#tugs fact of the week

[critter-covenant]

"ooooh thank you! Thank you! Thank you!!!"

They'd be good friends I like to thinmk

[siberian-tug]

Finally I'm not the only nerd on Tumblr now lel

Please note that I am new to Tumblr, and have no idea what's going on over here. I'm mainly just like researching information about TUGS, mainly relating to its deleted scenes and cut content.

Will post fun facts about TUGS mainly on here, to help further spread the heaps of TUGS information I have in my brain. Whenever I do that, it will be under the hashtag: #tugs fact of the day

Until then!

[elitehoe]

BCC jump Kenny after his match with Vikingo, overwhelm him and the Bucks and Hangman makes the save pushing Kenny closer to forgiveness

[eupheme]

— sugar, sugar

[part ii] | [part iii] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 6.5k

tags: asshole friend!wade, (sorta soft) roommate!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, flirting, mutual yearning, immature humor, a reference to while you were sleeping, wingman!wade and the worse way to meet someone, light angst, oral sex, swallowing, fingering, v. light ass play, unprotected PiV, appearance of The Claws, what’s a refractory period, sorta audible voyeurism (brief/humorous)

a/n: includes spoilers for deadpool & wolverine (which omg I loved - what was your fave cameo?)

Your eccentric neighbor Wade may drive you a little up the wall… but, you’re willing to put up with him if it means he’ll introduce you to his new, grumpy-looking roommate.

“You gonna introduce me?”

You’ve cornered Wade in the apartment’s laundry room - the door to the front-loading washer hanging open as he holds a bundle of red fabric up to his chest.

“You think this will wash out?” 

The suit in question looks like it had been run over by a truck and then set on fire, with the rips criss-crossed in the leather and the numerous charred holes scattered across the chest.

“Definitely.” Your eyes flicker down, and then back up, “So, will you?”

He bundles the suit up - flinging into the back of the washer, the laundry basket still tucked under an arm.

“Really? Not even ‘hello, Wade’? ‘Looking good, Wade’?” His voice pitches up, imitating yours, “Does our friendship really mean nothing to you?”

You wouldn’t necessarily call Wade Wilson a friend.

In fact, he’s honestly the worst neighbor you’ve ever had. 

Loud, obnoxious. Persuasive - the first night you met you had been banging on his door at three in the morning, yelling at him to shut up as music and a caterwauling voice blared through the shared wall.

Ten minutes later you were playing the drums on his late night session of Rock Band, using a banana and a wooden spoon in place of sticks. Only for Althea to stomp out of her room and shut everything down, scaring both of you out of your skins.  

But sometimes, you think - remembering the times he came through for you, a shoulder to cry on, helping him this slump he’s been digging himself out of - he might just be the best, as well.

And maybe that was friendship, after all. 

You sigh, leaning against the row of washers. Eyes flicking over him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“You do look good, Wade,” There’s a tilt of your head, the smile widening, “Glad you lost the toupee, that really wasn’t your color.”

“Ah, ah. Repurposed,” He chides, cupping his crotch, “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve missed-”

“Ew, stop.” Your face scrunches, a hand covering your eyes as you shield your vision, “Will you please just answer my question?”

He throws a handful of shirts in the washer, “Which was...?”

Your head shakes - a hand on his arm as you reach for a glint of gold in the pile of clothes. Cringing as a handgun appears, held gingerly between thumb and forefinger as you set it on the side table.

“Good call,” He nods, “Dry clean only.”

You can't help a laugh then, even as your hands brace on your hips, “I want to meet your roommate.”

He frowns, “You’ve met Blind Al.”

“Jesus, Wade. Not Al." A hand waves, " I mean Mister Tall, Dark, and Brooding.”

You’ve seen the stranger in the hallways a few times in the month since he’s moved in. Scruffy and scowling the first time, a silent shadow behind Wade’s endless chatter. 

But in the weeks following, that look had softened. You’d stopped by twice with cookies to welcome him, but every time you’ve just gotten Al.

Not that you dislike Al, that’s not it at all. She’s sweet enough to you when it’s not 3 a.m. or if Wade doesn’t have her annoyed half to death.

But you certainly weren’t harboring a crush on her. Maybe even secretly hoping that maybe the new neighbor will get a little lost and end up at your door, instead of his new place.  

“Ooh,” The syllables draw out - detergent flung in, before he’s leaning against the washer too, facing you. “Yeah, Logan. He's great, got a mean ‘Hugh Jackman’ vibe, just without the singing. You’d like him.”

Something like hope flutters in your belly, but then he’s raising a finger - wiggling it at you, “Just one question though. What’s in it for me?”

That has you scowling, “What do you mean? You owe me. I covered for you when you had that barqueue in the stairwell.”

“God, that was great sausage.” Wade groans, thinking back, “Mmm, but I think Peter covered for me.”

“Who do you think got Peter?”

“Well, I don’t remember seeing you.” He shrugs.

“I was right-,” You pinch the bridge of your nose between thumb and forefinger, a sharp exhale of breath, “Fine. If you do this for me, I’ll do that thing you keep asking me to do.”

Wade gasps gleefully, “You mean you’ll make the triple decker-”

“-chocolate caramel cheesecake chimichangas. Yes.” You finish with him, arms crossing over your chest, “You’re lucky you heal fast because that should put you right into a food coma.”

“Right. Lucky me,” He smirks. A second as he thinks, before he snaps his fingers, “I’m having a little get-together tonight! You should come. Was gonna invite you anyway.”

The pounding in your head ratchets up at the thought that all this could’ve been avoided.

“Logan sleeps on the couch, though,” He adds, sagely, “So just letting you know that if the two of you decide to get your fuck on in my bed, according to the state of New York I am legally allowed to join you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” You grimace - even if you’re certain that cannot possibly be true, “But I do have my own apartment.”

“Oh, right.” There’s the faintest edge of disappointment in his tone, paired with a sigh.

You give him a sideways look, then.

“I saw Vanessa leaving yesterday. Things getting better?”

He sobers at that, eyes moving towards the sliver of a window. The glimpse of the street outside.

“Yeah.” Wade manages, “Yeah, I think so.”

There had once been a flicker of something. In-between your annoyance and exasperation, there were tendrils of tenderness. Long snuffed out, when you had seen just how banged up his heart was. How it’s always belonged to another. 

You had gotten over it. Gotten to a place where seeing him now, like this, makes you smile.

“I’m really glad to hear that.” 

He smiles, then.

“Thanks. Me too.”

“Hey, hold on.” Wade darts in front of his roommate, a leg kicked up high to block the doorway, “Where are you going? You can’t go out.”

Logan scowls, an arm already shoved into his leather jacket, “Sure I can.”

The blow against his shoulder might move a lesser man, but Wade’s fingers just grip the frame even tighter, “But I promised-, I got a friend that wants to meet you. There is some really important shit at stake here. I can’t let you go.”

An eyebrow cocks, “Can’t? I think we both know how that would go if you tried to stop me.”

It would be easy to get into this right here and now, but his suit is still in the dryer and he’s not about to spend another hour cleaning up blood.

“Wait, wait, wait,” He throws a hand up, “Aren’t you listening to me? A girl wants to meet you. She’s hot, she has a job, and she has an apartment. You’re only one outta three there. Can’t you see what a good opportunity this is? This is totally in your favor!”

Logan scoffs, his tongue tucking against his teeth. Hesitating for just a second, but it's enough that Wade knows he’s got him.

“I’ve met your friends,” He eventually acknowledges, “They’re good folk and all, but there isn’t anyone there I’d like to ‘get to know better’, yeah?”

“You haven’t met this one. She lives next door.”

The pause stretches longer this time. Dark eyes dart out into the hallway, and Wade can practically hear those rusted gears turning.

“Apartment 16 or 18?” Logan finally rasps, his arms crossing. 

Oh, he’s definitely got him. Just call him Wade Wilson, New York’s own personal Cupid. New life goal - get his friends laid. 

He nocks a mental arrow - aiming, and then firing with his answer. 

“18.” 

Another beat passes, and then a sigh. 

“Alright.” The leather sleeve slips from his arm, drooping in his fist.

“Five minutes. That’s all I’m staying.”

Wade’s fist pumps. 

Bullseye, motherfucker. 

The apartment is packed and it’s been well past the allotted five minutes. Logan’s been nursing a beer for the last fifteen, eyes flicking over the people he’s grown to know well.

Offering a tight, half-smile when the big man claps him on the back, followed by Opposites Attract. Almost tempted to find that damn dog, just to have something to do. 

Or maybe, just bail all-together.

Starting to think this was all an elaborate prank. Some fucked up aspect of this Earth, unknown to him until now.

He’s too old for this shit. If he heads for the bedroom now, he might make it out the fire escape before anyone notices.

Logan is still entertaining this new thread of thought until he hears his name - called out over whatever fuck-face bullshit boy-band music Wade’s been playing. 

Ambiance, his ass.

The muscles of his crossed arms flex. Catching the way his roommate hauls a girl across the floor - the look of panic on her face as she tosses a container onto the nearest surface.

Wade hadn’t been lying, after all. It was Apartment 18 - that was about as much as he knew about you.

Other than the color of your eyes. The smell of your perfume in the hall. Your hair, your schedule - waking in the mornings to hear your door opening at 5 a.m., five days a week.

A baker. A damn good one, from the bits of cookie he’s snuck when no one was home. 

Had never thought to introduce himself, because he’s been through all this before. Knows better than to reach out in the first place - still nursing the old wound of heartache, one that still flares to life in his chest.

Better not to hope, or even think, at all. 

You stumble when he lets go, and Logan’s hands only curl tighter. Afraid to touch, now that you’re so close. 

A pretty young thing compared to him. This was a fucking stupid idea, his eyes darting away as Wade claps, his hands spreading wide. 

“Logan,” Wade’s tone is cordial, as if discussing the weather, “This is our neighbor, Sugar. She bakes a mean penis cake and likes emotionally unavailable men.”

A dejected sigh as he regards you, “Which is why it’s never worked out between us. I am just too available.”

Penis cake?

Logan shoots you a sideways look, an eyebrow cocked. Caught off guard by this unexpected intro, and it seems you are the same - gauging by the way your mouth drops open. 

Your face swimming with regret, as you hiss, “Oh my god. Wade. It was one time. Why do you have to put it like that?”

Wade’s smile widens, his tone still innocent, “Just skipping over the ‘getting-to-know-you’s, so you can know if you’re compatible.”

Already pivoting to face Logan with a little wink, his own scowl already deepening. Something like nerves flickering to life - as he wonders if this will all be over before it ever begins.

“And this is Logan. He’s from another Earth, is two-hundred years old, and has a metal dong.”

Jesus Christ. 

Logan’s teeth grit, before he snarls, “It’s not made of metal-”

Out of the corner of his eye, catches the curious dip of your gaze. Past the folded twist of his arms, the flannel, down to his thick belt buckle.

A knock rings out then, interrupting him from any further clarification.

“Ooh! Door,” Wade thumbs over his shoulder, “Go on now, we’ve got some good energy going here. Sugar and spice, I love it.”

A spin on his heel, and he’s leaving them alone. Silence a lingering companion for a long moment, before Logan turns.

“Nice to meet you.” He seethes, jaw working as he shoots daggers at Wade’s back. A hand extended - he’d manage that much at least.

Waiting for you to make an excuse and run, but all you do is fit your hand into his. Soft and strong and a near perfect fit.

Logan doesn’t touch people much anymore unless it’s a hand around a throat, or claws buried deep into a chest. Had almost forgotten what it was like, even if this meeting is close to his own personal version of hell.

“Nice to finally meet you, too.” Your smile is wry. Hands still clasped a moment longer, until he’s withdrawing. 

Your hands shove into your back pockets. The tilt of a head as you regard him, and he lets his eyes meet yours. 

They’re pretty, like the rest of you. Captivating even, if he could use such a word, and Wade’s words ring out in his head. 

She wants to meet you.

He’s wondering if that’s still true. Maybe you’re wondering the same, with the way you look at him. 

“So,” You begin, awkwardly - another unconscious flick of your eyes,“How does-”

“Uh-uh.” Logan’s head shakes. He’s picked up a couple things living with Wade. Never used to be a bargaining man, but he has to admit it has its uses. 

“If you wanna know, you gotta go first.” 

He hates you.

He must, with the way he’s scowling. Thighs spread wide as he sits on the couch you had gestured to, fingers in a vice grip around the bottle. No doubt plotting a dozen ways to ditch you the second he can.

Who wouldn’t, with a meeting like this? You could kill Wade, cheeks burning as you sink into the worn cushions next to him.

That is, until your knee knocks against his. The muscles in his thigh flexing - but Logan lets it rest, instead of pulling away. 

“You gonna-?” His voice is gruff, a low rasp that makes goosebumps raise across your skin. 

“Uh, sure.” Your fingers twist, “Which part did you want to hear about?”

His eyebrows lift. Those dark eyes beneath, almost a hint of amusement in them.

“Right,” The little laugh that bubbles from you is self-conscious, “Well, I don’t really like emotionally unavailable men, they just have a habit of finding me.”

His voice is low, “How would Wade know that?”

“Mm, how would he know about your-?” Your eyes flicker down for the third time, and he shifts. 

“You first.”

“Alright.” You huff, but you’re smiling now. Some of your discomfort easing. 

Logan is even more handsome than you had thought. You like the way his eyes dart away, only to come back and linger. 

It’s starting to make you think that maybe it’s not dislike that has so much of him hidden away. Maybe it’s just been a long time since someone tried to peel any of him back. 

Maybe he’s as nervous as you are.

“Well, he’s had to scare an ex or two away.” You shrug, “He only knows because I told him. And the cake, oh-, that was him, too.”

You turn then, to face him. A shoulder brushing the arm he has thrown across the back of the couch, a flicker in his eyes as you get comfortable beside him.

“Well, Wade had gotten ripped in half a couple years ago,” You nose wrinkles, a wave of your hand, “And it all like, has to grow back, right? It’s so creepy.”

Logan grimaces at your explanation, and you wonder if he understands. You think he must - you had thought he was like Wade, in some ways. 

Different. Special.

“Well, he uh, finished growing everything in,” You make a sweeping gesture over your lower half, “And the next year to celebrate his dickiversary, he ordered a penis cake from my shop.”

“His… dickiversary.” Logan repeats slowly.

The heat is back in your cheeks, but you nod, “Yeah, because it like, it came back and all. And he paid in cash, I couldn’t say no.”

There’s the smallest twitch of Logan’s lips, and it feels like a victory.

“Right. What flavor was it?”

Your smile widens with relief, “Strawberries and cream. It was so good. I’ll have to make it for you sometime.”

A second before you cringe, adding, “I mean, a normal one. Not…”

He hums then, close to a laugh.  

“Sure. You do that.”

You smile, letting your shoulder bump his, “And with that… I think it’s your turn.”

The bit of humor in his expression flattens. A searching look thrown your way, before he inhales a breath.

Setting it free. 

“I’m a mutant.”

Logan waits there, as if expecting something. You only nod, thinking of the ones you know. Colossus, Ellie, Yukio, Domino. Wade. 

“Wade said you were similar to him. I had assumed-” You encourage, waiting.

“Right,” He seems relieved, some of the tension ebbing, “My powers are regenerative, like his. But unlike him, I have these-”

There’s the jerk of his wrist, and three sharp metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. Your gasp is caught in your throat as you cling to his flannel shirt - the surprise bleeding into worry. 

They glint in the light, as his fingers flex. 

“Adamantium instead of bones. All of me is like this.”

The claws sheath themselves inside him again. His wounds smoothing over seconds later, as he scrubs his knuckles across his jeans, wiping away blood. 

Offering out his hand, after. Letting your grip unwind from his shirt, and press against his skin instead. Feeling the tendons in his hand, his wrist. The skeleton beneath utterly unyielding, a weight to his limb that is so unlike your own.

“Metal…” You trail off, as pieces click into place, “I get it now. So does Wade really think there’s like, an actual bone-?”

Logan huffs again, “Guess so.”

You laugh then. A thought sobering you after, as a fingertip drifts up to the dip between his fingers. 

“But doesn’t that hurt?” 

It makes you wince to even think about it. Much less how casually they sprung from him, no different than breathing. 

He shrugs, and it’s heartbreaking.

“Doesn’t even phase me anymore.”

“And, the two hundred years,” Another facet you put together out loud, “You’re still alive because you keep healing? Will it be that way forever?”

His hand flexes in your grip.

“Not forever. Apparently my powers will run out, at some point.” His eyes meet yours, “The Logan in this world is dead. Wade pulled me from another.”

Your brow furrows - always trying to keep up with the snippets that Wade has told you across the years - stories about time-traveling and mutants and even how he came to be. But this seems too deep. Surely Logan must be joking.

“Another world, huh?” You ask, head tilting - trying your best to roll with it, “Won’t they miss you in yours?”

Only now does his face falter. That sharp mask cracking, as his hand pulls from yours. Resting again on the back edge of the couch - his answer low and rough. 

“No. I don’t think so.”

Another jolt racks through your heart. You don’t know him know him yet, but you already can’t believe that could possibly be true. Your fingers fan out, hovering - before it folds into a fist.

“Well then, I’m glad you’re here.”

He doesn’t reply. 

The room is darker now, dim with the setting of the sun. Street lights outside pouring in a golden beam that cuts across his face. 

His eyes are hazel, you can see that now. A fading rim of green spilling into the brown, beneath the near-permanent furrow of his eyebrows. 

Yours caught in the glow of the flamingo string lights that curl out from the kitchen, stapled to the walls.

He breaks the silence, the words coming slowly. 

“Let me ask you one more thing.” 

“Sure. You know some of my worst secrets already.” You smile, a shoulder lifting.

His hand twitches, where it rests near your shoulder. The tip of a finger ghosting against skin.

Just the slightest brush but it feels like it radiates out, lingering after.

“Why’d you tell Wade you wanted to meet me?” 

His voice is still low, rough. But it’s lost that sharp edge. The combination has your stomach tied up in knots, suddenly more nervous that you’ve been the whole night.

Surely he must know? 

“Well…” You hedge. It’s your turn to look away, but then there’s the brush of his fingers again.

“Because I did want to meet you.” You admit, “You, you seemed like someone I wanted to get to know. In whatever capacity you’d like.”

“Is that right, Sugar?” Logan husks, and the nickname sounds even sweeter on his tongue, stealing your breath.

All you can do is nod, as his eyes darken. 

Voices rise behind you, ripping you out of this little bubble you’ve found yourself in. Nearly forgetting just how many people are here, how many eyes have been glancing your way since you’ve arrived.

“Not strip poker Wade, please.” The rough rumbling plea of Colossus’s voice rings out above the others, “You never wear anything under the suit-”

You didn’t even realize when he had changed, but he had - patches of bare skin on his ass showing through the holes. Your nose scrunches, before you turn back to realize that Logan’s eyes are still on you.

Dropping when your tongue peeks out to wet your lips - your words coming out in a soft hush. 

“You want to get out of here?”

You want him. You can only hope that he might just want you, too.

The corner of his lip twitches.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

It’s strange to have someone like Logan in your space. You can remember the last time you’ve wanted someone here.

His fingers still entwined with yours, from where you had reached back for him. Leading him through the dim corners of the room.

Thinking you had made it, only for the rousing cheers to rise when you had cracked the door open to slip through.

His grip tightening when you made to tug your hand free, in an urge to press it against burning cheeks. Letting you fumble with one hand, to open the lock next door.

It’s quieter here. A low echo of the music next door, as the darkness wraps around you again.

Here, his fingers move, but it’s only to skim up your wrist. To tug you between him and the front door, until your back presses against it. 

His nose brushes yours as he steps into your space, your lips already parting. Holding himself there for a moment, inhaling the scent of you as his arm braces above your head.

Leaving you to be the one that closes the gap. The tilt of your head and the press of your lips against his.

A rough hum when your arms wrap around his neck, fingers buried in his hair. His hand gripping at your waist, pulling your hips against his.

Tugging and pushing. A messy path from the front door through the small living room - a mirror-image of the apartment next door.

Through to the bedroom, wandering hands and the brush of his tongue against yours as he deepens the needy kiss. Until his knees are hitting the edge of your bed, and he’s letting you nudge him back onto the mattress.

He brings you with him - your hips cradling his as you settle yourself astride him. Hands flatten against his chest as you rock down - drawing a rough, mumbled “fuck”.

Grinding yourself down where he’s hard, the curve of his cock straining against his jeans. Letting your hands follow, as his own cup your ass. Squeezing, before slipping to press the heel of his hand against the seam at your clit.

You moan into his mouth, as your fingers curl around him. Eyes blown wide when you pull back, scooting your hips down. 

It’s here that he comes back to himself. 

Going tense as you fit yourself between his thighs, fingers at this belt as the other still cups him.

“You shouldn’t want this.” He rasps, those eyes glinting in the dark, “A man like me. You know that, right?”

Propping himself up on an elbow, so he can see your expression. So you can see the way his jaw grits, nostrils flaring. 

It’s a warning, wrapped up in silk. A last ditch effort to scare you away - knowing that once he has you, he won’t want to stop.

Your fingers slow - his zipper half-undone, baring skin and a dark shadow of hair beneath. 

The other pulling away, “You want me to stop?” 

He catches your wrist, jerking your hand back. His hips bucking into your palm, grinding himself into your touch. 

“The last thing I want to fucking do is stop.” It’s almost a growl, “But on my Earth, I-”

You sigh then, impatient, “Logan, this Earth isn’t all that great either. I lost five years of my life to the blip.”

He frowns, not understanding - but your head shakes as you continue, “I’m tired of being too scared to take chances. I’ve been trying to live each day to the fullest, and I’d like to end this one with you.”

And out of everyone - Logan knows a little something about second chances.

“Yeah,” He manages - the grip of his fist leaves you, “Yeah, okay.”

"Thank you,” You answer primly, just as you finish yanking the zipper down. 

His hand beats you in the race to ease himself out, fingers curling around the base. You can’t help it - you inhale a breath at the sight of him.

Heavy, with the way the flushed tip bobs in his grip. Thick enough that you’re already wondering if you’re going to be able to take him. 

The huff he makes turns into a groan as you start small - engulfing the leaking head with your lips. The first inch turns into another as his hips lift, feeding his cock into your waiting mouth. 

Only when he’s halfway inside you, bumping against your throat, does his hand drop. Letting you replace it with your own - squeezing, as drool slicks up his shaft. Your head bobbing in time with the twist of your fist.

That brief hesitance is quickly forgotten. Fingers brush at your cheek, curling around the base of your head as he guides you.

Leaving you eager for more. Another hissed groan when your mouth leaves him, your hand loosening as you strip your clothes away.

“Oh fuck yes,” He coaxes, when he realizes what you’re doing, “Let me see you, baby.” 

Your shirt and pants left to pool on the floor. A second of boldness as you unclasp your bra next, leaving you in your panties as you focus on his cock again. 

A bitten-back moan when your tongue slips across his swollen shaft - an low throb between your thighs as you rub them together, clenching around nothing. Resisting the urge to slip your hand beneath the hem to ease the ache. 

Instead, your keep your hands on him. Goosebumps raising as your nails scratch against the deep v of muscle at his hips. The others working him into your mouth, as he slowly comes more undone. 

His hips flex with each bob of your head, lips parted as he pants. The words a rough mumble, becoming almost desperate. 

“That’s it sweetheart.”

Another moan when you take him deep, hollowing your cheeks as you suck, “Oh fuck, gonna fill that pretty mouth.”

His hand cups your jaw, holding you steady as he bucks into your mouth. Those dark eyes fixed on you in wonder, all that pretty skin bared for him to touch, to taste. He’s mesmerizing like this - the weight of gaze. Jaw slack with pleasure, eyes aflame.

You did this to him. 

It sends something warm flooding through you, as his eyelashes flutter. The tipping back of his head, muscles ticking in his cheek as his teeth ground down. 

A sound still slips between them, as he floods your mouth with the next flex of his hips. Pulsing between your lips as you swallow him down, a choked sound ripping from his chest when you cup his sack to gently squeeze out every last drop. 

Logan melts into the mattress after, an arm thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath. His gaze focusing on you when he feels you squirm - dark, and hungry.

A lithe stretch of muscles as he moves - legs easing from beneath you. 

“Hands and knees,” He commands, head tipping towards the bed next to him, as he rolls off. Kicking off his jeans as you listen, watching over a shoulder as the flannel and white tank underneath joins your clothes on the floor.

Your eyes widen at how toned he is - muscles rippling, the bed dipping as he fits himself behind you.

His broad hand at the small of your back, pushing your torso down against the mattress. A pleased hum then, fingers trailing just along the elastic edge of your underwear.

“Could smell how much she needed this.” The tips of two press against the damp fabric between your thighs, making you gasp, “Even next door. You want it that bad?”

It should be embarrassing that he could tell how much you desired him, but at the moment all you can think about is him touching you more.

“Yes,” You agree, “Please, Logan.”

“So fuckin’ polite,” The fingers withdraw; but only so his nose can replace them. A ragged inhale, just before his tongue drags against your clothed slit.

A groan against your skin as you cry out, before a finger hooks around the fabric, baring you for him to taste.

The heat of his tongue flattens against you - lapping at where you drip with need, a rough rumble in his chest. 

“Sweet, too.” Another flick of his tongue, “Your name. ‘s fitting.”

You can’t manage words. Only his name, muffled against the sheets as your fists twist in them. Back arched as you resist the urge to grind yourself against his tongue, as it flicks against your clit.

It’s messy, how he eats you. You don’t think you’ve even had someone take you like this. Hungry, desperate even, as he devours you. The rumble of a groan against your cunt as his tongue delves inside you, stretching you open. Letting your slick smear into his beard, with how close he presses his mouth.

That need inside you thrumming. Winding tighter as he yanks your panties down your thighs. His palm flattening against your ass, holding you open as he licks you from clit to hole, then higher. Humming as you squeak, when his tongue flattens against your tight rim. 

A thick finger nudging against you then, as his tongue dips back to your clit. There’s no resistance as it slips deeper, into slick walls that clamp down around him.  It’s what you needed - that little bit more.

Unable to help rocking into the crook of his finger now. Whining when a second joins it, spearing deep and curling. Dragging against your walls, loud and wet and filthy with each plunge. 

Your whimpers only grow louder. Needier, as his lips wrap around your clit. Fingers pounding deep, stretching you out. Leaving you babbling, your words slipping together. 

“Don’t fucking stop.” Tears prick at your eyes, each breath a rattling gasp, “Oh my god you’re gonna make me come-”

He has you gushing, with the next flick of his tongue. A pleased groan as he feels your pussy tighten around his fingers, hearing the wail that is muffled into your pillows. That sharp pace slowing, his thumb replacing his tongue to draw your orgasm out until your legs are shaking. 

His fingers sticky when they pull from you, only to slip between his lips - tongue curling around his knuckles, sucking them clean.

It leaves you floating above yourself. You can’t remember ever coming this hard, even by yourself. Only the tintest thread of disappointment as you drift, and it’s only that you won’t get the pleasure of his cock filling you tonight.

You would’ve liked to see what he can do with the rest of him. 

Perhaps you can convince him to stay until morning.

But he moves behind you, instead. His knee pressing against yours, spreading your legs further. The rhythmic shuffle of skin against skin, as his hand slips from between his lips to fist around his cock. 

“Tell me I can fuck you.” It’s not a plea, not with the harsh rasp of his voice. But it’s as close as you’ve heard, as he swipes the tip against your leaking pussy.

Smearing your slick on him, teasing at your waiting hole.

You don’t know how he’s hard again, but at the moment you really don’t care. Not sure if you’ve ever felt a need like this, your back arching further as you present yourself to him. 

A twist of your neck, so your eyes can meet his. 

“Fuck me, Logan.” 

He groans, broad hands squeezing at your ass. Slipping up to sink his fingers into the flesh at your hips. Holding you steady as he lines himself up. 

Your breath held, when you feel his cock start to breach you - muscles stringing tight.

“Relax, sweetheart,” He grits out, though not unkindly, “You can take it.”

Trying to hold himself back from filling you with a single thrust, with the way you’re already gripping him.

Easing himself into your heat. Two inches forward and then one back, and with each one you think you’ll feel the press of his thighs against yours. A low whine as your cunt makes room for him, that sharp stretch as it feels like he’s reaching into your belly.

Feeling full when he finally is flush, the weight of his sack kissing against your clit. His shoulders following the curve of your back, as a hand slips up to plant next to your head.

“Feels fucking incredible,” It’s mumbled against your skin, almost as if it hadn’t meant to say it. 

“Mm,” You grin, your face tipping up to his, “Should’ve met you weeks ago.”

He smirks, a low sound in his throat as his mouth presses to yours. Starting a slow rhythm that drags his cock against your walls. Slipping until he’s halfway out, only to sheath himself again. Pushing the air from your lungs as he flattens himself, knees digging into the bed as your thigh spread wider - forcing him deeper.

It’s almost too much. 

You hand shoots out, reaching. Wrapping around his wrist, nails biting against his skin. 

It feels like he’s surrounding you. Each thrust a heavy weight that presses you into the bed. Splitting you open, until all you can do is squirm beneath him.

That pressure in your belly building again, as his hips pound. His breath, hot and panting in your ear as he chases his own end.

“Fuck, Logan.” You sob, “Harder-”

His tendons flex under your grip. Knuckles pressing flat against the sheets as he makes a rough sound in his throat. 

Those claws unsheathing with his next thrust. Punching down into your mattress. Anchoring as he loses himself to the feel of you beneath him.

How tight and wet and warm you are, your arousal still sweet on his tongue. Fighting the urge to sink his teeth into your throat, as everything tightens up inside him.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning, rasped out. 

“Come in me,” You whine, “Wanna feel you.”

He does growl then, at the thought of filling you to the brim, until he's leaking out of your pretty little pussy. Hips snapping faster, pinning you to the bed as he ruts into you. Each squeak of the bed paired with the sharp rip of fabric as his claws dig in. 

Feeling how your body strings tight beneath him, how you clench down in anticipation. Wanting to feel you once more, before he gives in to his own desires.

“Come on, baby,” It’s hushed, murmured against your skin, “Fuckin’ give it to me-”

The sharp point of a canine scraping against your skin, his groan rough and throaty in your ear. 

Your fingers work down to wedge themselves between your thighs. The tips brushing where you’re speared open, before circling your clit like his tongue had.

He has you mindless. Fucked out - that soft glow from your earlier orgasm shining bright as he tips you towards a second.

Burning at that tightly wound thread inside you, until the ends fray, and then snap. 

It has you coming with his next thrust. A wail ripped from you as he buries himself deep, feeling the way your pussy clenches down around him. 

Fingers still swirling, drawing out the deep pulses that fan out from your core as your toes curl, vision going hazy.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He rasps, those sharp thrust slowing to a sloppy grind, “Make a fucking mess for me, there you go-”

Panting, as he groans. Another roll of his hips before he’s coming with you - teeth bruising skin as they sink into your shoulder. The sound he makes is broken as he spills into you, muscles clenching with each pulse that paints your walls.  

Marking you thoroughly with teeth and come, the saw of his hips slowing until you both finally go still. A breath finally caught. 

Blissed out, when he rolls you both to the side. His thighs still mapping yours, cock still notched deep. A thick arm thrown across your waist, his breath ragged in your ear as he catches his breath.

Your fingers drift, as you bask in your afterglow. Dipping into the rips in your mattress, knuckle deep.

There’s a grunt as you wiggle, the words low in your ear, “I’ll get you another, sweetheart. Just lost control for a moment.”

The thought doesn’t bother you as much as you’d think. In fact, you wouldn’t mind if happened again.

Only as your imagination runs wild, do you hear the muffled moan from the brick wall behind you.

“Fuck, that’s good.”

Dramatic and drawn out, paired with faint rhythmic noise. 

A beat - before you hear mumbled protesting. The voice of someone talking with their mouth full, “No. Back the fuck off Peter, I’m not going to share.” 

Eating. The fucker was eating his end of the bargain, ear pressed to the wall.

The next louder, “Alright, pay up everyone, Operation ‘Get Sugar Some Sugar’ was a success!”

You grimace, eyes rolling. Logan grunts behind you, the words mumbled out sleepily.

“Wish I could sew that goddamn mouth shut.”

There’s a faint “they already tried that!” before Logan’s fist bangs on the wall, shutting him up.

But you can’t help the smile. Your fingers fitting between the ones that rest just below your breasts, squeezing.

“He’s not so bad,” You admit, “Wade, I mean.”

Logan groans, “Don’t say his name while I’m fucking you.”

“You’re-” You start - but then you can feel him.

Still hard - as his hips cant slowly against yours. Your joined hands slip up to cup a breast - as his lips press against your neck, stubble scraping you skin.

“Again?” You breathe, disbelieving that he’d be up for a third time - your hips rocking back to meet his. The sound lewd with how he drips from you - but it only has him grinding himself deeper, “You sure you’re two hundred?”

“Regenerative powers, sweetheart.” Logan husks, the flash of teeth with a knowing smirk.

“Can’t say it doesn’t come with perks.”

I used to have the biggest fucking crush on wolverine, haha - so fun to watch a new movie with him!! 👀💕 thank you so much for reading! And please me know if you'd like to read any more for him! (like more one-shots,etc!)

[tonycries]

PONY

Synopsis. Ride it, his pony!

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, ríding JJK men, creampíes, bondáge, GOJO’S POWERS, true form!Sukuna, dp, spítting, bréeding, pússydrúnk men, exhibitíonism (Toji and Geto), overstím, spánking, mentions of kids (Nanami), cócky Gojo, making Sukuna whíne, overspíll, heínous things, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Hehehe have a lovely week with no leaks <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Do it, then.

Toji felt so dizzy right now, so full of nothing but sheer want and those raspy, stuttering grunts ripping from his chest. With a low keen, he’s sliding one of his rough hands down your bowed spine, mouth watering at that delicious curve all for him. “Arch jus’ a hah- bit more f’me, pretty doll. Lemme see.”

“I-I already am, Toji-” And despite all your huffing and puffing, he purposely takes his sweet, sloppy time tearing his darkened eyes away from how well you were milking him to meet your pouty glare. “Can’t hngh- anymore-”

Smack!

All five of his thick fingers leave a swift spank on your ass, “Now now, sayin’ ya can’t when you were sooo smug about ridin’ me, princess?” He’s rolling his eyes, and you simply get a quick, jagged buck of his hips. Toji’s holding back a high-pitched gasp, as if he didn’t even realize what he was doing. “Better listen or m’ah- never cumming before Sh-Shiu gets here. Unless…” His hot breath puffs against your ear, and his even hotter, fat tip glides just across your g-spot. “-you want him to see?”

This earns him the cutest, drawn-out mewl from your glossed lips, your head throwing back for him to latch on from behind. 

“Oh, ya jus’ got wetter-” he breathes, and from where you were riding him in reverse cowgirl, you could practically hear the awe in his words. Feel that sultry shiver wracking down his muscled body. Toji’s ravenous hands dip down from your hips, two pads of his fingers spreading your puffy pussy lips wide open for him. “So drenched. Ya really like that, h-huh?”

And oh how much you did - your greedy pussy was practically slobbering down his swollen length. Coating him in a glistening coat of all your sweet sweet juices until it gleamed in the dim-lighting. Bulging with all of his long inches, he was so fucking massive that every thorough ram of your hips downwards made this thick base just thwack against your cunt.

Fuck, this was Toji’s favorite position for a reason - he could count every dredge and bead of slick running down his thumping veins with each of your harsh gyrations. And he did. 

“M’m- doin’ what you asked.” you’re whining, batting away the big, fat tears in your lashes. “But you’re not- ngh- h-helping!”

Toji thinks he could laugh right now, he thinks he could tease your needy self until you begged him to fuck you properly. But maybe it was the fact that he had to leave for a job soon, or maybe it was the way you looked so pretty on top of him - he’s feeling just a bit merciful right now. Just a bit.

“Awww, you poor thing–” he’s drawling out with a husky drone. Smiling slyly at the irritated furrow in your brows, the way you mewl when his large hand wraps around your throat. “My needy baby needs help?”

You can only nod half-deliriously, and he places a drippingly wet peck on your lips. Tasting that sinful scar and the syrupy sweet taste of his tongue. Dragging hotly across your lower lip, “Need s-so badly to have me cum in this oh- cute cunt?”

“Y-yes.” you mumble, your gasps turning into heaves when his rock-hard cock only expands inside you. Pumping upwards to grow even girthier, it’s like he wasn’t even trying when the curved divot on his weepy head kisses your sensitive spots. When he’s drawing sodden glides across your gummy walls, stuffing you split open until you were just molded to his very shape. “Yes yes please- jus’ wanna- hngh-” Reaching to tug on his dark black tresses, making him hiss. “-jus’ wanna have you c-cum in me before you leave ah-”

Smack! 

But this time, Toji doesn’t soothe over the sting - he doesn’t whisper pretty praises in your ear. Only planting rude spank after spank on your jiggling ass, adding to the bruising way his sharp hip bones rutted against your tender flesh. 

“Well I didn’t say slow down, did I?” you feel him purr dangerously against your ear. All the warning you get before the hand around your neck just tightens, all big beefy muscles on his arm flexing. “Wha’s the problem- said you were g-gonna oh what was it-” And Toji’s craning his head easily to smirk at you, nipping at your lower lip. “-’ride me until I lose my mind?’”

It’s said in such a mockingly higher pitch than Toji’s usual baritone, making your velvety walls just squeeze. Jostling his fat cock inside you until your toes curled, legs weakening. 

Smack! “Faster.”

Your ever-faltering hips have absolutely no choice but to speed up and you moan at the slap! of skin-on-skin. Leaning backwards into his hunched-over figure, his tongue was so smooth. Licking and biting down gently all over your skin when you fucked your hips back just a bit too hard. Just a bit too cockdrunk. Babbling out a drooling ah! ah! ah! as you roll your cunt, trying to suck out something delicious from the ends of his leaky cock. 

“Do it, then. Do it f’me.” he shudders out, and for all the biting tone in Toji’s words he sounded so utterly ruined. Like he was holding back the hitch in his chest, the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Fighting for the life of him to not push you down onto all fours and pound you into these silken sheets right now. “Ride me until I lose my ahh– fuckin’ mind, doll.”

You can’t answer - can’t do anything else but ache for more more more. And his every ridge and bump down his reddened shaft swiveled around you sweetly. 

“Oh.” Soon enough, you hear him titter out a laugh of disbelief, heavy, cum-filled balls tightening. “N’ you better hah- hurry up-” Smack! The possessive hand curling around your throat just drags your bleary gaze to yours and Toji’s bedroom door. Slightly ajar. Moving. “-unless yer beggin’ for double the amount of work.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - DESTRESSER

“Shh shhh…” Nanami’s quieting down your tiny whimpers with a slow, sultry glide of his fat tip down your sopping wet slit. Back and forth. Voice so hoarse and strained when he whispers little praises in your ear, “You got this- hah- you got it, my love. Ride me.”

Shit, those words are hitting straight to your cunt, clenching and sinking down, down, down his swollen cock. Your husband was so big, reaching so deeply inside sweetened spots you didn’t even realize existed. 

“Does it f-feel good, Ken?” you’re mewling. Wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, careful to not tip over his chair, “S’it relaxing?”

This was always Nanami’s favorite little remedy - whenever you waltzed into his office room with that too-short skirt and that too-tight silken top that drove him wild. Rambling about how he was being too overworked lately - how you have a solution.

Dragging his soft palm down your spine, Nanami grits back his teeth when you’re moving your hips in slow, shallow little grinds and gyrations. His thick head swirling slowly around your g-spot, thick base spreading your swollen folds gapingly open. 

Ah, this was heaven.

And he says so - a little over a million times into the crook of your neck. Throat shot already, “So pretty- so perfect, my wife-” he’s sighing out. Wrenching away to fixate his eyes on your sweat-sheened figure, the beginnings of that fucked-out expression of yours already on your features. “Y’know…seeing you like this- always makes me wonder what a great mama you’ll be.”

It’s so sudden that your hips are faltering, stuttering down sloppily to thwack! against Nanami’s tight balls. They’re almost bruising against the curve of your ass, and you’re whining into his mouth.

“S’true.” One of Nanami’s hands drapes down to your hips roughly, all five fingers splayed-out and just emblazoning itself when he’s guiding you through each slippery squelch. The other - his right - cradles one of your tits. “I see these- oh-” You watch as he’s attaching his lips around one hardened nipple, so hot. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, ”N’ I wonder how- ngh- s-sweet you’d taste when I fuck a kid into ya, darling.”

“And here-” His tongue skims past with a final kiss on both your tantalizing tits, moving down to where Nanami knew his cock was indenting into the very bottom of your pretty pussy. Where he knew that little nudge- 

“Ah!” Your entire body just jolts when he presses one greedy hand down on exactly where he was hitting at your cervix with almost-scary accuracy, teasing out your cutest keens. “K-Ken not there-”

“Yes there.” he’s cutting you off. “Here is where m’gonna fill ya ahh- all up-”

Just the very thought has his stern cheekbones coloring with red, and you’re so hypnotized by the sight that your hips are accelerating mindlessly. Legs burning, hips aching - but you’re still leaning forward to grind repetitive circular turns, rocking him inside in a way that made sure every inch of your melty walls were being massaged. 

Were being fucked. 

“Mhm- f-fuck-” he’s groaning, head throwing back to nip your lips, until it was all just smeared with Nanami’s saliva. “Ya like that, dontcha? Wan’ me to ohh– give my pretty wife a kid?” Words slurring together with each babbling second, he’s gently taking a hand to your scalp. Massaging your roots while you ride him to fucking insanity, “Answer me, my love.”

“Yes!” you spread your legs even further, knees clacking against the hard plastic of his chair. Blinking away the bleary, cockdrunken tears welled up in your eyes. “Wan’ it- want hngh! Wan’ you to breed me, Ken.”

He can’t stop himself from grazing a sweet, sweet kiss right on your moaning lips - followed very shortly by a mean smack! on your clit. Your shuddering cunt glossing the very tips of his fingers down to his wristwatch in a dripping, hot coat of your honeyed juices. 

And more. 

So much more.

“Wait- Ken that’s gonna- oh-” 

Maybe it was the way that cool wedding band on his left hand burned so starkly against your steamingly hot cunt, maybe it was that forceful push of the very curve of his raw cock into your g-spot - or maybe it was how Nanami just looked at you. Hazel eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, mouth slacking ever-so-slightly agape with your sloshing swivels. Because your orgasm slams into you immediately after, knocking every breath and sentence out of your delirious mouth. 

And he crashes his lips into yours, chuckling at the messy way your pussy was gushing all around him. You feel him drool with every sodden splatter of your juices, squirting until you saw stars. 

When you’re finally pulling away - delicate strings of spit snapping, Nanami chasing hazily after your mouth - all you can peer down is at the way his strict uniform was so soaked now. 

Neat slacks about ten shades darker than usual, and your cunt still wasn’t done - drooling all across in a lewd pool underneath, spreading every time you fucked your self down on his weepy cock. Hell, if you were in a better state of mind you’d have noticed that some of it got on his button-up, too. 

“Squirtin’ all over me, how cute-” Nanami simpers, low and slow. His mouth greedily salivates at the sight, “Can’t believe this-” You’re gifted with another sudden spank on your clit, and he lazily soothes over with a roll of his thumb. “-cute cunt s’gonna have me conceiving our f-first kid in the hngh- office.”

You pant hopefully, still being wrung through the peaks of your high. “Y-you were serious about that–?”

“I’ve never been more serious about a damn thing, my wife.” And he loved how the words tasted on his tongue - almost as much as he loved the taste of his fingers in his mouth, savoring you. Sucking. Eyes twinkling, “So ya better get ready. S’gonna get real relaxing soon.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - “So gorgeous…”

It’s just about all that Geto can breathe out right now, all that he can think. Dark eyes half-lidded and boring right into yours, smug mouth sagging open, falling to let out such a loud moan. 

“Ohh-” his brows scrunch together. Jostling around your ravenous body where you were sitting so prettily on his lap, he’s leaning backwards greedily taking in every single inch of you he could see. Purring, “Ya look so fuckin’ pretty like th-this, dontcha?”

All you can do is keen in response, your trembly fingers taking a hold of the back of Geto’s chair to just slam your stinging hips downwards. 

“Feels too- ngh- good Sugu- Could do this forever.” you’re mewling, and he feels you weigh your entire body on top of him. Resting atop those tediously sculpted muscles of his to angle your hips just the way you liked. 

He felt so used right now, and shit - he’s never been harder about it. 

You could feel the way each stuttering ram down Geto’s reddened length left him growing even girthier, stretching out your snug channel even more impossibly open. His rock-hard cock was reaching deeply, kissing sweet, lingering kisses pointedly on the bullseye of your g-spot. Again. And again. And again and again-

“Heh-” his snicker ruffles your hair, dancing two large hands down to your waist. Spreading open those jittering globes of your ass until your ravaged pussy lips were spread so shamefully. And fuck, that heavenly sight was enough to make him gulp. To have his voice pitching a few octaves higher than usual when he hums, “Am I the one g-gettin’ fucked or hngh-” Leaving a trail of syrupy-sweet kisses down your tear-stricken face, “-are you?”

“S-so mean…” you’re jutting your lower lip out in a pout. The very action makes him lick his lips dangerously. “I should j-jus’ hngh- leave you here- to handle the meeting all alone-”

Truly, it’s become something of a little tradition - Geto loved to call it his “good luck charm” - how you milked the fucking soul out of him before every single cult meeting he led. And shit, has it been good luck alright.

“Awww, but you won’t will, ya honey?” His chest rumbles with vibrations, one hand jerking your face upwards to tug on your spit-glossed lips. He’s nodding along to your drunken babbles, drifting your hasty bounces further and further into lazy grinds with his words. “Because you’re my gorgeous lil’ cockslut, aren’t ya?” His words ring headily across your head - across the meeting hall.

Gasping when Geto suddenly shifts his body so that your ass smacked against his muscular thighs with each saturated drag, bruising against his milky muscles. 

“N’ you-” he whispers lowly against your ear, suckling softly on the sensitive spots at your throat. And you feel like such a fucking ragdoll when he abruptly bounces his thigh upwards - and you right along with it. “-are the only fuckin’ reason I stay sane during these f-fucking meetings.”

It’s a hoarse, breathed-out little admission that you barely even hear over those drippingly wet squelches from down below. Geto was fucking up into you unapologetically, eyes revered downwards at how cockdrunken you were moving right now. Sloppy. Depraved.

Burbling out, “Th-then you should really be- hngh!” You swivel your bratty hips down harshly against his heavy, cum-filled balls. They twitch and squeeze with each movement, yearning to just fill you up already. “-nicer to- me-”

Your words are so rudely interrupted by one of Geto’s impatient ruts, which he barely even acknowledges before you tug on his inky hair. 

“Ahh fucking fine.” he’s hissing out, leaky tip just as needy as he was becoming right now. Shit, Geto knew that he was losing control. Becoming irregular. Hasty. “Fine- fine fuck!” 

His long, slender fingers wrap delicately around your throat, nudging your lips in a wet, coquettish graze against his snarl. “Tell me what you want, then.”

Geto feels the way your gummy walls clench around him delightedly, how heated your pussy becomes as you get even more sluttily drenched. Just by this? Shit, he might have to play nice with you more often. And that smile on your face - oh, how gorgeous it was. Making him ram his thighs once more in a powerfully pressurized thrust. “I wan’ a kiss, Sugu.”

“A kiss?” he chokes back a gasp, eyes growing wider. The way you only nod has his high cheekbones flushing pink, humming, “I’ll do you one better.”

It takes only a few more swashing crashes of his weepy tip against your sweet spots before he’s pursing his lips - ready. Only to spit out a thick wad of saliva right onto the middle of your lolling tastebuds. So much - because Geto’s mouth was already watering at each one of your cute whines before this. 

And then it’s not long before you cum. Fuck, honestly you think you’re cumming as soon as that hot stream hit your tongue.

Toes curling, languid hips stuttering, you could only let out moan after moan of Geto’s name. You felt like you were in heaven, his thick cock sinking in and out of you to drag out every bit of your high. Squeezing him so tight-

“Fuck…fuck-” he’s grunting, each one ragged and rough like they were being ripped from his throat. “M’gonna-”

And then you’re feeling so fucking full, whatever snug space your cunt was being stretched out into was all of a sudden being filled out by thick ropes of Geto’s hot, potent cum. It was swelteringly hot filling you up, and trickling in a velvety sheen down the innards of your thighs. 

With a loud groan, Geto fucks it back up until his seed was knocking at your very womb. “Now we can start the meeting.” Mouth attacking yours into a sopping mess of a kiss, barely-open eyes flitting to the bowed group of cult members that sat silently behind you. Waiting. “Dontcha think, everyone?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - One more

“Baby- oh p-please.” You were his girl, his pretty baby - and ah were you driving him crazy right about now. The slow, sultry swirl of your hips around his sensitive cock making stars burst behind Choso’s teary eyes, every languid drag of your cunt down his shaft making it only sob sweltering hot streams of precum. “One more- just one more–”

It was his first time finally having you ride him - or, well, it was a few hours ago. The one thing you hadn’t anticipated was just how heavily addicted your pretty boyfriend would get on it.

“Are you sure, Cho?” you’re humming, but your hips show absolutely zero sights of stopping. And it wrenches out the most broken of whines from him. “If you wanna stop we can-”

“No!” And Choso’s body is moving before his mind, those rosy pink lips of his babbling pussydrunkenly a mile a minute. The soft pads of his fingers dig into the curve of your ass, leaving neat little crescent patterns for him to admire later. 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting, snarling into a messy kiss against your lips. Teeth clacking, drool trailing. Nodding as he just slams your slobbering pussy down his hefty cock. Recklessly. “-need it. Need it so badly, my p-pretty girl– don’t think I ah- got ‘nough yet.”

Yeah, addicted. 

And it’s like he’s just raring to go all over again no matter what his poor, overused cock says. Angrily reddish tip thumping in a low throb! throb! throb! against your spongy cervix, glossing all over your snug channel in milky streams. Spreading in a silken puddle underneath the two of you, it was so wet. 

All it took was the tiniest inch of your cunt swallowing his greedy inches, and that was more than enough to make his twitchy balls just ache to cum all over again. 

Your fingers tangle in his sweat-damped hair, scratching lightly against Choso’s scalp in a way that makes him purr. His sculpted abs ripple when his spine curves deliciously upwards. 

“Are you sure?” you tease, with a light giggle. “Sure you can hngh- c-cum f’me again?”

His mouth waters, dewy eyes flitting down towards the widely-stretched entrance of your cunt. Grazing his fingers lightly across your glistening folds, toying a thick thumb over your neglected clit. He grits out in a raspy, breathy tone, ��P-promise- Promise I’ll fill ya up- hngh- I promise, baby just please-” Boring right into your eyes, “-ride me.”

And he was so perfectly fucked when your hips start gyrating back and forth in determined grinds, head thrown with each hug of your melty walls around him. So tight. So harsh that you occasionally revel in the lazy drag of your pulsing clit against those tufts of black at his toned pelvis. 

Your jittery legs tighten around his slender waist, and he’s whining contentedly when you tug and haul his hair as leverage to maneuver your bounces. Using him. 

“Y-yeah-” he’s rambling onwards, thumb slicking with a wet sheen of your slick when his fingers draw lewd, unsteady patterns on your clit. “J-jus’ like that. Fuck- m’gonna cum so early- ah think I might jus’ c-cum dry f’you, baby–”

Another sudden clench of pussy makes him smile - it’s humorless, drunken. And you feel it grow even wider when Choso’s craning his head to kiss at the corner of your mouth. 

“Mhm, wan’ you to ngh- cum f’me, please-” Even your moans are dipping into broken territory at this point. The sheer stretch of Choso’s heavy cock making your head spin, your hips stutter, feeling every and any nook and cranny stretched out when he drills his large, rotund head up into you. “Wan’ you t-to cum in me ah- again.”

Choso’s biting down on his lower lip hard enough that you’re almost concerned it might get bloodied. One of his hands reaching up to curl deftly around the headboard, trying for the life of him to not cum already. The other growing feverish on your clit, stroking calculatedly in slow circles that have you gasping. 

“Sh-shit-” you’re leaning downwards so that he can bury his face in the crook of your neck. “Hngh- oh, k-keep up like that, baby, n’ m’g-gonna-”

“Please.” he’s begging out in wet gurgles, tears now streaming down his innocently blushed cheeks. Still so painfully overstimulated from not too long ago, but so hypnotized. Addicted. Mumbling cutely into your ear, “Cum all over my cock.”

And he felt it - fuck, he couldn’t feel anything but it. 

The way your gooey walls hugged around him so tightly - it almost made it difficult for you to slam your hips downwards. But what sort of boyfriend would he be if he didn’t help, right?

So he’s grabbing roughly onto a handful of your ass, just rutting mindlessly upwards like he was out of control. Every surge of Choso’s dick sent white-hot waves of pleasure up your spine, and you could feel the way he throbbed at each smashing nudge into your g-spot. Over and over and-

“Choso–” The way his name sounded on your lips made him just whimper, eyes scrunching shut he grinds his teeth when he bounces his thighs upwards. You cup your hands around his face, forcing him to sneak his eyes open at you. Smiling, “You’re cumming, baby.”

And that makes him gasp, droopingly half-lidded eyes immediately snapping downwards at those milky swashes of seed. The ribbons upon ribbons of cum that overspilled from each sides of your sopping slit. Painting your insides in a sticky white that creams at the thick base of his dick

Just oozing outwards, and Choso thinks he’s cumming blanks at this point. Angry cock streaming out thick loads of nothing, balls clenching so painfully. 

The thought alone makes his jaw sag open, tears staining his taste buds. He’s bawling out, “Fuck- oh fuck, please-” Gulping heavy, heaving exhales, Choso murmurs against your lips. “One more.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Pretty pink ribbons

“You are s-so–” Ryomen Sukuna manages to grit out through his clenched canines, snapping them at you ferally when you only smirk. And he only scoffs, “-gettin’ it.”

You have to bite your lip to hold back that little giggle you knew would only make the king of curses more infuriated - because he looked so unfairly sexy like this. All splayed out on the velvety royal sheets, abs rippling and twitching with each of your tiniest movements, all four hands pinned to the towering bedposts by those pretty pink ribbons he’d bought for you just today.

So many thick, massive inches of his matchingly swollen cocks sunken into your sodden cunt - barely even. And no matter how many times you took him, no matter the fact that you were riding him, he was always too large.

Too stuffed snugly into your tight cunt, until your puffed-up pussy lips were just bulging around his shafts. Drooling a translucent ring down his hardened dicks with each short grind of pressure. 

“Getting what, Kuna?” you moan, with a slight hint of smugness in your honeyed tone. The sultry swivels of your hips slowing down ever-so-slightly until you could feel his needy throbs. The way his weepy heads coated your insides in swelteringly hot precum in angry response. 

And fuck did he love the way our hands slid down his hulking body, hands kneading at his plush pecs. You hear the way that Sukuna hisses under his rasping breath when your nails dig in to his muscles.

“You fuckin’ know it.” he snarls up at you, biting down on one of your nipples jiggling tantalizingly in his face. He sucks and glides his tongue in lazy sucks, eyes drooping up at you. “Tyin’ up the king of curses. I should have ya e-executed for this shit, brat.”

He wasn’t the least bit convincing and both of you knew it. 

Grumbling, he’s leaning backwards, cheeks still hollowed out on your perky tits. Using all those long, long years of battle to just fuck up into your drippingly wet cunt.

Oh, he could get off to just the squelch that follows, the royal chamber just echoing with that sticky staccato of skin-on-skin. Sukuna breathes out a hot puff of air through his nose, teeth pricking at your tender skin. “F-fuck yeah, yer really payin’ for it when I ngh- g-get out of this.”

That maddening jostle of his achy cocks inside you made your head spin. You moan when they bump into one another, thumping veins grazing and massaging against your stretched-out walls. It’s like he was molding you into the very shape of his cocks - one leaky head swiping at your g-spot, the other pressed up so stubbornly into your springy cervix with Sukuna’s change in angle. 

It takes you a few sloppy seconds to catch your heaving breath enough to whine out, “Th-that’s if you ngh! get out.”

And he grins - oh, Sukuna grins that very same grin you’ve seen him bare at those lowly curses he vaporizes in a second - chuckling darkly, “Silly girl.” And then the very bottom of your poor pussy is stamped with a hard push of his hips, branding that circular divot of one of his fat cocks. Then the other. “You think this- ohh fuck- this is enough to restrain me? How cute–”

Then your musing pace is being met with a few of his powerful, pressurized ruts upwards. Obscenely using that stacked position of his erections to drag your puffy clit along his pelvis. Leaving a glistening trail down, down, down to where your cunt was being stuffed gapingly full, stuttering your bounces through.

“Oh fuck-” you’re mewling, tears springing to your eyes at the twin stimulation. Fingers tangling in his innocently pink locks, “Right there, Kuna.”

“Shit- easy on the hair, woman.” he’s rolling his eyes. “N’ didn’t you say you had it a-all under hngh- control? Even fuckin’-” You feel that angry clench of his heavily smacking balls against your ass, the way the headboard ricketed when he tugs on those ribbons once more. “-tied me up for it.”

Only after a few sudden snaps! of Sukuna’s hips do you manage to finally babble out the words, “M’sorry didn’t- hngh-” Your hips are getting so messy now, strained so tightly that you feel like you’ll implode. You’re leaning down to rest your head in the crook of his neck, and he kisses away wetly at your cheek. Huffing out a slight snicker when you reach your hand towards his tied wrists. “I-I’ll untie-”

“No.” he’s cutting you off. “Leave them, I have a ah- another way you can make it up t’me.” 

Even though he trails off, your cockdrunken mind can already piece together what your dear king wants. Sucking in deep inhales when he forces his hips painfully still, forcing you to grind down on him with a disappointed whine. Sultry, slow turns of your hips that have him coated in all your gooey wetness, swirling around those ever-thickening shafts inside until they were kissing your sweetest spots. It makes him tease, breath hot against your ear lobe, “Cum f’me.”

It’s almost embarrassing how on cue you are - stars sparking behind your eyes when you finally cum all over Sukuna’s cock. Your mewls turning into moans, grinds turning into urgent bounces of your drooling pussy down his length. Clenching. Milking him. Over and over through your high - using him. 

Suddenly, two rough hands clasp around your waist, another rolling his thumb ruthlessly to fuck you through your orgasm, and the last just hauling your lips onto Sukuna’s. 

Rosy lips sucking on your tongue is what it takes for you to snap your eyes open and realize - those pink ribbons on the floor, Sukuna’s pink hair tickling against yours, his pink tip poking just enough out of your gummy cunt. As dangerously needy as his smile, words a whimper. “Now, what were ya sayin’ about m-making it up t’me?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Shut up!

Gojo Satoru knew he was cocky, he knew that no one - no one - stood a chance against the strongest. He knew that he was decidedly not about to break just as soon as you pinned him down to his navy blue sheets, drawing a dripping drag of your drooling cunt on his throbbing cock.

And he knew that last bit was a fucking lie.

“Heh, y-you think this will be enough to ah- what was that-” he’s rolling his pretty cerulean eyes, fighting for the life of him to keep them agonizingly open when your hot cunt glissades across his rock-hard shaft in a slow, saturated slide. “-‘absolutely ruined’? Well, love to see the confidence, sweetheart, but-”

His leaky head is peaking just through your glistening pussy lips, barely even an inch being milked up into your plushy walls. 

But then oh, Gojo’s eyes are rolling back to the very depths of his head, breath hitching in an embarrassingly high pitch in his throat. Losing any and all control when his greedy hands drop in a split-second to your waist, helping you ram your taunting hips to sheath his swelteringly hot cock. 

“That-” he’s gasping, eyes narrowing down at your smug smirk. “That was fuckin’ cheating, girl n’ you ah- k-know that.”

“If you say so.” you hum, with a pointed roll of your eyes. 

Gojo feels you gyrate your hips in such a hypnotizing way, a lazy circular roll that has his toned body arching upwards into a perfect bow. All ten fingernails digging into the curve of your hips when you rock against him harder. Rougher. Using him. 

He was so big that even the tiniest of grinds had the rounded end of Gojo’s thickened head crashing into the very bottom of your pussy. Smearing a steamingly hot ribbon of precum across your spongy cervix, he just smiles at the bit of recoil it has. 

So pretty. 

“F-fuck–” Gojo’s hiccuping out, pearly white teeth sinking down onto his bottom lip to stop those whimpers from falling out. “S’that all you ah- g-got? Need help?” Chortling out the most cockiest of laughs that only deepen that cute furrow in your brow, Gojo makes a smug display of strength matching your own cadence. Barely breaking a sweat to rut up into you. “Honestly, pretty, you’ve got to-”

Then you clench - you squeeze. 

Your gummy walls hugging him so tightly - difficult, considering Gojo’s jaw-dropping girth. And after that every bounce of your hips downwards felt like you were sucking the fucking soul out of him. Stretching out the very deepest of your insides to make him pathetically speechless.

Gojo lets out a husky fuck! fuck! fuck! with each of your calculated movements, and it just leaves his dick aching. Groaning, “You’ve g-got to- hah-” It was too much - he was at the end of his fucking rope - and it’s all that Gojo can do to wrangle your hips into his rough grasp, pinning down your ravenous pace until you slow down your riding ever-so-slightly. “You’ve got to stop- hngh- c-cutting me off sweetheart!” he’s bawling out.

Big, twinkling tears clinging onto his lashes, they flutter with each of your merciless swivels. The curve of your ass massaging his achy balls, your clit leaving his white tufts of hair drenched in syrupy sweet slick. 

It makes you grin. “Well who told you to get ngh- c-cut off, Toru?”

Oh, in that moment Gojo is shoving every long inch of his slender fingers into your mouth, bullying between your bruised lips to swirl around your mean tongue.

“Sh-shut up- Maybe you should take fuck! notes–” He clenches his teeth in a feral smile, and he’s never felt fucking weaker. Not even with a desperate grip on your hips, not even with jujutsu thrumming at his fingertips, at his eyes. Overspilling with each leaky bead of precum being thrusted into your gooey depths. “Sweetheart–”

“Toru-”

At this moment, you’re sure that Gojo’s taking advantage of his inhuman reflexes - because in mere seconds, he pounds his cock upwards with a pained grunt. Fully overtaking your own rhythm to fuck up into you again. And again. And again and again and-

Shit, he could stop. He didn’t want to stop. 

The only thing crackling through his mind being the slight spark of jujutsu drawn out with his poor, overworked cock, and the feeling of you. How badly he wanted more more more-

“Cum f’me-” Gojo’s words come out in an almost-unintelligible puff of feverish breath. Drool dripping from the side of his rosy red lips as you only rode him harder, “Cum while you ride me- please- fuck fuck fuck- I surrender I tell you- hngh! Please c-cum f’me.”

Except he’s the one cumming first, spurting out thick, ribbony ropes of seed - there was so much. And Gojo throws his head back with a dragged-out yelp, choking out broken pants of your name while he cums and cums so hard he thinks he can’t fucking feel his cock.

Can’t tell when the lights burst out, when the tiny tingles from his hands send bolts of electricity down your body - making you crash headfirst into your orgasm, as well. 

That’s when your hips get sloppy, letting Gojo’s seed dribble down in milky swashes. So thick, that you almost think you could count every dredge, sticking your sopping wet slit to the thick base of his cock with each stutter up and down up and down up and down-

You moan around Gojo’s slender fingers - flashes of pleasure making your head spin - and that’s what finally snaps him out of his pussydrunk reverie. 

Blinking his eyes back open, it takes him a few seconds to adjust to the new darkness in the heady room. And only a few more to start up another slight movement of his hips - slow, sensitive - hissing at the burn. Lips wobbling, voice teary when he continues, “Best out of three- or eight?”

“...”

“Five?”

A/N. No, Gojo, not five, you can have me five BILLION times actually. More, even, if society allows me. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[inupibaldspot]

Back off,kid.

Pairing : Gojo Satoru x Reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : (Teen)Gojo is jealous over (kid) Fushiguro having a crush on you.

Fushiguro Megumi always wonders if he made the right choice every time a white-haired sunglass wearing teenager walks into the house.

The tall older boy would grin as his hands form a salute. “You doing good Megumi and Tsumiki?”

He was as useful as the indoor plants. Fushiguro thought.

Gojo wasn’t much good at cooking and neither helped with cleaning, probably because of his rich background—but he did spoil them with lots of food and pocket money but he wouldn’t ever admit that.

As much as Fushiguro would love to throw insults at Gojo, he holds back his tongue each time; Tsumiki would send sharp glare and nag him if he did.

The first friend he brought to visit them was a girl; it was after Gojo went missing for a while and when Tsumiki inquired about it ,he simply said one of his dear friend went cray-cray as his finger twirls at the temple of his head.

The girl had short, brown hair with a distinct smell of cigarette; her name was Shoko Ieiri. She wore an impressed look when she entered the house as she looked over to Gojo. “Heh— The place is pretty neat,Gojo.”

Fushiguro looked to Gojo who placed some groceries on the counter top with a proud smile on his face. “I know right!” Gojo replies.

The young boy frowns. “It’s Tsumiki who keeps the place clean.” Shoko gives Gojo a stare before she cackles.

A week later when Tsumiki was still in school with club activities, another person makes an appearance ,you. He could faintly hear conversations between you and Gojo through the front door on how you’d actually wanted to visit them sooner but was bombarded with mission before it swings open.

The first thing Fushiguro noticed was how Gojo seemed to make you enter first— other times he barges in without a care for Shoko— his hands near your back with a slight space, without touching it. Why was Gojo being nice?

You blink at the dark haired boy. “Fushiguro Megumi, right?” Gojo peers from behind as you smile. “Did you eat?”

“Not yet. Waiting for Tsumiki to get home.” Fushiguro thinks you’re the first person who is kind of decent.

You nod take plastic bag from Gojo’s hands and lift up it, your smile widen. “I’ll make you some good stuff then.”

“I want to eat your cooking too,y/n.” Gojo chirps in only to be ignored. And to your credit, it was actually good. He didn’t remember the last time he had something this good home made.

After that, your visits seemed to increase which Fushiguro Megumi did not mind, in fact he was getting fond of your presence. You helped with food, cleaning which lessened the load on Tsumiki plus you also helped him with his studies.

“You seemed to get it now, Megumi.” Poor kid, blushes a bit hearing your compliment. “Practice this set of questions and I think you’ll do pretty well on your tests.” You smile.

Fushiguro nods as he does as you say, face still heated up. He looks up at you, who was reading a book. Your hair slightly in your face, lips slightly parted with eyes focused. You were extremely beautiful and as much as he wouldn’t admit it , he had a big fat kid crush on you.

“Megumi-chan.” Suddenly he is shoved to the side as a body makes way in between you and him. It was Gojo who sat in between. “Move over~ This seat is mine.”

The boy frowns and so did you, not liking Gojo’s action. “Don’t interrupt the kid, who is studying.” Kid? Ouch…You huff as your move over, despite you complaining you make space for him, focus back on your book.

Fushiguro watched as Gojo leans closer to you, almost resting his head on your neck as he looked over to your book; after a while eyes slowly moved over to you, his expression softens.

Gojo smiles as he tugs a piece of hair behind your hair, to which you don’t react as if it was normal. Thee older man then turns his head to Fushiguro—oops,he got caught staring.

The white haired boy then grins, a condescending one in fact as he mouths out the following words.

‘y/n-is-mine.” Fushiguro huffs. ‘back-off.”

·:*¨༺ Part 2༻¨*:·

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? out other here

[luvgam3]

Summary: You and your ex-husband Nanami have a good relationship. Even after the divorce you remained good friends and even better co-parents. Babysitting for one another isn’t out of the usual, and talking about your newest relationships isn’t strange either— but when you show up at his doorstep after a particularly nasty date it leads you both to wonder if your relationship is really truly over for good.

Cw: MDNI (18+), afab!reader, small mentions of cheating, you and Nanami have a kid together, girl dad Nanami, hair pulling, consent king Nanami, oral (fem receiving), aftercare !!!

“Fine! Fucking leave!” You yell, your voice cracking as cold rain pierces your skin.

That asshole. That shitty excuse of a man your boyfriend of two weeks, left you on the side of the road. Alone. In the middle of a late summer storm.

But what did you really expect to happen? The red flags were all neatly lined up for you. Sure maybe the fact that he smelt like a different woman’s perfume every time you met should’ve set you off, but maybe you were just over thinking it! Maybe he was a little too handsy for a man you just started dating, and maybe he was a little rude to waitresses, and bartenders, and you— but your last straw was calling him out on his empty threats. ‘I’ll leave you-‘ for this ‘I’ll shut your ass up’ for that. God did he ever stop talking. You snapped; telling him that if you pissed him so much then why didn’t he just drop you off on the side of the road. The only time he’d ever followed through… and it had to be now.

Low rumbles of thunder sound in the distance, blending with the pop of his engine as he speeds away. Inside your head is a loud jumbled mess of ‘where the fuck am I?’ and ‘who does he think he fucking is?’ but all of that sound is ultimately drowned out by that heavy pitiful feeling tugging at your heart. Angry tears prickle at the backs of your eyes as you walk, your heels crunching pebbles and walking through puddles, carrying you to the only place you know by heart. To the only man who you know wouldn’t leave you stranded.

If the night were to play out correctly you wouldn’t be showing up till noon the next day, even when dates did go wrong you never made it his problem. You were divorced after all, your love life mishaps stopped being his problem a while ago. Okay that isn’t entirely true… Nanami comes over to your house once a week for family dinner. After your little girl is tucked away in her bed and the dinner dishes have been done do you two sit alone at the table, drinks in hand as you catch up. Talking about your kid wasn’t the only topic of discussion. Friends, gossip, dates, normal adult conversation. The topic of dating other people because less and less embarrassing as the years flew by. Like the amazingly wonderful co-parenting duo you are— you came up with the babysitting agreement. Nanami happily took your daughter for the night so you could relax and bask in the company of anyone you wanted. He cherished every minute he got with his little girl, it was never a disappointment when you texted him asking if he could take her for the night.

Lost in the depths of your own mind you aimlessly walked down the dark and dreary road. Void of people, void of light. The only sound the pattering of rain and the rumbles of thunder.

Static buzzed in your ears as you slid into the empty apartment lobby, your soggy heels clacking against the neat polished floors. Your tears fizzled into a pale anger that burned the back of your throat as you pressed his floor number on the elevator. The only good thing about this entire situation, you think, is that the rain washed away the feeling of his hands on your skin. The scent of him clinging to your clothes. All gone. Washed down the sewage drain with the unpleasant memory of him.

Softly, you knocked on his door. It’s well past eleven, he should be asleep, but you know him better than that.

Nanami slowly opens the door, his brows furrow as his eyes meet yours. Concern painting his face.

You don’t have the energy to answer his unsaid questions, so instead you silently squeeze past him, kicking your wet heels off at the door. The air-conditioned room sends shivers up your soaked spine, littering your skin in goosebumps as you carry yourself to his liquid cabinet. Your fingers find the key he keeps hidden on the top of the rich oak cabinet, quickly pushing it into the lock and twisting. You’re on a mission as you blindly grab a bottle, bumping the door closed with your hip before turning to his rack of expensive drinking glasses, plucking two and setting them onto the counter with a soft clink.

He watches you pop the cork as quietly as you can, pouring the expensive liquid into two glasses, pushing one towards him without a word as you bring the sparklingly clear glass to your gloss smeared lips.

Married for four years, divorced for two, he knows the crinkle of your nose and the subtle twitch in your eye means one thing— you’re fuming. Beyond mad. If there was a word for that level of anger he’d use it to describe you in this moment.

He knows better than to ask what’s wrong, so instead he drinks with you; listening to the wall clock tick, to your nails tap against marble countertop, to the soft melody flowing from his record player. Darkness envelops you both, the only light combing from his little yellow reading lamp. It’s hardly enough to aluminate your faces, but the flicker of amber reflects in your fiery eyes.

“I think I got dumped.” You mutter, swishing the dark liquid around in your glass. You don’t wait for him to respond as you groan, willing the anger to subside and for the chill in your skin to vanish.

The crackle of the record prickles your ears just as much as the cool night air prickles your skin, filling your veins with ice as you continue to drink.

Nanami watches you, your hair drips onto your shoulders, your mascara streaky and your lips smudged. Disheveled and shivering in his kitchen. Filled with that unmistakable blinding anger you hold with such grace. If he was still your husband his hands would be wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him in a slow lazy sway to the soft music playing. But he isn’t your husband anymore. The word ‘ex’ stopped leaving a bad taste on his tongue a while ago— you’ve both worked around your usual ways to comfort one another and made them more friendly more… pg.

He pushes his glasses up into his hair, putting his glass down softly and disappearing into the dark hall. But you don’t notice. Not when your stomach pulls, not when your head is swimming with so many useless thoughts— thinking of the waisted days, waisted nights. Ugh even waisted money. All on some asshole—

“The bath is running, I left a towel out for you.” Nanami says as he reenters unnoticed, his voice soft and airy as he stops infront of you with a towelette. He tilts your chin to the side, your eyes scanning over his face as he cleans yours; he runs the cool wipe over your cheek, under your eyes and across your lips. He knows you’re more than capable, but still he handles you as delicately as humanly possible, swiping away stray hairs clung to your forehead and cheeks as if you would shatter under his fingers like the glasses you drank from.

He finishes, turning away to clean up the kitchen as you make your way towards the sound of running water.

The smell hits you before you push open the door; lavender scented suds decorate the surface of the water. Steam swirls into the air as you peel off your wet clothes— and for the first time tonight you were excited. Scolding water seeps into your skin as you step in, a tired groan escapes your lips as you sink farther in.

It’s funny how things change, how time passes and people grow apart, you think as you submerge your shoulders. Nanami used to run you baths almost every night, his small way of telling you how much he cherished you. Bubbles of every scent, bath oils and salts, candles and wine. The memory like a blanket as your skin tingles under the scolding water.

A soft knock at the door has your droopy eyes opening, “It’s unlocked.” You say, your voice horse and exhausted. Nanami softly cracks the door open, he walks in and places a small bundle of clothes onto the toilet lid, “You can wear these.” His clothes, a lounge shirt, too old sweatpants and a pair of boxers. You watched as he picked up your pile of sopping clothes, ringing the remaining water into the sink.

You’ve worn his clothes before. On laundry day, the morning after… an eventful night, even when you just missed him. That weird feeling in your stomach probably means nothing.

You watch him in the low light of the bathroom, his muscles rippling under his t-shirt as he works the water from the fabric in a comfortable silence.

“How was your night?” You ask, your fingers swirling through foamy bubbles. Nanami hums as he turns to face you; he rests against the sink, folding his arms across his chest. “Fine.” He says, his tone even as he scans your face.

It’s normal— seeing your ex wife soak in your bathtub, naked in your home for the first time in years. The thought makes Nanami shift slightly, his eyes focusing on the tile behind you. A safer option.

You mold the bubbles into little lumps, feeling his gentle gaze on you as if it’s normal again. Maybe tomorrow this memory will haunt you, make you burn up from the inside out. How oddly vulnerable the entire ordeal is. But for now you just smile softly, “what, you’re not going to ask me about my night?” You hum only half kidding.

Clearing his throat he turns back to the sink, “I assumed you wouldn’t want to talk about it.” Droplets of rainwater trickle down the drain as he squeezes the fabric again.

You don’t want to talk about it, so why did you even bother bringing it up?

You lean back, your eyes still glued to the fizzling bubbles in your palm and clinging to your skin. Where would you even start? Maybe how your date was ogling the waitress as soon as you got there, or maybe how he tried to gaslight you in the car, or how you have him the wicked suggestion to dump you onto the streets.

“Would you?” He asks, cutting through the silence, “Like to talk about it, I mean.”

Maybe you could talk about how your date never asked what you wanted. Or how he never called you gorgeous, just because. Maybe you could bring up how he only ever seemed to want you a little more when other women wouldn’t look his way.

There’s a line, right? Between ex’s and friends? There’s things you shouldn’t talk about past a certain point. Yet you still got excited to tell him about small insignificant things. Like the amazing bagel you had for breakfast, or how you and your daughter watched the most gut wrenching animated movie the night before and cried way more than she did; the small things you never seemed to tell your other partners. But you were friends… right? That’s what this was. A friendship.

You hum, “let me wash my hair first.” Nanami takes his cue, collecting your still wet clothing and leaving the bathroom.

You dip your head under the rapidly cooling water after heating the door click closed. The soft hum and the slight pop as the water envelops you like a liquid blanket, drawing you in as you hold your breath.

✮ ✮ ✮

His clothes seem to always sag on you, no matter your size they always felt so big. The cold hardwood floor sends a shiver up your spine as you step through the quiet hall. Nanami sits in his arm chair, your unfinished glass waiting for you on the coffee table, the record has been changed, joined with the soft hum of the drier now running, the warm yellow light still flickers away.

A time capsule of peace, this was your life. Coming home and reading your respective books on opposite sides of the room, or maybe together on the sofa huddled close together— but why’re you thinking about that now? Ugh it nags at you as you sit down, your body suddenly heavy as the plush couch pulls you in.

“What time is it?” You ask as you give in to exhaustion, your eyes fluttering shut and your head lulling back. You hear Nanami close his book, “2:45am.”

You sigh, digging the heels of your palms into your tired eyes, “Shit.” Despite the pang of unmet hunger in the pit of your stomach, despite the exhaustion gnawing at you, despite everything that’s happened tonight— you giggle. The sound startling another one out of you as you curl in on yourself, “god what a fucking night.”

Nanami gazes at you, drowning in his t-shirt, absolutely hysterical— with what he wonders.

“That asshole—“ you start, your wet hair clinging to your face as you roll your head to face him, “never once asked me what I wanted.”

He nods, and you continue, “not when we went out for dinner, not when we grabbed drinks, not when we fucked—“ your hands fly up on a silent groan, “who does that?” The question far above a whisper.

Nanami was many things— always busy, always working, but he never neglected you or your needs. That’s one thing you could never replace in your newer partners, his attentiveness.

“People are greedy.” He says, pushing his glasses up as he gently places his forgotten book onto the coffee table. “They—“ should he say this? Should he even be thinking it? But you’re friends… friends… comfort each other. “They don’t know how to please you in the ways you want crave— need. They never take the time.” His voice a husky whisper.

You groan, tired and not thinking as you go to continue complaining, “Like you know what I want.” The words come out with an edge you never meant to put there.

“I’m not saying that—“

“You might as well be, I never asked for your input, it was rhetorical.” You snap, the words clawing their way out before you can stop them. Was it pent up anger that made you stand up? Or maybe that simmering unmet lust burning deep in your gut that made you walk in front of him, challenging him, begging him wordlessly. Or maybe it was that deep history, etched into your bones, your body craving his forgotten touch.

He stares up at you, his legs spread wide, his arms gripping the armrests. His breathing slows, his eyes set on yours in a heated stare.

“Do you know what I want?” You ask, voice low, your words crackle with need. “Did you ever know what I wanted?“

Nanami knew you like the back of his hand. You liked when he’d go down on you, legs spread wide by his strong hands. You liked to pull his hair when he’d bite at your neck, so he grew it out. You liked when he’d ruin you with just his tongue while he held your small hand in his much larger one. He knew every freckle on your body, every stretch mark, every hair. He knew what your moods meant, when you were silently begging to be split apart on his cock.

He knew what you wanted more than you did.

The record keeps spinning as he rises, his body towering over you, his voice rumbles deep in his throat, “You know the answer… but tell me—“

You swallow thickly, your body stiffens as he brushes your drying hair from your shoulder, his face lowers, his hot breath fans over the damp shell of your ear sending goosebumps flying across your skin. “As long as we’ve been apart… have you ever wished… it were me between your legs?”

Your eyes flutter, just like your heart as you press your palms into his firm chest. Did you? You stand there, your fingers pressing harder into his clothed skin as you wrack your brain. Maybe you have been comparing your partners to him, maybe that’s by you can’t keep one— fuck maybe that’s why you got yourself kicked out of a car tonight. But his breath is so hot against your skin, you can feel his hands hover above your hips. You both know what you want, you both know what you need.

“If I said no,” your voice breathy, “would you believe me?”

He laughs, the sound brings a slime to your lips as his forehead falls to your shoulder. In this moment it seems so simple, feels so familiar. And maybe that’s all you need tonight.

“Is it… okay if I touch you?” He asks, that sentence hasn’t been heard in years, you’d almost forgotten how wet it makes you. Almost.

You nod, your palms slowly sliding up his chest and around his neck.

That light moment slowly fading before your eyes as he presses his lips to the exposed skin below your ear. “Words.”

“Yes dammit you know I hate when you—“

You choke on your words as he pulls back, his hand threading with your damp locks and craning your head back. Your eyes frantically search his, the reading lamp the only light reflecting off of them.

Nanami’s usual gentleness is gone as he stares you down. “You need to be quiet for me, can you do that?” One hand cradles your cheek, the other tugs at your hand, begging to be held.

Before you can answer he’s pulling you with him, leading you to his bedroom. The darkness of the apartment swallows you both as you enter the room, the music fading, the sounds of your eager breath becomes the only sound ringing in both of your ears.

He doesn’t waste time sliding his warm hands underneath your shirt, pulling you closer to him as his lips crash into yours.

Everything about him invades your senses, the taste of his lips, his touch, the smell of him— all of it makes you clench your thighs together as his fingers press into your soft skin.

“I forgot—“ Nanami’s lips trail a path down your throat, his fingers sliding under the waistband of the boxers you’re wearing, “how incredible you look in my clothes.” His boxers, his shirt, his sweatpants— all of it reeks of him— the overwhelming scent of his cologne makes you dizzy as the pads of his fingers teasingly brush against your clit. The tips of your ears burn as you choke down a moan, your own fingers tangling into his combed blonde hair.

He makes a quiet ‘tsk’ before biting your neck, a soft nip before he’s licking the pain away, “quiet—“ lithe fingers sink slowly into you, “or I stop.”

Lust clouds every rational thought swirling around inside of your brain as you nod frantically, desperate for him to continue.

“Good girl.” Your hips grind down onto his fingers, clit brushing against his palm with an infuriating lightness. Not enough. Never enough. A soft whine of frustration sounds in the back of your throat. His free hand sneaks up your throat, his fingers dancing across your jaw, this thumb pulling at your plump bottom lip. A groan—husky and raw sounds deep in his chest as the diget slips past your lips into your warm wet mouth. Hot and slick as he presses the pad of his thumb down onto your tongue.

Dark eyes meet yours in the inky black of his room, “get on the bed.”

He pulls out of you, turning away from you before you can beg him to continue. Nanami rushes to the door, his feet light as he gently clicks it closed. You’re too busy peeling off his boxers to notice him lick a long stripe up his slick fingers, but you hear the sound he makes. He groans as his tongue licks every last drop of you from his fingers.

You sink onto the bed just as he flicks on a small lamp, your body cast in that familiar pale yellow glow. Nanami however is a silhouette before you, warm light framing his every move. Clenching around nothing you watch him peel his shirt off, the sound of his pants following suit. You crawl backward in search of the headboard, his hands grasp your ankles and in one quick yank you’re back at the edge. You instinctively clamp your thighs together as he sinks to his knees, hands prying your legs apart. “Don’t run from me, show me what I’ve been missing.” He whispers, his gentle voice sending shivers down your spine and to your waiting cunt. And he notices. You’re spread wide with his hands trailing torturously gentle shapes into your skin.

He feels so pathetic. He’s harder than he’s ever been as he gazes at your weeping pussy splayed out for him, leaking down your ass and onto his freshly washed sheets. How long will he just stare at you, mouth watering as you bite down hard on your bottom lip while your legs tremble under his feather light touch.

“Kento-“ you mumble, “this is embarrassing stop teasing m—“ you gasp at the sudden sensation. His lips find your swollen clit without fail, the familiarity slowly rising back to the surface. He mumbles against you, his words muffled and sending shivers straight through you as his fingers prod at your dripping hole.

It’s torture you think. The way he flattens his tongue against your throbbing clit, fingers sliding in with ease as you clasp your hand around your mouth. Lips trembling as you choke down moan after moan.

Nanami’s always been a tender lover, putting your needs above his own— it’s nice to know that hasn’t changed as you dig your heels into his mattress, thighs trembling and back arching ever so slightly as he bullies his fingers into you again and again. The desperate depraved moans you choke down slip out as small squeaks that have Nanami leaking through his boxers.

He can’t take it— how warm you are against his fingers, juices leaking down his arm, his tongue working in ways he’d forgot possible. He moans against you one final time before pulling off, licking his lips clean as you prop yourself up onto your elbows.

“Ken—“

“Turnover” his voice deep and laced with utter desperation as you watch him tuck his thumbs under the electric of his boxers.

It was like a game, waiting to see who will crack first as he peels away that last layer of fabric. He’s throbbing and so painfully hard under your watchful gaze. Your eyes taking in every vein, admiring that upward bend that had to seeing stars countless times— not even a foot away from you now.

“Can I-“ suck you off.

Large hands pull you forward, “Later.” That inhuman strength has you spinning, landing on your stomach with a startled yelp.

You push yourself up, arms trembling as he reaches over you and snatches a pillow. “W-wait, I wanted to—“ you go to stutter in protest only for his palm to press down firmly on your back, right between your shoulder blades. One second your hips are pressed into the soft bedsheets— the next they’re held high in the air only supported by his brutal grasp.

Your senses are on fire. Your cheek is pressed into a pillow that smells so much like his shampoo, your thighs covered in your cooling slick, all you can hear is your own hammering heart and jagged breaths as his hands slide over you. One trailing up the small of your back, sneaking over your shoulder blades and stopping at your nape. The other holds you up by the hips as he slots his cock between your slick folds with a sickeningly low groan.

Nanami presses his chest against your back, you can feel his heart, feel his body heat, you can practically taste the sweat that already adorns his face as his lips hover over the shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.” He whispers, his voice so husky you can feel the rumble slide down your throat and live in your ribcage. You nod frantically, “Fine, okay you have my word— fuck—hurry up already! Please-please-please—“ you whine, a memory that will have your cheeks the richest shade of red come tomorrow.

“Good girl,” he hums, his tip slowly enters you with an infuriating slowness that has you gripping the sheets under you. “You learned how to use your words, m’proud of you angel.” He moans as he wills himself to go slowly, he wants to savor the way you clench around him again, savor the way you gush at his gentle praise.

One twitch of your hips and you’d be completely split open, and somehow that’s what you need. You press yourself into his sheets, rocking your hips back into him with that impatience that pissed him off and made him even harder.

More.

More.

More.

You groan, your lip bitten and raw as you beg. “Ken—“

His chest still rests against your back as he litters your neck in open mouth kisses, “I know, Angel.” His teeth graze the flesh of your neck to feel you tremble under him. “Be patient for me.”

It’s so hard to obey when he’s moving so deliberately slow— drawing it out so you feel every vein, every twitch, every slight stutter of his hips when you whine into the pillow under you. You don’t know how hard it is for him not to grab a fist full of your hair and press your face into the sheets— how hard it is for him not to snap his hips into yours at such a brutal pace it gives you a lip the next day. He needs to hear you scream his name until your lungs burn and your hands cramp from clinging onto him with the last of your strength.

Next time he thinks. Next time you’ll be all alone, folded in half under him with your pretty little face staring up at him as he fucks you again and again.

“So good for me.” He moans into your ear as his hips finally meet the swell of your ass. “So good.” He bites your neck, stifling a moan as you clench around him.

Nanami kisses the pain away as he pulls out halfway and then slowly entering again. And again. And again.

The feeling of him so deep in your gut has you panting, trembling and clawing at his pillow. Your hands ache from clinging to anything you can reach, but you’re afraid if you didn’t occupy yourself you’d scream, so completely under his control it drives you insane. You’re so focused on breathing and willing yourself not to be too loud that you don’t feel one of his hands leaving your body only to wrap around your wrist, his thumb circling your skin in time with his movements.

Slow and lazy strokes turn into quick sloppy thrusts, the soft squelch of your mixed arousal becoming louder in your ears. All you can hear is Nanami’s low groans next to your ear and the subtle squeak of the bed frame and it has your head spinning.

“Ken—“ you moan, teeth imbedded in your bottom lip.

He reminds that eager little yelp in your tone even when it’s being suppressed. You’re close already. So so close.

He sneaks his other hand under you, trailing it down your stomach as the other tightens around your wrist. 

Even if he can read you, he needs to know. To hear it drip from your lips and into the heated sizzling air. “What do you need? Tell me—fuck— tell me what you need.”

Your stomach flutters, ears burning and legs trembling as you whine. So high pitched and pathetic it has him reeling on top of you, his cock throbbing at the sound of pure desperation.

“M’so close— Kento please I need—fuck fuck fuck—“ you shudder as you feel the heat of his palm hovering over your clit. “Need to cum—“

His fingers hone in on your pulsing bud before the words even finish leaving your lips.

Who is he to deny you that high?

Maybe you’ve been so unknowingly pent up, or maybe you just craved his touch that much— but as soon as the rough pads of his fingers sought you out you felt your back bow, your lips tremble and you’re turning your hand palm up to intertwine your fingers with his as the coil in your gut tightens.

Nanami’s face scrunches as he feels your pussy tighten around him. You squeeze his hand, you tremble under him and moan and drool onto his pillow. His bed might’ve smelt like him this morning but tonight it drips with you. The body he’s craved ever since his eyes met yours for the very first time— his pace quickens.

“Cum for me,” he hooks his chin over your shoulder. “Please— I need you to— fuck— I need it.” He whimpers, words trembling as his fingers quicken, his hand could fall off for all he cared. He needed this. He needed you.

He’s whined before, but now in this moment it sounded so sinful. His face was so close to yours, you could feel his now damp hair touch your cheek, you could feel his breath and if you opened your eyes— see the bead of sweat trickle down the curve of his nose.

His gruff voice sounded so sweet as he begged you, pleaded with you to cum around his cock.

You nodded, frantic.

The only warning your body allows is a shiver that shoots up the base of your spine as you cum. White flashes behind your eyelids as you bite into the pillow, your teeth threaten to pop a seam as you ride our your violent high through choked sobs.

Nanami cums after you, your tight walls spasming around him as he pumps you full with a groan that hangs heavy in the sticky air.

It takes everything he has left not to collapse on top of you as he eases his way out. Leaning back he watches as his cum oozes out of you, and with gentle fingers he pushes it back in, watching the way you writhe as overstimulation knocks on your door.

With a fuzzy head you allow him to carefully lay you on your back. His hand cups your cheek as he presses a parting kiss to your forehead. You hardly register his absence till you feel him part your legs, a warm towel glides up your legs and you hum at the cozy feeling of it. The familiar comfort he brings you is something you’ve missed. Nanami takes his time cleaning you up before he urges you under the covers. You sleepily comply.

Sleepily. Who knew his dick would be your melatonin again, you think to yourself as you tuck yourself farther into his bed with a content sigh. Before sleep can fully grasp you, you feel Nanami’s strong arms pull you to his chest, his nose buried in the crook of your neck once more. It isn’t long before you fall asleep in his arms, in the pitch black of his room, in a bed that smells like black coffee and lavender, just like you used to. It’s so familiar, so inviting and whole.

Maybe your next boyfriend will be better than the last guy. In fact… maybe he’ll be just like your ex-husband.

[dollfacefantasy]

dig your claws right into me ♡

logan howlett x fem!reader

logan hurts you when he has a nightmare. now you both have to deal with the fallout.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, descriptions of nightmare, injury, and blood

a/n: reader is a mutant but i didn't specify her powers so you can imagine what you want. just some sickly sweet intimacy cause that's what i was feeling tonight <3

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The words come out whispered as Logan's lips press against the three tiny bumps of developing scar tissue on your abdomen.

"I already told you that you don't have to be sorry," you say. Your voice drifts into the space between the two of you as soft as the movements of your fingers running through his hair.

"Well I am, bub. You should want me to be."

Each one of his hands rests upon either side of your waist. His fingers squish against your flesh while his eyes stare at the scars on your belly. He gazes at them like the small marks, all equidistant from one another, could be willed away by his harsh look. He hated the fact that they were there at all. Even worse, that he was the one who gave them to you.

"But it was an accident," you respond, giving one of the tufts of his hair a gentle tug.

His dark pupils flit up to look at your face. "Doesn't matter. It being an accident doesn't change the fact that you're gonna have these marks forever. I wouldn't care that it was accidental if I'd killed you."

He remembers the night it happened that seemed like a real possibility.

His light sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare. Over the time that had passed between then and now, it'd become indistinct from all the others he experiences regularly. The only difference between that one and the ones he'd had since he'd started sleeping next to you each night was the intensity. That night had been rough. Normally when he slept in your room, he seemed to be able to tone it down. Almost as if his brain knew to not act up while your relationship was still starting to blossom.

But two weeks ago, his mind didn't care. It flash-banged him with the usual images of himself in that tank. The searing, splitting pain of the adamantium attaching itself to his bones.

Usually, if he had a nightmare beside you, he'd grunt and twitch, maybe shift around a little. That night though, you got to see the whole performance. The tossing and turning, sweating and moaning, tense limbs and scrunched up face.

Poor, sweet, innocent you thought that you could just wake him up. Your hands nudged at his bicep and shoulder as you gently cooed "Logan. It's just a dream."

In the end, your tenderness didn't matter. When he actually came to, your anguished cry was all that registered. And then he felt the sharp heat between his knuckles that meant the claws were out. His heart dropped and his vision nearly blacked out. He couldn't have.

He retracted them as quickly as they'd appeared and pulled back to look at you. Crimson flooded the gray t-shirt you'd worn to bed. The three little spots spread into large blooms of scarlet. Your hands flew to the spot to clutch at it, but they did nothing to stop the warm liquid from spilling out.

"No, no, no, fuck," he'd whispered frantically as his mind raced for a solution.

Your cries morphed into whimpers. Soft and vulnerable. Like a prey animal that'd been fatally wounded but not put out of its misery. Blood seeped out onto your bedding, and it was then that he rocketed off the mattress and scooped you up into his arms.

Fortunately, Scott, Jean, and Storm were already outside the door in the hall, having heard the scream. A gathering of students lingered behind them as well. Shame coursed through his veins, albeit dulled by the panic. He remembered thinking it was stupid, but after the adrenaline left his system, it was the dominant emotion he was left with. Ashamed was the only word that could describe holding the knowledge that everyone here now saw he was capable of hurting the woman he loves. Maybe he was no better than an animal.

In truth, shame was all he felt now. So much relief settled over him since you'd made it out alive. Thanks to the enhanced physical capabilities from your mutation and Jean's adequate medical skills, these scars would be the only lasting effect of the wounds.

He'd rushed you down to the infirmary faster than he'd ever moved in a non-combat situation. His feet thundered down the stairs, a part of him withering to ash with each little whimper you let out as the motion jostled your body around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Almost there. We're almost there. You're gonna be ok," he'd mumbled out thoughtlessly, saying anything he could that would bring you even a shred of comfort.

He kept your hand in his the entire time you were down there on the cold examination table. His grip stayed firm. He wouldn't let the anxiety over your well being consume him. This was his fault, and now you needed him. He didn't get to be worried or upset or anything that wasn't in support of you.

When you howled in pain, he winced as if he was the one being treated. You cried for him, choking out "Logan" through tears over and over. It tore him apart inside. All he could do to soothe you was stroke your cheek and murmur reassurances in your ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're doing so good, baby. My strong girl. Being so brave."

He usually reserved affection for private moments, but in those painful seconds, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

These thoughts running through his head display across his face. The way his cheek squishes against your tummy and his eyes vacantly stare at the wall opposite his bed. You told him the next day that everything transformed into a blur in your mind. You remembered the feeling of being stabbed and the sight of him panicking, but beyond that nothing specific stayed. You knew he held you and talked to you even though you couldn't recall an individual thing he said or did.

That was fine with him. He listened to you tell the story from your perspective. You spoke with your normal cadence, the usual happy glow in your eyes, and the same animated gestures coming from your hands. His eyes lingered on your torso though. The bandages peeking out from underneath your clean camisole he'd changed you into.

Every last detail of the incident was etched into the deepest part of his psyche. Most likely stored away as material for future nightmares. As much as he hated it, he figured that's the way it should be. He didn't deserve the peace that comes with forgetting.

For the first week after it'd happened, he wouldn't sleep with you. He'd stay with you, cuddled against your body, until you drifted off. Then he'd get up and skulk back to his own room, leaving you cold and alone on your bed.

Eventually after a few more days, you got him to try it out again, but he'd only do it in his own room. It was hard for him to be in yours. New sheets covered your foamy mattress now since the blood wouldn't wash out of the old set. Each brush of the novel material against his skin was just a rose-printed reminder of what he'd done to you.

He's snapped out of his recollection when your voice returns to the original conversation.

"None of that stuff happened though. You didn't kill me, and you're not going to. I'll be more careful next time," you break the silence with a gentle reassurance.

Next time. That's what hurts the worst. You knew this would happen again. You'd promised that when it did you wouldn't try to wake him. Wouldn't touch him or do anything that could set him off. Just give him his space and let him work through it.

"I don't even want you worrying about being careful when you're trying to sleep," he grumbles.

Your nails scrape over his scalp, making his eyes flutter. A deep sigh leaves him. As much as he hated himself for all of this, he could never help easing up under your touch.

"You're worth it."

Three words you said so often. He never believed them, but that didn't stop you from repeating them like a slogan. Instead of arguing with you over the validity of the statement, he stays silent. Replaces any verbal response with a physical one by nuzzling into the warmth of your stomach and laying kisses around your navel.

You watch the affectionate gesture and trail your fingers down to the nape of his neck, massaging the tender skin there.

"You are," you whisper, "One mistake doesn't define you. Doesn't change how I see you."

"It's not just a simple mistake-" he starts.

"Yes it is," you interject, trying to nip his self doubt in the bud.

"It's not. It's not like I forgot your birthday or left my wallet behind when taking you out."

"It's still an accident. The severity doesn't change the intention. Would you hate me if my powers acted up and hurt you?"

God, you could be just as stubborn as him. It grated on his already frayed nerves. He shifts to look up at you fully. And some of that building tension dissolves upon seeing the earnest look on your face.

"It's not the same. Anything you did to me, I would heal," he says.

"I'm healing too. I'm just not as fast as you," you respond. You actually smile as if this is some lighthearted matter. Of course you knew it wasn't the same. You presented no danger to him whereas if he'd nicked you an inch to the left, he might be talking to your headstone right now instead of you. That wasn't the point though.

He shakes his head. "It's different, bub. But I'm not even saying you should hate me..." 

In truth, he didn't know what he was saying. If he wanted you to hate him or stay away from him, he could be the one to break things off. But he was still right here, arms wrapped around you and head hovering inches away from your body.

"I just think you should be more cautious than you're being," he finishes, "I don't want you to think you have to put up with this."

You frown and pet his hair. "I don't think that."

"I'm not trying to lecture you, baby," he sighs, "I just don't want to hurt you again."

He could certainly flaunt a pair of puppy eyes when he wanted to. The way he was looking up at you now made him seem so sad and wounded. Like a dog who can't control when he bites but gets kicked aside for it all the same.

"You're not going to. We'll be careful. It was an accident," you say, tone almost pleading, "You're still my Logan."

To go along with your words, you pull on one of his arms, beckoning him closer. He complies with your request and scales your body so that the two of you are aligned. You stare up into his eyes and the whirlpools of emotion within them. Your hand lands on his cheek, your thumb stroking back and forth in small swipes.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away cause of this," you whisper, "It wasn't your fault. You don't choose to have those dreams."

You can tell he wants to argue, but he struggles to find the words. Indirectly cutting him off, you guide his head closer to yours. His face slots against the crook of your neck, and yours does the same in his. You nuzzle him there, breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.

"You're not wrong for wanting to be happy. You don't deserve to be alone," you say and kiss below his ear.

The words make him ache from within. His metal bones vibrate with the weight of possibility of that being true while his heartbeat feels as though it stutters between his ribs. He wants to huff and say that he knows, that he doesn't need you psychoanalyzing him, thank you very much. But none of that will come out. So instead he chuckles. He tries to make it sound smooth; although, the awkwardness is apparent in each bit.

He pulls back a little and smirks down at you. "So you think I'm cut out for being gentle? Is that it?"

You know what he's doing. As closed off as he tries to be, you don't need telepathy to sense what he's feeling. You let him play it off with a joke though. If he's joking, he's not drowning in self-pity, which is all you want.

"Mhm, I know you are," you say and nose at his cheek, kissing the spot on it without facial hair, "You may have claws, but you purr like a kitten when I have my hands on you."

His eyes roll when you say that. He leans down and begins to return some of your loving gestures.

"Don't go telling people that. It's only for you," he murmurs.

"Of course, of course," you say with the same subtle playfulness.

Words die out in favor of using your mouths for better things. The kisses are lazy, built more off of love and adoration rather than lust and passion. One of your arms loops over his shoulders to keep him close while your other rubs at his side. The tip of his nose brushes your earlobe as he lowers to kiss down your throat.

His lips meet your pulse point and the divots in your neck that make you shudder when touched. He's familiar with all your secret spots by now. He plays you better than any instrument. His breath fans over your skin as his teeth scrape against the same flesh. His hands work below, squeezing your waist, fingertips leaving little bumps in their wake.

The hand of yours that had been on his side drifts further down and wiggles its way between your two bodies. Your digits stroke his pelvis above the area his cock would soon begin to harden.

A groan reverberates through his chest as his shaft rises to attention. From this angle, the pads of your fingers can reach the tip. You rub on it with light pressure, up and down. That gets him to repeat the groan, only this time the undertone of need is more prominent.

His lips latch onto your neck to work a little mark onto your skin while he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs. You were only wearing a cropped t-shirt and panties, already easily accessible.

He nudges your thighs apart further and grinds his bulge over your mound. The heat from both your aching centers grows hotter with the friction. Arching your back off the bed, you whimper softly for further satisfaction. He presses you back down using his larger stature.

"Patience, sweetheart. Being gentle, remember?"

He only teases you with a few more grinds of his hips before his boxers vanish too and his heavy cock rests against the soft fabric of your panties. You feel the familiar thickness at first. Then his fingers swoop down and pull your panties to the side so he can slot the drippy tip against your folds. Precum smears against your slick, velvety skin.

Seconds later he splits you open. He bites his lip while you whine, his fat cock pushing further into your wanting hole. You squeeze around him. Your walls clamp and contract on his length. It doesn't push him out, merely sucks him further in. He chokes out a low moan from how tight you get.

So tight and so wet. Arousal oozes from you in no short supply. It didn't take much to get you going for Logan. A few touches alone had you leaking like a broken faucet. You whimper as he bottoms out, hips jerking as the head taps your cervix. He always gets so deep it's nearly unbearable. Even when he's going slow like he is now, he's all you can think of. He fills you up down there and occupies all the space in your head.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks.

You nod, unable to respond verbally as you adjust to the intrusion. 

He doesn't give you a prolonged period of time to adapt right now. Normally he would, but most other times, he'd be going much faster than he plans to at this moment. Typically, he'd let you get comfy with the stretch before drawing his hips back and then pumping them forward again. He'd slam in and out of you. It'd be loud with the sound of skin clapping combined with your moans and his growls. It'd be rough and quick. The bed would shake and bobble around with the force of him.

But tonight, none of that happens. He barely even pulls out to thrust. He stays nice and deep, grinding his hips rather than fucking himself in and out of you. You whine in sweet stretches of sound. He sighs and grunts against your neck. Neither of you sound like feral animals going into heat.

You loved when you fucked like that, but right now, both of you needed this. Each roll of his hips felt like a stroke of heaven brushing your insides. Your limbs curl around him tighter to keep him close. Your arms guard his neck while your legs dig into his hips. He's so lost in the feeling of you, he can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

"Tell me how it feels. Need to hear you. Wanna know I'm doing it how you need," he mumbles.

"Feels perfect," you whimper in return, "So fuckin' deep."

"Good. I only ever wanna make you feel good."

You nod, knowing it's the truth. "Anyone can hurt me, but only you know how to make me feel like this."

His eyes scrunch up at your words. He just feels lucky he has his face buried against your skin so you can't see. It had been just what he needed to hear. Boosting himself onto his knees a bit more to gain some leverage, he grips your hips and ruts against you with the slightest bit more force.

You whine at the soothing rhythm in which your bodies rock. The sense of satisfaction brought on from this took root in the deepest pit of your belly. You weren't gonna explode like you often did. Probably wouldn't scream or scratch up his back. But you could tell you were gonna cum hard.

Without saying it, he communicates he feels the same. His lack of usual dirty talk tells you everything you need to know. His cock stays nestled deep inside your pussy as he works you both to the edge. His face remains flush against your neck.

You cum first, and he follows right behind. You tighten up, toes curling and a high mewl echoing out of your throat. Your body shivers. He spills his release inside of you, his energy leaving with the sticky ropes of cum that fire.

He goes boneless on top of you, still cherishing the feeling of your skin on his. His breaths feel cool against your sweating skin.

"My baby," he sighs. His eyes flutter shut. He knows he has to pull out before he knocks out for a while, but he can do that in a second. He just needs a few more minutes of this.

You press a few kisses to the side of his head and rub his back. His hand slides between both your abdomen to touch the scars, reminding himself what he's capable of despite his current tenderness.

After a few moments, he pulls out and slumps to the side of you. You peck his lips and take the acquisition of space as a way to cool off. His eyes are drooping already. It feels good seeing him so relaxed. You kiss the space between his brows, then the bridge of his knows, and end on his lips.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper, wishing that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. At least for tonight.

[theglamorousferal]

Immortal Everlasting Trio who have been exploring the Infinite Realms for the last few centuries. The three of them are flying, braiding their paths as they make their way through the Realms.

“How do you think Ellie is doing in her current incarnation?” Nightshade asks of her partners,

“Hmm probably well, she was exploring the galaxy this time right? I could always check?” Pharaoh responds, a keyboard made of sandstone appears at his fingertips.

“She feels content.” Said Phantom, soothing the worries of the other two. The stars that are freckles on his face brighten with the comment.

They swirl around each other in lazy patterns, unknowing of the passage of time, when Phantom feels a tug at his core. The trio circle up, his partners noticing the shift in mood.

“I don’t recognize this one.” He mutters to himself, placing a hand on the center of his chest. “It’s none of the family, but it is a bit familiar.” He furrowed his brow, trying to trace the sensation to its source. He closed his eyes and felt the pull of magic. “It doesn’t feel malicious, there’s desperation and curiosity for sure, but I feel no ill intent.” He thought for a moment. “I’m going to follow it. I want to know why this feels familiar”

Nightshade formed a purple bloom and tucked it behind one of his ears and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Be safe.”

Pharaoh gently took his hand and kissed it, bestowing a glass bangle to his wrist. “Don’t make stupid decisions,” he smirked, “without us.”

Phantom laughed and in a flash of bright white light he was gone.

* * *

With a flash of light so bright it temporarily blinded, Phantom appeared in a summoning circle. The room he now occupied was large, a massive sofa made up a good portion of the room and there was a kitchen off to the side. Turning around, there was a large screen with even larger windows behind it. He turned back and now saw the people in the room.

One was green with a unitard on, one was sitting criss cross in front of some candles, a book and a small cauldron, one was floating and had a mass of bright pink hair, one was a cyborg of some kind and stood at the ready with a cannon for an arm and the last was shielding his eyes with a black cape.

“Who summons me?” Phantom asked in a far quieter tone than the teens apparently expected.

The one who appeared to have done the ritual stood and spoke first. “Mighty Phantom, we seek your assistance in dealing with a massive threat to our world. The demon Trigon looks to the Earth as his next conquest.” They took a breath and looked down. “He intends to use my power to do it, and I do not have the strength to stop him.”

Phantom settled his feet on the ground and placed a hand on their shoulder. “Peace young one. Why don’t we start with introductions? As you know, I am Phantom, he/him, now who has managed to summon me?”

“I am Raven, she/her, the rest here are my team the Teen Titans.” She turned to her team, they all seemed shocked. “I apologize for them, usually they take things in stride a lot easier. This is Beast Boy, he/him, Starfire she/her, Cyborg, he/him, and Robin, he/him.”

“Hmm, may I see the text you used to summon me?” He gestured to the book on the floor. “I was not aware of anything that could summon me in this realm. It is familiar to me though, I can’t place why.”

Raven raised the book into his hand. He leafed through it humming to himself before stopping on a photo of a note that looked familiar. He smiled to himself, remembering the time a century ago to him that himself and his partners helped a small civilization and they left a way for the leader to contact them if they needed help. He skimmed the next few paragraphs and then laughed and closed the book.

“I’ll help. In fact, my partners and I will help. It’s been a long while since we were in a mortal realm. I will return in a week’s time your time to discuss what we need to do. This will work to summon us if we forget or if your danger arrives early.” He magicked a paper with a seal on it and handed it to her. “I must discuss with my partners and will do research on this Trigon. Thank you for calling us, we’ve been aimless for too many decades. Have a good night.” He vanished in another flash of light.

* * *

Phantom appeared in a flash of light cackling as he tumbled across the chess board his partners were playing on, scattering the flowers and sandstone pieces across the green sky.

“Beloved you know not to do that,” Nightshade gathered the giggling king into her lap, Pharaoh moving to lean against her shoulder and push the hair from the eyes of Phantom, “but what has you laughing so?”

Phantom mimed wiping a tear from his eye. “Remember that civilization we helped out a century ago? Well apparently a few hundred years have passed in that world and the people we helped revered us as gods. A sorceress summoned us for help defeating a demon. They were so cute, little teenage heroes like we once were.” He sighed and settled into the arms of his lovers. “Have either of you heard of Trigon?”

[angelsforthenight]

i could eat that girl for lunch… (ellie williams)

ways you can help gaza🇵🇸

summary: you post cute pictures on your story in the hopes of gaining a certain girl’s attention… luckily you get more than what you anticipated ;)

cw: mdni, fem!reader, texting, cunnilingus, desperate top!ellie, teasing sub!reader, cannibalistic metaphors, cursing, ellie is goofy lmao

you’re this close to screaming. the winged eyeliner on your left eye somehow keeps fucking up; either looking too splotchy or shorter than your right one. what’s pissing you off the most is the fact that you aren’t even going anywhere… getting all dolled up just to take it all off in 15 minutes, just to post cute little photos on your story and, of course, just to get her attention.

ellie williams. the name rolled off your tongue with such velvety sleek. every single one of your friends knows her name; has had to endure through your countless obsessive gushes.

you two had met during a party. having been in a drunken haze, you barely remember the first conversation that sparked such an interest, but you do remember her gin breath against your ear: asking/shouting, amidst the blaring music, if you had wanted to go somewhere a little more quieter. the night ended up in you being fingered in her car, before being driven back home by her. a freckle-faced angel in a leather jacket coated with small pins and badges. you were immediately hooked. but it’s been a week since then, and you two haven’t spoken. having achieved her number, you thought of messaging, but didn’t want to come across as desperate, even though you so are.

you thank instagram suggested for bringing you her account on a platter; being filled with niche, introverted posts of every cool-looking thing but her face. she doesn’t even have a “me” highlights! you can’t tell if her lack in posting her face is a blessing or a curse. so here you are, getting ready to post on your story since you followed her the day before. the skin around your eye is starting to sting by the amount of times you’ve been wiping and restarting your eyeliner. it needs to be perfect. you’ve orchestrated all this to be perfect. you take a deep breath and focus, striving to get the perfect wing.

“thank fuck.” you murmur under your breath once you finally get it right, before enveloping your lips in lipstick. you admire yourself in the mirror once done. you look fucking amazing.

since you spent way too long putting on your makeup, it wouldn’t be fair to yourself to only post one picture, so you post a couple. a mirror picture following up a layout of 4 images with the perfect song in the background. a little smile tugs at your lips as you replay the story two, three, four times before setting it on do not disturb and finding something else to do. your heart pounds at the thought of ellie seeing it, praying that she’ll interact. even a simple like will do.

after removing your makeup and getting into your pyjamas, you click on a movie to pass time, setting your phone on do not disturb. half an hour passes, and you’ve been neurotically checking your phone for a sign of ellie to appear on your notifications, but nothing. you check your story to see if she’s seen it but again, nothing. another hour passes, and you check for any sign of ellie. nada. look at my story, you freak! are the words etched in your head, words you wished you could telepathically scream at her. you remember you set your phone on do not disturb for a reason, so you place it far away and focus on finishing the film.

a while later, you’re slumped on your couch on the verge of falling asleep. the movie’s ended and it was so boring that you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open. you decide to check your do not disturb notifications one last time before taking a nap, until your eyes fall on the name ‘ellie.’ you immediately jerk up, awake and alert: your thumb automatically pressing the notification centre so you can see what it reads.

seventeen minutes ago.

ellie liked your story

ellie liked your story

ellie replied to your story: doll face

ellie replied to your story: you need a seat? lemme volunteer 🙏🙏

a shit-eating grin lights up your face. fucking finally! not once but twice! you excitedly draw your knees up to your chest, eager fingers tapping away, ready to respond - regardless of how long you’d been waiting for her texts. play it cool….

y/n: hahaha thank u thank u <3

y/n: (replied) oh word?

you’re surprised and very happy when you see the ‘typing…’ your heart doing goddamn backflips.

ellie: wooooord

ellie: literally cannot stop replaying ur story… bring that over here 🙁

ellie: come over

!!! your heart sinks all the way down to your ass. the hell does she mean come over?

y/n: ur not serious lmaoaoaooa

ellie: i’m being deadass,,, come over.

you look at the time. it’s almost 1 in the morning.

y/n: idek where u live bru😭😭😭😭

y/n: if anything you should come over since you’ve driven me to my house b4

ellie: mmm nahhhh

you blink in disbelief when ellie sends her location over. she’s not kidding.

y/n: girl i look bummy… i don’t even have any makeup on anymore :< took it off

ellie: i really don’t care

ellie: plsplspsls come over

ellie: u won’t regret it……………. trust 🤓🤓

next thing you know you’re leaving your house in your plaid shorts and a silly graphic tee. thankfully, ellie only lives 10 minutes away, so you take a bus before walking up to her apartment.

y/n: i’m cominggg

ellie: LOL yeaa you will be coming real soon 😇😇😇

though you cringe at her text, your body betrays you; your stomach forming a deep pit. she’s so sultry and playful you don’t know even know what to think. and there goes your heart again, hastily beating away like there’s no tomorrow. you reach the door, a trembling hand raising up to knock.

“hi.” ellie beams, smiling like an idiot. her eyes seize you from head to toe, “nice fit.”

“told you i looked bummy...” you mumbled, trying your best not to seem nervous. ellie moves aside so you can come in. her apartment smells exactly like she does; that faint campfire scent, conjoined with a forest-ey musk. a forest fire you were more than willing to burn in.

“so…“ you begin, with nothing prepared to follow up after that.

“sooooooo….” ellie repeats blithely.

“it’s been a week since… you know…” you whisper, awkwardly shifting your legs.

“since…?” ellie blinks, furrowing her eyebrows. she’s taunting you, trying to play innocent when it’s pretty fucking obvious what you’re on about.

“the party.” you respond, entertaining her coyness for no reason.

“party?” ellie pretends to think, looking up at nothing. “oh!! yeah… jesse’s one.” she smirks.

you smirk back, furrowing your eyebrows in amusement. “you could do so much better at playing dumb, y’know…”

“you think so?” ellie narrows her eyes, tilting her head as she steps closer. the impish smirk on her face never leaves. she’s having fun. you both are.

“yup. for your own good, don’t choose acting as a career.”

“for my own good?”

“for your own good.” you haven’t even realised how close you two are to each other now, daring eyes locked with another pair of daring eyes. takes one to know one. a silence permeated with tension fills the room.

“c’mere…” ellie finally mumbles before cupping your face with both hands and bringing you in for a kiss. you’re quick to melt in her grasp, your hand finding it’s way to ellie’s hair, giving it a playful tight squeeze that elicits a quiet groan from her. her hands, those goddamn hands, then move to your waist, pulling you closer. you two don’t even waste time before you’re making out with such fervor. save the sweetness for later, it’s the hunger that’s on display for now. the memory of her lips were starting to slip away from your mind and you’re glad you’re here to reboot it.

once you pull away, ellie’s eyes drift to something behind you. you follow her gaze, only for your eyes to land on a chair in the middle of the goddamn living room. it’s so random that you can’t help but burst out laughing.

“why is there a chair?” you ask in the midst of your laughing fit. it’s not even that funny, but the laughing is helping with your nerves.

“it’s for you.” ellie giggles too, a light pink tint on her cheeks that’s hard to miss.

“me?” you blink rapidly, your gaze darting from the chair to ellie, “do i sit?” you ask stupidly.

“no, you stand.” sarcasm laces her tone, as she giggles a little more, “go sit.”

“don’t order me around like i’m your dog.” you respond playfully, but you do as she says. despite your ‘tough’ front, you’d do anything she’d tell you to. guess she was being literal about offering you a seat…

ellie grins down at you, angling your chin up so you’re looking at her. you can feel the heat start to prickle in your face, down your neck and pervading the rest of your body. her thumb traces along your bottom lip, slightly dragging it down. there’s that same darkened look she had back in her car, one that makes you feel so small.

“so cute… like a human deer.” she murmurs distractedly, almost like she’s talking to herself instead of you. your head grows fuzzy, blushing even more. you mindlessly squeeze your thighs together, trying to ease the growing heat in between. ellie notices.

“you doing okay?” she softly asks, unable to mask the smug look on her face. you nod quietly. with her eyes kept on you, she lowers down until she’s on her knees, her smile growing. she kisses the top of both your kneecaps in such a tender way it sends tingles down your spine.

“can i eat you?” she breathes, her voice hollow and needy. it takes a second for those words to register in your brain.

“you…” you trail off. ellie’s gaze is very, very distracting. so intense and intrusive. she patiently waits for your answer, resting her chin on top of your knees. how can someone look so adorable and intimidating at the same time?

“please?” she adds, and you smile. a realisation has just dawned on you: you like to make her wait.

“eat me?” you cock your head to the side in feigned confusion. now it’s your turn to play dumb.

“yeah… like, your pussy.” ellie mumbles, becoming so desperate that it’s funny. she needed to be humbled at least a little. “i want a taste…”

“yeah?” you mock, and ellie’s face warps into a frown. “stop teasing me.”

“it’s only payback.” you shrug.

“for what?” ellie whines.

“for taking a week to text me.”

ellie stares at you for a moment. “then let me make it up to you…” her eyes travel down to your clamped thighs, wanting to open them up so bad. truth is, you’d let her devour you. chew you up like a deranged creature and watch her greedily lick the blood from her fingers. but teasing her was just so damn fun.

“aren’t your knees getting tired?” you tease, cupping the side of her face as she stares up at you with puppy eyes. it’s getting hard to resist. ellie immediately shakes her head.

“for you? never.” she whispers. your grin broadens in satisfaction. such sweet words. meaningless? maybe, but cute nonetheless.

“fine…” you sigh, leaning back and gesturing for ellie to go forth. ellie’s face lights up like a bulb, eagerly parting your legs. the movement makes you shiver, as you can feel the heated moisture of your arousal seep through your underwear. despite your shorts still being on, ellie’s lips travel up, both hands gripping your sides as her lips leave fond, wet kisses along your inner thigh. her teeth clench around the hem of your shorts, letting out a muffled chuckle as she playfully pulls your shorts down with her teeth. she’s kidding around but that’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen in your life.

you adjust your knees so that your shorts can be pulled down. you’re so wet your underwear is fucking see-through. you just know she’s about to say something.

“someone’s real excited-“

“shut up and keep going.” you hastily cut her off out of embarrassment. ellie laughs, glancing at you one more time before leaning back down again, dragging her ardent tongue up your inner thigh. you gasp quietly, and that little noise influences her to do more, letting out a sigh of her own; the sort of sigh you do when relaxing in a hot bath, or when pissing after holding it in for so long… like she’s needed this. you’re startled when ellie drags her tongue right in the center of your clothed heat, your breath hitching. you want more.

ellie’s teasing is relentless and mean. she sucks your clit through your underwear, eyes on you; observing the way your hips are desperately buckling up, the way your thighs are twitching.

“so mean…” you whine as ellie flicks and rolls her tongue against your underwear.

“did you want something?” ellie blinks. again with the coyness. you scowl and ellie grins in return.

“you can’t outdo the do-er, babe.” she chirps, pulling the drenched underwear off your legs. she opens your legs wide, staring at your pussy like it’s the best piece of artwork she’s ever seen. you can practically see sparkles in her eyes. you shiver when you feel her fingers pry your cunt open.

“so fucking hungry for you…” she whispers, her breathing shallow and her eyes glazed-over. she gets to work immediately, a firm trail up your vulva before kissing it with her lips. a fleshed moan doesn’t fail to escape your own lips, as your eyes flutter shut. of course she’d be good at this.

ellie moans too, gripping your thighs and pulling you closer, burying her face in between your legs as she goes to town on you. she’s moving like she’s starving, like she hasn’t eaten for weeks and has been presented with a banquet.

her lips tug at your folds, your pussy slick with a mixture of your arousal and her spit. every single time her lips hit your clit it elicits yet another strong reaction from you. she’s so vigilant that she’s quick to notice that that’s your most delicate spot, so she abuses it; kissing it and pulling on it, her head shaking as she pleases you with her tongue. you nourish her with hushed praises: ones like “yes, yes…” or “you’re doing so good” to keep her going. it fuels ellie like no other, and drives her to go harder, a little faster.

her movements are so consistent and perfect that you could froth in the mouth right here and now. you grip her hair tightly, and ellie adores it: groaning happily when you squeeze too tight. you mindlessly push ellie’s head closer to your pussy, feeling the tip of her nose buried in. your moans begin to crescendo. you’re in fucking ecstasy.

“getting close, are we?” ellie pants, her thumb rubbing your clit in slow, teasing drags as she resumes sucking on your cunt.

“i’m gonna cum… i’m cumming… e-ellie…” you babble, tears threatening to pour; and it isn’t just the eye tears we’re talking about here…

“yeah? you gonna let yourself go?” ellie stares up at you, her voice a little higher and breathier. her face is warped into one of pleasure, like she’s the one being fucked.

“yeah… please ellie, i’m really close…” you whine: barely coherent, light tears streaming down your face. ellie chuckles at how adorable you look, taking a second to appreciate how good you look when needy. she dives back in, her nails digging into your thigh as her mouth moves with the perfect vigour to push you off the edge. and oh, you do.

one last strong lick gets you off: your spine bending backwards, same as your head as you let out a strangled scream. you grip her hair tightly, your eyes momentarily rolling to the back of your head as ellie purposely continues to extend the high a little bit. eventually, she pulls back. the both are you are completely out of breath - huffing and panting like dogs.

you slump back in your chair, completely out of it and in a daze. ellie smiles.

“you okay?” she murmurs, appreciating your cute, spent look. you nod quietly in response.

“fuck, my knees.” she mumbles, before sitting back and stretching them. you laugh a little.

“there was no need for the chair.” you reply.

“i know… but i wanted to. it was hot.”

“it was.” you smile. you’re glad you decided to get dolled up for your story tonight.

a/n: i’m back! i’ve been so caught up in school that i haven’t been able to post fics as much but i’ll try 2 be more active :33 i’m absolutely obsessed with billie’s lunch so i made an ellie fic based off of it. hope u enjoyed and if u have any requests leave them in the ask inbox !!!

[buckyalpine]

18+ Minors dni Enemies to lovers with some massage therapist Bucky. Breeding kinnk, aftercare, Bucky is a secret softie, all that.

Imagine Rival Biker Bucky x f reader. A smutty, slutty little concept while I add the finishing touches to another fic, just getting this out of my system first. I just love the idea of a sexy, bad boy Bucky getting his hands on the one girl who won't give him a second glance because she's too good for him and they're from opposite worlds. Since childhood. Now he's a biker. Covered in black ink. He works in an auto shop. Owns the bar that brings in chaos. He's smoke, whiskey and leather.

She, however, is soft, pretty, smart and does not have the time to entertain someone like him. She has her degree. Working on a second. She has a career. She does not associate with the likes of him, not as the police chiefs daughter. She'll be damned if she has to even breathe the same air, especially when his gang is the cause for half the problems in the town that her father has been trying to get rid of.

Now, imagine that hours of working on her notes and papers leave her with unbearable knots and kninks in her back. She doesn't want to take a break but the pain only gets worse as the week goes by. It doesn't take long for her to shoot her regular massage therapist a message to book the very first available appointment.

-

You unclasped your bra, folding and setting it off to the side while waiting for Wanda in the warmly lit room. You could have sworn she was a witch with the way she made pain disappear; she’d also become a good friend after your many visits.

The knock at the door interrupted you as you slid your shorts off, leaving you in your panties, not rushing to jump onto the table considering it was just Wanda anyway.

“Come in!” You smiled, making your way to the massage bed as the door clicked open- “Oh my God!!” You nearly shrieked seeing Bucky walk in, a shit eating from spreading across his face as you scrambled to grab the tiny towel to cover yourself though it was a futile attempt. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

"You have an appointment, don't you?" He quirked an eyebrow as if it was clear as day why he was there.

"Yeah, with Wanda, why are you here, did you get lost on the way to jail?" Your face scrunched in a mix of confusion and disgust ignoring the roll of his eyes while you snatched your shirt to better cover up.

"Well Wanda couldn't make it in but she sent me" He said with a shrug, sighing when he saw your less than impressed face, "Don't flatter yourself, I'm just training under her as part of my physiotherapy internship"

"I'm sorry, you're trying to tell me you of all people are learning how to give massages? Please"

"Physiotherapy" Bucky corrected, "You're not the only one who has a degree, princess" Bucky watched as you groaned realizing you hadn't put your bra on, opting to stuff it in your bag instead of putting it back on in front of him.

"You are NOT laying a finger on me-ow!" You hissed, feeling the knot in your back tug at the rest of your muscles.

"You're not gonna be able to do a whole lot with that much pain" Bucky smirked, only half joking. He wasn't wrong. The pain was worse than before and you needed this an you really didn't have the time to reschedule.

"Fine" You mumbled, turning away from him so you could take your shirt off again, glaring at him when you noticed he hadn't turned away. "Could you at least give me some privacy instead of lurking in the corner like a pervert"

"Whatever you want, princess" He bit his lip as he faced the wall, hearing your feet pad across the tile to lay down on the massage table.

"Alright" You huffed after covering your lower body with the towel, now laying face down, immediately second guessing yourself as he walked over.

"Let me know if anything's uncomfortable or if you want me to stop" His voice was no longer snarky; in fact he sounded professional. "Where do you feel the most tension?"

"Um-shoulders and-lower back" You mumbled out the last bit, he was going to massage you there anyway so there so no pointed hiding it. You tensed at the feeling of his oiled fingers starting to work at your muscles, he had no right to be that good. At all.

“Shit” you hissed trying to keep your voice down, ignoring the clench of your stomach feeling his rough fingers press down on the areas that were tight. Little did you know Bucky was struggling far more than you were.

It went against every bit of professionalism he had. Every moan you tried to silence went right to his cock, his hands making their way lower before trailing up again. Fuck, you sounded so pretty...

"Better stop making those sounds"

"Or what" You challenged back before you could even stop yourself.

"Princess..."

"Your attitude is what needs fixing" Bucky growled, professionalism be damned, "fuck this"

-

You have no idea how you ended up here. It didn't matter though, not when there wasn't a single cohesive thought in your brain as you wailed letting Bucky absolutely rail you. Your back didn't feel an ounce of pain as he took you on all fours, pulling your hips to slam back against him, gripping your ass with enough strength to leave you sore.

"Feel better now huh baby, not trying to stay quiet anymore, are ya" He let out a low chuckle which melted into a groan feeling you tighten on his dick, "Such a good little princess like you letting me put my dick in you, dirty girl"

You hate to admit it but the clench of your cunt betrays how much you love this. It was so wrong. You had no business fucking someone like him and yet where you were letting his precum paint all over the inside of your walls.

"What would your daddy say princess, if he knew where you were right now, what you were doin'? Thinking you're studying when you're actually all pretty and naked, letting me rub that gorgeous body up and down, bet you'd let me put my cum in you too, huh? Bet your dad would love that, his perfect little girl all knocked up with some bikers baby"

You could have said no, stayed silence, just about anything but nope. You screamed feeling his fingers reach around the massage your clit, your orgasm wasting no time hurling towards you.

"Ja-Ja-JAMESSS"

"MMMPHH I love the sound of that baby, could get used to hearing you sayin' my name, say it again princess, say my name with my cock in you, c'mon, that's it"

"Fuck-James-I-James" You were a mess and loving every bit of it, tears starting to flow down your cheeks, all the pent up stress you were feeling finally releasing. You felt your throat tighten, a sob escaping your lips as you let go, your arousal making a creamy mess on the dark curly hair on the base of his cock.

"God, you're milkin me, you want my cum that bad huh baby, want a little biker baby in that tummy of yours, I'll give it to you, give you so much I might even put twins in there-FUCKK"

-

"Shhhh" Bucky cooed, wrapping you up in a fluffy towel while cuddling up your limp body, wiping away any remnants of tears while you stayed floating in a subby, post sex haze. "I got you, you did so good princess" You only manage to let out a weak whimper, giving into his warm, thick arms that rock you.

"You alright angel?"

"Mph" you mumble against his chest and he reaches over for a glass of water that's nearby, bringing it up for you to take a sip. You're surprised at how sweet he's being, drinking up before snuggling into him again. Damn him for being so warm and comfy.

"Y'know, there might be a little Bucky in there" He whispers with a playful smirk in his voice, fingers tickling your lower belly, chuckling when you narrow your eyes at him.

"You wish" You sass back, ignoring the butterflies you feel.

"I do" He admits, biting his lip, his previous cocky demeanor replaced with a shy one, though he tries to mask it. Poorly. His cheeks are pinker than the time you threw paint on him for pulling your pigtails. When you were both 4. "I'd want Bucky jr. to have your brains though"

Imagine that incident sets off a very interesting chain of events. A confession of feelings. You both couldn't be happier, meanwhile your father is grumbling about how he knew this fuckin' day would come, God damn it.

"I never liked that boy" He struggles to keep a scowl on his face watching you giggle like you were 4 again, running to the door as soon as you hear the rumble of his bike.

"Shut up, you love him" Your mom chides, watching Bucky swoop you up for a loving kiss, heading you a bouquet of yellow flowers as he always does.

-

"I still don't like 'em" Your dad says while you roll your eyes, your arm linked with his as he walks you down the aisle.

"Is that why all the files you had to build a case against him all suddenly went missing?" You tease and your dad shugs.

"Wasn't me"

-

just an idea.

[ikiprian]

Mr. Fenton is a competent teacher. Almost too competent.

If Mr. Daniel Fenton had any more than a BS (with a minor in education), Tim would’ve flagged his profile as a potential Rogue. That’s the way of most charismatic academics, at least in Gotham. (Got a PhD? Instant watchlist.) Instead, he’s Gotham Academy’s newest celebrity, as a young, passionate, out-of-towner substitute while the chemistry teacher’s on maternity leave.

Tim gets the hype. Fenton seems to genuinely love teaching, and is invested in the welfare of the student body. He hands out bananas during exam week, hosts a “study habits seminar” each month to coach effective learning strategies, and the third time Tim falls asleep in his class, he even pulls Tim aside to ask if he’s doing okay. With all the late work he accepts and the protein bars he sneaks Tim, he’s every teen vigilante’s dream teacher. He could’ve been Tim’s favorite.

In fact, Mr. Fenton was Tim’s favorite. Up until Tim walks into Mr. Fenton’s chemistry classroom for a forgotten textbook, an hour after the final bell.

On the board where tallied scores for today’s review game had been kept, “THE CHEMISTRY BEHIND DR. CRANE’S FEAR GAS: ANXIOGENICS, NERI’S, & YOU,” is now scrawled. A detailed diagram of the human endocrine system projects in front of a small crowd of adoring and attentive students.

Fenton is wrist-deep in the skull cavity of an anatomical model. A short tug, and out pops the brain.

It’s plastic. It’s fake.

Tim identifies the nearest emergency exit.

Fenton turns to the door, and in the dark classroom with the projector illuminating half his face, his eyes almost seem to flash red. “What’s up, Tim?” he asks. His friendly grin is too big for his face. “I didn’t know you wanted to join the Just Science League!”

[OR: Danny’s a science teacher at Tim’s school. Gotham’s a pretty wild place, even for someone who grew up a superhero in a ghost-infested town, so he takes it upon himself to start a club teaching kids how to manage themselves in the event of a crisis. These Gothamites are pretty hardy, but a little extra training never hurt anybody! And he suspects one of his students might be a teen vigilante, like he’d been, back in the day. As a senior super, it's Danny’s duty look out for him! Surely, this is the subtlest and most appropriate way to give the kid pointers.]

[Tim immediately assumes supervillain.]

[killakalx]

17+ content, blank blogs dnf

just bsf!dick grayson making you squirt and calling you babe... as a friend of course

“you mean- never?” dick grayson inquires in a flat tone, almost in disbelief. you confirm with a simple and high pitched nope, speaking of all the times you’ve failed to cum using just your hand.

he’s ecstatic at the idea, even if he suspects it’s your attempt of getting him back in your bed. he’s subject to details like this, being your best friend. not to mention you’ve had conversations similar before; but this time is different. this time, you’re having a casual conversation about your bland sex life a week after dick got the chance to fuck the lights out of you; and the chance wasn’t missed, nor a regret. so yes, he sees the bait, and he’s more than happy to take it.

like the clever bastard he is, dick gets you to give him the green light rather than blatantly falling for it. I've slept with people like that, he boasts, you know me though. a few more sneaky remarks and you're sucking the inside of your cheek in defeat before you tell him to 'demonstrate'.

now he’s got a hand down your shorts, carefully situating you into his lap and keeping a steady hand pinching at the fat of your hips. "how's that?" dick asks, circling your clit with generous pressure before slipping right inside. his fingers hit you deep, way deeper than your own or anyone else's, and that little fact has him all the more eager.

calculated efforts nudge at that sweet spot and you gasp, thighs flinching and giving him more room to get a little deeper. you glance at him with an almost awkward expression but he’s already enthralled, lazily tugging your shorts down a bit further with a hungry glint in his eye.

“it’ll feel better when you calm down,” dick coos at you, a sly hand slipping under your shirt to brush over a hardened nipple. “relax for me.” he’s gentle with you despite his brewing impatience, scissoring and spreading your cunt open on his fingers to coax you out of your nervousness. you start rolling your hips and his fingers curl way deeper, eyes shooting open with a soft cry of his name.

“it feels…“ you start with a pleasurable hitch of breath, “feels-“

“good?” he finishes the thought for you with a particularly deep thrust, “I know, sweetheart, but it’ll get better.”

his thumb barely touches your clit and you tremble, arms clinging around his neck as you gasp and whine right into his ear. pretty little noises just for him as his free hand palms your breast, urging you closer and closer into him until you’re moaning into his mouth. from this angle his kisses are sloppy, swallowing up your keens as he finds the speed that has you writhing in his lap.

“yeah- keep doin’ that,” dick manages between kisses, spreading your legs wider as you twitch around him and you swear you hear him moan with you. “just like that, baby- fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“dickie,” you whine, half outta your mind with pleasure, “‘m close- so close, please-“

“I know, sweets, give it to me-“ he pants with you, lips loosely catching yours just before he catches the perfect angle inside you, “cum for me, pretty girl, c’mon.“

your hips grind into his leg a few more times and you cry, holding dick close and practically crumbling in his grasp as you leak around his knuckles. dick talks you through what feels like a never ending orgasm and his hand fails to stop moving, mesmerized by what he’s pulled out of you, sticky fluids dripping into his palm as your pussy squelches around his fingers and you whine.

“dick, I- shit- I just-“

“I know, babe,” he confirms with a pleased grin, still holding you in his lap with the perfect view of your mess. “relax, remember? lemme try something.”

dick shuffles from beneath you until you’re sitting right on top of his cock, throbbing through flimsy pajamas while he works out a new angle. you’re dazed and a bit confused, still trembling in overstimulation until the coil swells into another rapidly approaching orgasm. he’s nudging at your g-spot over and over with more intensity, kissing at your shoulder while groping your tits and it has you damn near tears.

“you feel that, yeah?” he checks, “deep in your tummy? let it go, baby- let me see it.”

you can’t wrap your head around what he’s looking for, but you give it to him regardless- head hanging over his shoulder with a desperate whine and arching away from dick. distantly, you feel the fabric under you, soaked beyond what you thought normal as he trails off in praise over your moans. “goddamn, that was gorgeous- all for me, huh?” his fingers pump in and out a few more times as the high fades, then removing them to finally rest. “was I the first to see that?”

it takes a moment of recovery—deep and staggered breaths with a low whine before processing the mess. before processing that your best friend just made you fucking squirt.

“oh my god,“ you stumble over words, “i’m sorry, dick, I didn’t-“

“babe,” he cuts you off with the casual endearment again, “you’re telling me no one’s made you do that before?” his hand’s soiled with your slick and cum and he brings it to his mouth with no hesitation, letting you slide out of his lap as his tongue laps around his fingers.

“mm… no,” you mutter while ogling at the hard-on straining his ruined pajamas, “I didn’t… I didn’t even know I could do that,” and after a moment, the awkwardness finally seeps away when he laughs out of content with himself.

“y’think you could give me another?” he asks with no shame, kneeling between your legs with the intent of getting his proper fill. “it’ll be better with tongue, too- when you cum, I mean,” he corrects himself as if he gave away his shameful thirst, like you wouldn’t catch on. like you wouldn’t remember how your best friend’s so easily pussy whipped.

dick doesn’t even give you time to answer his question, though, pulling you to the edge of the couch and suckling on your clit as he locks your thighs around his head. you can tell from the groan that vibrates through you that he’s palming his cock through the fabric drenched in your fluids, and you can tell that he fully intends to pull another orgasm out of you all under the guise of ‘demonstrating’ for you.

“you’re shameless, dick grayson.”

“‘nd you taste good,” he mutters matter-of-factly, “I don’t see how you could blame me.” ❧

[coquettepascal]

texas sweet

summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?

tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)

a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.

(4.9k, not beta read.)

Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the “blessing” your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying. 

Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didn’t end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasn’t like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.

What you weren’t picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. You’re not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isn’t your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.

No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.

Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joel’s yard. It’s like he doesn’t know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you “young lady,” which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? “No” wasn't in his vocabulary.

Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldn’t be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasn’t around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joel’s truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didn’t know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that she’s in high school. She’s always happy to chat, but she’s also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes. 

Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when he’s had too many drinks,) but he looks like… a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joel’s house, he’s blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones. 

So why is it that when Father’s day rolls around, Joel’s driveway is empty?

You aren’t watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does. 

‘Not creepy,’ you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day he’s looking right back at you. 

Looking outside, you see nothing. Joel’s grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesn’t matter that nobody came. He probably really doesn’t care at all, a lot of men aren’t very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.

He’s a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to. 

Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so he’ll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. He’s too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with “Happy Father’s day” scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job. 

…Which is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think he’d like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, it’d probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.

Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for father’s-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but it’s too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together. 

—

And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, it’s so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joel’s front door. You can’t figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.

Your repeating thoughts of “Is this weird? Am I weird?” are interrupted when he opens the door.

Joel looks… normal. He doesn’t look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he’s wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joel’s eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit that’s right–

“Happy father’s day,” your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. It’s awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.

“These’re for me, darlin’?” He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.

A stammering of “um” and “yeah” leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. You’re pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. “You uh– You don’t think of me as your dad, do you?” Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadn’t thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that he’d think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didn’t. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point. 

“No, no. Oh my god– Sorry,” You choke out, half laughing. It’s a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.

“It’s just that you’re a dad and like– not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobody’s been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,” your voice trails off as you fear you’ve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.

“And what if I told you that I wanted everyone t’leave me alone today?” He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didn’t realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter “sorry” repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.

“I’m jokin’, sweetheart. I appreciate this,” he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldn’t be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile… he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like he’s impressed.

Well that’s… something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. “You were really this worried?” He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didn’t seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you don’t know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.

“S’awful sweet,” he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe it’s his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that can’t be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. That’s where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like there’s a halo over your head, all his attention right there. 

He’s so hot you don’t even want him to look at you.

But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldn’t find Joel attractive. He’s handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction… It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you aren’t registering the words. Wait shit, he’s speaking–

“Darlin’?” Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile… Why is it so hard to hear him?

“I asked if you wanted to come in,” he repeats. 

—

You’ve never been inside Joel’s house, but you’d never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. It’s hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.

And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.

Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute? 

A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. He’s paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel. 

“You must be so proud of them,” you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. She’s smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joel’s thumb is in the bottom corner. It’s strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable. 

He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why weren’t they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.

“Sarah called me ‘round lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. She’s so damn busy, y’know that? Always studying and,” he catches his breath, realizing he’s blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.

“Point is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,” He finishes quietly.

Your eyebrow raises. He didn’t mention Ellie. Joel huffs.

“I’m 99% sure she’s over at Dina’s making me a gift, but it’s fine that she forgot. I’ve been on her ass about homework, fair’s fair.”

He looks cute when he’s begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what you’re saying as soon as you’re laughing. 

This is easier than you thought it would be. Joel’s always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if it’s just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs he’s been managing and how annoying his clients are, it’s something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation you’ve had before.

You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesn’t seem as receptive to this, but there’s an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. He’s a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt you’ll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesn’t extend to himself, and it seems you’ve hit a wall with him. Or maybe you’ve hit too close to home. “Sorry,” you say, feeling a little weird. 

This whole day has felt like you’re pulling against a lead Joel wasn’t even holding in the first place, like you’re always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isn’t holding the rope around your neck. He’s surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone. 

He shakes his head, telling you that it’s fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.

“I’m sorry darlin,” Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.

“-- I didn’t even offer you water when you came in. D’you need somethin’ to drink?” He asks.

God, doesn’t he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars. 

“Oh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,” you reply.

You’re only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice. 

You down the glass like you’re parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“Bad back?” You ask after you catch your breath. 

He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. “All that lifting in my early years…” as if he’s a thousand years old. Joel mentions that he’s been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarah’s begging and pleading.

“I don’t know, I think it’s gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelin’ you up acts like he’s Christ himself,” Joel says, rolling his eyes. 

The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.

Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“I could– I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.”

Joel’s eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you don’t feel like you’ve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.

It’s probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble that’s given you dilf earworms.

He looks like he’s about to say no when you speak again.

“You don’t even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,” you offer. 

Joel still looks like he’s going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You can’t let him, not when you’ve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.

“It’s your day, Joel,” you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his father’s day, but who cares.

Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.

—

You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasn’t said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think you’re doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.

Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joel’s first noise.

Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.

Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.

“Are you okay–” you ask as his voice flounders again, a “Darlin--” leaving him out of his own volition.

Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joel’s been through enough today.

“Please don’t stop,” Joel’s voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.

He’s sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. It’s the first time he’s asked you for anything tonight, you can’t refuse him. 

Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way he’s grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasn’t felt eased in years. 

This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.

Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joel’s belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing. 

Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? “Joel?” You ask quietly. 

He shakes his head, voice tight.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Just– it just feels nice,” he admits.

Your hands pause. Okay, so he’s admitted he’s hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldn’t really get worse.

“I could… I could help it feel better,” you offer meekly.

You’re not scared of a dick. You aren’t. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.

Joel rubs a hand over his face.

“You don’t have to, you can just go,” he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.

Part of you wonders how long it’s been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you it’s been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.

Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you can’t see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. He’s so shy when he’s being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this. 

His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joel’s bare ass slides against you and he cringes. “Is it okay if you don’t look?” He asks. 

You hate that he seems so insecure, but you’re not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. He’s heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.

Telling him that he’s big feels redundant, you’re sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what you’re doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock. 

“Are you okay?” You ask again.

Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him. 

Admittedly, it’s a dry hand job, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that you’re still there.

Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.

“Shit– shit, please,” he gasps, “please can I spit in your hand?” 

It’s a little surprising, but again, you can’t refuse him. You say “yeah” into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. It’s filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isn’t normal for you either. 

Instead, you ask him if it’s good. A rasped “yes,” emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, you’re a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.

Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know you’re there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers. 

“Fuck– fuck I’m sorry, oh my god,” he pants, shivering. 

Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that he’s okay. 

“It’ll wash off,” you joke, feeling the stick of him on you. 

—

Joel does help you wash it off, once he’s done redressing. He’s clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. He’s definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.

You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.

“Usually I’d offer to return the favor but… I have to pick up Ellie from her friend’s house now. I’m really sorry, darlin’,” he admits.

Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?

Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but it’s not enough. 

“I really do apologize,” Joel says again, “but this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If you’d like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.” 

And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.

Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.

“I’d like that, but you don’t owe me anything. It’s Father’s day,” you point out. 

Joel rolls his eyes. This Father’s day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but it’s still cute to him since you’re the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.

“Fine,” Joel says, “but when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.

[theemporium]

james eating you out under your hogwarts skirt in the corner of a corridor 🤭

this could literally have been a whole fic tbh bedjwwbkbf anyways thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

This wasn’t the first time one of the marauders’ shenanigans had gone wrong, and you doubted it would be the last. 

But it was very, very different to their usual fuck ups. 

A lot of the time when something went wrong, it was for one of two reasons: either they got caught long before they could even hatch a plan, or something didn’t work out in their favour. You had seen it time and time again in the years you had been friends with the boys, and it never failed to amuse you.

This had been no different. One of them had a stupid idea, the rest of them encouraged it and the planning began. Despite the close friendship you shared with the boys, they never disclosed any details with you, so you were left sitting with the others as they huddled in the corner of the common room discussing their next prank. And ten minutes later, they were out the door to play out the prank, or so you assumed.

Instead, the boys had returned with sheepish looks on their face and a very fidgety James standing behind them, and it was all because the boys had tried to fuck with amortentia.

They fucked up the ingredients or the process—you still weren’t sure of the details—and it seemed James had taken the brunt of it all when he pushed the others away from the bubbling cauldron. 

However, none of you would realise just what side effects the dodgy potion would have on your boyfriend.

“Oh fuck,” your head hit the wall with a thump as you fought to keep your eyes open. “James, baby, please—”

“My pretty girl,” he groaned as his palms massaged the fat of your thighs, squeezing and pulling as he tugged one of your legs over his shoulder. “Taste so fucking good.”

“James,” you breathed out, your gaze shifting down but your skirt intruded the sight of your boyfriend lapping shamelessly at your cunt. “Someone can see us—”

“Don’t care,” he grumbled, his nose nudging against your sensitive clit until you were almost keeling over him. “Wanna taste my girl, princess. Can’t keep me away from her.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your body was humming with white, hot pleasure and the mere fact that anybody—whether it be a student or a professor or even a fucking ghost—could turn the corner as see your boyfriend pressing you against the wall, kneeling between your legs as he ducked under your skirt to eat you out. 

As it would turn out, the side effect of the dodgy potion made your boyfriend fucking insatiable. You had come more times in the last twenty-four hours than you probably had in the last few weeks, and it was all to do with the fact that James couldn’t get enough of you. 

He had you sprawled across the bed until you whined about other people hearing during the night. He had you bent over the common room couch when the rest of the castle was asleep. He had you pressed against the edge of the tub in the prefect bathrooms in the morning. He had his cock down your throat in the quidditch broom closet. He had you up against one of the windows on the staircase up to the divination tower between classes.

James Potter hadn’t let you have a single break to catch your breath since he was hit with the potion, and it was honestly a shock you were still standing at this point. 

“James, baby, please,” you whined, the noise was pathetic and needy, and something about the fact you could hear him slurping against your wet pussy between your pleas just made the coil in your stomach tighten. “We can’t—”

“Shhh, you can take it,” he murmured as his hands tightened around your thighs, pulling you closer to him until you were slumped against the wall with his face pressed against your cunt. “You’re still dripping, princess, can taste myself inside you.”

“Shit,” you hissed, your eyes clenching shut as your thighs squeezed around his head. “James—”

“Fuck, honey, need to fill you up again,” his voice was needy and whiny as he pulled his head out from under your skirt, his nose and chin and lips glistening with your arousal. Your eyes shifted down to see the way his cock strained in his trousers, how hard he was from simply making you come twice on his tongue. “You gonna help me out, princess? Gonna take my cock again?”

You were exhausted and you didn’t even know if you could stand up any longer, but the sight of your boyfriend pleading on his knees as he palmed his cock had your resolve shattering in seconds. 

“Please, Jamie, fill me up again.”

.

[girllblogging777]

𝐴𝐹𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅𝑀.ೃ࿐

↳ bf!mattheo riddle x fem reader (slight angst ? fluff) requested by @ilovematteoxx ♡

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1.2k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you can’t find your boyfriend after an argument, and the castle is surrounded by dementors

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the argument had started over something small. ridiculously small, actually. you couldn’t even remember the details anymore, but somehow, the two of you had managed to let it escalate and before you knew it, mattheo and you were throwing sharp words like hexes.

your boyfriend, as loving as he was, had a way of getting under your skin sometimes. he was all about teasing smirks and cocky grins that usually made you laugh, but tonight you weren’t laughing. tonight, you were tired and on edge from a long week of classes and when he joked about you taking things too seriously, something inside of you snapped.

“not everyone has the luxury of not giving a damn, mattheo.” you’d answered with your arms crossed. “not everyone has parents who don’t care.”

the moment the words left your lips, you swore you could’ve felt the air shift. it was like time froze, everything suddenly stood still and went way too quiet. mattheo’s expression shifted, the usual soft gaze he saved for you disappearing. you saw how the hurt flickered in his dark eyes, before he quickly covered it with cold indifference.

“forget it,” he said sharply before walking out, turning his heel and disappearing out of the common room before you could even get a word out.

you stood there, frozen, the weight of your words slowly sinking in. merlin, you hadn’t meant it like that. in fact, you hadn’t meant to hurt him at all. but you had and now he was gone, and you didn’t even know where.

you couldn’t focus on anything for the rest of the evening and as wandered around the castle - silently hoping you’d bump into him around the corner - the hallways felt emptier than ever. dinner passed in a blur too. every time someone entered the great hall and sat down at the slytherin table, you quickly looked up, only to realise it wasn’t him.

you spent the rest of the night alone in your dorm, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, trying and failing to get any sleep. your last conversation kept replaying in your head, what if you’d really hurt him this time ? what if he didn’t come back ? sure, mattheo had his walls, but he never stayed mad at you for long… your mind spiralled. outside the window, everything was dark and still. inside your heart, everything was twisted in knots.

and then, just as you were finally drifting off, a loud noise jolted you awake. it wasn’t just you either, you heard frantic footsteps outside your dorm, and voices raising as well. you sat up, heart pounding and confused. it wasn’t long before a frantic knock echoed through the door, and your best friend pansy came in.

“you have to get up, everyone is being taken to the great hall. now !” she said quickly. “what’s happening ?” you asked in a panicky tone as you got out of bed. “dementors,” she muttered, pulling you outside and rushing you to join the many students making their way through the dark halls. “they’ve been spotted outside.”

your heart skipped a beat. dementors.

the crowd of students rushed to the great hall, tension filling the air, already thick with worry and whispers. you scanned the faces around, searching for any signs of mattheo. but he wasn’t there. he wasn’t anywhere.

“pansy,” you breathed, tugging on her sleeve as realisation dawned on you. “i don’t see mattheo. where is he ?”

she shrugged, concern flickering in her eyes “don’t know, i haven’t seen him since this afternoon”

you swallowed hard, your chest tightening. where was he ? the last time you saw him was when he’d left after the argument, angry and hurt. what if he was outside when the dementors had left ? what if… what if the last thing you said to him was the stupid comment about his father ?

your breathing picked up and theo noticed it from across the room, before making his way over. “what’s going on ?” he asked with furrowed brows.

“i can’t find mattheo,” you whispered with a trembling voice. “we had a fight earlier and now he’s probably out there, and-“

theo exchanged a knowing look with pansy before cutting you off by gently pulling you into a reassuring side hug “he’s fine, amore. probably just running late, you know him, always slipping off to do merlin knows what.”

but you weren’t reassured. not when the castle was in lockdown. it when dementors were around. not when mattheo was nowhere to be seen, and the last thing he heard from you was something you didn’t mean.

“i didn’t mean it,” you whispered with regret. pansy rubbed your back to comfort you but it didn’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes as you reached the great hall. the place was crowded with panicked students and teachers, but you still felt terribly alone in your world of fear.

“i shouldn’t have said it,” you choked out, wiping your eyes and ignoring the people running around and bumping into you. “i shouldn’t have-“

before you could finish, a heavy sound echoed through the hall. the giant wooden doors swung open with a gust of cold air, and every head turned toward the entrance.

mattheo stood in the doorway, along with some others students you didn’t even glance at. his curly hair was damp with the rain, and his robes slightly disheveled. he looked like he’d been through a storm, but he was there.

without thinking, you ran. you pushed through the crowd, not caring who you bumped into, your heart racing as you closed the distance between you. by the time you reached him, a tear had managed to roll down your cheek, but you didn’t care. you threw yourself into his arms, your hands fisting his robes as you breathed him in.

“mattheo,” you gasped, holding onto him like he might disappear. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean it, i swear i didn’t mean it.”

his arms came around you immediately, pulling you close, his chin resting on top of your head. “hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “it’s okay, love. i’m not mad.”

you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your slightly red eyes searching his face. “you’re not?”

he shook his head, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “no. i just… needed some time. but i’m not mad. i promise.”

you bit your lip, trying to stop the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you again. “i thought—i thought something happened to you. i was so scared.”

mattheo’s gaze softened, and he wiped the tears away with his thumb. “i’m sorry i scared you. i shouldn’t have just left like that.”

you shook your head quickly, you knew your boyfriend’s habit of walking out during arguments was just to help manage his anger. it was something he’d started doing when he realised you were the only good thing in his life, and he didn’t want to take his negative feelings out on you.

“no, it’s my fault. i shouldn’t have said what i did.” he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “it’s okay,” he whispered. “i’m here. i’m not walking away this time.”

for the first time that night, you felt the tightness in your chest ease. the panic, the fear, it all melted away in his arms, replaced by the steady, grounding warmth of his presence. “nice pajamas by the way,” he chuckled, and you rolled your eyes.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

tag list (comment if you wanna be added) @tateshifts @redeemingvillains @helendeath @jolly4holly @larmesdevanille @dexoq @shiftingwithmars @shiftingwithleah @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @bellatrix-lestrange5 @sp7-mr @sunkissedscribbles @chelawrites @myunperfektstorys @iris-qt @yikesitslush @clar2aa @deadsnakey @deadghosy @slut-for-fictional-men @romantasyreader28 @witchsrecs @mattiesgf