphemy against nature! Every good, true, vigorous feeling I have gathers impulsively round him. I know I must conceal my sentiments: I must smother hope; I must remember that he cannot care much for me. For when I say that I am of his kind, I do not mean that I have his force to influence, and his spell to attract; I mean only that I have certain tastes and feelings in common with him. I must, then, repeat continually that we are for ever sundered: – and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.

You’ve chosen a damn good page.

Logan looks up from the book, his mouth slightly parted, as if he’s about to speak. You interject before he can find the words.

“You’ve got a week to read it.”

“How long is it again?”

“Four hundred pages.”

He surrenders, sighing in defeat. “You’re killing me here, y’know?”

“Write an opinion essay if possible.”

Right there, Logan offers you a mock laugh. “Haha. That’s so funny.”

“It is for me,” you talk back, unable to hide your smile from him, and soon he mirrors your expression. 

As Logan steps toward the door, he hesitates and glances back. “We’re all good then?”

Leaning against the doorframe, you raise your chin defiantly. “We’ll be when you finish the book.”

What he says next has your stomach turning into knots. “You’re trouble.” His tone shifts—no longer teasing, but grounded in truth. Gone are the jokes; he seems to mean every word.

For the rest of the night, one line from the book doesn’t stop echoing in your mind—the line about soulmates: I have something in my brain and heart, in my blood and nerves, that assimilates me mentally to him. 

You’re trouble for him, and he’s trouble for you. You hope he knows it too.

He thought that not seeing you for a week would snuff out his feelings. That by next Wednesday, every thought tied to your name, every urge to uncover the last of your secrets, would be extinguished.

That's what time usually did: it diminished dangerous desires that couldn't afford to be voiced, and buried those longings that had no place in the light of day.

Logan now figures he’s been underestimating the spell you cast on him with just a few glances and the intensity of your eyes. He’s seen you animated, angry—both defiant and vulnerable.

Each of your gestures feels like a memory he can’t quite place.

The way you laugh, the right corner of your mouth lifting just slightly higher than the left—he swears it isn’t the first time he's seen a smile brighter than the sun.

Still, he convinces himself it’s all in his head. He must be the one losing his mind, the years finally catching up to him. It’s the only reasonable explanation for the thoughts that consume his every waking moment.

He’s wrong—you’re right. He’s seeing things where there are none—you’re simply too kind.

Too kind. Too young. Too damn clever for your own good, with your books and that sharp mind of yours. He wonders how you see yourself.

Do you like the reflection in the mirror? Are you content with the way your life has turned out?

Do you, too, lie awake at night, the bed stretching endlessly, aching for a touch that never comes?

The walls in this place are paper-thin. When darkness falls, and the moon rises, the big, scary Wolverine can’t close his eyes.

Instead, he listens.

Some nights, you play the same movie on repeat—a romantic comedy that lasts exactly one hundred and twenty minutes. For two hours straight, he’s privy to your laughter, your commentary at the characters on the screen.

He hears you cry when the lead couple drifts apart after a terrible argument, but they always find their way back to each other, and you watch every second until the credits roll.

None of the other films you pick ever ends in heartbreak, he realizes. They all have happy endings—the kind you wish for yourself.

One way or another, there must be a way to get you out of his system. He knows, without a doubt, that you wouldn’t want him. He’s not your soulmate, and it’s clear that finding that person has become the center of your existence.

Logan can’t allow himself to be the moron who derails your purpose.

Sure, he’s done bad things, but he likes to believe that at least a part of him—some small fraction—hasn’t been lost yet. That there’s a piece of him that can be saved, which is the reason why he stayed here: to be a better man than the one he was in his universe.

But it’s hard. Harder still because it’s you who disrupts his quest for redemption. How is he supposed to go on with his life when every thought circles back to you? The idea of holding you, kissing you—sleeping beside you haunts him.

And so the images blur, new dreams twisting with his usual nightmares.

Which one is worse, he can no longer tell.

One afternoon, while deliberately steering clear of Jane Eyre, he reluctantly turns to Wade in search of answers. “Tell me more about her.”

Wade, lounging on the couch, stops scrolling on his phone and drops it onto his chest, drawing his eyebrows together.

“Her? Who do you mean?” His tone oozes with feigned innocence, barely containing a shit-eating grin when Logan grits out your name, his tone rough, almost pained. “Oh, Romeo. You’ve got it bad.”

Intending to maintain some semblance of control, Logan strides into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and the last bottle of whiskey. As he tips it, only a few drops fall into the glass.

“No, I don’t,” he says, extending his arm and holding the bottle up. “We’re out of whiskey.”

“You keep saying we, but you’re the only alcoholic in this apartment.” Wade kicks off his shoes, propping his feet on the coffee table. “So, why the sudden interest in the lady? She getting through that tough exterior of yours? I’ll give her points for that.”

“And you wonder why I don’t talk to you.”

“I saw the book,” the younger man replies, lacing his fingers behind his head, watching as Logan rummages through the fridge with increasing frustration. “You never told me you were into classics. If I’d known, I’d have gotten you a copy of Pride and Prejudice.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, weren’t you the one who came to me, looking for the essential oil of truth?”

The silence that follows is thick and uncomfortable, mood-killing.

“See what I just did there?” he adds, and Logan feels forced to shake his head from side to side, appearing conflicted. Wade lets out a low huff. “That was Virginia Woolf. Add her to your reading list.”

“Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?”

“More times than I can count. I’m just not everyone’s cup of coffee.”

“Tea, Wade. Not everyone’s cup of tea.”

“Whatever.” Wade simpers, as though Logan’s correction is the punchline to a joke only he gets. He sets his palms flat on the table, looming closer with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what would you like to know about my dear friend?”

Logan hesitates, the weight of his question heavy on his tongue. “What’s the deal with her scars?”

The air shifts. Wade’s playful expression fades and he tilts his head, his tone turning serious. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell,” he begins, gaze dropping to the floor. “But she lost them years ago. She was living a normal life, and one day, they were just—gone, like they were never there. It broke her. We didn’t know each other back then, but you’ve seen her.”

Wade’s eyes flick back up, while Logan stands there, tongue-tied. “You even know the kind of books she reads—nothing can shake that belief in real love, in soulmates being destined. Imagine how she must’ve felt when she found out her presumed soulmate was dead… without a single warning.”

From what he had heard, that sense of loss was impossible to put into words. Those who’d gone through it described the experience as if half of you—your body, your soul, your very essence—was being ripped away.

The pain was excruciating, and the only way to survive it was by means of tolerating it—no remedy, just the endurance to outlast the agony.

It wasn’t just a momentary hurt. It was the kind of torment that lingered, making you question who you were and what little remained of you.

You and Logan had more in common than he’s willing to admit.

“She’s a good person,” he mutters absent-mindedly, his thumb grazing the cover of the book. He had carried it everywhere for a week now, without even cracking it open.

“Oh, you dirty pig…” Wade whispers, his eyes lighting up as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his mind. “Now I get it. You wanna know her. Like, really know her!”

“I don’t—”

“Your sex life is none of my business. I’m all up for you putting your mutant dick to work, otherwise it’s just wasted potential. But it’s my friend we’re talking about.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, and he snaps. “Drop the speech, alright? I’m not trying to get into her pants. I just want to be nice. That’s all.”

“Nice, huh? What’s your version of nice? Starting a two-person book club?” Wade stifles a laugh, pressing a finger to Logan’s chest. “Look, if you want to sleep with her, and the feeling’s mutual, then go for it. Just tell me this—how long’s it been since you visited Pussy Village? Was it before or after the Big Bang?”

Things are never truly serious with Wade Wilson. “I’m not answering that.”

Wade raises both hands in surrender, still chuckling. “Fine, fine. But if you’re really interested, just be clear about it. She doesn’t need a half-assed situationship.”

By now, it’s like a mantra he repeats again and again, hoping that eventually both Wade and he will start to believe it. “I don’t want to have sex with her.”

As he heads back to his (now Wade’s old) room, Wade adds, “I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you underlined some quotes you like.”

Much to his dismay, that’s exactly what Logan does.

His handwriting isn’t the most legible, but he tries his best, leaving notes in the margins of some pages, such as:

I hate this John kid.

Her aunt is a cunt.

This is too cheesy.

Mr. Rochester’s married?

St. John—what a prick.

He finishes the book at 7 a.m. A long-ass book—just for you. While getting ready for work, Wade calls him an unemployed fucker, and Logan knows nothing better than to shoot back a similar insult, stretching his arms as the first rays of sunlight creep through the curtains.

Wade was right about something, even if Logan himself doesn’t wish to admit it: he’s behaving like a teenager—staying up until dawn, practically chained to the bed without daring to go out. Falling for a girl he didn’t know a week ago.

Learning to control his impulses has been a hard task, especially with his temperament. Over the years, Logan thought he’d mastered the art of self-restraint, long past the point where his body moved without his mind’s permission.

As his feet carry him down the hall toward your apartment, he recognizes how wrong he is.

This is a terrible idea, he thinks. And yet, his fist knocks on the wood. Three times.

Fuck.

The door opens just a crack. You peek out, your face barely visible, eyes puffy from sleep. “Logan?”

His name isn’t a fancy one. It’s pretty normal, pretty standard. There must be a thousand other guys named like him—yet it’s only when you say it, your voice turning it into something rare and unique, that it feels different, like it’s only his.

The tone you use with him isn’t the one he’s used to: Logan, you’re a disappointment. Logan, how dare you turn your back on your friends? Logan, they’re all dead. Logan, it’s your fault.

Yours is inviting, and warm, and new. He likes new.

“I just finished it,” he answers, holding up the book, mindful not to grip it too tight as not to crumple the pages.

You scratch the back of your head, blinking at him. “You just finished it… at 7 a.m.?

Yeah, it sounds stupid now that you say it out loud, but it’s true. Hoping his reaction is enough to explain what he can’t put into words, he gives you a slow nod.

This time, you don’t wait for him to say more. “Come in?”

Yes, this is what he’s been looking forward all week. This moment, this interaction.

This Come in. This Yes, thank you. You’re so kind.

His quiet acceptance of your invitation, the unpronounced thought of I don’t deserve this, but I can’t back off now, because how could I ever say no to you?

He follows you into the kitchen as you move to make tea. “Want some?” you ask, but he declines the offer. If he were to drink anything right now, it would be something much stronger, not tea, despite the early hour. “You’re here to talk about the book?”

“Well, you told me I could come back after reading it.”

“I did,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips as you hide it behind your mug. “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so punctual.”

You don’t need to know that he’s been counting down the seconds, marking each minute in his mind since the last time he saw you. That’s a detail he’ll keep to himself. “It’s a good story.”

“Tell me about it.” You smile even wider, and he takes a moment to absorb the details of your face—the crinkles by your eyes, the way your nose scrunches when you’re amused. “I lent you my most precious book. Fell in love with it years ago.”

“I can see why you liked it,” he explains, flipping through the pages to find the one he marked. “All the romance and the yearning—”

“Hey, it’s also good for other reasons,” you try to defend yourself, but any other argument dies on your lips when he finds the passage he was looking for and begins to read aloud.

“I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now,” he recites, his voice lower, almost reverent, as he looks up from the page to meet your gaze. “It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.”

You seem startled by the sharp sound of him closing the book. He’s sort of breathless, and from where he stands, he can tell you are too. “That’s one of my favorite passages.”

“I can’t blame you for believing in soulmates if this is the kind of thing you read growing up,” he teases, handing the book back to you.

Though a part of him almost wishes he didn’t have to—so that it would still be a reason, a tether, pulling him back to you again and again.

Grinning, you take it, your eyes remaining trained on his. “I happen to notice it hasn’t changed your perspective on soulmates.”

“It’ll take more than a book.”

“This is, in my opinion, one of the best love stories ever written. How else will I convince you?”

“Why do you feel like you need to convince me?” He takes a step forward—you take a step back. “Why can’t it be the other way around? I might end up being the one who convinces you.”

“You could never,” you respond, clasping your hands behind your back. “It would be like convincing me the sky is green instead of blue.”

Logan retreats slightly. “Don’t you get tired?”

“Of what?”

“Of waiting. Of always being on the lookout.”

You don’t react badly to his question. You’re not even shaken, not fazed in the slightest. “When I meet him, I’ll know all the waiting was worth it.”

“And in the meantime?” Logan inquires, pressing himself further into your intimacy, edging closer as if testing the boundaries you’re willing to cross. His words are a subtle request for more, for answers. “What will you do until you find him?”

If you ever do, he thinks, but it’s left unsaid, lingering in his thoughts. He’s getting better at not saying the things that sit heavy in his chest without thinking.

“I think you misunderstand, Logan.” You study him through your lashes, and he feels he’s become the keeper of your most sacred secrets. “It’s not about waiting as if my life’s on pause. I’ve been with other people. But in the end, I want to choose him.”

That casual admission strikes him like a wave of cold water. A flicker of jealousy burns at the edges of his composure, though he tries to smother it.

I’ve been with other people, you say, your tone so nonchalant, and yet the mental images that flood his mind are anything but comfortable.

He imagines someone else standing in your kitchen. Perhaps in five minutes, there will be another man knocking on your door, here to discuss a book, and it won’t be him.

Perhaps this isn’t rare for you—all this come in, grab something to drink, let’s talk when you’re done reading.

Perhaps he’s not as important as you make him feel.

His thoughts spiral until your voice pulls him back from the brink.

“Don’t you understand how beautiful it is?” There’s a dazzling glint in your expression, a light in your eyes that makes him ache. “Outside of these four walls, there’s a person who’s waiting to meet me, in the same way I expect to meet him. I can’t grant myself the choice not to believe in something like this.”

Far from easing the martyr in his mind, this conversation only deepens his internal struggle. The questions overlap each other: what happens if you never find him? Would you ever consider settling for somebody else?

He rephrases that last one—would you ever consider being with him?

“He’s a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs, and just like that, he feels himself slipping deeper, falling into the rabbit hole with you guiding him through the madness.

For a moment, he can pretend—pretend that matching scars and bonds that defy the rules of his principles make sense.

Maybe, just for you, he’ll allow himself to believe it.

Your eyes soften with sudden emotion, glistening with the beginnings of tears. He feels the primal urge to reach out, to cup your cheek, to be there when the first tear falls. “You think so?” you ask, your voice fragile.

I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you, especially when you are near me, as now.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his tone quiet but laden with a strange, undeniable truth.

It is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your frame.

Whatever this is between you—it’s messed up. He’s messed up. And you… you’re just as tangled in this chaos for indulging it, for looking at him in that way that calls out to him.

The more time he spends with you, the less he feels like himself. Everything he’s done lately—reading that damn book, standing in your apartment at 7 a.m.—none of it feels like something he’d do.

It’s not just his mind you’re messing with: it’s his very sense of self.

Logan’s smart mouth had always been a liability, getting him into trouble either by saying too much or by choosing the wrong words. Bad things had always followed in the wake of his tongue.

Somehow, when it comes to you, he’s the most careful he’s ever been. He doesn’t want to upset you, nor does he want to be the cause of any sorrow that might affect your heart.

When the two of you stand at the threshold once more, just as you have other times before, you softly say: “I feel like I’m experiencing a déjà vu.”

He laughs, because it sounds ridiculous. “Care to explain why?”

“You come, we talk, you leave.” You lean against the wall, your hand ghosting over the handle. “But you never stay that long.”

There’s no mistaking the layered meaning in your words. You, who work with language and its peculiarities for a living, never speak by chance—every phrase, every pause, carries an assigned weight. The double meaning in your statement doesn’t escape either of you.

You’re a natural at this madness, diving headfirst into it. You must be losing it, too, because your actions don’t match what you said before.

Slowly, his fingers brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the perfect excuse to feel your skin, to close the distance without saying what he actually wants.

They say food and shelter are the basic human needs, but Logan chooses to believe they forgot to include the longing to reach out and just feel you.

“I can’t stay,” he finally responds to your earlier comment, his hand still lingering against your skin.

His strength—the only thing saving him from completely giving in—helps him pull himself away.

Before the impulse to kiss you becomes too overwhelming to resist, Logan leaves.

Some time later, you’re making lunch, music playing softly in the background at the same time the city’s distinct noise finds a way to break through your tranquility.

You rely greatly on the knowledge that you’re good at multitasking—now more than ever, with a book in one hand and the other stirring the pasta on the stove.

The warmth from the pot rises around you, but you trust yourself not to be careless. Not to be stupid enough to burn yourself with the boiling water.

This time, you miscalculate. Not only do you dip the wooden spoon into the pot, but your fingertips too.

Though it only lasts a second, and the voice in your head instantly screams Hot! Hot! Hot!, the shock makes you drop the book to the floor. You yank your hand back, racing to the sink to run it under cold water.

“Fuck,” you grumble, watching the skin redden in protest. “Lesson learned: no more multitasking.”

The funny thing is, just a door away, Logan’s watching a movie with Wade when he feels a sting in the tips of his fingers.

It’s barely there, practically faint, but he looks down, inspecting his hand like it doesn’t belong to his own body. His skin briefly flushes with irritation before returning to its normal state.

Wade notices his distraction. “Hey, you okay?”

Logan pays no mind to it. “Sure. Just felt something strange.”

Is it still called avoiding if you’re both doing it? You’d like to think so.

For the sake of clarity, let’s say you’ve been actively avoiding Logan, but truth be told—he’s been avoiding you too. That last encounter in your apartment didn’t help matters at all.

If anything, it made everything worse.

You’ve been down this road before, knowing men like him too well: they’re everywhere, until they’re not.

One day, they vanish without a trace, leaving you staring at the empty space they used to occupy, asking yourself ‘What happened to my Prince Charming in disguise?’

They disappear as though they never existed, and not even the best detective can track them down.

So far, your avoidance strategy has worked wonders. Maybe it’s for the best. He’s a distraction—an undeniably attractive one, the kind anyone would want to trip over.

Yet you miss him, which is dumb: why are you missing someone you were never supposed to care about in the first place?

You return home after a long trip to the grocery store, arms laden with bags. It’s the kind of errand that exhausts you, though you keep telling yourself it’s better than thinking about him.

As you struggle to get through the building's exit, you resign yourself to the fact that it’ll take several trips to bring everything up to your apartment.

Then the elevator doors slide open, and you drop everything to the floor.

You should’ve known better than to assume victory so soon. After days of successfully avoiding him, there he is.

And of course, it’s when you look your worst—tired from running around, weighed down by groceries, barely holding it together.

“Hey,” he greets you, standing just outside the elevator, like he’s not sure if he should step inside or stay where he is. He’s dressed in a red-and-black flannel shirt, layered over a white vest, a leather jacket tossed over his shoulders, and a pair of jeans that seem made for him.

He looks... ridiculously good.

“Hi,” you manage to answer after a beat, scrambling to collect the bags you’d dropped. “Just—give me a second.”

“Let me help you,” Logan says, ducking down to gather the groceries, but you pull them away.

“I’ve got it. Are you going out? On a date, maybe?” You nod toward his clothes, trying to keep things light, teasing even.

Glancing down at himself, a crease appears between his brows, and in one swoop, he gathers all the bags with a single hand. “I’m supposed to meet Wade at a bar, but he’ll survive without me.”

“Logan, you don’t—”

But he’s already moving, one hand tugging you out of the elevator, the other gesturing toward your apartment.

“Not up for debate,” he mutters. Then, without waiting for permission, he holds out his hand. “Keys.”

Sighing, you dig into your pocket and drop them into his open palm. He unlocks the door with practiced ease, stepping inside and placing the bags on your kitchen counter.

As he starts to unpack them, you stop him. “You really don’t need to do that.”

That seems to catch his attention. He pauses, turning toward you with his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the counter.

His unrelenting stare sizes you up, and he cocks his head to the side. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He thinks he’s so discreet, so smooth. “Well, I’ve been busy,” you explain, fiddling with the frayed edge of your sweater, tugging at it like it might unravel your nerves.

You hear him click his tongue. “Been busy too.” His words hang in the air, thickening the atmosphere. Your body tenses, and you stare at his shoes, until— “Sweetheart,” he calls you softly, and your eyes snap shut for a moment, your chin almost pressing against your chest. “My eyes are up here.”

A quick flutter of your lashes brings you back to him, and your chest tightens with the effort it takes to look into his eyes. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you ask, praying he’ll let this go.

You watch as his mouth twitches with something halfway between a smile and a smirk. “You already want me to leave?”

“If you have plans, then yeah.”

He huffs out a laugh, inhaling a shallow breath like you’ve missed something obvious. “Wade can wait. He’ll be fine.” His expression shifts, and the playful tone in his voice falls away, replaced by something more raw. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You can’t help but snort. “Oh, please. Like you haven’t been doing the same.” You walk over to the couch, feeling your legs wobble beneath you. You collapse into one corner, hoping the distance will help you breathe.

Like a shadow, Logan follows after you, sitting far too close. His legs splay wide, so wide they’re almost grazing yours.

“At least I have a reason for it. What about you?” His hand reaches out, fingers closing around yours in a grip that’s both firm and gentle, enhancing your anxiety. Your throat tightens, the room shrinking around you. “I need you to tell me I’m not crazy,” he says, his voice rough and low. “I need you to tell me you feel it too.”

Panic flares in your chest, and you scramble for time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you mutter, but your voice cracks, the uncertainty leaking through the cracks in your bravado.

He doesn’t buy your acting. “You do. We can’t keep playing dumb. You’re gonna make me lose my fuckin’ mind one of these days.”

It’s not just his words—it’s the way he stands so close, heat radiating from his body, the roughness of his hand gripping yours like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.

The intensity of it all weighs on you in ways you can’t even begin to describe, leaving you breathless, caught between denial and desire.

“Logan, this isn’t—”

“What? Okay?” There’s a glimpse of mirthlessness in his tone as he speaks, his forehead furrowing. “I can’t stay away from you, don’t you see it? It feels too good to be wrong,” he utters, inching forward. You know you should take a step back, tell him to stop. Nothing good can come from this. “It takes two to feel these things. It can’t be just me.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to give in.” Blood pounds in your ears, your pulse racing as your heart hammers unpleasantly. Little shivers of ice run through your spine, and yet, your stomach burns with desire.

More than ever, you feel yourself slipping, your sanity at risk.

Logan runs his eyes up and down your face, agitated, almost going cross-eyed. “Earlier you asked if I was going on a date. Would you like that? Me being with other people? Kissing another woman?” His hot breath caresses your cheek, and you avert your gaze momentarily. “Answer me.”

Don’t do it. For the love of God, don’t. “I can’t—I don’t—”

“Come on, baby.”

“I don’t want you to be with other people,” you mumble, your lips almost grazing his, and that’s all he needs to grip your chin and pull you into a kiss.

His mouth moves hungrily over yours, pushing you back until the armrest digs into your lower back. A choked whimper gets lost in your throat, and you bring him closer by grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket, your chest pressing against his.

Logan bites down on your lip, soothing the sting with his tongue, and the moan you let out reverberates in the apartment.

“This is what you were hiding from me?” he rasps, his forehead bumping against yours. “These sweet sounds you make?”

You end up perched in his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips. He’s hard beneath you, and as you shift, your center makes contact with his erection through the layers of fabric.

Both of you sigh into each other’s mouths, your hips moving on their own accord, rocking slightly against his clothed cock. He hooks one of his arms around your waist, guiding your movements.

Everything seems to fall into place. Outside your window, birds chirp. The world feels lighter, like a better place. The beast inside you quiets, and for once, your mind is blissfully blank.

Logic? Error 404—not found.

You tug at his hair, and Logan growls, breaking the kiss. “Do that again.” He jerks under your touch, bucking up into you. Encouraged, you pull his hair again, fingers wrapping around a strand at the nape of his neck, and you’re rewarded with a deep groan.

He’s dizzy for it, but you’re no better, not when he trails his kisses down your neck, his mouth latching onto your skin, tasting the sweat and salt.

“I can’t control myself around you,” he murmurs, groping your tits, and you wail, the ache between your legs becoming intolerable. His hands slip under your sweater, caressing the scars on your back.

That’s when recognition settles over you.

What are you doing? And why are you doing it?

He ceases sucking your flesh when you go rigid on top of him. Pecking your lips once again, Logan’s hands cradle your face, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

You don’t understand how he does it, how he can remain so calm. Doesn’t he realize the gravity of this? “We have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Don’t ask me something you already know the answer to.”

His arms drop to his sides, releasing you from his hold. You push yourself off him, away from the couch, putting as much distance between you as you can.

Pressing your palms to your eyes, you shake your head. “God, I’m stupid. This is stupid.”

Your reaction seems to get on his nerves, his frustration somehow increasing. Logan stands, towering over you. “Was it stupid when you were dry humping me?”

“Fuck you, Logan.”

“I’m not the bad guy here. You kissed me back.” He doesn’t let up, trailing behind you as you try to escape. “You want me as much as I want you.”

“Will you stop saying that?” you bark, throwing your arms in the air. Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “Yeah, we like each other. So? Does that make it right? How can you just ignore how wrong this is?”

His expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “Forget your idea of what's good and bad. You're just upset you can't control what you feel.”

“He’s closer than ever.”

Logan gawks at you, his voice bitter as he goes on with his rambling. “That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.”

“You wish you were him, don’t you?” You jab your finger into his chest, feeling his heartbeat, a flutter you choose to ignore. “You want to be my soulmate.”

“Damn right I do,” he practically spits his words, narrowing his eyes at you. “But I’m not him.”

“No. You’re not.”

Everything seems to fall out of place. Outside your window, birds don’t chirp—they scream for mercy. The world doesn’t feel lighter, but heavier. The beast inside you roars back to life, restless and louder than ever, while your mind spins in chaos.

“We shouldn’t see each other anymore.” Your voice pierces through the thick silence in the room, and you swallow down the lump forming in your throat.

“If that’s what you want,” he replies, his jaw clenched tight, irritation radiating off him in waves.

“It’s what we both need.”

“Speak for yourself. I don’t have a soulmate.” His tone is biting, but you don’t miss the undercurrent of longing in his words. “But if in any other universe I do, I hope it’s you.”

Your hand turns the knob, and then he’s halfway out the door, sparing you one last glance before he turns his back to you.

No more visits. No more books. No more bruising kisses that leave you questioning your mere existence.

Let things stay as they are—it’s safer that way. You don’t want to know the reason behind this forceful need.

After all, being his grumpy and ill-tempered self, he’ll stay holed up in Wade’s apartment, avoiding any interaction with the real world. And you? You’ll forget about him. Easy-peasy.

It didn’t go well in the end.

You remember your first heartbreak—seventeen, fresh out of high school. One of your hands clutched a million dreams, and the other, a pillow soaked with your tears.

Your mother remained by your side, caressing your back, attempting to soothe the sobs that racked your body. She murmured that it’d pass, that you wouldn’t feel like this forever. You believed her then, and trusted that things would eventually be okay.

Almost ten years later, another heartbreak shouldn’t come as a surprise. By now, you thought you would’ve developed the tools to survive it. You should be able to piece yourself back together by instinct.

But life, as it turns out, has a peculiar way of catching you off guard.

Whether it’s pent-up horniness, touch-starvation, or genuine affection—it doesn't change the fact that your pseudo-relationship with Logan fell apart.

Though you’re not the one who’s suffering the most. Neither is Logan.

Wade, the third party in this tangled mess, has somehow taken it the hardest.

“I feel like a child of divorce,” he says, his head resting on your lap, eyes distant as they fixate on the peeling wallpaper. “You need to do something about that.”

“I’ll take care of it next month.”

He’s supposed to be the one supporting you, but it feels like the roles are reversed—you’re comforting him, letting him vent.

“My two favorite people now can’t even be in the same room. What are we gonna do for Christmas? New Year's Eve?” Straightening up, he grabs the nearest cushion and buries his face into it to muffle a defeated scream. “Damn it, Cupid! You had one job!”

All in all, Wade’s emotionally unavailable at the moment, grieving your separation from Logan as if it were his own loss, too caught up in his melodrama to be of any real help.

Meanwhile, you fill your days with work, books, anything to keep your mind occupied.

You go to bed too late, you wake up too early. Sleep too little, cry too much.

One thing stays constant—you and Logan don’t talk. Stolen glances in the hallway, awkward elevator rides—those are the only remnants of whatever you once were. Back to being strangers again. 

Well, not really. Strangers don’t know the route to your mouth the way he does.

The ache lingers every day. Missing him when you’re awake is a common occurrence. At night, as you toss and turn beneath the sheets, he stars in your dreams. You can’t recall the last time he wasn’t lodged in your thoughts. 

Where there used to be ideas, creativity, and plots worth scribbling down, there’s now only Logan—a man destined to problematize your stay on earth.

That fucker again? Don’t you ever get tired of talking about someone who you don’t even know? Because you’re certainly wearing me out.

And yet, despite all of it, you continue to prioritize someone else. Someone who isn’t even here. Clung to the idea of a soulmate, you chose him over Logan.

What did he expect? For you to abandon your principles, your belief in destiny? It’s who you are. Nearly thirty years of life guided by one belief can’t just be discarded like trash.

You liked to separate things into categories: good and bad, right and wrong. A simple method to structure everything, to make sense of your world, and it has worked most of the time.

But now? The limits of those sacred categories look blurred. Your judgment feels unreliable, and you wonder if the choices you’ve made lately have been the correct ones.

Each of your decisions seems to be leading you further down a path you can’t recognize. 

What’s the goal? Finding your soulmate, the voice in your head mockingly answers for the hundredth time, rolling its imaginary eyes. And where is he?

You’ve shut Logan out, a man who’s made it clear he has feelings for you, for this elusive person. Isn’t it time he steps into the light at long last?

This is what you fear the most: loneliness.

You don’t want to be the lone woman who sits by herself in a cafe, drawing pity from waitresses who discuss her solitude. By no means do you wish to be that friend who dispenses wise dating advice, but goes home to an empty bed. You refuse to become the godmother whose hand no one holds when her time comes.

No, this can’t be all fate has to offer to you. There must be more. If your life were a book, you’d be flipping through the pages to the last chapter, desperate to see how it ends.

Or, better yet, you’d grab a pen and rewrite it yourself. What kind of ending you’ll have—you’re not so sure about that.

It’s Sunday, one of those endless weekends where the only way to survive is by rearranging your entire apartment. You could manage it alone, but help would be nice—Wade’s help, to be more precise, would be perfect for this kind of task, and you find yourself knocking on his door. 

No answer. Deciding to dial his number to see if he’s fallen asleep, you try calling him, waiting through the rings until he finally picks up. “Hey.”

Except it’s not Wade’s voice that answers. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

The door swings open, and Logan appears right behind it, holding Wade’s phone to his ear.

He narrows his eyes, leaning against the frame, a single eyebrow lifted in curiosity. “How sad. You don’t remember what I sound like.”

You feel foolish for still being on the call, so you lock your phone, ending it. “Where’s Wade?” you ask, frowning as you hold your breath, your voice sharper than intended.

“Out and about. Didn’t tell me where he was going,” Logan replies, glaring at you as he raises the phone to your face. “He left without this.”

Abort mission! Nodding in agreement, you begin to step back. “Great, I’ll look for him later.”

You’re close to being locked up once again in the safety of your apartment when you hear him: “You need anything?”

It’s the most he’s said to you in weeks. You hesitate, keeping your back turned. “I’m moving some heavy stuff around. Thought I could use the help.”

“I could do it.”

No. Not really. He’s doing that thing again—offering help when you know you shouldn’t accept it. You shake your head.

“It’s not necessary,” you say, forcing a casual tone.

“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he retorts, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as they draw closer. With each passing second, your options shrink, leaving you no room for retreat. “Don’t worry. I won’t try to kiss you again if that’s what’s got you all worked up.”

“I’m not worked up,” you hiss, and he sidesteps you easily, his arm nudging yours.

The electricity is still there, undeniable, but neither of you has the courage to acknowledge it, acting as though it’s an ordinary occurrence.

His eyes roam the room, like he’s forgotten what your apartment looked like. He pauses by the bookshelf, his fingers gliding over the spine of Jane Eyre, and a low whistle escapes him as he slips it back into place. 

You, frozen at the threshold, feel your irritation simmering just beneath the surface, and the urge to hide in your bedroom only becomes stronger.

After this, you’ll have to burn your favorite book. What a pity.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks, hooking his fingers into the loops of his jeans, his posture both confident and annoyingly relaxed.

There’s a challenge in his tone, and he acts as if you’re the one who pulled him into this situation—like he didn’t worm his way in here.

You gesture toward the couch. “Can you put it by the window?”

He sets to work, moving the smaller pieces of furniture aside to make space for the couch. Under no circumstances are you going to just stand there and watch him sweat.

Instead, you busy yourself with the long-forgotten glasses and cups gathering dust in one of the kitchen cabinets, each one glinting with past disappointments.

Wetting a towel, you start by wiping the rims. The air feels heavily charged with uneasiness, but you're relieved that for once, you can breathe without feeling like you’re on the brink of a heart attack.

You can already imagine Wade’s face when you tell him—

“So,” Logan’s voice cuts through the silence, startling you, “how’s the search going? Got any luck?”

His words have the desired effect on you, and the glass slips from your grasp, shattering against the floor in a crash that mirrors the jump of your heart. You curse under your breath, stepping back from the mess, taking in the shards sprawled around your shoes.

“Be careful,” he says from the other side of the room, still dragging the furniture into place, and you scrutinize him over your shoulder, your brows knitted.

“I don’t need your advice,” you murmur through gritted teeth as you crouch to pick up the larger shards. His attention returns to the couch, but you guess he’s not technically thinking how nice of a person you are.

As you kneel, your hands tremble slightly, and you wonder when that started. You fumble for a larger shard of glass, bracing your hand against the floor for balance, unaware of the smaller piece lying dangerously close to your fingers.

The sting comes fast, slicing through the skin of your pinky. You flinch, raising your hand, and Logan, hearing the faint wince, abandons his task and crosses the room to you.

"I don’t need your advice," he echoes, mocking your tone as he squats beside you, his hand closing around yours to inspect the wound. "You’re bleeding."

“Brilliant observation, Sherlock. I hadn’t noticed—” The words die in your throat, your eyes widening as you take a closer look at his hand. “Wait, why are you bleeding?”

He snorts, diverting his attention to his own hand. “What do you mean I’m—” Whatever it is he intended to shoot back remains unsaid as both of you stare down at the small cut in his pinky.

Driven by instinct, you place your hands side by side, your finger grazing his. The cuts are identical: same place, same width, same depth. The only difference is his vanishes within seconds, leaving only a few droplets of crimson blood as evidence.

Logan couldn’t have cut himself. He was nowhere near the glass. “Are you…?” You swallow thickly, trying to string together a coherent thought, dizziness making its triumphant appearance. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yes.”

“And what is that—”

“I need a drink.”

“Can you stop acting like a dick for one second?” You peer into his glossy eyes, watching him try to avoid your gaze, though he can’t seem to resist. “Please, Logan. Look at me.”

When he does, his mouth parts as if to speak, then closes again. “I don’t understand. I thought I didn’t have a soulmate.” His gruff tone slows even further, like he's straining to push the words from his lungs. “I thought—I thought I was alone.”

It explains so much: how your scars had reappeared once he and Wade returned from The Void. 

The instant attraction, the yearning to be near him.

The dread that washed over you each time he walked away.

The dreams that plagued your nights, and the tightness in your chest these past few weeks that made you wonder if you could ever coexist in the same space as him without breaking apart.

All those times you felt he was getting closer weren’t just a figment of your imagination—he was, in fact, right there.

But he wasn’t just anyone—it was him. Logan is your soulmate. You two are meant to be together. How long would it take for you to truly believe it? Until it no longer sounded like something too good to be true?

Without uttering a sound, Logan gazes at you, silently pleading to see them. To see your scars. You extend your arm, and with a gentle motion, he rolls up the sleeve of your shirt, revealing the marks etched into your skin.

He runs his fingers along the lines, trying to understand the bond you now share—both his and yours.

In a sense, you’re his. You carry his scars, the physical manifestation of the life he has lived. Even though he may not bear any of his own, you do, and that’s more than enough.

He belongs to you just as much as you belong to him.

“There are more,” you tell him. your voice barely above a whisper. He stands, offering you his hand, and you take it, rising to your feet. Logan inches closer, his mouth hovering just above yours, his large hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The look he gives you is one reserved for those he loves, a look filled with such warmth and affection that it almost feels dreamlike.

“Do you want me to see them?” he inquires, and all he needs is a nod from you to gently tug your shirt up your chest and over your head.

He lets out a dry chuckle when you attempt to tame your hair, the effort proving to be in vain. The clock on the wall seems to pause its ticking the moment his fingers begin to trail each of the scars that captures his gaze.

You can’t even begin to fathom what thoughts might be swirling in his mind, but if the flicker of lust and desire you catch in his expression is anything to go by, you’re not so worried.

Logan’s touch carries an unexpected softness, a tenderness you never imagined a man like him could possess.

Deep down, you wish he understood that these scars don’t hurt, that they never have. “I’m okay,” you reassure him, prompting him to explore more of your skin, to claim you as his.

“Do you… like them?” he asks without meeting your eyes.

Do you like my scars? is the real question hidden underneath.

Do you like me? is the one he can’t bring himself to pronounce.

“They’re yours. I could never not like them.” 

Before you stands a man you once believed was meant to be your burden, your trial. Logan had been the earthquake sent to test your endurance, to see how much you could withstand before surrendering and waving the white flag.

The same fingers that once imprinted his mark on you now linger on the strap of your bra, waiting for you to decide whether to let him go further or stop.

Desire has a limit before it overwhelms. There’s only so much need a person can contain before it spills over, uncontrollable and raw.

This game, one you never learned how to play, feels as foreign to him as it does to you—neither of you knows the rules.

“Can I see more?” He’s still talking about the scars, still fumbling with the strap, and you nod, your eyelids growing droopier as you take his free hand and direct it to the front of your jeans.

He catches the hint, undoing the button with ease, allowing you to shed the last layers of restraint.

Bare, moments away from being completely naked, standing in stark contrast to Logan, who remains fully clothed, your stomach does a flip as he rubs his thumb along the sides of your underwear.

Leaning your forehead against his shoulder, you stifle a sigh when he splays his hand across your lower back, pulling you closer.

His rough grip tightens on your ass, testing the feel of you, while your breathing becomes shallow, erratic.

“What is it, honey?” He slides his fingers your stomach, just below your belly button, brushing a small scar in there. “Want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” you croak, the plea slipping out involuntarily, throwing your arms around his neck. He buries his face against your jaw, his lips parting against your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck.

You tilt your head back, exposing more of your throat to him, breathless as you whisper: “I’ve waited so long.”

He moves toward the couch, and you follow, trying to anticipate what he’s got planned for you. “I know, baby. I know. You’ve waited long enough.” Guiding your body down, he has you lying horizontally on the sofa. He unhooks your bra, kneading your breasts with both hands, eliciting a ragged gasp from you. “But I’m here now. You don’t have to wait any longer,” he huffs by your ear, rolling your nipples between his fingers, his breath mingling with yours, each exhale warm and inviting. “Gonna let me make you feel good? Show you how much I’ve been thinkin’ about you?”

Instead of answering with real words, you surge forward, crashing your lips against with his, reveling in the way he cages you with his biceps, locking you up in a prison of desire from which you never wish to break free. He tries not to settle his full weight on top of you, attentive not to crush you.

As he nips at the column of your throat, you squirm beneath him, canting your hips up to seek the friction you crave.

He presses his knee against your center and you push back, grinding against him with an animalistic urgency.

You can’t recall ever feeling this desperate, this overwhelmed by a man. But then again, he’s unlike any other you’ve encountered in your array of momentary hookups.

His kisses grow even more insistent as breathy moans roll off to your tongue, merging with the occasional creak of the couch beneath your movements.

Logan spreads your thighs wider, sinking to his knees on the floor to tug your lower half forward until your ass is almost hanging in the air. He places your thighs on his shoulders, supporting you as he leans in to pepper your soft flesh with kisses.

One can be certain that he’s marking your inner thighs with a hickey or two, the scratch of his beard feeling magnificent against your sensitive skin, and you can hardly bring yourself to think about the potential burn he’ll leave behind. Logan inhales your scent, the tip of his nose dangerously close to your cunt, and you tangle a hand in his hair as he continues to test your patience.

“Eager?” he wonders aloud, looking at you through his lashes. While maintaining eye contact, he presses a kiss to your clit through the fabric of your panties.

He does it again, and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, his fingers deftly pulling your underwear down your legs.

The first drag of his tongue along your folds has you scrunching your eyebrows in pleasure, tightening your grip on his hair. Logan moans against you, the sound muffled as he dips the tip of his tongue into your entrance, lapping at your arousal with an insatiable hunger.

The way you purr his name—a soft caress, a pat on his back that says Yeah, you’re doing fine—only spurs him on, infusing every one of his ministrations with fervor.

His longing for you radiates in the intensity of his touch, sending shivers through you, making you writhe because of his hands alone.

Your core throbs. Your skin prickles with electricity. Your legs quake on either side of his face. He’s hungry and you’re his feast. He’s parched and you’re the last bottle of water in an arid world.

Logan eats you out like this will be the only time he’ll have the privilege—each movement calculated, pushing all the right buttons, pulling out every trick he knows to make you think No, it doesn’t get any better than this. This is as much as one can get.

Then his fingers join the symphony of pleasure, pumping in and out of you as he keeps flicking your clit with expert precision, and your back arches from the couch, following his pace with your hips. He pushes back, you push forward—he pushes forward, you push back.

Who is enjoying this more: him or you?

His pointed tongue teases your bud, matched with the persistent hammering of his fingers plunged into your wet heat. The combination has you coming on his mouth, falling over the precipice while you struggle to keep yourself together.

Your walls flutter around his digits, and your cries fuse with his groans, both overshadowed by his insatiable desire to savor until the last drop of your release.

Shockwaves ripple through your body and you prop your weight on your arms to capture his lips in a fervent kiss, your eyes rolling rolling back in ecstasy as you taste yourself, a mix of sour and sweet.

In a frenzy, he sheds his clothes, practically tearing them away, and you wrap your hand around his length, stroking him in time with your kisses. Logan pulls back, panting against you, and you steal a glance at him.

Your gaze travels down to his hard cock, the tip a furious red, and he seizes your wrist.

“Why don’t you kiss it better?” he rasps, his voice dropping an octave. In this moment, you’re taken aback by his beauty, and the urge to express it rises within you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur against his thigh, showering his skin with heated kisses. You stare in disbelief at the trail of hair leading to his girth, mouth watering at the sight.

A kiss on the tip, followed by a broad lick along a prominent vein—Logan’s grip on the armrest tightens, his knuckles turning white. “So perfect.”

“Shut up,” he retorts breathlessly, but you revel in the strangled noise that escapes him as you take him deeper, his head disappearing between your lips. His palm rests on your nape, anchoring you in place. “Goddammit. The fuckin’—mouth you have on you.”

You try to take him in further once you’re feeling more confident, while Logan fights with all his might against the need to thrust his hips up into your warmth. He can’t stay still, grunting and smothering you with lavish praise that heightens your arousal, slick pouring out of you in waves.

“Pretty thing you are. Don’t even know how to function around you. You got me all—fuck, actin’ all stupid.”

At one point, he tells you to stop, because he doesn’t want to come just yet. You know what comes next as he rubs his cock along your folds, blending your wetness with his precum.

It’s sloppy, and dirty, and messy—and God, do you love it.

He sinks into you and the world collides in a way you never expected. Everything you thought you knew falls apart, leaving you stranded in unfamiliar territory.

You can’t comprehend how you’ve spent so many years without him. Without this.

Your lips find his, and he swallows every sound he punches out of your lungs. His thrusts grow harder and faster as you adjust to his size, how big he feels inside you.

He digs his fingers into the globes of your ass, yanking you towards his shaft every time he fucks into you. You feel the brush of his balls against your skin, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.

To this day, it’s still hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that love is what humans both strive and die for.

You come to understand it fully as his eyes flicker to yours, checking for any signs of discomfort in your features.

You understand why people write books and songs about love when he breathes your name in the shell of your ear, chanting how good you’re taking him, how tight and wet you are for him.

You understand the place love occupies in your life as the sound of your bodies slapping together creates a melody which has never been played before.

You understand why you’ve searched for this your entire life, lifting every carpet in hopes of uncovering the love you’ve pined for.

In the past, it had always felt like a race—finding your soulmate before the clock struck twelve. Now that you have him, you wonder what the future holds for you, how this connection will evolve.

For now, you can allow yourself the possibility of relishing the drag of his cock in your interior. His pace doesn’t falter for a second—something about mutants and their non-stop stamina, no doubt. He shoves a hand between your sweaty bodies, rubbing circles on your already swollen bud.

Each time he fills you to the brim, you have to ground yourself, resisting the pull of an altered reality.

“So full,” you blurt out, mewling with a specially hard thrust, a chocked sob lodged in your throat. “Please, stay.”

It could mean many things: Please, keep fucking me. Please, don’t leave after this. Please, remain by my side form this moment onward, because I don’t know how to go on with my life now that I’ve experienced this closeness.

Whatever meaning he ascribes to your words is of little importance. He tightens his arms around you, kissing you deeply, tongue and teeth clashing as they compete to see who wins the battle. “Never. I’m never lettin’ you go, y’hear me?”

Heat pools in your lower back, a coiling tension radiating through your limbs. “You’re mine, princess. Can’t afford to lose you now that I found you. Gonna remind you every day.”

His rambling pushes you over the edge, your dripping cunt spasming around him as you reach your climax, moaning his name against his shoulder. You cling to him, convulsing beneath his body, and he grinds his hips into yours, his chest rumbling as he growls.

“Inside,” you mumble, extending your hand to press it to his waist. “Need you inside me. Please, I want it so bad.”

Logan stutters against you, his forehead falling against your collarbone as he finishes with one powerful thrust, his cock pulsing warm ropes of come within your cunt. You clench around him, whining as he prolongs both your pleasure and his, milking the last drop of his seed. His voice is a constant murmur, filling every space in the room until he slumps against you.

Night has fallen. The cut on your pinky no longer stings. Your scars, after all, are still there, nestled against Logan’s unmarked skin. You caress his back, sighing contentedly as a wave of peace washes over you.

You’ve never felt this relaxed.

Logan grasps your chin and tilts it up, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey,” he mutters, his gaze roaming all over your face.

You cup his cheek, his rough stubble grazing your palm. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see.”

A genuine laugh pierces through the silence. the kind he rarely allows himself. Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, his brow furrowing as he glances at you with love.

Love—hadn’t you pondered its existence for so long? Your fuel for living, the muse behind your best poems, a recurring motif in your fantasies.

Love now has Logan’s name written in ink, no longer a blank canvas awaiting its unknown owner. No—it’s all his now.

You’d do it all over again if it meant ending up like this, tangled and intertwined, with the promise of a future together. He has many stories to share—about his past universe, about himself. You have secrets to unveil, too. There’s so much you both have yet to discover about each other.

But time isn’t up. This isn’t a race, you remind yourself: things are just getting started.

Everywhere you go, every place you attempt to set foot in, there it is. Love is dressed up in an expensive silk robe, a ribbon tied neatly on top of it. You reach closer, trying to unravel it, though it's pointless. The moment love sees you—truly sees your longing for it—it flees, and you struggle to keep up. Love runs faster than anyone, hiding within the bushes, counting the seconds until its next appearance.

Finally, you’ve wrapped love around your finger.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[ridingthatd]

pathetic submissive business men

nanami, higuruma...

contains: fem!reader, nsfw, heavy smut, submission, masturbation, squirting, toys, bdsm, nipple play, orgasm deny, teasing, dirty talk, good boy, kinky, filthy, stroking cock, etc...

higuruma:

it was indeed a long night as the room silence was filled with wet, sloppy noises coming from your cold hands aggressively stroking higurumas filthy flushed cock. his red tip kept spilling white bioled precum that slid through yours fingers in your palm, keeping your hand warm. while his teary face was shoved into your neck, his hot, foggy breath hitting your collarbones. as he hiccup and sob, to overwhelmed by the pleasure that fogged his mind.

his huge thighs that were under yours, were trembling and clenching the muscles in them. while his rough hands were busy with your swollen nipples, pinching them between his fingers hard, trying to milk anything out of it. after that was your deal. you wouldn't let higuruma cum, you wouldn't let higuruma spill his warm seeds unless he manage to squeeze milk out of your nub.

"hic- i can't- please.. i-" he sobs pathetically into your neck, his tears slidding from his face into your boobs hitting your sensitive nipples. his fat cock was wrapped around with both of your hands, squeezing him, drying him. while a red silk rob was wrapped around his balls, making sure his seeds are ready to explode. but you wouldn't let him, its been what? hours since the torture started.

your hands stop tugging on his cock as soon as you feel the familiar throb of his cock, indicating he was going to cum. "NO! NO!-" higuruma whines at the lose of your delicate hands, trying to thrust his hips up but your thick thighs that were on top of his stops him. "shhh baby you gotta try harder hm?" you coo at him, sliding the tip of your finger gently along his sensitive tip before you suck it into your mouth.

he nodes eagerly into your neck, his drool leaving his lips and slipping into your neck. you gasp as higuruma leans in and take a nipple of yours into his mouth, suckling hard on it. you can feel his cock twitching just from having the taste of it. and he does something that seems to trigger your whole body.

he harshly bites on your nipples causing you to groan into the ceiling and the next thing you know was that your other nipple that he was squeezing with his finger starts gushing milk out of it, slidding down your tummy and landing into his flushed fat cock. higuruma gasp as he feels your warm milk on his cock.

eyes rolling back his skull as his whole body twitch and it only took one word for his cock to explode. "cum" you whisper into his ear before you take his earlobe into your mouth. robs of seeds explode out of his red tip. you gently shush him as he sobs into your neck telling of how a good boy he was.

nanami:

you loved nanamis huge muscles chest. you always did, and tonight you made sure to show them alot of love. here he was tied up on your shared bed, blindfolded. while two small vibrators were placed on his swollen nipples. his face was twisted on pleasure you can barely recognize the nanami in front of you. he look desperate. as he tried to hump his hard bare cock into the air.

he looked beautiful, laying down naked with his bare fat cock on hitting his abdomen. messy blonde hair placed on his forehead while his huge biceps were tied together. you slowly place your hand on his thighs and nanami groans as he feels the warm oil that you placed on him. you gently started to rub it all over him. making sure to coat his cock with it. while he whines under you.

once you reach his chest, you remove the vibrators. you smirk as you stare at the look of relief in nanamis face, little did he know you had something better. nanami breath hitch as he feels your fingers twisting his nipples hard before you place a cold tube on them. "are you ready?" you whisper into his ear, earning a confused look that was soon replaced with whimper.

nanami groans as he a feel a suction feeling on his nipples, it hits him that you placed a nipple pumper on him. his eyes rolls at the feelings his nipples were being to simulated. "open your mouth for me" nanami insistently obey, opening his jaw. moaning as he feels your warm spit landing on his tongue.

he thinks he might cum from his nipples alone and little did he know thats exactly what you wanted. "baby- ah! remove this shit-" nanami cries out embarrassed not wanting to finish already. he's sweating, his abs are clenching. he can't control the way his body starts twitching as he tries to hold back his orgasm.

"cum baby, do it" you teasingly coo at him causing him to shake his had immediately, clenching his jaw trying to control himself. but once you give his sensitive cock a slap. he lose it. his back arch, before he's spilling all over his abdomen while you stare at him in awe.

[faebled-stories]

Tangled In Bliss

Kinkvember Day 11: Suspension Play/Stuck

Le Sserafim Nakamura Kazuha x Male reader

6.5k words

AN: A little later than when I normally upload, I'm still recovering 😅

“And… finished.” The soft murmur of satisfaction filled the tranquil yoga room as Kazuha stepped back to admire her setup. The aerial yoga hammock hung from the ceiling, swaying gently, as though eagerly awaiting her first move. The silky fabric, a rich teal that shimmered in the afternoon light, looked both delicate and strong—inviting her to stretch and soar. She felt a surge of pride at how smoothly everything had come together, the setup a small victory of her own making.

Although this wasn’t her first experience with aerial yoga, Kazuha felt a renewed sense of excitement bubbling up inside. As a former ballerina, she’d always been curious about practices that allowed her to blend strength with grace. She’d tried aerial yoga a few times before but now had her own space to explore her incredible flexibility and strength. Today felt special, charged even—she had the entire afternoon to herself, with no one around but the soft hum of the house and the silky fabric swaying before her.

There was something thrilling, almost rebellious, about using the silks alone. You were at work, and the idea of surprising you with a new skill filled her with warmth. After all, it was your mutual love of fitness that brought you together. She wanted you to see this side of her—a little daring, unrestrained, pushing her limits in the privacy of her own space.

With a slight smile, Kazuha tied her hair back and glanced at her phone, where she’d queued up a progression of aerial yoga poses, each one more challenging than the last. Taking a steadying breath, she positioned herself on the soft mat, hands reaching for the silk. Her fingers brushed the cool, smooth fabric, and she allowed herself to pause for a moment, savoring the anticipation building in her chest.

In one fluid motion, she lifted herself into the hammock, her muscles tensing and releasing as she rose, letting her body find its center of gravity. Her abs tightened, her legs wrapped around the silk, and she hung in a graceful inversion, her body suspended in a beautiful arc. Her arms extended, fingertips barely grazing the air as she floated in silence, the room holding its breath alongside her.

Kazuha caught her reflection in the mirror across the room—a flash of her toned legs, toes perfectly pointed, abs taut and defined. The vibrant pink of her yoga pants hugged her curves, emphasizing the elegant lines of her body. She shifted gracefully into a split, her legs stretching outward, the silks framing her in an effortless display of flexibility. She felt strong and empowered, her body weightless, movements held by the silks that supported her like an invisible dance partner.

Feeling a surge of confidence, she moved to the next level. She consulted her phone, noting the series of poses that lay ahead, each promising to test her balance and strength. She twisted her torso, lifting one leg while keeping the other wrapped securely. Her muscles tensed as she held the position, a soft sigh of exertion escaping her lips. The strain was real, but she relished the challenge, her body responding eagerly to the test.

Glancing down at her phone, she saw the final, more advanced pose displayed—a daring inversion requiring a deep backbend with her legs pulled high above her head. Kazuha paused, her heart pounding with both excitement and nerves, but her determination won out. Carefully, she shifted her weight and positioned her legs. Her abs tightened, arms supporting her as she brought her legs up and over, stretching her torso into a breathtaking arch. The silks wound securely around her thighs, but just as she settled into the pose, something went wrong.

Her foot slipped from the silk, and before she could react, the hammock tightened abruptly around her thighs, pulling her legs higher. Her body jerked as the fabric constricted around her, her legs now awkwardly bent above her head. She tried to reposition, but the silks only seemed to tighten further, locking her in place.

“Wait… what?” she gasped, heat flooding her cheeks. She struggled, twisting and wriggling, but the more she moved, the more the silks seemed to bind her, trapping her in a suspended split. Her arms hung helplessly at her sides, unable to reach for leverage. She let out a frustrated sigh, her gaze falling to her phone just out of reach on the floor. If she could only swing herself closer, maybe she could grab it. Determined, she rocked her body, fingers stretching, trying to build momentum, but the hammock refused to budge, keeping her immobilized in an elegant, albeit precarious, pose.

As she swung slightly, her mind began to wander. The thought of you finding her like this—stuck and vulnerable—sent a strange thrill down her spine. Her cheeks warmed as she imagined your reaction. Part of her was frustrated, but another part, one she didn’t often acknowledge, felt a curious excitement.

Minutes ticked by, but to her, it felt like an eternity. With each passing second, her frustration grew, mingling with the anticipation she couldn’t quite shake. Her gaze drifted back to the door, half hoping, half dreading the moment you’d walk in.

Then, just as she was resigning herself to a lengthy wait, the sound of the front door opening shattered the quiet. Her heart leapt, caught between relief and sudden embarrassment, as your voice echoed through the house, warm and familiar.

“Zuha? My love, I’m home!”

She bit her lip, hesitating as she fought down the blush that threatened to rise again. Finally, she called out, her voice a little shaky, “Baaabe? Could you… come to my yoga room?”

As you entered the room, the scene before you was enough to make you pause, taking in every detail. There she was—suspended in the air, her legs folded above her head, arms helplessly dangling at her sides. Her cheeks were flushed, a hint of vulnerability in her usually confident gaze. Her body was wrapped in silk, held by the taut fabric, and despite her embarrassment, she looked breathtaking.

For a moment, your concern was visible, but as the situation fully registered, a grin crept across your face. Leaning against the doorway, you crossed your arms, unable to resist the teasing. “Well, well... what do we have here?” you murmured, eyebrow raised. “Zuha, how exactly did you manage this?”

Kazuha squirmed slightly, her face burning even brighter as she looked away, mumbling under her breath. “I was… trying a new position, and I lost my balance,” she muttered defensively. “Now I’m stuck. Could you just help me get down?”

You chuckled, stepping closer with a glint of mischief in your eye. Slowly, you traced a finger along the edge of the silks wrapped tightly around her thighs. She shivered at the soft touch, her breath catching as it quickened slightly. "Are you sure you're not hurt?" you asked, letting your voice dip, a note of seriousness slipping through.

She shook her head, biting her lip. “No, I’m fine,” she replied, her voice wavering just slightly. “Just… stuck and incredibly embarrassed.”

A soft smirk played at your lips as you leaned closer, your face just inches from hers. “Good,” you whispered, your breath grazing her ear. “Because you look surprisingly comfortable up there.” Her blush deepened, and you could see a flicker of something more in her eyes—an unspoken thrill.

Before she could respond, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, then brushing her lips with yours. She melted into the kiss, her shoulders relaxing as her breathing steadied, a subtle warmth spreading over her cheeks.

With a quiet chuckle, you took a step back, shrugging nonchalantly. "I'm going to freshen up. Long day at work, you know?" You added a playful push to the hammock, setting it into a gentle sway, and her gaze softened as she watched you move toward the hallway.

"Just hang tight," you called over your shoulder with a grin, leaving her nestled and content in the gentle sway.

“What?! Babe, don’t you dare—” she started, her voice rising in disbelief, but it was too late. You’d already disappeared down the hall, and the soft sound of the bathroom door closing echoed through the quiet house.

Suspended in the air, Kazuha let out an exasperated sigh, her face flushed with both frustration and something else she couldn’t quite define. She wriggled again, hoping to somehow loosen the silks, but the hammock’s hold remained firm. Her legs were trapped in an elevated split, the silks gripping her tightly, leaving her completely immobilized. Her phone was tantalizingly close on the floor below, but there was nothing she could do but wait.

A mix of emotions swirled inside her—embarrassment, irritation, and a spark of anticipation she hadn’t expected. She couldn’t help but wonder what you’d do when you returned. Being at your mercy, bound in the hammock and unable to move, filled her with a thrill she hadn’t felt before. Her mind raced, and despite herself, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

When you finally returned, your casual grin grew wider at the sight of her still suspended and completely helpless. “How's it hanging...Still stuck?” you teased, stepping closer, your eyes tracing the lines of her toned body. She glared at you, though her flustered expression and pink cheeks betrayed her mixed feelings. “Obviously,” she muttered, trying to sound irritated. “Are you going to help me down now?”

You held her gaze, your fingers lightly trailing up the silks that bound her thighs. “You look so graceful up there,” you mused, voice soft as your fingers traced the line of her legs, moving higher with tantalizing slowness. You stopped just shy of the waistband of her yoga pants, eyes darkening with a playful glint.

“I mean, I could let you down now,” you whispered, leaning in close enough that she could feel your breath on her skin, “but where’s the fun in that?”

Kazuha’s heart raced as she felt your touch move higher, stopping just shy of the waistband of her yoga pants. Your voice was low and teasing with eyes dark with playful intent.

"Tell me, How much did there cost you?" you murmured, your voice a low, sultry purr that seemed to resonate with the intimacy of the moment. Your fingers continued their dance along the fabric, each touch sending a ripple of anticipation through Kazuha's body.

Kazuha blinked, her long lashes fluttering against her flushed cheeks as she processed your question. "Uh... eighty dollars?" she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper, a hint of confusion mingling with the growing desire in her eyes.

Your hand paused, and for a moment, your expression shifted to one of thoughtful contemplation. Then, as if a delightful idea had struck you, a mischievous grin spread across your face, transforming it into a portrait of playful intentions.

"Eighty dollars, huh?" You shrugged nonchalantly, the picture of confidence and control. "I can afford that."

Before Kazuha could utter another word, you gripped the fabric of her pants with a determined hand, right at the point where it covered her wet, eager folds. With a swift, forceful motion, you tore the pants open, the sound of the fabric ripping echoing through the room like a sharp, tantalizing prelude to the symphony of pleasure that was to come.

Kazuha gasped, the cool air rushing against her newly exposed skin, sending a shiver of delight mixed with shock coursing through her body. "B-Baby!" she stammered, her body tensing, her heart racing as she realized just how vulnerable and exposed she was to you in that moment.

Your smirk deepened, your eyes darkening with desire as you leaned in closer, your hand now trailing down to explore the slickness of her folds. "You're already soaked," you murmured, your voice low and teasing, the vibrations of your words adding to the sensation of your fingers as they grazed her wetness. "Were you hoping this would happen?"

Kazuha whimpered softly, her body trembling at your touch, her legs still suspended above her, held in place by the hammock's gentle embrace. She was completely at your mercy, her body aching with anticipation and need.

"You're the perfect height for this," you growled, the animalistic edge to your voice betraying your excitement. You positioned yourself between her legs, your eyes lingering on the sight before you—Kazuha, open and vulnerable, her body a canvas of desire. "I think I'm going to enjoy this."

With a wicked grin, you knelt on the thin yoga matt that covered the floor, placing yourself perfectly between Kazuha's legs. You began by kissing her inner thighs gently, your lips leaving a trail of warmth as you worked your way up slowly, teasing her with your breath, your intention clear. Kazuha squirmed slightly, her body aching with anticipation, but the hammock kept her perfectly still, leaving her completely exposed to your ministrations.

Your lips hovered just inches from her core, your breath hot against her sensitive skin. Kazuha's body trembled in response, a silent plea for more. You pressed a soft, lingering kiss against her pussy, a promise of the pleasure to come. Looking up at her with a teasing smirk, you held her gaze, the connection between you electric and unbreakable.

"You're so perfect, I'm the luckiest man in the world." you murmured, your voice low and filled with a longing that resonated in the stillness. "I could do this all day."

Kazuha's breath hitched, a staccato rhythm against the symphony of nature's chorus. Your words, a balm to her soul, sent shivers cascading through her body, electrifying every nerve ending. She had always reveled in the appreciation of her figure—a testament to her dedication and discipline. But when those words of adoration came from you, they pierced through her defenses, reaching depths she hadn't known existed within her.

Your gaze was a physical touch, locked onto her trembling form with an intensity that heightened her arousal to near-unbearable heights. You drank in the sight of her, the rise and fall of her chest, the flush that painted her skin, and the way her body responded to the timbre of your voice. She could feel herself throbbing, her core reacting with involuntary clenches, a silent plea for more. A soft whimper escaped her lips, a sound that seemed to reverberate through the very air around you.

You smiled, a knowing, predatory grin that acknowledged her body's betrayal of its own need. "You love that, don't you? The way I talk about you... I can see you your pussy quiver from every word." Your words were a velvet caress, wrapping around her, pulling her deeper into the web of your shared desire.

With a deliberate slowness that bordered on cruelty, your tongue flicked out, teasing her clit with a light touch that promised more. Then, with a feral hunger, you pressed your mouth fully against her, devouring her with deep, slow licks that sent shockwaves of pleasure through her suspended form. Kazuha gasped, her legs trembling within the silken embrace of the hammock as the pleasure shot through her core like a starburst. Her hips instinctively tried to buck, to meet the rhythm of your mouth, but the silks held her firmly in place, leaving her suspended and completely at your mercy.

You licked her deliberately, tracing her slick folds with your tongue as you worked her closer and closer to the precipice of ecstasy. Your hands, strong and sure, gripped her thighs, holding her in place as your mouth moved against her with expert precision. You kissed and sucked on her clit, each movement building her up, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm her senses.

Kazuha's breath came in ragged gasps, her body trembling as the pleasure intensified. Her abs, already flexed from the effort of maintaining balance within the hammock, tightened even more with every movement of your tongue. She could feel her muscles contracting, every inch of her body reacting to the sensations you were giving her, a dance of ecstasy that left her teetering on the edge.

"God, you taste so good," you groaned between kisses, your voice rough with lust. "I can't believe how beautiful and sexy you are. Your body’s amazing, baby." The compliments made Kazuha's core tighten even more, a coil winding ever tighter within her. Every word you spoke seemed to drive her wild, her pussy clenching involuntarily in response to your praise. She could feel her climax building, a tide that threatened to sweep her away. Her legs quivered in the hammock, her body tensing in delicious anticipation of the release that was sure to come.

You weren’t holding back. You pressed your mouth harder against her, your tongue flicking rapidly over her clit as you pushed her closer to the edge. You let go of her legs and pushed forward with your face, using gravity to press her pussy deeper into your mouth. The hammock’s tension added to the sensation, her own body weight pushing her harder against your lips and tongue, making every movement more intense.

Kazuha's voice, tremulous with need, pierced the air. "Oh god, You feel so fucking good!" she cried out, her desperation palpable. Her abdominal muscles contracted with such force that it bordered on pain, the tension in her core coiling like a spring as her body quivered on the brink of ecstasy.

Your voice, a dark melody of seduction, teased her mercilessly. "You're close, aren't you?" you murmured, looking up to meet her gaze, your eyes alight with mischief and desire. "I can feel how much you're throbbing. Cum for me, baby, I know you want to."

Her response was a whimper, a sound that seemed to be torn from the very depths of her being. Her legs, ensnared by the hammock's embrace, trembled as her climax loomed ever closer. You were relentless, your mouth working tirelessly to push her over the edge. The pleasure was building, a crescendo that threatened to consume her entirely.

Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, you pulled back slightly, your lips leaving her clit for just a moment before your hand came down in a sharp slap against her pussy.

Kazuha’s entire body jolted at the sudden sting, her back arching as the pain and pleasure mixed together. Her breath hitched, her abs contracting violently as her pussy throbbed in response. Before she could recover, you slapped her again, the sharp sensation sending her spiraling.

“Come on, Zuha,” you growled, your voice thick with desire. “I know, you love getting spanked.”

With one final, powerful slap, Kazuha’s body shattered.

Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her entire body convulsing in the hammock as her pussy clenched and pulsed uncontrollably. Her abs flexed so hard that every muscle in her core stood out, looking like it was chiseled from stone, her thighs trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. The force of her climax left her breathless, her cries filling the room as she came harder than ever before.

But you were not finished. You leaned forward once more, your mouth finding her again, your tongue laving her through the aftershocks. Your relentless attention to her overstimulated clit elicited another chorus of cries from Kazuha, her body shaking uncontrollably as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm her once more.

"Fuck, you truly are one of a kind, baby," you groaned against her, your own arousal evident in your voice. Your tongue continued to worship her sensitive flesh, each flick timed perfectly with the erratic beating of her heart. Her pussy responded in kind, clenching and releasing as her body rode the waves of her orgasm.

Spent and sated, Kazuha could only whimper softly, her body a boneless, contented weight in the hammock. Her legs, still gently swaying, twitched with the remnants of her climax as she struggled to catch her breath. 

You finally pulled back, your lips brushing softly over her trembling core one last time before you looked up at her. Your eyes, filled with satisfaction, met hers, which were clouded with the aftermath of her climax. "You're gorgeous," you whispered, your voice a symphony of admiration. "I could watch you cum all day."

Kazuha's body continued to shudder, her mind a haze of pleasure as she struggled to draw breath. Her toned abdomen still flexed, quivering from the intensity of her release, and her sensitive flesh throbbed with the sweet ache of overstimulation, her body twitching with every lingering touch.

You stood slowly, your hands tracing a path along her silken thighs before leaning in to press a soft, possessive kiss to her abdomen. "I'm not done with you yet," you murmured against her skin, a playful intent lacing your words.

Kazuha whimpered softly, her body deliciously spent yet still eager for more. She was completely at your mercy, surrendering to the vulnerability and reveling in every moment of it.

You took a step back, your gaze darkening with desire as it roamed over her trembling form. Your hands gripped her hips, adjusting her position in the hammock, pulling her just high enough that your hips aligned perfectly. You positioned yourself between her legs, the tip of your arousal brushing against her slick folds, teasing her with the promise of what was to come.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," you growled, your voice rough with anticipation as you locked eyes with her. "Look at you, dripping and so ready for me."

Without further ado, you thrust into her, your length filling her completely in one powerful motion. Kazuha gasped, her back arching as the hammock swayed beneath her, enhancing every movement. The gentle rocking, combined with the slow, deliberate rhythm of your thrusts, made every sensation more exquisite.

The angle was perfection—your hands gripping her hips tightly as you drove into her, each thrust deeper than the last. The hammock cradled her suspended at just the right height, her legs spread wide above her, offering herself to you entirely.

"Baby," you whispered against her ear, your voice thick with lust. "You feel so fucking good like this."

Kazuha could only moan in response, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pleasure mounted rapidly. Her body trembled beneath you, every thrust propelling her closer to the precipice of another shattering release. The way you manipulated the hammock to control her movements, adjusting her height and angle, made each plunge feel impossibly deep.

Your grip on her hips tightened, pulling her down onto you with every motion. "You're mine," you asserted, your thrusts growing harder, more intense as you watched her body react to yours. "Completely mine."

Kazuha whimpered, her legs quivering in the hammock as the pleasure spiraled faster and faster. She could feel herself teetering on the edge of another orgasm, her entire being trembling as you relentlessly drove her toward the brink.

"I... I can't...hold on, I need to cum" Kazuha moaned, her voice shaky with the effort to articulate the overwhelming sensations coursing through her.

You smirked down at Kazuha, your eyes dark with the intensity of your longing. "Not yet," you growled, your thrusts slowing down just enough to keep her hanging on the brink. "Hold on longer for me." The playful yet commanding tone in your voice sent a shiver down her spine.

With a playful grin, you suddenly pushed her away slightly in the hammock, the fabric rocking her gently backwards. The momentum of the swing brought her body crashing back into yours, your length driving deeper inside her as the force of the motion sent shockwaves of pleasure through her.

Kazuha gasped, her breath catching in her throat as the hammock swung her back again, only to bring her crashing into your hips once more. Every swing sent you deeper, every impact more intense than the last, leaving her trembling and breathless.

Your hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as you repeated the motion, pushing her away and letting her swing back into you, the hammock amplifying the force of every thrust. Kazuha's entire body trembled beneath you, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure became too much to bear.

"Oh god—please," she whimpered, her body swinging back into you again. The rhythm of the hammock and your powerful thrusts left her breathless, the force of each movement driving you deeper into her.

You grinned darkly, watching her unravel beneath you. "You feel that, Zuha?" you growled, your eyes dark with lust. "You're taking every inch of me."

As her body swung back into you again, your thrusts became harder, stronger, each one meeting her with an overwhelming intensity. Kazuha's breath came in ragged gasps, her entire body trembling in the silks as she was rocked back and forth, every movement sending you deeper inside her.

But then, Kazuha instinctively leaned forward slightly, using her weight to move toward you as she swung back into your hips. Your eyes glinted with desire as you took the opportunity, grabbing her weightless body mid-swing and slamming her back into you with even more force.

Kazuha's body jolted violently with the impact, her eyes fluttering closed as you began pounding into her harder and harder, your thrusts driving her deeper with each movement. You weren't holding back anymore, your hands gripping her hips tightly as you met each swing with a powerful thrust that sent you even impossibly deep inside her.

Kazuha gasped, her breath catching in her throat as the pleasure became overwhelming. Her legs trembled, her entire body quivering uncontrollably in the hammock as you drove into her relentlessly. Every thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through her core, the sensation so intense that she could barely breathe.

"You're mine," you growled, your voice rough with desire. "All mine, Zuha, say it."

"I-I'm yours," she panted, "all yours, every part of me is claimed by you."

The force of your thrusts, combined with the swinging motion of the hammock, left Kazuha on the verge of collapse. Her vision blurred, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as the pleasure consumed her. She could feel herself losing control, her body trembling violently as you pounded into her with unrelenting force.

"Please, can I cum, it's so deep," Kazuha whimpered, her voice trembling as she teetered on the edge of consciousness. Her legs were shaking, her entire body quivering as the intense pleasure pushed her closer and closer to the breaking point.

In response to her desperate plea, you reached out, your hands finding purchase on her weightless, hanging body. With a surge of strength, you brought her hips to meet yours with an unbelievable pace, each thrust harder and faster than the last. The hammock swayed wildly, a pendulum of passion, as you drove her further into the abyss of pleasure.

The world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you locked in a dance as old as time. The rhythm of your bodies moving in harmony, the crescendo building with each passionate stroke, was all that mattered. Kazuha's body arched, her muscles tensing as she finally surrendered to the overwhelming force within her.

You could feel it too—her body trembling, her warmth clenching around you as you drove into her faster and harder. You leaned down, your breath hot against her skin as you groaned, "Cum for me, baby." and with a cervix kissing thrust, you buried yourself deep inside her, holding Kazuha in place as her body convulsed in your arms.

She let out an ear piercing scream, her entire body shuddering as another orgasm tore through her, even more intense than the previous. Her legs quivered, her pussy clenching and pulsing around you as the waves of pleasure overtook her. It was a sight to behold—her body, a temple of ecstasy, responding to your touch with such unbridled intensity.

You weren’t far behind. You groaned loudly, resuming the rhythmic jerking of your hips as your own climax hit you hard. You released her hips and let go completely, pulling out of her just in time to finish. The force of your release sent streams of your hot, creamy seed spraying across Kazuha’s trembling body.

Thick streams of your essence splattered onto her slick, trembling pussy, coating her toned abs. even slightly reaching her flushed face. Kazuha gasped softly as she felt the warm sensation spread across her skin, her entire body still quivering from the intensity of her second orgasm.

Her abs flexed involuntarily with each aftershock, her muscles taut and trembling as you stood above her, panting heavily. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you watched the last drops of your release drip down her body, mixing with the sheen of sweat on her skin. For a moment, you couldn’t move, mesmerized by the sight of Kazuha’s limp, weightless form hanging in the air, her body gently swinging back and forth as she lay dazed and spent.

Kazuha’s legs twitched slightly, her eyes half-lidded as she floated in and out of consciousness, the aftershocks still rippling through her core. Her entire body quivered, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as the hammock continued to sway gently beneath her. Her skin glistened in the low light, her muscles still trembling from the overwhelming intensity of it all.

Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, leaning over her slightly, captivated by the sight of her completely undone, quivering and dazed in the silks. You reached out, your fingers brushing softly over her slick abs, feeling the way her body twitched beneath your touch.

“Wow,” you whispered, your voice still rough from the exertion. “That was incredible.”

Kazuha let out a soft, tired moan, her head rolling slightly as her body swung gently, still too weak to move. She was completely spent, her body trembling uncontrollably as the last waves of pleasure washed over her. Your touch lingered on her skin, the weight of your hand grounding her as she floated in a haze of exhaustion and satisfaction.

You watched her carefully, your heart pounding as you took in the sight of her—dazed, quivering, and utterly at your mercy. You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her sweat-slicked forehead before pulling back, letting her swing gently in the hammock, her body still pulsing from the intensity of what you’d shared.

The room was filled with the soft creaking of the hammock and the quiet sound of your ragged breathing. Kazuha’s body still quivered, her legs trembling as she hung limply in the silks, completely spent and overwhelmed by the intensity of everything that had just happened. Her head tilted back, her breath coming in shallow gasps, but her eyes, wide and filled with emotion, glistened with unshed tears.

Her lips parted as she tried to speak, her voice shaky and fragmented. “I... I love you...” she whispered, her breath catching as tears welled up in her eyes. “I... can’t... believe... it... was so...good”

Kazuha, her body still resonating with the aftershocks of an intense climax, lay in the hammock, its soft sway a mere whisper against the tumultuous feelings coursing through her. The tears that welled in her eyes were not born of sorrow but of an overwhelming sense of love and awe, a testament to the profound connection that had just been shared.

Your heart, as the observer of her vulnerability, swelled with a tender affection. Seeing her so exposed, her body quivering and her eyes brimming with love, triggered an instinctive desire within you to care for her, to ensure her well-being amidst the emotional tempest.

"Shh, Zuha," you murmured, your voice a soothing balm as you drew nearer, your words infused with warmth and concern. "I've got you, love. I know... I know it was a lot."

Her breath caught as she attempted once more to voice her feelings, her words barely audible through the tears that escaped down her cheeks. "I... I love you... so much," she whispered, her voice fractured by the intensity of her emotions. "I've never... felt anything like that..."

Your heart ached with the love you held for her, prompting you to gently brush away the tears that threatened to overshadow her beauty. Aware of her delicate state, you leaned in, your voice soft and reassuring as you spoke words of love and admiration.

"You're amazing, Zuha," you whispered, your fingers tracing the contours of her face with a featherlight touch. "You did so well. You're perfect, and I love you so much."

The depth of her experience was etched in every tremble of her body, in every shaky breath she took. You remained by her side, your hands resting gently on her thighs, grounding her with your presence and steady voice.

Kazuha stirred, trying to sit up, her hands tugging slightly at the binds as if testing her strength, but her body, still tender and drained, struggled to obey. Determination flickered in her gaze, mingling with the vulnerability that softened her expression. Her movements were slight, every attempt revealing just how spent she truly was.

A gentle smile played across your lips as you reached out, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder to soothe her, grounding her in your warmth and presence. "Shh, don’t rush it, Kazuha," you murmured, your tone calm and soft, laced with love and assurance. "I’ll help you down once you’re ready. Just rest for a little while longer, okay?"

She looked up at you, her breath still coming in soft, uneven waves, as she relaxed back into the hammock, her body trusting your support. She nodded slowly, her gaze melting into yours, comforted by your words, letting go of the need to rise too soon.

"It's okay," you soothed, your thumb making slow, comforting circles on her leg. "Just relax now, love, let me know when your ready"

As time passed, her breathing slowed, the tremors subsiding as her muscles relaxed and the tension melted away. You continued your soft-spoken assurances, allowing her the space and time she needed to find her equilibrium once more, your presence steady and unwavering, giving her the peace to simply be.

Her eyelids fluttered, a sign that the intensity was waning, and her breath found a steadier rhythm, though the evidence of her tears still clung to her lashes. A tender smile graced your lips as you watched her, her body finally still, the remnants of her trembling fading with each peaceful breath.

The hammock’s gentle rocking gradually ceased, and in the newfound stillness, you whispered her name, a note of concern lacing your voice. “Zuha?”

There was no reply. Her body, once wracked with the power of her emotions, now lay completely at ease. Her eyes were closed, her expression serene, her breathing soft and regular.

“Zuha?” you called again, this time more softly, as you leaned in to check on her. It was then you realized she had succumbed to the overwhelming intensity of your shared experience, her body and mind surrendering to a state of unconsciousness.

For a moment, you simply watched her in the hammock, her body still weightless and suspended in the silks. Her legs, still folded above her, swayed ever so slightly, while her chest rose and fell with the soft rhythm of sleep. The sight of her, so completely at ease, filled you with an overwhelming sense of affection. You couldn’t help but wear a tender smile, recognizing the profound journey you’d taken her on—a place of such intensity that it had left her completely spent, needing the solace of sleep to recuperate.

With a reverence that bordered on the sacred, you reached up to free her from the silks. Your hands moved with deliberate care, untangling her limbs with a gentleness that left her repose undisturbed. Kazuha’s body remained pliant in your hands, her breathing a steady lullaby as you unraveled her from the hammock’s embrace. Once she was free, you carefully gathered her into your arms. She was a dead weight, her energy sapped by the evening’s events, yet even in sleep, a serene smile lingered on her lips—a silent acknowledgment of the trust and comfort she found in your presence.

You carried her to the bedroom, a sanctuary where you could care for her further. As you laid her on the bed, you noticed the torn fabric of her yoga leggings, a lingering reminder of the night’s passion. With a gentle touch, you peeled the material away, revealing the marks of your shared intensity. Her skin, still glistening with the evidence of your release, told a story of pleasure and surrender.

Taking a soft cloth, you began to clean her, your touch as light as a whisper. You wiped her abs, her inner thighs, and finally, her face, tenderly removing the physical traces of your lovemaking. As you carefully slid off her sports bra, revealing her completely, you couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty that lay before you, still adorned with the subtle glow of shared ecstasy.

With the task complete, you set the cloth aside and slipped into bed beside her. Gently, you pulled the covers over both of you, then wrapped your arms around her, drawing her close. Instinctively, she curled into you, her head finding its natural resting place on your chest. In her sleep, she sought your warmth, her body molding to yours as she sighed in contentment.

Looking down at her, your heart brimmed with love and a fierce sense of protection. “I love you so much.” you whispered, your words a gentle benediction.

She remained in a deep, peaceful sleep, her body in a state of perfect repose, but your words hung in the air, a silent vow that enveloped the room. You held her, a guardian in the quietude, feeling the soft, steady rhythm of her breathing as it matched your own. This moment, so intimate and tender, carried its own weight, its own significance, a quiet testament to the depth of your relationship.

As you lay together, the silence of the bedroom wrapped around you like a cocoon. The love you felt for her, magnified by the vulnerability and trust you’d both embraced, filled you with a profound sense of gratitude. The experiences you’d shared had woven your lives even closer, deepening a connection that felt boundless.

With Kazuha nestled safely in your arms, you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of your shared love settle around you. In this quiet, contented space, you drifted off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that what you shared was rare and precious. And in the sanctity of the night, the two of you rested, wrapped in the certainty of your love.

[munsonsmixtapes]

It's So Easy to Bite With Your Hands Pinned

Eddie Munson x inexperienced!fem!reader

summary: it’s Eddie’s birthday, but you’re the one who gets the gift. 

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you smack it) bondage, blindfolding, nipple play, body worship, oral (f receiving) breeding kink, cockwarming, fingering, finger sucking, dom!eddie

part one part two part three

You anxiously awaited Eddie’s arrival as you sat in your living room, wearing nothing but a robe. You had no idea what was going to happen, but what you did know was that you were wanting to give him a show. Now only did you want to thank him for everything he had shown you so far, but you also wanted to make his birthday feel special, feeling honored that he had wanted to spend the day with you. 

The front door unlocked and your nerves were at an all time high once he opened it, standing there in a sheer shirt that showed off his tattoos  very nicely. It was accompanied by a very tight pair of leather pants and in that moment, you swore that the man was trying to kill you with his looks. He pulled you in for a kiss and you tried your best to hold back a moan, realizing just how much you always missed kissing him when he wasn’t around. 

“Happy birthday,” you told him. “Are you ready for your gift or do you want it later?” You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and 

Eddie couldn’t help but notice just how good you had gotten at seducing him. He was so close to having his way with you right there, but he restrained himself. 

“Well, I actually have something for you,” he said, holding out a small, light green gift bag. 

You looked at the thing in his outstretched hand then back up at him, seeing that he wasn’t able to hide that adorable smile. You were confused as to why he had gotten something for you when it was his birthday. 

“Why did you get me a gift?”

“It’ll all make sense when you open it.” You slowly pulled the tissue out of the bag as you eyed him, seeing his own lighting up with mischief and you were almost afraid to see what was inside. You then reached into the bag and pulled out a piece of silk, looking up at Eddie in confusion.

"There's more," he said and you reached into the bag one more time and pulled out what looked like a piece of black rope. You thought about it for a second and Eddie's smile quickly turned into a smirk once he saw that you understood what he meant.

"I think this is the best gift I've ever gotten," you told him as you held your gifts in your hands.

"I thought you might think so," he replied, placing his arm across your shoulders, turning towards the hallway that led to your bedroom. "Now let's make use of them, shall we?"

Eddie led you to your room and you couldn't help but notice how quickly he was moving, clearly excited about the events that were about to take place. As soon as he got you inside, he slammed the door behind it, pushing you up against it before his lips found yours.

The kiss was hot and messy, Eddie taking no time to slide his tongue into your mouth, letting out a gasp as you brought it between your lips giving it a hard suck. You did it one more time and felt yourself getting wet just by hearing his whine.

He pulled away before your were ready and felt his cock hardening just by seeing your lust-filled eyes. God, you were so irresistible and you didn't even have to try. It was unfair just as it was hot.

"You gonna unwrap your gift now?" You asked, your tone sultry. Your hands moved to the bow you had tied with belt of your robe to keep it closed, but Eddie got to it first, pulling it slowly as a way to tease you and tried his best to hold back a laugh at your frustration.

Eddie pulled the belt from your robe completely and the thing fell open, revealing your naked body and Eddie let out a dramatic gasp as he took you in. He was mesmerized by your looks, his breath completely taken away by how you looked even though he had seen your naked body more times than he could count by then.

He pulled you to him gently, his mouth meeting yours in a kiss that was nothing but teeth and tongues, filthy sounding moans leaving both of your mouths as Eddie pushed the robe from your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a heap behind you.

He then grabbed onto your hips and pushed you down onto the bed, pulling the blindfold and rope from your hand as he did so. You scooted back so you were lying flat, your head just inches away from the head board.

Eddie followed you, quick to take one of your wrists and pinning them to the headboard, tying them together as they pressed against one of the poles.

He then took the blindfold and slowly moved it towards your face, giving you plenty of time to back out. Once he was sure that you were okay, even making you say it, he put the blindfold over your eyes and you lifted your head so he could tie it at the back of your head.

You stayed quiet, your heart racing in your chest as excitement coursed through you. You had never experienced anything like that before and were glad that it was Eddie who was introducing you to it. He had been nothing but gentle the whole time. Well, with his words, not so much his actions.

“When one of your senses is removed, your other ones get stronger, more sensitive. So I’m gonna test them out, see just how sensitive they are. Now you just sit back, relax, and tell me what you enjoy, hm?”

“O-okay,” you responded and waited for him to get started.

“Good girl,” was all he responded before leaning down, pressing his lips to yours once again. You were focused on the way he tasted, like cigarettes and the minty gum he always chewed to cover it up.

Before you could get another taste, though, his lips moved from yours, migrating to your cheek, the kisses featherlight and gentle before he went in for your neck, reaching up and moving your head to the side to give him more room.

The kisses were soft at first as he warmed you up, wanting to give you an appetizer, just a little taste of the main course. He then began to suck, light little movements to show that he could also be sweet and gentle. But that was quickly shattered when he went in with his teeth, letting them scrape along you skin, hard enough to make you gasp, but light enough as to not break the skin.

He continued and your eyes shut even tighter as more moans fell from your lips. How could he not when you sounded so hot? He wanted to keep going until you came. He wanted to see just how many times he could get you off that night. How many times he could get your absolutely delicious moans to fill his ears.

And then you whined, making Eddie’s cock twitch, feeling it harder even more. He was convinced that was his favorite sound of yours, the noise signifying that you wanted more but couldn’t get yourself to say it. And when you eventually did ask? Oh, he was absolutely done for. Wrecked even.

“More,” you whined. “Harder.”

“As you wish,” he replied and the moan that left your mouth as he slid his teeth across your skin was borderline pornographic.

“More,” you demanded, and why was he to say no? He bit down this time, hard and you gasped, focusing on the feeling of his teeth scraping against your neck. He had done it before, but this time it was different. It felt more intense, much better than it ever had with him previously.

Eddie then diffused the sting with his tongue, gliding it all along the forming bruise before going it for one more suck as another loud, filthy moan spilled from your lips.

He pulled away, admiring his work while simultaneously watching you orgasm underneath him. The noises mixed with the way you were holding onto him and how well you were adapting to being blindfolded, jesus, he was just living one of his wet dreams.

Eddie then leaned down his lips right by the shell of your ear and he blew into it, loving the way you squirmed underneath him, bringing your shoulder up to your ear to get rid of the weird sensation.

Once your ear was exposed again, he leaned down, bringing his lips closer. “Look at you, doing so well and we’ve barely even gotten started,” he whispered and the breath passing his lips felt so intense against your ear that you actually felt goosebumps forming on your skin.

“Then what was that?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Honey you know that was just the appetizer,” he chuckled, the gust of air making you shiver slightly. “All of this had just been the warm up. And you’re doing so well. Responding to my every move. Such a good girl for daddy. I think you deserve a little treat for that.”

Once he was done speaking, his gave your earlobe a little nibble then pulled away, moving lower, pressing kisses to every inch he could find. He was going to show you just how beautiful he thought you were. That wasn’t exactly his thing, but he decided that it was what you deserved. He needed you to know exactly what he thought about you and he was going to show you the only way he knew how since he wasn’t exactly great with words outside of the bedroom.

He brought his hand up and began to massage one of your nipples, his ears perking up as he heard yet another gasp fall from your lips. It wasn’t getting old, in fact, he loved to hear it, how sensitive you were to every little thing now that one of your senses was taken away.

He could feel that it was already hard and he smiled to himself as he thought about taken it into his mouth, licking and sucking on it as you came and came until you didn’t have anymore in you. Until you were begging him to stop because you were too tired to put out anymore.

So he brought your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it at first, feeling your hands fisting his shirt as he began to suck hard, harder than he had on your neck. You were moaning already and he had barely even done anything. Oh, this was going to be a fun night.

You were itching to scratch down his back to let him know how much you were enjoying yourself. Everything felt so intense and you were living for it. This was the most you had ever felt alive in a long time. Steve would have never been down for a thing like that. It would have been too adventurous, too weird.

Just as you were getting used to the feeling of his tongue, he bit down, harder than he had on your neck, causing a wince to fall from your lips and he immediately stopped, pulling away to make sure he hadn’t hurt you.

“Do it again,” you commanded.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Hadn’t he just hurt you?

“Do it. Again.”

Eddie hesitantly lowered his head down to your tit once more, bringing your nipple into his mouth once more and biting down just as he had before. Your loudest moan yet fell from your lips as your back arched, signaling to Eddie that you had reached your first of many orgasms that night.

“That was amazing, babygirl,” he complimented. “Need to hear that sound again. Wanna make it for me?” All you could do was nod but that wasn’t good enough for Eddie. He needed verbal consent. “Use your words.”

“Yes, please,” you begged and Eddie took no time to move to your other nipple, biting down on it, eliciting another moan from you, this one even louder. He pulled away just in time to watch you come again and decided that he’d never get tired of watching you like that.

The way your mouth fell open, the lovely sounds that spilled from it and it the way you were always holding onto something for dear life, whether it be his shirt, bare back, or even the sheets. But his favorite part was how your back always arched without fail, how your toes always curled as it all coursed through you. The entire thing would live in his head forever and that was exactly the way he liked it.

“Need your cock, Eddie,” you whined. “Need it so bad.” When you were whining like that, how could he have possibly said no?

“Alright, chill out,” he commanded. “I’m gonna give it to you, gonna fuck you until you’re crying on my cock and then I’m gonna eat your cunt, lick up every single bit of my cum out of you and then I’m gonna lick you absolutely clean.” His tone mixed with his words were making you absolutely soaked. If those were his plans, you had no objections. The whole thing sounded so hot.

“Gonna get undressed, okay?” He asked and you just nodded, waiting patiently, going over all your past interactions in your mind to keep yourself occupied.

“Okay,” you replied and he began to pull his clothes off in record speed, wanting to go ahead and get to it, but also wanting to not keep you waiting.

Once he was naked, he grabbed onto your waist, giving each side a little pinch which made you yelp in surprise. He then lined himself up with you, but paused, looking up at you to make sure that you were ready.

“You ready, hon?”

“So ready. Please just do it.” And so he pushed himself inside you, taking no time to pound into you, his ears picking up on the squelching coming from your cunt. Jesus, had you been that wet before.

“You’re soaked,” he pointed out and you were suddenly feeling embarrassed, your cheeks burning and apparently Eddie had picked up on it. “No, no, it was a compliment, baby. Just means I’m doing my job right,” he winked even though you couldn’t see him.

He continued to pound into you, eating up the moans that were falling from your mouth, those being what kept him going. The very thing that always made him hard as a rock without fail. He watched your mouth fall open, wishing he could see your eyes since he loved how expressive they were, how he could see exactly what you had been thinking just by looking into them. 

You bucked your hips against his as best you could as you the moans that were coming from both of your mouths mixed together into the air. Your ears were tuned into the sound of the springs squeaking underneath the two of and the squelching on your sopping wet pussy that Eddie was fucking into with so much force, pushing all of himself into you to the point where you thought you were going to split a the seams. And wouldn’t have that been a such great way to go? 

But you could take it and you were, Eddie’s raspy voice filling your ears as he told you as much, cheering you on, letting you know just how good you were doing, that you were so close to earning your treat, even though the whole thing was starting to feel like one. It was his birthday and he was the one giving you a gift. Now you were beginning the one you had for him to wasn’t as good even though he assured you that it was the best he had ever received. 

“Look at you,” he said through labored breaths. “All fucked out and you haven’t even come yet. Let’s see just how many times you can before you’re absolutely spent. And wow, you’re almost there,” he pointed out with a devilish smirk, seeing your mouth opening wide as a loud almost scream came from it. “Come on, baby, just a little more-that’s it.” 

You were reaching your second orgasm and Eddie kept up his pace as he talked you through it, never being able to keep his damn mouth shut, especially not in the bedroom. And as you collapsed against the mattress, you begged him to keep going, not ready to give up quite yet. You needed him inside you for just a little longer, for the rest of the night and into the morning if you had it your way. You’d go multiple rounds and then afterwards he’d clean the both of you up and pull you into his arms while you both slept the day away, going at it again as soon as you woke. 

“That’s one,” he said, his lips brushing yours, his thumbs digging into your skin and you wanted him to do it harder, silently begging for the pain. “How many more, baby?” He pressed a kiss to your lips. “Two?” Another. “Three?” Another. “Maybe five? Or is that just wishful thinking?” He pulled you in for another, this time slotting his lips between yours, this one more gentle than he ever had been before. It was a kiss that was shared between lovers and the more time Eddie had spent with you, the more he was wanting to be yours. 

“One more,” you told him as you were catching your breath and he smiled into the kiss, not even able to hide just how happy you made him. 

He kissed you once more then tightening his grip on your hips as he fucked into you over and over as your hips bucked against his, trying your best to contribute considering your state. You were focused now on him and the sounds he was making, feeling wet as you picked up on his hot, heavy breathing and his fucking moans. It was so hot, sounding just like the men from the app you used to help get yourself off when Eddie wasn’t available. And the words he was using to talk you through the whole thing weren’t helping. He knew exactly what to say to make a mess of your cunt, to make you absolutely melt underneath him. 

His movements got even faster and harder as he reaching his own orgasm, his moans sounding so loud in your ears as he cum filled you. He usually pulled out before he could, but you honestly didn’t care. You would have felt honored to have gotten pregnant by him. Even though he never would have admitted it, he was nothing but soft and gentle outside of the bedroom. Especially when it came to you. 

“Fuck, that feels so good, daddy,” you told him and before you could stop yourself, you added, “Bet you’d make such a good one.” 

Eddie stopped as soon as you said it and you really wished that you could remove the blindfold to see his face. You were always able to know what he was thinking when you looked him. But you just sat there, the silence almost deafening, suddenly feeling panic rise in your chest. God, you had ruined the night by saying too much. 

“Yeah?” He asked as his movements continued. “Want me to make you a mother? Want to have a baby, baby? God, you’d look so good pregnant-“ his words were cut off by another moan, more cum leaking out of his cock. He almost sounded like he was in pain and you didn’t know why you were finding that so hot. Maybe you would take that into account next time you invited him over. “See? I’m coming just thinking about it-“ 

Eddie pulled out and stood at the edge of the bed, letting the two of you come down before he moved onto the finale. His favorite part that he was going to take his time to enjoy. It was his birthday after all, and he thought he deserved some dessert. Who needed cake when his treat was right there between your legs? It was far sweeter any cake he ever had. 

He slowly spread your legs and got a good look at what he was working with. Your slick was spilling out onto the bed and he realized this was the wettest you had ever been. He had his work cut out for him, he decided, and he was going to have a great time doing it. But he was going to do it slowly, savoring the feeling of your cunt on his tongue, the way you tasted. God, you always tasted so good and he couldn’t pin point why. It was probably just because it was you. 

“What a mess I’ve made of you princess,” he chuckled as he bent over the edge of the bed. “Looks like I’m have to clean it up.”

“Looks like it,” you responded as you felt him grab hold of one of your ankled, pressing a kiss to the inside then trailing kisses up your leg, chuckling as you yelped as you felt his teeth sink into your thigh. 

“Sorry, princess,” he apologized. “You’re just good enough to eat, and guess what?” He asked and he didn’t have to look at your face to know that you were on the edge of your seat, desperate for his answer. 

“What?” You asked, genuinely curious. 

“You look good enough to eat,” he responded as he went in for another bite before moving to your other leg, doing the same exact thing, biting down on your other thigh even harder, knowing exactly what you liked. “So easy to bite with your hands pinned,” he told you. That man and his mouth, always catching you off guard with his filthy words. And you ate it up every time, wanting to hear exactly what he was thinking, knowing that he wouldn’t shy away from sharing with you. 

“As if I’d stop you,” you replied and he went in for another bit, this time, licking away the sting and couldn’t help notice that there was a sweet taste to your skin. One that he definitely wasn’t making up in his head this time. 

“What is that?” He asked as he went in for another lick and you were too embarrassed to tell him. “Oh, don’t go shy on me now, princess. Gonna make me guess, hm?” He went in for another lick, his touch so featherlight that it tickles and you had to hold back a giggle. 

“I-it’s edible lotion,” you told him, your cheeks burning with embarrassment and he licked once again, a long, slow stroke so he could pick up what the flavor was. 

“Wanted me to taste you, hm?”

“Yes,” you choked out. “It’s-uh-it’s birthday cake flavored.”

“Very fitting. Guess now’s as good a time as any for dessert, don’t you think?” 

Eddie spread your legs and threw one over each shoulder as he lied flat on his stomach, pushing himself further up the bed so that he your cunt was right in front of his face. He took no time to bury it between your legs, his hands moving up to hold onto your thighs. 

You gasped as his nose brushed your cunt, his lips taking no time to move to your clit, flicking his tongue back and forth with as much force as possible, your moans filling his ears as your heels dug into his back. He gave it a rough suck as his tongue continued to do most of the work as it swirled around, licking at it, wanting to get a really good taste of every single part of your cunt. 

You wanted so desperately to weave your fingers through his hair, tugging on it with so much force that he was wincing, knowing that he loved receiving the pain as much as you loved inflicting it. You felt like your moans along weren’t enough, that you needed him to feel just how much you were enjoying yourself. 

His mouth moved lower south, his tongue dragging from your clit to your slit where it made a home, his hard sucks met by mewls and loud whines as you begged for more, wanting the two of you to stay like that for hours. He pushed himself further into your cunt as his lips pressed against your slit, licking back and forth between the lips as he sucked even harder, hearing your cries get quieter as your thighs pressed against his ears, muffling your delicious sounds every so slightly. 

“Fuck, Eddie, so good,” You mewled, your eyes shutting even tight as you could feel each one of his lips and his tongue so intensely, every single movement making you squirm underneath him. He continued to flick his tongue back and forth between as his lips sucked as hard as he could, wanting you to really feel them, feeling like what he had been doing before just wasn’t enough. 

Your head moved backwards as his tongue slid inside you, feeling your eyes rolling back as he pushed it in and out of your cunt, your moans getting even louder signifying that he was doing his job right. You were practically screaming now as your heels dug further into his back, your toes curling as his tongue fucked you. 

His movements picked up as he pumped it in and out, doing his very best to make his pretty feel good. He curved his tongue and apparently it had hit just the right spot because he could hear that you were hitting your climax, your eyes rolling back into your head once again. But Eddie wasn’t letting up just yet and you didn’t want him to. You needed more. 

“Yeah? Like when my tongue fucks you, princess? What about my fingers?” He asked he shoved them inside you and you let out another moan at the pure bliss you were experiencing. They pumped in and out, in and out and you came over and over, new slick covering his fingers as it leaked out onto them. He had never had anyone react this way to just his fingers and he was beginning that maybe he was getting good at it. But then again, maybe you were just the perfect partner. Yep, that was definitely it. 

“Come on, just one more. I know you’re fucked out, but just one more, princess. You can do that for the birthday boy, can’t you?” He asked as he curved his fingers, watching you do exactly what he had asked, reaching your last orgasm of the night, still as enthusiastic as you had been at the very beginning, but he could see that you were fading and quick, your body going limp. 

And once your body collapsed against the bed, Eddie pulled his fingers out of you, placing his body on top of yours as he hovered his fingers over your mouth, your slick dropping onto your lips. 

“Open up,” he instructed softly and you opened your mouth, Eddie laying his fingers flat onto your tongue. “Now close.” You closed your mouth, your lips wrapping around his fingers as you did so. “Now suck, baby. I want you to see just how good you taste. This is your treat so you better enjoy it.” 

You sucked on Eddie’s fingers, the taste and feeling foreign to you, but you enjoyed both and maybe you just wanted an excuse to run your tongue along Eddie’s calloused, rough fingers. Your tongue slide up the back and he helped, flipping them over, simultaneously whining at not only the feeling, but the way you looked with your lips wrapped around his fingers, wondering if they would look as good around his cock as you licked and sucked on him as he fucked your mouth. He was going to have to test that theory just to be sure. 

Once you had gotten every last drop, Eddie removed his fingers, leaning down to press his lips to yours to lick up what was still on your tongue before he forced you to swallowed. 

“Would you look at that,” he chuckled. “Tastes even better from your mouth. Now I want to see you swallow it.” You did ask he asked without protest and he watched your throat bob as the slick slid down it. “Good girl,” his lips brushed your forehead. “Gonna remove the blindfold now, okay?” 

His hands moved up and his thumbs slid underneath the fabric as he fingers rested on the other side, lifting it ever so slightly, your beautiful eyes coming into view, squinting just a bit as they got used to the feeling of finally being free. 

“There she is,” he said with a smile as he kissed you again, his hand coming to rest against the back of your head. He pulled away before you were ready and began to untie your hands, bringing your arms down slowly, hold your hands gently in his hands. “Did so good, princess,” he said, as he pressed a kiss to each wrist, feeling the indents from the rope against his lips. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you slurred. “So good.” Your eyes were fluttering shut and Eddie helped you get under the covers before pulling you to his chest, bare skin to bare skin as he decided that next time, he’d be on the receiving end, wondering what you’d come up with as sleep took over him. There was only way to find out, he supposed.

[museanddream]

One Night - part 3 || Ona Batlle x Lucy Bronze x Reader

Summary: When you complete a dream transfer to Barcelona, there’s only one problem - you have to learn to coexist with your ex-hookup and her new girlfriend.

Warnings: 🔞 | strap-ons, degrading language, exhibitionism, voyeurism

Word count: 4k

part 1 | part 2

You keep kissing Ona like you’ve got nothing better to do. Which you do, but her lips, the feeling of her body underneath yours, her arms and legs wrapped around you so that it’d be hard to extract yourself from her embrace even if you wanted to, is enough of a distraction to stop things from progressing much further.

Eventually, the rest of your clothes come off, tugged at by Ona’s eager hands. It’s a bit of a miracle that they managed to stay on for this long, but you suppose you had more important things on your mind. Namely, getting Ona out of her clothes.

With no barriers between your hot skin and Ona’s, what comes next is back at the front of your mind, more pressing than any distractions.

“Where do you keep your toys?”

The whine that Ona lets out when you pull away from her lips fades into nothing when she registers your question.

Her eyes darken and flicker towards the nightstand.

“In the top.”

You thank Ona with another kiss, then crawl off the bed. You have to walk past Lucy, who you’d almost forgotten was still watching, to get to the bedside table. Your eyes meet as you pass, her expression not giving anything away, until her gaze drops down your body and a glint of hunger flashes across her face.

Putting an extra sway to your hips for the last couple of steps, you reach for the handle of the drawer and slide it open to look through it for a strap.

Their toy drawer is well-stocked but doesn’t contain anything particularly unexpected. A blindfold, some silk ties, a couple of vibrators. Your hand reaches for the harness that lies on top and as you lift it from the drawer, your gaze catches on a metal plug that had been hidden beneath.

Your cunt clenches at the sight, thinking of the similar one in your own toy collection, before you turn your attention to the dildos in the drawer instead. They have a few different ones, different lengths and girths, one with more of a pronounced curve to it and one that has a second bulbous end that would fit inside you, but your eyes are drawn to the biggest toy in the drawer. It’s probably bigger than anything you’ve ever taken and definitely bigger than anything you’ve ever worn.

It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out which of the two of them uses it on the other.

“Not that one.” Lucy’s voice rises up from the corner of the bedroom as she watches you lift the biggest dildo out of the drawer. “That’s mine.”

The decision is made for you by Lucy’s possessiveness.

Slotting the dildo through the ring in the front of the harness, you turn your head to look at Lucy and reply, “Really? I could’ve sworn I was about to fuck your girlfriend with it. Let’s ask Ona, huh?” You turn your attention back to Ona and ask, “Whose dick is this, Ona?”

The answer from Ona is instantaneous.

“Yours.”

As you step into the harness and start fixing it around your hips, you smile triumphantly across at Lucy and say, “I think that’s one to me, Bronzey.”

Lucy folds her arms across her chest but if she didn’t want you to use this toy, she’d get up from her chair and actually stop you from using it, which she doesn’t.

“You can’t win at sex,” Lucy replies with a disgruntled pout.

“Definitely feels like I’m winning.”

Satisfied with the fit of the harness, you crawl your way back onto the bed where Ona waits patiently for you. Her eyes are on the toy, wide as they watch the way it bobs with each movement you make.

“Is this still okay?” you ask as you crawl between her legs, realising that your animal brain has chosen the biggest toy for rather selfish reasons instead of asking Ona which one she’d like to use.

Ona’s dark gaze flits up to your face and then, with a pleading look in her eyes, she nods once.

You reward her with a kiss. And it can only have been three minutes since you last kissed her, but you kiss her like it was three years.

Ona kisses you back just as eagerly, like she simply can’t get enough of you. Her tongue slides wetly against yours, while her hands claw at your waist, pulling you as close as she can physically get you. With no space between your bodies, the toy gets caught between your stomachs, the angle of it causing the harness to press against your clit. You can’t help but take advantage of that, rolling your hips into Ona’s to give yourself something to grind against.

Realising what you’re doing, one of Ona’s hands slides back further and paws at your ass, her hips shifting beneath you as she tries to manoeuvre the toy towards where she wants it.

Pulling back from the kiss, you lean your forehead against Ona’s, stilling the slow grind of your hips enough to be able to say, “I want you on top.”

Ona pulls you in for another kiss with a hand on the back of your neck, hungry enough to tell you that she wants that too. As you tongues slide against each other, you lose yourself in the kiss, enough of a distraction that it takes you by surprise when Ona hooks a leg around your hips and swiftly rolls you onto your back.

You let out a little grunt as your back hits the mattress.

Ona looks like a goddess sitting astride your hips. Even more so when she sits back and reaches up to tie her hair up into a messy bun on the back of her head. The stretch only emphasises the lines of her body - the muscles of her abs and the curve of her breasts.

Having her on top seemed like such a good idea less than a minute ago. Now you don’t know how you’re going to make it through alive.

As she wraps the elastic on her wrist around her hair, you send your hand between her legs, testing her entrance with two fingers. Ona falters, eyes fluttering shut as you push inside. She’s still wet from before but deliciously sensitive too, clenching around you in an echo of her previous orgasm.

“Another?” you ask her, after a few thrusts, knowing that the toy you’re preparing her for will be much more of a stretch than what she’s already taken.

Ona rocks against your hand, then nods.

You tuck a third finger alongside the first two and ease it inside, a little deeper with each thrust until you’re filling her completely.

The moan that Ona lets out is more wrecked than any other sounds she’s made tonight. And if this is what she sounds like when it’s your fingers inside her, you can’t even begin to imagine what sounds will leave her mouth when it’s your cock that she’s riding.

One of Ona’s hands drops between her own legs. As her fingers find her own clit, she grinds down into your hand and you can feel her getting wetter still.

It’d be so tempting to let her continue like this. Having already seen her fall apart once, you’ve got a taste for it now and it’s all you want over and over again.

And maybe you would let her come again before you fuck her properly, except that Ona has other ideas. Her hand drops, slick fingers wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand out from between her legs. She lets out a gentle sigh as your fingers slip out of her, but it’s your turn to groan when she immediately reaches for your toy and lines the head of the cock up where your fingers were just seconds ago.

“Fuck.”

It should be her swearing as she slowly sinks down onto the toy, but you’re helpless to the way that the expletive leaves your lips.

You don’t quite know where to look. Ona’s face is something you want to commit to memory, teeth digging into her lower lip, eyelids so heavy that they’re almost closed, her eyebrows scrunched together in pleasure. But you can hardly tear your gaze away from between her legs, where her pussy swallows each inch of your cock until you’re filling her completely.

Her hips flush against yours, Ona pauses with her eyes still closed. And though your animal instinct is to want to rut up into her, you lie still to give her a chance to get familiar with the feeling of having so much of you inside her.

At least, that was your intention until Lucy speaks up.

“Go on,” she urges Ona. “Ride her. There’s no need to pretend you need warming up.”

Ona opens her eyes and turns her head to glare over her shoulder at Lucy, but with the hazy look in her eyes and her general sex-rumpled appearance, she doesn’t look anywhere near as fierce as she probably wants to.

You glance across at Lucy too, who simply raises her eyebrows at Ona in a challenge, a familiar smirk gracing her lips.

Slowly, Ona rolls her hips against yours. Despite what Lucy said, she seems to be trying to get used to the feeling of you inside her, grinding gently back and forth.

Your hands settle on her hips, just to give yourself something to hold onto as she starts to slide up the length of the strap, before sinking back down again. Her eyes are furrowed shut, her breathing heavy and interspersed with pretty little grunts. She takes her pleasure from your toy and it’s all you can do to lie there and help her up and down, barely able to take in the sight of her on top of you.

“So greedy for it,” you managed to choke out, very aware that any control you might have over the situation is hanging on by a single thread.

Ona leans over you to press her mouth to yours, hot and open-mouthed and so messy but it’s perfect. The way she rides you is perfect, the way she kisses you, surrounds you, overwhelms you is all so perfect.

She pulls back from the kiss with a gasp and it gives you a split second to breathe and think.

“Did you talk about this with Lucy too?” you ask her, surprised at how husky your voice comes out. “Did you tell her you wanted me like this?”

Lucy speaks up, “She’s always a desperate little whore when there’s a strap involved. Always so ready to be filled up.”

“You’ve had a lot of practice, huh?” you tease Ona. “No wonder you look so good riding it.”

You send your hand up Ona’s sides and over her ribcage until you’ve got her tits in your palms, giving them a generous squeeze to elicit another moan.

You still can’t really believe that you’re having her like this. That Ona, who is so sweet and lovely and has the face of an angel, is letting out such filthy noises as she rides you in a desperate chase of her second orgasm of the night.

Your mind wanders again to Lucy, who must have seen Ona like this countless times before. Yet when you look over at her, there’s an expression of pure wonder on her face that probably mirrors your own, like it’s the first time for her too.

“Touch yourself,” you instruct her.

Lucy seems to fall back into reality, blinking a few times as her gaze switches from Ona to you.

You can probably count on one hand the number of times Lucy has willingly followed an order from you in the bedroom and she’s clearly not about to start now.

“Nah, I’m alright,” she answers, with a nonchalant shrug, as if she wasn’t just transfixed by the sight of Ona.

Ona arches her back prettily as she stops riding you and instead grinds in slow circles against your hips, letting out a low whine.

“Please, Lucy.”

You rest your hands on Ona’s hips to still her so that you can put all your focus on Lucy.

Now this is more of a dilemma. You can see it in her eyes. She wants to fulfil Ona’s wish, but not at the expense of conceding to you too.

Eventually it’s Ona, who lets out a particularly theatrical moan despite the fact that your hands on her hips are preventing her from being able to do anything to the toy that would cause her to make such a noise, who wins out in Lucy’s mind.

Green eyes bore into yours as Lucy starts to undress, the staring contest between the two of you only breaking for long enough for Lucy to pull her T-shirt over her head. When it drops to the floor, she stands up to unbutton her trousers, letting them fall down her legs and kicking them off her feet before she sits back down in just her underwear.

You manage to refrain from teasing Lucy about how whipped she is, though mostly because Ona starts moving again and the sight of her bouncing up and down on your cock with her eyes furrowed shut and her lips slightly parted is enough to render you speechless.

The view is too good to gatekeep. And Lucy probably deserves some kind of reward.

“Turn around,” you tell Ona, stilling her movements with your hands on her hips. “Show Lucy how pretty you look riding my cock.”

You help Ona to lift herself from the toy, pleased with the dissatisfied little whine she lets out when it slips free and bounces towards your stomach. But then your hands are guiding Ona to turn around, still with one knee on either side of your hips as she faces Lucy.

Sparing a quick glance to the corner of the room, you’re pleased with what you see. Lucy still wears her underwear but her legs are parted, her good knee bent with her foot planted against the fabric of the chair, while her hand rests teasingly over her clothed pussy.

Wanting to give Lucy something to touch herself properly over, you fist the toy again, slick with Ona’s arousal, and guide it back towards her cunt.

Bracing her hands on your thighs, Ona sinks down onto the toy without needing to be asked twice.

She really is as eager for it as Lucy said she was, moving up and down like she never even stopped. Your hands slide back from her hips to her ass, spreading her cheeks gently until you can see the way that every inch of the toy gets swallowed by Ona’s pussy, only to emerge even shinier each time she lifts herself upwards.

And fuck, maybe you’ve actually deprived Lucy of the best view.

But there are no complaints from Lucy, only praise.

“Fucking hell, babe. You’re unreal. So fucking hot.”

Your eyes flit across to Lucy, first to her face, then to the hand between her own legs. Though she still wears her underwear, she’s at least given up on whatever shred of pride she was still trying to cling onto, hand hidden beneath the fabric where you can visibly see her rubbing herself in time with Ona’s rhythm on your cock.

The power of it all is dizzying.

You’ve still barely wrapped your head around the fact that you get to have Ona like this, and she’s practically been throwing herself at you since Lucy‘s earlier admission that Ona has been craving you for a while. Though Lucy isn’t giving herself to you in the same way that Ona is, this still feels like something of a submission to you, touching herself to the sight of you fucking her girlfriend.

Even more determined to make it worth Lucy‘s while, or perhaps simply with a point to prove, there’s nothing else to do except double down until Ona is coming on your cock.

You try to manoeuvre Ona on top of you, pulling her backwards until she’s left with no choice but unfold her legs from beneath her. The toy slips out of her in the process, though not for long because you reach your hand down between you and guide it back to her entrance with ease.

The new position gives you more control over the pace. With Ona now almost lying on top of you, back against your front with her weight supported on her own arms, you plant your feet on the mattress and rut up into her.

“Fuck!” Ona cries out, before repeating the sentiment in Spanish.

The sensory overload is almost too much. Having Ona on top of you gives you nowhere to go but up into her, and each rough thrust presses the base of the harness against your clit. You can’t remember ever being able to come directly from just wearing the strap before but you can feel it building. The sounds Ona is making, the feeling of her skin against yours, the memory of her falling apart on your fingers earlier. Not to mention the fact that it’s simply Ona, who you’ve spent months trying not to pine over, only to end up here, fucking her with a strap while her girlfriend watches on.

The whole thing is just so much more than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

“Yes, Ona,“ Lucy growls from the corner of the room. “Let her use you. Always such a pretty little plaything, aren’t you?”

Your eyes turn to Lucy. Her fingers still work between her legs, hips now bucking up against her hand in time with your thrusts. The thought that you might be able to get her off without even touching her only spurs you on.

Your hips rut the toy up into Ona at a punishing pace and she lets out another ungodly cry.

“Dios mio.”

Banding your arms around Ona’s middle, you send one south to play with her clit as you continue to thrust into her from below.

Propped up on her arms, Ona’s head falls backward as her back arches. The position puts her in an ideal position for you to lean up and murmur in her ear, “You gonna come for me?”

“Close,” Ona gasps.

“Yes,” you hiss. “I want you to come.”

You can feel yourself hurtling towards your own orgasm but you really want Ona to come first.

It gets harder to fuck into her, the slight resistance as the incoming orgasm has her tightening around the toy, not to mention your own pleasure building and the tiring of your hips, but just a few more thrusts and Ona is falling apart. Her hips jerk against the hand on her clit, her entire body writhes on top of yours, the sounds that ripples from her throat seem to echo around the room, and the whole thing has you following her into your own climax in a matter of seconds.

It washes through you, slowly at first as you teeter over the precipice, then all at once, spreading right through to the fingers that twitch against Ona’s clit and the toes that curl into the mattress beneath your feet. You cling to Ona like she’s a lifebuoy stopping you from drowning in the pleasure of it all, your hips jerking up into hers where you’re still connected through the toy, face buried into the side of her neck as the intensity finally bleeds away.

On top of you, Ona is still now too, except for the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she catches her breath.

“Holy shit,” you murmur into Ona’s neck, pressing your lips to the place where her pulse flutters beneath the corner of her jaw. “That was … well, fuck.”

Given the intensity of the orgasm that you can still feel the aftershocks of, you’re surprised you manage to be even that coherent.

Ona pushes her weight up on her arms and carefully lifts herself off the toy, letting out one final whimper as it slides free, before she twists herself onto her front and lies on top of you, chest to chest. You wrap your arms around her, sweaty and sated as your hearts beat almost in unison, and press a litany of barely there kisses to the messy tendrils of her hairline.

You could fall asleep like this, maybe you actually would, if not for the way that the mattress dips at the end of the bed, reminding you of Lucy’s presence.

Ona nuzzles her face into your neck, pressing her lips to a spot that’s sensitive enough to send a reminiscent tremor through your body, then slowly disentangles her body from yours. She looks down at you, still oh so fucking pretty with her dark eyes and pink cheeks, teeth digging into kiss-swollen lips as she asks, “Okay?”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Fuck, Ona. I’m way more than just okay.”

It’s Ona’s turn to chuckle, a familiar low rumble from her chest. She leans down to kiss you, first a gentle peck, then something long and lingering before she finally withdraws and shuffles across the bed to reunite with Lucy.

Lucy knees her way closer to Ona until she can cradle her girlfriend’s jaw in her hands, tucking a loose strand of hair that’s escaped from Ona’s bun behind her ear. The expression on her face is one of affection mixed with pride and you watch for a few seconds as Ona leans her cheek into Lucy’s hand, before you have to look away. They must both know that you’re still there and not care, but it feels like a moment that’s too intimate for witnesses.

Your head falls back against the pillow, and you focus on steadying the in and out of your breathing while listening to the gentle sounds of their reunion. You hear a soft sigh, one which you can now recognise easily as Ona’s, then the unmistakeable wet sounds of a slow kiss. After a few moments, it stops, then Lucy’s low voice cuts through the stillness.

“My beautiful girl,” Lucy murmurs. “You always look so pretty when you come. But that was something else, wow.”

Ona speaks up, “Did you…?” She trails off and you can hear the uncertainty, asking the question you don’t know the answer to either.

“Yeah,” Lucy replies, the pride audible in her voice. “Course I did. You looked so good with her.”

Your eyes flutter open at this and your ego swells with the admission. You’d been so caught up in the other two orgasms in the room that you missed Lucy’s entirely. She was never the kind of girl to come dramatically, usually reaching her peak much more physically than verbally, with shaking thighs and a tight hand in your hair. And though you’re a little sad that this one went by completely unnoticed by both you and Ona, you’re also pretty sure that the night is far from over and there’ll be time to rectify that.

Something which gets confirmed by Lucy just seconds later, when her attention shifts from Ona to where you’re sprawled on the bed.

“Now, what am I going to do with you?” she asks, eyes raking up and down your body, naked except for the harness.

You push yourself up onto your elbows and gesture at the toy that still stands proudly from your hips.

“Ona’s warmed it up for you. If you want.”

You already know that the chances of Lucy agreeing to your suggestion are close to zero before you even say it aloud, but you can’t help yourself. You’re still running high on endorphins. Besides, you’ve probably earned the right to be somewhat cocky after the show you’ve just put on with Ona.

Lucy’s eyes drop to the dildo, still wet with Ona’s slick.

“Take it off.”

In what you know may be one final act of defiance before Lucy truly takes control, you challenge her by replying, “Take it off me yourself.”

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, kidnapped reader, bondage, somnophilia, oral, light ass-play

fem reader

It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’m thinking about the incel who’s never celebrated with anyone…

Only… now that he has you locked up in his house all to himself, He’s going to have you treat him to all those Valentine's cliches he’s missed out on – all inside the comforts of your new home, of course.

It’s early morning, and he’s got his cock inside you before you’ve even woken up. His thrusts are sleepy, and his voice is drowsy as he says he looks forward to breakfast – that he hasn’t had anyone cook him breakfast in bed since his mom on his tenth birthday. He likes his eggs sunny-side up, his bacon crispy, his toast golden, and his coffee just a little sweet for the occasion, plus a small glass of juice on the side.

After cumming inside you, he tells you not to take too long – that he wants you back in bed, hand-feeding him before the bed gets cold.

When you get back from the kitchen, he’s picked out a romance to watch – patting your place on the bed with a big grin on his face.

The trouble in your chest is a little eased to see him happy. Though it’s sick doing these types of things with your kidnapper – you much prefer acting like his girlfriend than getting your tits, clit, and ass flogged with a leather belt. 

So you curl up beside him like he gestured and hand-fed him like he’d said and laughed and awed at the movie playing out before you as if you were really enjoying yourself. And when he whispers that he’s made you breakfast as well while lifting the tray off his lap to reveal his hard-on, you hold back the wince and crawl under the covers – not a single slight leaving your lips as you wrap them around him and start sucking him off.

He hadn’t bothered wiping it with a tissue after this morning’s first, and so flakes of dried cum and soured bitterness coat your mouth in overwhelming filth, making tears well up and go dripping pitifully down your cheeks – holding back from gagging as you keep bobbing your head all pliantly while using your tongue to lave over his veins.

He sighs in bliss above the duvet, weaving both hands into your hair as he nudges his tip down further into your plush throat, so warm and wet and tight around him, milking him for the meal in his balls. 

He shoots in right down to your belly when your lips kiss his base, petting your cheek while waiting for you to swallow around him. It takes everything in you not to choke on it and puke – but you’ve done it enough times now to resurface only breathless as you lay yourself to rest against his chest.

He says he’s got you a gift after having let you rest up for a little while – and drags a gift bag from under the bed. You receive it, forcing a shy smile – knowing not to expect a plushie and a heart-shaped box of chocolates but hoping for it nonetheless.

“I thought, since we can’t go outside, we’ll just have to make the most out of it in here...”

The contents of the bag make you swallow thickly – wide-eyed and goose-fleshed with trepidation. 

It’s all red – but that must have been the only thing Valentine’s about it…

Red silk blindfold, red ball gag, red rope, red fluffy cuffs, and a butt plug decorated with a heart-shaped ruby.

“And as for your gift to me,” He breaks your stillness, taking your face in both hands as he lifts it to level his – giving your pout a kiss that breaks with a wet smack. “All your holes all day long is all I want.”

You’re a picture. Bite marks on your breasts, a ring of teeth around your sore nipples – also on the inside of your thighs – along with full handprints welting the soft flesh. On your back with your hands beneath you, kept there in their cuffs – legs raised and spread, tied up in the red rope – mouth sucking on your ball, all muffled whining as you wiggle – blindfold soaked a deep burgundy from the tears streaming down your face. 

Your poor ass spread on the plug he’s eased inside, all cutely swallowed around the heart-shaped ruby glistening in the slick seeping from your pussy as he fucks you hard and fast and unrelentingly with a hand held tightly around your throat – moaning Happy Valentin’s Day!

BNHA – Shigaraki, Denki, Deku

JJK – Mahito

HQ – Tendou

CSM – Denji, Yoshida

[chamomiletealeaf]

okay girlie, what kinks do you think all the cod dudes have and how do they bring them up lol................. asking for a friend.

Ooh this was surprisingly a hard one lol. I think they're each into different things personally.

warnings: afab! reader, spanking, slapping, bondage, mommy kink, dacryphilia, size kink, panty/lingerie fetish

Inclusivity note: Reader is described as small compared to Simon, but since he's so big anyone of any size would still look smaller than him height or weight wise.

Price I think would be into manhandling you and marking you up, whether that be him leaving hickeys in obvious places or leaving a hand print on your face or ass. Anything having to do with his hands he's a whore for. He loves shoving his fingers into your mouth while he's fucking you senseless, throwing you around like a rag doll, fingering you, or just having a tight grip on your jaw to get you to look at him when you two are having a conversation. He loves being able to hold you in his hands so nicely.

He'd bring it up one night while you're getting ready for a date night with him. You're standing in the mirror, looking over yourself and he comes up right behind you, wrapping his big arms around your waist placing his head on your shoulder so he can look too.

"You look absolutely fucking stunning love." He whispers, hands wandering up and down your body. He'd admire your neck and how it's just out on display for him, and how easy your dress/skirt would give him easy access between your thighs.

"Mm. Would look even prettier with a little love bite right here hm?" He says, teeth tracing over the side of your neck and he starts to lick and suck at it.

"John don't you dare." You warn, trying to get out of his grasp, but he just grips your hips tighter keeping you in place. He then drags his lips up to your ear.

"C'mon sweetheart. Lemme mark you up a lil' bit. Let everyone know what's mine hm?" He asks, and you feel him start to grind into your ass. And fuck, with the way he was whispering to you in that voice of his, how could you say no?

Gaz I think would love seeing you in pretty, skimpy little lingerie sets. He'd love seeing you in frilly garters with pink bows squeezing your thighs, dainty lace bras that are just see through enough, tiny little panties, super short mini skirts, just anything that is delicate and sexy. When he catches a glimpse of the garter and matching silk panties under your dress one day that you were wearing to surprise him later on, he immediately gets rock hard and can't think of anything else but dragging the garter down your thigh with his teeth and burying his nose into your silk covered pussy. He'd also love sweet talking you during sex. Making his voice all soft and velvety for you, asking things like "You like that honey? Hm? Yeah that's right, looking so pretty for me taking my cock like that."

He would entertain the idea for the first time by asking you to keep your panties on one night during sex. They were light gray with little strawberries on them and pink lace around the hem and he couldn't help himself. You got a little self conscious at first, wondering why he wouldn't want to see you naked, but then he told you:

"Keep 'em on sweets. Wanna see that pretty pussy of yours soak 'em through. Love seeing you in cute little panties like this."

Since then, you went out and bought the cutest lingerie sets you could find, giggling to yourself when you imagine seeing the look on his face when he sees you in them.

Johnny would definitely be into light bondage either on him or you. He switches back and forth from being a sub and dom, just depends on who he wants tied up that day/night. He'd love you tying his wrists tight behind a chair while you ride him, restraining him from touching you, or tying his wrists to the bedframe while you suck him off or ride him nice and slow, putting on a show for him. When he's got you tied up, he likes tying your wrists together in front of you, pushing your tits together as they bounce while he's pounding your pussy, or one wrist to each of your thighs so he can push your face down into the pillow/couch while he fucks you from behind. He loves seeing the rope/tie or whatever you might use squeeze your thighs and wrists leaving marks behind after.

He would also have the biggest mommy kink my god, especially when you have his arms tied behind a chair. He just can't stop whimpering and begging, a symphony of "Please mommy fuck me" and "Use me mama" falling from his lips.

He'd hint at the idea one day while teaching you how to tie different knots for survival purposes. Then he gets bolder, making you practice tying them around his wrists and says "Maybe if you get this knot right I can teach you a few other knots you can do for.. other purposes." He says with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrow and you laugh, cheeks heating up at the idea of having Johnny at your mercy.

Simon I think would be into dacryphilia (crying), but not from pain. He'd love seeing you cry from how good his cock feels sliding in and out of you stretching you perfectly. Bonus if you're wearing eyeliner or mascara and it just runs down your face staining it all nice and pretty. He especially loves seeing that when you suck his cock, his size making you gag. This leads into his size kink he one hundred percent has. He's a big boy, literally everyone is smaller than him, but with you, he just can't get enough of it. The way his hands are so much bigger than yours, how much taller he is than you, the way his body nearly entirely covers yours when he's on top of you, the sight of his fat, thick cock jamming it's way into your tight little pussy trying to fit him all in, it makes his brain go dumb.

The first time he mentions the size difference between you two it is when he reaches up to grab you something you can't reach yourself in the kitchen. Before he grabs what you asked for, he purposely cages you in against the counter, pressing himself into you, massive hands planting themselves next to each side of you so he can really get a good look at how small you look compared to him. "Aw, poor girl's too short to reach the top shelf." He teases, whispering right into your ear giving it a nibble and you whine. He leans in even more, bending you over the counter making you stand on your toes to keep your balance. "Bet I could fuck you right here and now just like this and your feet wouldn't even touch the floor." He says, then grabs you what you asked for and leaves you there flustered.

When you're doing your makeup and you start to put your mascara or eyeliner on, you notice he always stops to watch you.

"Why do you always watch me do this part?" You ask him out of curiosity.

He shrugs his shoulders with his arms crossed then says:

"Just imaginin' you crying it all off makin' a pretty mess for me while I fuck into ya. That's all." He says as if it's the most normal answer in the world and he leaves the room, leaving you stunned once again.

[authorhjk1]

How would Oh!GG members react when they receive their very first creampie? If you search their group name you will definitely love their members. Hehe.

Was too busy since my last ask, it's good to be back momentarily. Get well soon btw.

Asking anon

Taeyeon

Taeyeon knew she had bitten off more than she could chew, when she first saw your cock. And now, three orgasms later, Taeyeon can feel you throbbing inside of her.

"I'm gonna cum, noona."

You whisper into her ear, which almost makes it sound like a threat.

"Yes, do it. I want it."

You're leaving her breathless with your constant thrusts into her pussy. If she had a clear head, she'd probably tell you to pull out. But your cock has made her brain useless.

"I love your pussy, noona."

Your sincere compliment makes Taeyeon climax for a forth time. Her pussy contracts around your cock. Her walls give you tight squeezes. Finally, she makes you cum as well. You bury your head in her shoulder as you shoot your load deep into her pussy. Taeyeon's moans become louder as you fill her tummy with warm cum. Her whole body seems to heat up and she can't help but whine.

"Your cum feels so good in me."

Sunny

Sunny rolls her hips on top of you, a mischievous smile playing around her lips.

"Come on, sweetie. Cum for me."

You try to hold it together, if that means you can stay inside of her for just a minute longer. But you don't stand a chance. When Sunny starts to play with her own tits, you finally give up.

"God, yes!"

Sunny's head rolls back as your cum floods her insides.

"This feels amazing."

She keeps moving her hips, trying to get every last drop out of you.

"Good, boy."

Hyoyeon

Hyoyeon has waited for this for a long time. Ever since Taeyeon admitted that you did it to her. And now, Hyoyeon is riding you. Her hips move up and down, her hands on your shoulders, while your own hands are tied to the back of the chair.

"Do it. I want to feel you cum inside of me."

Hyoyeon picks up the pace, her pussy applying more pressure to your cock. And sooner rather than layer, you can't hold back anymore.

With a groan, you thrust up into her, spilling your seed inside Hyoyeon's pussy.

"Fuck, that's hot."

She gasps, finally sinking fully onto your cock as she lakes the whole load. You feel her walls contracting around you, trying to steal every last drop from you.

"You better get back to dance practice. We don't want anyone catching you cuming inside me, do we?"

Yuri

"Where do you think you're going?"

Yuri quickly locks you into position, her legs tightly wrapped around you.

"W.. What?"

You are barely able to speak, your brain already a mess.

Yuri's tight pussy is going to make you cum and you were going to pull out in time, but now you're forced to stay inside of her.

"I want to feel it. I want to feel your cum deep inside me."

Her words instantly make you orgasm. Who would be able to resist that? No one.

You almost fall over and on top of her as you bury your cock as deep in her pussy as possible. Yuri arches her back, letting out a satisfied moan as she feels your cum filling her pussy. It's warmth quickly spreads through her body, even making her cheeks burn.

"This is making me so wet."

She sighs as she watches you pull out of her. Your cum starts to leak out of her pussy, before she can seal it with her hand.

Yoona

"N-Noona."

You still can't believe your stepsister's pussy is wrapped around your cock. You can't believe Yoona, of all people, would be your first. You were very hesitant at first, when she came at you. Especially since neither of you had protection. She just waved your worries away, saying it's fine, as long as you pull out.

"Noona."

You call for her for a second time. But your voice isn't as loud as your hips smacking against her ass, or the moans that leave her lips. And since she's on all fours and not facing you, you can't give her any signs.

And you definitely can not pull out. It just feels so amazing. Your stepsister's pussy feels like silk around your cock. The best thing you've ever felt. You wish you'd last longer. But you've reached the end. You can't stop thrusting into her. With a loud groan, you suddenly shoot your load deep into your stepsister's unprotected pussy.

"Oh, fuck! What are you-!"

Yoona yelps and moans when she suddenly feels your warmth flooding her system. Surprise, shock and arousal wash through her. Your weight hits her unexpectedly and the two of you hit the mattress. Your cock is still deep inside of her, the last drops of cum just waiting to completely fill her up.

The fact that you just came inside of her without any protection at all makes a cold shudder run down Yoona's spine. She feels goosebumps on her skin, when she hears the wet sound of you pulling out of her cream pied pussy.

[ilylovelyz]

⍣ ೋ distance

˚ · . giyuu tomioka x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ cheating, semi-public sex, getting caught, breeding, impregnation, unprotected sex, squirting, biting, forbidden love, arranged marriage, sex in a church, jealous!giyuu, this is more angst than smut

make sure to keep my distance say i love you when you're not listening and how long 'til we call this love?

the melodic chimes of a church bell rings loudly, signifying the important event taking place in the spring evening.

families are gathered, sitting down, awaiting for the bride to be to walk down the awhile. they are joyous, so excited to unite both families, especially because allowing their son to marry their own daughter meant a trade of advantages in the future.

your father waits outside the doors that separate you and your groom, awaiting for his youngest daughter to wrap her arm around his, to walk her down the aisle and give her away.

only, he stands alone.

your father awaits anxiously, occasionally glancing at his pocket watch, waiting for your arrival. minutes go by, and you don't show up. it has become clear that you are late, lightly irritating your groom.

an hour passes, and the guests begin looking for you around the church. they know you're there, after all, they did see you arrive. they all look around, wondering where the bride to be is.

but do they really want to know?

hypothetically, what if they see the dolled up bride to be getting fucked mercilessly in her pretty little expensive silk kimono by her ex-boyfriend? that will surely bring shame upon the entire family, ruin any ties they had to any potential wealth that the bride was supposed to be marrying into.

hypothetically.

it will remain a hypothetical scenario as long as you and giyuu aren't caught in such a scandalous position. the position? oh well, giyuu just seems to have your expensive silk kimono rolled up to expose the flesh of your ass, your chest flush with the harsh walls of the bathroom church as he rams his cock in and out of your poor pussy.

giyuu curses under his breath, his hand covering your mouth to prevent your shamefull moans being heard by any potential passerbys.

this is so taboo. this shouldn't even be happening, you should be walking up that aisle, marrying the man everyone thinks you should be marrying. but you aren't. instead you're getting your pussy fucked like some cheap prostitute in a church bathroom by your ex-boyfriend, whom you begged to even attend the wedding in the first place.

maybe that's why you begged him so much to come to your wedding. to fuck you so good that it has you finally growing a spine and rejecting tradition, rejecting your family from basically giving you away just for more wealth like some greedy pigs.

this is so uncharacteristic of giyuu to do in the first place. he likes to think of himself to have morals, to know better than to fuck a soon-to-be-bride. a bride who is already promised to someone else.

and yet, he still came to the wedding. he doesn't even know why. maybe for closure. maybe to be able to see you in a beautiful white silk kimono, hair braided up into a bun, just how he likes it. to see you walk down that aisle to your groom. or maybe it was because he wanted to be able to envision himself as the groom instead.

this is not right. but your family giving you away for their own lavish wants isn't right either. you were giyuu's in the first place, a happy and dedicated couple for nearly 5 years before your father decided giyuu was too low for you and shipped you off to marry another.

maybe this is right, maybe this is god's redirection to let you both know that the two of you are meant for each other.

giyuu bites onto the back of your nape, his free hand feeling up your breast underneath the layers of your kimono. it's hot. it's so hot. and yet, he can't stop—no, he won't stop.

his cock tip hits against your cervix, his nose inhaling your sweet scent. he's fucking you like an animal. like it's the last time he has with you. his touches are almost painful, his strong hands gripping wherever he can. giyuu sinks his teeth onto wherever he can, not caring if your soon-to-be husband sees them when the two of you have to consumate your marriage later tonight.

giyuu feels his jaw tightly clench at the thought, his hands forming a tight grip onto your hips, so tight it leaves red marks when he releases. consumating the marriage.

giyuu is clealry upset. pissed off even. he spent so much time with you, put in so much effort to even open himself up to you like you desperately wanted, and yet you're stolen away so easily, it's almost insulting.

oh. you feel so good around him. you've taken his sacred virginity a long time ago, and yet you still feel like a vice grip around his cock, no matter how many times he fucks you.

the two of you are startled when you hear a knock at the bathroom door. time is over.

but you both just cant stop. giyuu doesn't stop his hips from rutting into yours, and neither do you stop yourself from moaning like a whore.

this is shameful. this is taboo—and yet, giyuu finds himself on the brink of his orgasm.

"y/n," he calls out, too pussydrunk to care if the people on the other side of the door hear. "y/n, i-i'm about to–" he grunts out, leaning his head into the crook of your neck. you moan happily at his words, too fucked to give a damn about the consequences.

"give me yourrr cum giyuu" you slur out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you ride out your nth orgasm. giyuu grunts lowly in response, laying a kiss down onto the back of your neck before he's wrapping a hand around your neck and forcing his hips all the way up towards your own until he fills his cock tip pushing against your cervix so tightly it has you screaming with pleasure, squirting on his cock so deliciously.

"f-fuhck!" he yells out before he shoots his fat load into your convulsing cunt, his seed filling up your womb to the brim. you squeal happily at the feeling of your womb being filled by the right person, by your one true love.

the two of you are too drunk on sex to even notice that your groom has already unlocked the bathroom door anyways.

please repost with tags and leave a like.

[councilofcastamere]

ADORNMENTS | AEMOND TARGARYEN X DAERON’S TWIN!READER

a b r i d g e m e n t : your older brother Aemond loves to shower you with gifts. one day, you’ll pay him back.

TW: smut, targcest, oral (f receiving) penetration, riding, missionary, childhood love,

A/N: reblogs but most of all comments are immensely appreciated!

Aemond couldn’t remember the day when you drew your first breath alongside your twin brother, Daeron. All he knows is that the Gods had shined light upon him that day.

He had gotten blessed with the only one that could have ever drawn his attention like it did.

Like you did.

4-year-old Aemond witnessed the sunlight shining upon your face as Queen Alicent flaunted you in her arms, Daeron held in the King’s arms.

Your laughs could only be translated into melodies as they entered the prince’s ears. Your skin was almost porcelain and your eyes were peacefully closed. You were wrapped around the purple blanket as if you were a present.

His thoughts felt overpowered by a desire to hold you. He climbed up next to his Queen Mother and tugged on your blanket, signalling to hold the new blessing that came into his life.

“Aemond wishes to hold his new sister,” Alicent remarked, smiling as she looked down upon him. She very carefully positioned you into his small arms, staying close as to keep an eye.

“A family man, he will be.” the king laughed, very carefully swinging Daeron in his arms.

Aemond, ignoring the speaking of his parents, wrapped his small arms around your small body, regarding you as if you were a gem to keep in his palm. He held you closer to his chest, and brought his lips to your forehead, before hesitantly returning you to your mother.

And as you turned older, you grew only closer to him. It was as if he were your shadow, and you were his. You would do everything together.

He was infatuated with you, always opting to bring you your favourite pieces of jewelry, your favourite silk dresses and your favourite flowers.

Eventually, you shared your first kiss with him.

It was the hour of the owl, and you were holding a candle to your chest, waiting for the prince to sneak into your chambers. Your hair was tied up into braids, which made for a beautiful updo.

“Sister.” you heard a voice. it was Aemond’s.

But it didn’t sound all too delighted.

“Aemond?” you ask softly, observing him sitting on the edge of your bed. “What happened?”

He didn’t wish to tell you, but your angelic voice compelled him as if he was answering the gods.

“…they gave me a pig.” he murmured, passionately angry. his fists clenched at his side and he didn’t dare look you in the eye.

You knew what he meant. You always pitied having him watch you ride starfyre. You only prayed he could get one of his own.

You crawled over to him, his back facing you. You delicately rested your chin on his shoulder, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“If a dragon doesn’t like you, I don’t like a dragon,” you murmured, whispering into his ear. “You over any dragon, big brother.”

Just then, his head turned to you. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips. You felt your throat go dry, and you liked the feeling. You liked having him look at you like that.

You closed your eyes, and the second you did, you felt his slightly chapped lips on yours. You savoured the feelings for a couple of seconds, before attempting to brush your hair out of your face. His hand eventually came up to your rosy cheeks, cupping at your jaw, while your hands settled themselves on top of his unoccupied hand.

You very gently pulled away, smiling at his lips.

From that day on, it was sealed.

He was infatuated with you, always opting to bring you your favourite jewelries, your favourite silk dresses and your favourite flowers.

You loved it, and as you blossomed into a woman of age, you remained appreciative of his efforts.

But you wanted more. You wondered if he loved you so much, why hasn’t he bedded you yet? It made you insecure. What if the kisses mean nothing, and he only sees you as a sister, not good enough to bed?

You didn’t wish to come to conclusions, or accuse him of anything, but you only prayed you were able to ask him without feeling humiliated.

After all, what if he felt pressured after you asked him, and it won’t be as good?

You wrote all of your concerns down on a small paper, your quill clumsily spilling over some of the characters. You carefully folded it into a heart and left it under your pillow.

Which was a mistake.

Imagine Aemond’s shock when he came into your chambers to place your newest present under your pillow, only to find the paper.

Imagine his guilt as he reads how his little dragon has been feeling neglected.

And imagine his lust at your words, having everything you wished he’d do to you written down on the little paper.

You were inexperienced and some of the things made no sense, sure, but he got the idea of what you wished for.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do. Wait for a better time. He carefully stuffed the paper back under your pillow, and the present back in his hand.

With a swift turn, he departed your chambers, his golden locks cascading behind him. He’d have to make you see his love, sooner or later.

And that evening, you did not notice anything amiss when you strolled inside, your handmaidens at your side.

You opted for a pretty green dress, your hair beautifully done into a loose braid. You wore your green earrings to match your gown. Your nails were washed and clipped thoroughly, and you insisted on a clean bath before all of it.

“I’ll speak to you later!” you called out to your handmaiden as she left you in privacy. you always knew where Aemond would be waiting for you. you loved times like these, where you could dress that gorgeously only to be with your pretty big brother in your chambers.

You quickly settled on your bed, reading a small book Aemond got you from the Vale about different mountains. Aemond always knew what you liked, to your delight. You’d even wondered if he had any hidden presents here.

Time felt like an eternity as you waited for Aemond, and you began to doubt his arrival. Your eyelids began to close but you were insistent on waiting some more moments.

You tried to, but your slumber overtook you, and you ultimately lost yourself to the night.

Only then had he come in.

You had drifted up to slumber, your beautiful gown lifted past your hips. Silly girl, he thought, watching your glistening cunt spread out into the cold air. Your beautiful eyes were closed, hair sprawled all through your silken pillows, and soft sighs leaving your lips.

You looked so beautiful, the true image of Valyrian beauty.

His footsteps just forced him to close the proximity. It was out of his control.

And as you lost yourself in slumber, you missed the way his hands slid up and down your beautiful legs, lifting one as he pressed a kiss to the heel of your foot.

No, that wasn't enough. A kiss on the ankle will do.

Perhaps a kiss on the calf.

And he couldn't make any excuses any more, his lips hastily trailing up to your upper thighs, his hands hastily thrown over his shoulders. His mouth pressed an open kiss to your cunt, losing himself in the heavenly taste of your confined flesh.

You shifted slightly, your beautiful back arching as you let out a sleepy moan. Poor girl, you probably thought it was a dream. A mere reflection of the desire that occupied your mind.

Aemond was well aware of your feelings. Your beautiful gaze always drifted onto him, sitting on his lap as he read you a book about Valyrian gods, his clothed cock rubbing against your pretty clothed cunt every time you tried to read for yourself.

So, who was he to not reward you for your patience? His tongue gently penetrated your hole, licking all around the throbbing beauty. Your beautiful lips made the sweet melodic noises he'd soon become addicted to, his tongue poking your hole faster, causing you to squirm and your hips to buck into his face.

"Ae-amond?" you groggily whispered, gasping at the sight of him between your legs, his lips glistening with your juices.

"Hush, sweet sister," he replied, kissing all around your thighs and the lips of your cunt. "It feels... pleasurable, does it not?"

All you could do was nod, too tired and too riled up to fight your common sense. You cracked a smile, your feet gently pulling him closer as he kept ravishing your swollen hole.

"Aemy.." you whisper, bucking your hips. "What if mother comes to bid me goodnight?"

He hummed, his tongue working on devouring your pink delight. His hands squeeze both of your thighs.

"How much I do not care," he uttered, a hand rising to grope your soft breast. "I could die a happy death in between these legs."

"But then you wouldn't see me again." you chuckled, bucking your hips into his face. his smirk widened as his one eye trained on yours as if it was a hypnosis.

you cried out as his tongue lapped at your folds, quickly flipping the two of you so you could do it at a pace of your own. your hands gripped the headboard, and you brought yourself to move your hips as if it were a swing.

his eye was still on yours, and under your folds, you could still feel his smirk.

"ae-aemy." you pant, moving your hips in a circular motion. "I-I..."

"I know, sweet sister," he replied, gently lifting you off him. you whined at the loss of proximity and felt the cold air on your bare skin. "The best thing hasn't happened yet, however."

you could only manage whines and moans as he guided you backwards, your cunt moving from his mouth to his cock. your hands held on to his shoulder, your thumbs slightly pressing into the sides of his neck. you felt the warmth of his hands on your hip.

"Careful..." he warned, slowly easing you down on his cock. you felt the thick length slowly opening up your virgin hole, your face red with unease.

his eye flickered up to you, and he let out a smirk as you attempted to sink to his cock, his tip kissing your cervix.

his hands slid up from your thighs to your round ass, firmly massaging the skin. you looked at him, and pressed your lips to his as you let the feeling sink in.

“Do I start to move?” you murmured against his lips, face uneasy with pain. “It hurts, Aemy.”

“I know, my sweet.” he whispered against your lips, lips trailing across your jaw. “It hurts for a maiden’s first time.”

You nodded, and could only bite your lip as you slowly moved up, with his hands shifting to your hips, massaging circles into them.

Aemond only wished he could take it faster, to finally feel himself marking your womb as his. He had loved you for years and absolutely hated the fact you did not feel loved. At the end of the night, he decided, you would feel loved.

You slowly moved yourself back down, and you winced in pain. You locked eyes with Aemond, only to find his eyes closed. He pulled your body down to press your lips against him, your moans of pain muffled.

Your agony slowly began to dissipate into pleasure, and you could feel the prince’s soft moans as he thrusts his hips up, filling you up. You moaned in pleasure as you bounced, your hands on his chest.

His veiny hands reached up to your hair, undoing the hair your handmaidens had spent an eternity on. It allowed for your beautiful locks to cascade down, covering your pink nipples.

“Aemy…” you moaned, breathless gasps leaving your mouth as his skin slapped against yours, your round breasts bouncing a sight for sore eyes. “I-I love you. Too much. Only y-you.”

His eye snapped open at that, and he quickly flipped you two over, towering over you. His lips marked your neck as you writhed and arched. His hands groped your breasts, moving your hair out of the way.

“Shh, sweetness,” he whispered, his nose brushing against yours. “I know. I know.”

His large girth split you in half and had you gripping the sheets, your legs widening even more open.

He could only let out moans and groans, concentrating on filling you and making you feel pleasure.

“One day, we will do this to bear children,” he tells you, kissing along the side of your face. “You will become my wife, and always stay at my side.”

You could only smile, rolling your hips up.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked with a slight grin, kissing your chest and collarbone. “Waiting on me each day, each night. Wrapped in my sheets and eager to welcome me.”

You nodded eagerly, his hands pushing your knees to your chest. Your face was red, with tears streaming down your beautiful eyes.

You panted and kept panting as you felt a knot tighten up in your stomach. You breathed heavily, your walls clenching around his length.

“Aemy!” you cried out, thrown between the sheets as you wildly threw your head back, hips bucking ferociously against him.

You bit your lip, face red and teary as you came close, holding him closer to you.

“Let it out,” he murmured, nose rubbing against your neck. “Listen to me.”

You obliged, and as the knot in your stomach snapped, sticky white juices came sprawling out, clenching around and milking his meat.

His eye rolled back at the feeling, and he let out some more thrusts, before slowing down immensely and pulling out, frowning at the loss of proximity.

“Sit still,” he ordered, and you did as he asked, while you felt your chest being painted with his creamy juices.

“Now…” he panted, pulling you to lie against his chest. “Do you still doubt my love? Do you still wish for me to prove my love?”

“Hm?” you shot up, heart jolting at his question. did he read the paper under your bed? gods, you could have died right there.

“Hm?” Aemond mimicked you, placing a finger under your chin and lifting it to make you look at him. “I don’t wish for you to ever doubt my love. Ever.”

You only nodded, kissing down his chest causing his heart to soften.

Aemond had finally bedded you, and you couldn’t wait to repeat it all.

[rhysazriel]

Kinktober Day 6: Bondage

A/N: Day 6 is here and we’re almost a full week into Kinktober!! I hope you’re all enjoying the smutty blurbs hehe!! 18+ only!! Includes sexual themes and bondage!!

Kinktober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Azriel would argue that you’d been nothing but a tease these past few days. Lingering fuck me eyes, gentle strokes of your body against his in the most public of instances, and more than anything else, the way you had been avoiding him come nightfall, when he’d seek you out.

It was getting to him—making him angsty and frustrated. You’d blue-balled him for the past week and enough was enough. He was going to have you one way or another.

You knew you had it coming, you’d been pushing him to that limit purposely, after all—wanting to see how long it would take for him to snap and take what he wanted. It didn’t take long.

Midway through the evening celebrations of Winter Solstice, Azriel had lured you away from your friends and family. He winnowed you both out of the townhouse and to your own apartment, locking the bedroom door shut and tugging at the tie he had looped around his neck.

You gulped, eyes wide at the feral look on his face. His shadows were erratic, unable to remain still at their masters shoulders, itching to taste you and feel you. Azriel stood with his broad wings spread proudly, tauntingly.

He toyed with the silk tie in his scarred hands, looping it around his fingers as he stalked closer to you. Your legs carried you backward until the back of your knees hit your mattress, and he sprawled you across the bed before him.

Azriel said nothing as he took both of your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. Then there was a glint of something animalistic and hungry in his eyes as he wrapped the silk around your wrists and tightly bound you to the headboard of your own bed.

You gulped at him, thighs rubbing deliciously as Az finally allowed his shadows to slink up and down your body, caressing whatever exposed skin that they could find.

“Look at you,” he finally whispered, his voice raspy. “All bound and spread for me.”

Your lashes fluttered at his words, his tone…at what you knew was yet to come tonight. Azriel kneeled at the end of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he drank you in.

“There’s no getting away from me now, my love. I’m going to keep you tied up like this all night while I remind you of what a bad girl you’ve been.”

[freshpeachpulp]

handle it | unravel

Ellie Williams x wife!reader / 2.3k words / smut, use of restraints, some unserious moments.

You and your wife have had a dry spell of sorts and you believe it’s time to switch things up!

oh friends it’s been so long, i hope there’s still sub!Ellie enthusiasts out there. this has been sitting in my drafts for a hot moment lmao! i hope u enjoy :) btw i have a prequel to this hidden in my google docs somewhere if anyone is interested

You peek over your shoulder and dim your screen before typing on the keyboard. You don’t even know why you did that, you’re literally sitting on the floor against a wall and it’s midnight. Ellie’s fast asleep in the bedroom, or maybe she’s watching tv, you’re not sure. You’ve been in your office all evening, finishing up a project due for work.

You open up a new tab and type in the website. Www.yvesapple.com pops up on your screen. You see, your sex life with Ellie has gotten a little… monotonous. There’s still passion, and you both orgasm, but it’s predictable and doesn’t happen as much. You’re both happy, you know she loves you, but you’re dying to switch it up. Your married friends warned that the bed can get a little dry over time, and that trying new things is a must. You’re both so busy with work and life’s responsibilities, you don’t have the time to get tipsy and fuck in every room of the house like you once used to.

So here you are, on a website searching for something new. In the shop tab you click ‘all’ and scroll through. You don’t know what you’re looking for, something, anything. You scroll past the ball gags and bdsm gear, that’s not something you’re ready for at the moment. You’ve always been a bit vanilla so they kinda scare you a little. You keep scrolling past straps and dildos —you and Ellie already have a good selection.

You scroll but stop when you see a lingerie set. It’s a long silk sash tied intricately around the model's body. As you scroll through the pictures available you notice there’s many variations, an almost endless amount of ways to tie it over your body. The set comes with a matching restraint and a blindfold. It’s been a while since you’ve dressed up for Ellie, the most being your business attire and makeup you wear to work, this could be fun. You quickly order it and close the tab before heading to bed, too giddy to finish your project tonight.

—-

A week later you're at work when you get a notification that your package has arrived. You’re thankful that Ellie works late spearheading a construction project today, you can surprise her. You race home after work and shower, and begin wrapping the silk around your slick, oiled body. Across your chest like a bandeau, crossed over your belly, around your back and bring the rest over your crotch and you tie it in a little bow at your hips. There’s extra silk that you tie under your ass to bunch up the fat.

It took you a while to adjust but you’re pretty impressed with the way the red silk intricately accents your body. You look irresistible. You leave the restraint on the bed and throw on your usual unsexy robe and wait for Ellie to come home.

Her truck rolls into the driveway about an hour later, though it feels like eternity. She steps out and slams her door, disgruntled. You’ve noticed it’s become more common for her to be irritated after work, she’s in need of a good release too.

You hear the front door open and call her name with the cadence you use when you need her help with something. “Ell-ieeeee!”

“What?” she barks, her voice is piercing and you know she’s upset but you can’t help but feel turned on.

“There’s something wrong with the closet door babe, I need you to take a look at it,” you tell her, and you watch as she grunts something to herself while kicking off her work boots. She begins undoing the buttons of her plaid shirt and follows you to the bedroom. You gesture at the closet and move behind her as she observes it.

“There’s literally nothing wrong,” she says, exasperated. “Look. I literally just got home from wor— Oh…“

She turns around in time to watch the robe slip off your body. Her jaw slacks before she licks her lips, the agitation on her face morphing into excitement. You shimmy before twirling around and bending over so she can see how the sash barely contains your round ass and swollen pussy.

“Ooh freaky girl,” she teases and it makes you flush. She walks behind you and grabs your ass, observing the silk ties wrapping around them. Her hands are calloused and rough, a sharp contrast from your soft, warm skin. She squeezes and you can feel your pussy pulsate.

“Aht! No touching baby,” you tease, playfully swatting her hand away. It takes all of your willpower to break the contact. You guide her to the bed and she notices the restraint.

“Can I try that on you Ellie? Do you want it?”

“Yeah I do,” she says. She grabs your chin and pushes your head up so she can kiss you from behind. She grabs your neck and grinds into your ass, and you can feel the world melting around you. You two haven’t kissed this passionately in months, and you feel dizzy thinking about all the things you want to do with her tonight.

Ellie pulls away from the kiss leaving you wanting more, and she knows it. She thrusts her hips into your ass, it catches you off guard and you fall over the bed.

“So. You gonna take the lead tonight, cupcake? Or do you need me to handle it?” You look over your shoulder and she’s so smug, she gently smacks your ass and watches the fat jiggle. You could explode from the tension in your belly and the pressure in your pussy. All of you wants to surrender and let her tie your ankles to your wrists and fuck you slowly with her thick veiny strap. But you had a plan for how you wanted the night to go.

“Let me,” you manage to muster, crawling across the bed. “Come,” you say, grabbing the restraints and pointing to the front of the bed.

Ellie strips of her work jeans and shirt, leaving her in boxers and a wife pleaser. She then sits on the bed and rests her back against the headboard. You seductively crawl towards her, maintaining eye contact the whole time and make a show of mounting her hips, swaying your hair and poking your chest in her face.

Ellie smirks, eyeing your body with reverence and anticipation. She holds her hands out to you and you pin them above her head and begin tying them to the headboard behind her. You’re thankful it’s open-framed, so you can tie her to it like a post, but it’s more awkward to tie her than you thought. You're awkwardly hovering over her, trying to remember just how that knot was supposed to go.

“Need a hand babe?” Ellie laughs to herself, pleased with her pun. She stays completely still for you, content to watch you struggle with the tie, and your cleavage is in her face. Who is she to complain?

She begins pressing open mouthed kisses on your breasts, sucking on the cleavage that’s showing, paralyzing you with pleasure. You’ve managed to tie her hands but you can’t pull away from her mouth just yet. In one swift motion Ellie bites the red silky fabric and yanks it down with her teeth, your breasts springing free in front of her face. You shriek when she quickly takes a nipple into her mouth, too pilant and needy to pull away when she hums and sucks on it. The sash unravels around your body, the same way her mouth is unraveling you. Ellie then pulls away and looks you deep in your eyes, leaving you exposed and burning to the touch.

“I thought you were supposed to be taking the lead tonight?” she mocks, licking her lips. “You know you want more. C’mere baby,” she says, all smooth and low. She knows just how to lure you in like a siren’s call. You almost fall for it, but you regain your composure.

“You love this mouth baby, imagine if my hands were untied. Let me go and I’ll—mumph!”

You turn around and shove your pussy in her face, “I’ll give your mouth something to do!” you grunt, grinding your pussy along her face. Her muffled moans vibrate against your swollen lips, shooting euphoria through your veins.

Ellie, defiant as ever, is determined to get the upper hand. She sucks and licks with hunger and ferverency. She knows what makes you feel good, what makes you fall apart.

You become so lost in the pleasure, reality loosening around you that you jump when she bites your clit. You jolt forward on the bed, body trembling and shiny from sweat. She didn’t bite you hard —she’d never hurt you, just enough to sting for a moment. Ellie chuckles behind you, satisfied with your reaction.

“I’m gonna make you pay for that,” you vow, looking her dead in the eyes.

Ellie licks her messy, wet lips and smirks, she wants to push you to the limit, see just how many buttons she can press, “I look forward to it,” she replies.

That’s how she ends up like this.

“Nnghh” she huffs and writhes, pursing her lips and glaring at you, defiant as ever. Her wife-pleaser has been ripped from her body, and her boxers are long gone, a dusty pink blush covering her from her cheeks to her chest. Her arm muscles are bulging, and her abs are tense. Her body is slick with sweat, you watch as a drop of sweat falls down her breast and over her nipple. They’re so pert and puffy as if they’re bursting with milk.

You’ve been at it for almost an hour now, finding all the ways to drive her body crazy then pull away before she can orgasm. First, you ripped her clothes off and kissed her down from her neck to her thighs, reveling in the way her skin grew hotter to the touch with each kiss. You reached her swollen pussy and opened her lips to flick her heavy clit. She moaned, deep and guttural, growing wetter with each flick of your tongue. You pulled away and kissed her lips, making her taste herself while you dipped your fingers inside to massage her hungry pussy.

You held a vibrator to her clit, watching her writhe as she neared her peak before stopping and using it on yourself in front of her. Made her watch helplessly as you spread your legs and pressed it to your swollen clit, your face contorting while you grabbed your breast to massage it. You watched her eyes grow dark out of jealousy. It should be her making you cum.

It’s sadistic how much you’re enjoying this power over her. Ellie’s enjoying it too, she knows the safeword, she just doesn’t want to use it. You place your face close to hers and she grunts, pursing her lips trying so hard to stay tough.

Her pussy is so wet and throbbing, needy and commanding attention, it’s irresistible not to touch. You dip two fingers inside her pussy and flick them around, fast and sloppy. Droplets of her juices spurt from her with every thrust. “Let me come,” she groans, deep and guttural, her wrists red from straining against the ties. Her body is ready to release and then you pull away, and she looks as if she’s about to cry.

She’s in such a compromised position, disheveled and sweaty and pilant, and you know just how you want to finish things. You push a girthy dildo in her tight pussy. “Augh!” Ellie moans as her muscles pulse and throb around the phallus. She’s paralyzed with need. She’s desperate like she’s about to explode and all she has to do is ask nicely.

“Please baby,” she begs, throwing her head back and something inside you breaks. You hover over her again and she’s unrecognizable, she’s so submissive and docile and completely at your mercy. Her eyes lock with yours and they’re pleading. You reach for the hilt of the dildo and begin to pump it, obscenely loud squelching fills the room and her breath begins to hitch.

“Oohhhh baby don’t stop,” she moans while you press kisses against her sticky, flushed neck. Her arms strain against the silk and you stop to untie them. She gasps from relief and grabs your head and your shoulder, pulling your body flush against hers. She’s gone now, her eyes are glazed and words aren’t coming to her, all she wants is for you to get her there. She whines as you resume pumping the dildo into her, wrapping her legs around your waist and gripping your hair to try to pull you close.

Your arm is burning and you feel grateful for Ellie’s strong arms and fingers that have pumped you for hours on end. You push through the discomfort for her and you’re rewarded by a gush of thick liquid that lands on your forearm.

“Holy shit baby!” you exclaim, licking it off.

��Mmmmm,” Ellie moans, completely fucked out. You clean her up and curl into bed beside her.

—-

“Call off from work,” Ellie says. You’re awakened by her voice and greeted with the morning sun peeking through your window. “Im gonna make you pay for what you did,” she declares.

That’s how you end up with your ankles tied to your wrists while Ellie reminds you who’s the boss.

thank you all for reading this far i hope u enjoyed :)

[nasty-quillz]

Things We Shouldn't Do

Ao3 Mirror

Summary: "we Shouldn't be doing this" sex prompt

tags: non-con, monsterfucking, somnophilia

Eddie stares down to where you’re spread beneath them. Naked and wet, as Venom tentacles tease your clit and shallowly fucks your pussy. 

His own thick length hangs between their legs, a black tendril stroking him, pulling his foreskin back to reveal his leaking tip.

Venom had long since gotten them off on your face, dark pretty skin covered in their nut. They’d taken time to focus it on your plump lips and admired the sticky strands that fell on your tongue when you moaned or whined in your sleep.

“She’s ready, Eddie.”

Black cords drag you to them, lining his dick up with your brown gooey lips. Venom smacks Eddie’s tip against your fat lips and Eddie moans as his foreskin is pulled back and he’s urged to push into your sweet forbidden heat.

When he’s sheathed in you he shudders and Venom growls.

Those same tendrils wrap around your thighs and waist and fuck you on his dick. 

Eddies lets out a ragged moan and takes in your body. Your face is no longer slack but drawn in pleasure as you mew and moan in your sleep. Your dark skin glistens with perspiration of the hot summer night and the light shining through the window of your bedroom. Your hair is wrapped in a velcro band and a silk scarf is tied over it, preserving your cute short cut that Eddie and Venom absolutely adore.

“Fuck V, she’s so gorgeous.” Venom responds by pulling you onto their dick slowly, like their own personal fleshlight..

When your wide hips meet theirs in a gooey “smack” and your pussy contracts in your unconscious state Eddie is ready to cry. You respond so well to them. Like you were made just for them. Venom is Eddie's Other. His missing piece, but you are their soulmate. Made to take and accept them in all ways. They knew it since you moved in across from them.

Eddie tried to tell Venom they had to take it slow. That they couldn’t scare you away. And it’d been working.

But Venom convinced Eddie that they should check on you after you went to bed. “Just a kiss goodnight,” V had said. 

That all went out the window when they climbed through your open window to find you naked. That had been their breaking point.

Now you were wrapped around them moan ans whining on their dick like you couldn’t get enough.

“Venom, we shouldn’t be doing this.” As he says it, he thrusts forward as you’re pulled onto them and his brain is all but scrambled when Venom forms beside him and licks along their neck.

“But she feels so good, Eddie. Feel how she tries to keep us inside.”

Venom continues to fuck you up and down their length and Eddie’s mind is clouded by sticky heated pleasure. He’s left to make gasping desperate noise as Venom helps him fuck you and watches more tendrils stretch and grasp across your body to wind around full breasts that subtly bounce with each drag across their dick. 

“I told you, Y/n would be the best pussy we’d ever have.” He forces Eddie’s hands on your hips and the man takes over fucking you.

He shudders as he looks to where fat pussy lips wrap around them and whines when your cream can be seen, white and sticky as you’re dragged up and down. It encourages them to fuck you faster, stroking your pussy out to the point that the sound of your coupling fills the small bedroom.

The symbiote moves down the length of their bodies and wraps his tong around their dick to lick your juices up, when Eddie’s hips rear back. “She’s so sweet. I can’t wait to eat her pussy, Eddie.” He moves higher between you and Eddie watches his Other latch onto your clit.

That seems to be your final straw and you moan loud as your body shudders through its orgasm.

Eddie swear as your walls twitch and contract. He rabbit fucks into you, rhythm lost and frantic as he grinds into your cunt, Venom’s voice in their head.

“That’s a good boy, Eddie. Fill our girl. Nut deep in that fat pretty pussy.”

Eddie whimpers as he cums, thick and white and potent. He cums so much after Venom came into his life.

He pries his eyes open enough to look at you and sees you rapidly gaining consciousness. 

You look dazedly at him and realization dawns across your face. 

“E—Eddie?!”

Your stricken expression quickly contorts into bliss as Venom works your clit to overstimulation.

“W—What—St-ahp—!”

Eddies fucks you through your orgasm and sees Venom has disappeared from your swollen bud.

His hand strokes over the planes of your sides as  he seats himself in you until you stop shuddering around him.

When you finally stop shaking and are nothing but a panting mess below your friend, you drag your gaze to the man between your legs.

He’s panting as hard as you are and looking at you utterly besotted. It is unnerving.

When you regain your strength you start struggling to get away from him, but thick black tendrils coil tighter around you and hold you in place. Panic grips you and when you look back at Eddie it worsens.

Eddie’s body is being overshadowed by a big black hulking monster. Its eyes were solid white. And razor sharp teeth filled its mouth in a bare grin, with a long tongue  lolling out as it stared down at you. Inside you feel Eddie’s already thick length grow bigger. The stretch of your pussy around this monster’s dick, punches the air from your lungs.

The creature grins down at you and cages you in with thick black arms. Its tongue licks acoss your titties, up your neck, to your face and you stare up at it in shock. Without preamble it traps your arms above your head with the same tentacle like black rope and hoist your knees up to your chest, restraints connecting to those on your wrists.

You gasped as the creatures began fucking you slow and sweet, never taking it’s gaze from you.

“We are Venom and you are ours.”

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinkmas (2)- Naughty Or Nice?

Wanda X Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary-  Whilst being blindfolded and tied up, your girlfriends ask you whether you think you deserve to be on the naughty list. Naively, you say no, only to fall into their trap...

Word Count- 4K

Warnings/Tags: 18+ Smut, Threesome, Dom WandaNat/Sub Reader, Blindfolds, Restraints, Safe words, Choking, Punishments, Edging, Orgasm Delay, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Degrading, Oral Sex, Strap-Ons, Begging, Praise Kink, Brief Fluff

Kinkmas Masterlist

Darkness surrounded your vision as you knelt on the bed, a black silk tie wrapped securely around your eyes and a red one wrapped around your wrists, binding them together behind your back. You had been left to wait on the bed for your girlfriends to return, the few minutes feeling like hours as your knees pressed into the soft mattress under you, your chest rising and falling with laboured breaths as you tried to control your excitement and anticipation, ears intensely listening out for any sign of them.

With how long they took, arousal pooled between your legs, thighs slick with wetness as you fantasised about what they would do to you, what you wanted them to do to you all night long.

You imagined their fingers, their mouths, fuck even their straps filling you up in multiple positions, hands roaming your skin while filthy words gracefully spilled from their lips, the thought causing you to squeeze your legs together to help alleviate the intolerable heat in your lower abdomen.

The feeling of the bed dipping from both sides surprised you, too lost in your lustful thoughts to hear them approaching, your head naturally turning towards where the noises were coming from. A hand placed itself against your jaw, fingers splayed across the underside of it, guiding your face forwards as a body pressed into your back, your breath hitching at the feeling of bare skin pressing against yours, the sensation engraved into your mind as their touch sent butterflies swarming throughout you.

The fingers at your face softly caressed your skin as your lips parted to let out a shaky breath, the two women smirking at your submissive form all tied up for them to play with.

"Hey Detka," Wanda softly murmurs out, her thumbs moving to brush over your cheek, her eyes raking over your bare body, her smirk growing a little at the sight of your legs pressed tightly together, chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. "Colour?" she asks, letting her thumb move to brush over your lip, dragging your bottom one down before releasing it, Natasha moving her hands to glide around your body, snaking around your lower abdomen and pulling you slightly closer to her body, her hot breath tickling the side of your neck as her lips ghost your skin.

"Green," you sigh out in a barely audible whisper, scared to speak any louder as your heart drums against your chest, waiting for them to touch you.

"Good girl," Natasha praises in a sultry tone, a small affected noise escaping you as you feel her hands slide up your body, teasingly and purposely not reaching high enough to cup your breasts before moving down to your thighs, her hands resting on them as her mouth moves to your ear, teeth nibbling on your earlobe momentarily, a soft sigh leaving her lips to tease you further. "Have you been naughty or nice recently, Krasotka?" she asks with a hint of playfulness to her tone, her emerald eyes meeting the darkening green opposite her as Wanda watches amused at how sensitive to her touch you already seem to be, breath hitching when the witch's hand travels lower, resting on the base of your neck and keeping you facing forwards.

Wanda notices the small smile that plays on your lips at Natasha's festive words, entertained and excited at her sexual undertone to it as you carefully choose your answer.

"Nice," you whisper out, a gasp leaving you at the warm feeling of Natasha's mouth placing a lewd kiss to your neck and Wanda's hand applying a little more pressure to your neck.

"Speak up Detka," Wanda reminds you, knowing exactly what you said and wanting you to fall for the trap.

"Nice," you repeat a little louder, "I've been good," you add, tilting your head marginally to the side to accommodate more of Natasha's arousing kisses, the feeling of her tongue swiping over your skin addictive, her teeth occasionally grazing you making your thighs press harder against each other.

At your answer, you miss the way both of their smirks turn predatory, dominance swirling in their eyes as Wanda merely bites her lip in excitement. Oh they were going to ruin you.

"Is that so Detka?" Wanda purrs out, her tone containing hints of danger as arousal floods through you, the soft tone from early gone as power radiates off of her. "I'm not sure that's true," she says, prompting you to think again about your answer, the recent events flickering through your mind.

Fuck.

Stark's Christmas Party.

"That's it," Wanda mutters, hearing your thoughts. "Stark's Party."

"I-"

"Apologies aren't going to get you anywhere Krasotka," Natasha husks out, using her hands to part your thighs, fingers teasingly stroking the skin of your inner thighs, feeling your arousal that's coated them. "You wanted a reaction out of us, acting like such a brat, but we didn't give you one, did we?"

"No," you say, voice wavering as all you can focus on is her hands so close to where you desperately need her, body aching for their touch, yearning for pleasure to course through you.

"What did we do instead?" Wanda asks, relishing in your nervous but aroused form, entranced by the way your body practically buzzes with anticipation.

Your mind flickers back to the night, remembering how you tried your best to get a reaction out of them by disobeying a few of their rules for the night, purposely pushing their buttons, wanting them to snap and fuck you roughly, make you scream their names all night long and show you that you belonged to them. Instead, they were soft with you, they gave you everything you wanted and didn't once tease or edge you, your mind now only realising it was a trick to make you think you had gotten away with it without punishment.

"You... You gave me everything I wanted, everything I asked for," you say, both of them smiling as they sense your moment of realisation, a low chuckle escaping Natasha.

"That's right," she murmurs, pressing one last kiss to your neck before replacing Wanda's hand at your throat, turning your head so that your lips were millimetres away from hers, making you want to chase them. "Now, I think Wanda and I are owed a punishment, don't you?"

You nod in response, not sure you could form words right now as you could imagine her smug smile and Wanda's eyes watching you attentively, admiring your reaction to Natasha's words.

"Words Detka," Wanda says, replacing Natasha's hands between your legs, nails scratching your skin softly, leaving faint red marks in their trails.

"Yes, I deserve to be punished," you're tone nothing but submissive, laced with desperation as your mind fogged with delirium at every scorching touch.

"Good girl," Wanda whispers, Natasha's lips brushing your own, a whimper leaving you as you couldn't stand anymore teasing, your body needing them to touch you. "Don't even think about coming until we say so," her accent wrapping around her words sultrily, adding a low rasp that has you whining in response, the redhead's lips claiming yours to silence you.

Natasha's mouth was warm, wet and addictive, her lips perfectly moving against yours in a lewd and sinful manner, stealing your breath away as her tongue slid into your mouth, effortlessly dominating the kiss. While your lips messily met the redhead's over and over again, Wanda moved her fingers to meet your dripping core, gently sliding the tip of her digits over your sensitive folds, a moan escaping you that was swallowed by the redhead's relentless mouth.

"Spread your legs for Wanda," Natasha pants against your lips, one hand resting on your neck, the other sliding down and patting your thigh, motioning for you to separate them further.

"Wider," Wanda encourages, a low curse leaving you as Natasha's hand ventures back up your body, cupping your breast firmly, earning a groan in response while Wanda drags the pad of her finger up your core to circle your clit at a torturous pace, her hand grabbing your chin and directing you away from Natasha's lips to her own.

Her kisses are sensual and soft as sighs escape her and you, her finger gliding back down your wet sex to your entrance, sliding her finger in effortlessly to cause a pleasurable buzz to flow throughout your body.

"Fuck," you moan against her lips, Wanda swallowing each and every sound out of you, her kisses turning hungry as your hips rocked against her hand, hands forming fists behind your back. "Please," you whimper as her touch wasn't enough and she knew that, Wanda continuing to slowly thrust her finger in and out of your soaking cunt, curling it at your sweet spot to hear you groan desperately into her mouth, her eyes meeting Natasha's who was currently marking your neck.

The redhead's hands continued to tease your chest, pinching and pulling on your nipples to have your back arch closer into Wanda's body, the witch's free hand moving to slide across your cheek, fingers tangling in your hair, keeping your head in place as your hips rolled against her, struggling to kiss her back at the way your head was spinning.

"Please," Wanda mocks, tone condescending and sending a flood of arousal through you, a pathetic whimper escaping you as her fingers tighten in your locks briefly. "So desperate... You're just a slut for us to ruin, aren't you?"

"Yes," you sigh out immediately, her sliding another figure into you, stretching out beautifully while Natasha bites down softly on your neck, ensuring you knew you were theirs. "Your slut," you pant out, trying to chase Wanda's lips as she pulled back, admiring the scene of you and Natasha in front of her.

"Ours," Natasha murmurs against your skin, Wanda smirking at the redhead who moves her kisses up along your neck, then along your jaw till her mouth reaches your ear, letting out a small moan at the way you whine.

You wish you could see the state of yourself right now, body marked by the redhead's mouth, hips rocking unabashedly against Wanda's hand as you chase your release, the muscles in her forearm flexing slightly as she fingers you expertly, giving you enough to have you on edge but not enough to fall over and crash into you release.

"Wanda," you moan out and she knows just by your tone what you're asking for, the heat in your lower abdomen unbearable as her fingers curl inside you, sparking pleasure and euphoria as you desperately need more to come all over her hand.

Speeding up her actions a little, you were naïve enough to think she had taken mercy on you, giving you that little bit more that you craved as your mouth parted, unable to control the string of moans escaping you at the feeling of teetering on the edge.

"Shit, Just like that, Plea-No, no, please," your sighs of pleasure turn to begging as her fingers slide out of you, hips bucking against the air as she edges you, a cruel but loving smile on her face as your hands struggle behind your back, wanting to reach out to her body and pull her back.

"That's one," Natasha whispers into your ear, a displeased noise leaving you as you lean back against her body, frustration flowing through you at being denied. Her fingers then move to your hands, untying the red silk binding your wrists, her fingers deftly massaging where the tie was before instructing you. "Hands and knees Krasotka," she murmurs before kissing your cheek, Wanda guiding you into position as you still couldn't see, her hands guiding you to settle in a position where you could eat her out while Natasha was behind you, the spy currently putting on the harness, ready to fill you up.

Fingers threaded through your hair as your arms locked around Wanda's thighs, her hands guiding you closer to her core, not letting you please her yet, too busy admiring the sight of you obediently letting them use you.

"Fuck Detka," Wanda moans when she finally lets you swipe your tongue through her dripping folds, a moan escaping you at her heavenly taste. Her hips immediately bucked up, teasing you having turned her on immensely, arousal coating your mouth as you kissed her wet core repeatedly, addicted and starved of her. The sinful noises leaving her lips only fuelled your desire to please her and taste her come dripping onto your tongue.

A broken moan escaped you when you felt Natasha drag the tip of the strap on across your folds, teasing your entrance as she slowly thrusted it in, letting you adjust to the large toy.

"Come on Detka, you can do better than this," Wanda teases you as your mouth rests at her inner thigh, hot breath fanning across her skin as you try to function with the feeling of Natasha slowly pulling the toy out and thrusting back in, nothing but pleasure filling your mind.

"Keep going Krasotka," Natasha reminds you as your mouth returns to Wanda, her head lolling back against the mattress, showing off her sharp jawline to Natasha as she picks up the pace of her hips, snapping the toy into you and revelling in the moans leaving you both.

"Just like that, good girl," Wanda praises, fingers guiding your head to where she wants you as your tongue swipes over her clit, swirling over it in a way that causes her back to arch off the bed, pleasure and arousal building between her thighs. Her words encourage you, mouth wrapping softly around her sensitive sex and sucking, her hips bucking against your face as a guttural noise leaves her, a similar one leaving you as Natasha's hands move to grip your hips, her thrusts more powerful as she pounds the toy into you.

"Nat," you pant out against Wanda's core, the witch groaning at the sound of you moaning the other woman's name while between her legs, her hips grinding against your tongue as you flatten it for her, too busy focussing on the toy being buried deep inside you.

"You can take it," the redhead pants, watching as your greedy cunt swallows the toy up, your arousal glistening in the dim light of the room, a loud moan from Wanda gaining the redhead's attention.

Her free hand moves to her chest, hips fucking your face as you let her use you however she wants, arousal practically coating your chin while she chases her high.

"Fuck, don't stop," she groans out, fingers holding your head still as you continue doing what you were doing, letting her fall over the edge with a guttural moan, her back arching further off the bed as her legs trembled and closed briefly around your head, pleasure filling her. You listened to every soft pant that left her, every hitch of her breath as you didn't stop your actions, moving your tongue around her slowly to begin with before thrusting it into her, moaning at the taste of her cum and the feeling of Natasha sliding a hand around your body, her finger working on your clit perfectly.

Your hips pushed back against hers as she kept up her merciless pace, your own release building within you swiftly as the toy reached deeper inside you, hitting all of your sweet spots at the same time.

"You're taking me so well Krasotka," she praises, causing you to whimper into Wanda's core, earning a lewd noise from her as you try your best to continue eating her out, pleasure and the desire to come clouding your mind.

"Nat, I- Fuck, Please," you plead, hands gripping Wanda's thighs a little tighter as you move your tongue to lap at her clit, switching to a slower pace as you were struggling to think straight with the redhead pounding into you.

"Hold it," she rasps out, tone laced with dominance as you whimper and whine, legs trembling making her hand support your body, Wanda's hands moving to interlock with yours, comforting you as you try to delay your orgasm.

"I can't," you're tone desperate as you move your head to rest against Wanda's thigh, her fingers soothingly scratching your scalp as she can hear your thoughts and the concentration of trying to obey Natasha, needing to please them both and be their good girl.

When another desperate and pathetic whimper leaves you, signalling how close you were to coming, Natasha pulls the toy out of you, her hands holding your body as your legs tremble at being denied again, another frustrated noise leaving you. Your head rests against Wanda's thigh as you whine, hips pushing back into the redhead's body in search of friction, her hands gliding up and down your body as you eventually calm down, Wanda's fingers still tangled in your hair.

"That's two," Wanda murmurs, pulling you away from her soft skin and admiring your dishevelled state; hair ruffled, lips kiss swollen, the blindfold loosely tied around your eyes as you look where she guides you. At the small noise that leaves you, Wanda's eyes meet Natasha's and they silently agree on ending your punishment, taking mercy on you, the both of them having edged you at least once and teasing you beyond madness. "I'm so proud of you Detka, good girl for taking your punishment so well," Wanda softly whispers while guiding you away from her legs, Natasha moving so she was laying down, waiting for the two of you.

Wanda kisses your lips softly, her hands guiding you into a new position, straddling the redhead as she moans at the taste of herself on your tongue, reluctantly parting from your mouth when Natasha wants a turn with you.

"Our good girl," Natasha husks out, breath fanning your lips as she brushes hers against yours, smiling against you while she pulls back marginally, your body naturally leaning forwards to chase them, hands searching for her shoulders. "What do you want, Krasotka?" Her tone a hum as her kisses travel along your jaw, her fingers gliding up your back slowly, eventually sliding through your hair and untying the blindfold, unravelling the tie and letting you see the two of them.

Your eyes blink as you adjust to not seeing darkness, the dim light helping you not be shocked at how bright the room was, the two sets of green eyes gazing at you immediately catching your attention.

"Please let me come," you beg and you don't care anymore at how desperate you sound, how needy you must seem as your eyes plead them to finally give you the pleasure of your release.

Wanda responds by moving her hand to cup your cheek, claiming your lips in a passionate kiss while Natasha moves her hands to your hips, lifting you up slightly so she could slide the toy back inside you, a broken noise being ripped from the back of your throat, the sound muffled by the witch's mouth as her tongue slides against yours messily.

Natasha's hands caress the curve of your hips affectionately as she lets you rock your hips against the toy, your body already moving a little frantically, your hands using the redhead as support.

"Show me how much you want it, Detka," Wanda pants against you, lips parting in a gasp as one of her hands move to your throat, eyes peering into yours with nothing but lust and desire as you whimper, pleasure building swiftly in your lower abdomen.

"Fuck," is all you can sigh out, hips increasing your pace as you roll them, the toy buried deep inside you making your eyes flutter close at the pleasure that shoots through you, nails digging into Natasha's shoulders.

You hear her hiss a little at the dull pain, her hips thrusting up into you as one of her hands move to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair and gripping on your roots softly. Your eyes eventually flutter open, a wave of arousal flooding through you at the sight of the two of them making out, your hips stuttering against the redhead's lap.

Natasha's mouth opened to welcome Wanda's tongue, the witch letting out a sinful sound as she slid her tongue against the spy's, messily locking their lips as they put on a show for you, lewd sounds escaping them both. You almost come at the sight of the string of saliva that connects their lips, the two of them connecting their lips again before it breaks off, addicted to each other.

"Nat," Wanda groans, her accent becoming more prominent as you watch them eventually pull away from each other's lips, eyes overflowing with lust as they turn their gazes to you when you whimper, a smirk gracing both of their faces.

"Are you close Krasotka?" Natasha rasps out, leaning forwards to crash ghost her lips against yours, one of her fingers sliding between your bodies to find your clit, Wanda's hand tightening at your throat as she busies herself kissing the redhead's neck, teeth grazing the creamy skin.

"So close," you whisper, resting your head against hers as your hips rock frantically against her, the base of the toy brushing her clit making her moan quietly while you chase your high, pushing her towards her own.

Your hands travel further down her toned back, a groan leaving you as you feel her muscles twitch under your touch, red marks being left by your nails at the pleasure coursing through you, the redhead unable to stop the small sighs leaving her as her orgasm approaches. Her arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer and helping you with your hips as your rhythm falters, legs starting to tremble as you teeter on the edge of your desired release, her head dropping to rest against your shoulder.

"Come with me," she pants against your bare skin, her hips stuttering up into you as your body tenses on top of her. Your moans become unrestricted as your release crashes through you powerfully, body buzzing with satisfaction as you clench around the toy, obeying her words as you come all over the strap, vision blurring with pleasure.

Soft pants and gentle breaths filled the room as you relaxed against Wanda's body at your side, Natasha resting against you as you both recovered, Wanda's fingers threading through your hair in a comforting manner, you mirroring the action with Natasha. The redhead's hands slide up and down your back in a loving caress, warmth fluttering in your chest as your eyes flutter open, meeting her softening green as she pulls away from your shoulder.

Your lips break out into a tender, awkward smile as you lift your hips off of her, letting her remove the harness before joining the two of you back on the bed, arms enveloping you in an embrace as Wanda sandwiches you between them, smiles playing on all of your lips.

"We're so proud of you," Wanda murmurs against your temple, kissing your skin and lingering against the top of your head, nose brushing your hair as you relax against them, Natasha's fingers tracing random patterns against your hip bone.

"So proud," Natasha adds, your cheeks tinting pink at their praise, face moving to hide at Wanda's neck, a soft laugh leaving the witch at your flustered state.

"Stop," you mutter shyly, making them both chuckle adorningly, Wanda's fingers scratching your scalp in an affectionate manner while Natasha kisses your shoulder, smiling against your skin at the domestic moment, the three of you savouring the tranquil atmosphere.

"I love you," you whisper to the both of them after a while, feeling your powerful release catch up on you, exhaustion creeping up on you as their warm bodies surround you.

"We love you too," Wanda murmurs, kissing your temple once more as your eyes eventually flutter close, body drifting off to sleep as the two of them smile at each other knowingly.

It was only a couple days till Christmas...

Only a couple more days till they could ask you to be their wife.