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#it's so. girlish. and i don't like it
inkykeiji · 1 year
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Oh godness ahhh that was so good can't wait to have more Clarii makes me want to read it again (which will happen eventually ehehe) reading this is making me twirl and giggle I love this so much 💕 take care and sending hugs ~squishymallow anon
aw anon bb i’m so glad you enjoyed it!!! (´∀`)♡ flawless tomu really is just so fun hehe <33 i can’t wait to share part two with you!! aw thank you sweetpea i am sending u so much love!! <3
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debellatis · 1 year
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So my mom decided she wanted to watch the W3dn3$day show, and since I'm spending the holidays with her, I watched with her.
Feels good to know my opinion on it was right before - it was a tremendous disappointment. A M0rt1c1a that is critical of her children and would rather not dirt her nails instead of digging a corpse with her daughter; a W3dn3$day that... Kiss boys? And hesitates before doing shit she thinks is right? And misses so many fucking obvious clues? My mom knew who the bad guy was on the second episode. That's pathetic.
The funniest thing is that the two characters that ended up being the most interesting were the ones initially presented as the most boring stereotype teenage girls - and they didn't even explore it that well. Girlish girl and queen beetch, you guys deserved better :/
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ddejavvu · 2 months
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Ok but I feel like Spencer gets paid a good amount for being in the fbi, probably a couple of side gigs in life, and probably doesn’t spend a whole bunch. But Spencer accidentally finding your wish list on a clothing website. Like the ones we all make over the months, in a ‘if only’ kinda way. And he just... buys it. Your whole list. He checks you’ve put sizes and stuff first, but it’s not a massive chunk from his wallet, and it’ll be a nice surprise for you. His skinny fingers are pressing next day delivery and he’s genuinely just quite happy to do that for you.
Aka him and that would be a wish come true together lmfao. I’d love if you wanted to write smth abt this if you’d like! You+Spencer=everyone’s wishes coming true 😘
'his skinny fingers are pressing next day delivery' LMFAO.
--
It takes you enough time to find Spencer's gift after you get home that he's starting to overthink it, and he's on the brink of what you'd call 'worrying himself to death', and what he'd call 'a Tuesday afternoon'.
He's in the middle of gnawing through his own lip when a strangled noise comes from the closet, and his years of FBI training escape him. He is fairly certain there is a monster of some sort that has invaded your home.
Before he can locate and draw his weapon, however, you reveal yourself, a sweater clutched in your hand that he'd just unwrapped hours earlier.
"Spencer!" You gush, holding the sweater out like he's seeing it for the first time, "Where did this come from?"
"I bought it," He admits, "And- uh, all the other new stuff in there. I saw your list online, so I-!"
Whatever feeble explanation he's about to use to bashfully undersell himself is cut off when you let out a giddy squeal, severed and sectioned into giggles as you fling yourself at him. He's glad that his chair holds up beneath the torpedo of weight you bury him beneath, and his mind is cleared of its concerned fog when you throw your arms around his neck.
"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou! Spencer," You lean back to grab his face, slightly rougher than usual but out of excitement, not anger, so he lets it slide.
"Thank you." You repeat, leaning in to smash a kiss to his lips. It's more passion than romance, more force than tenderness, but your gratitude seeps through it clear as day, and Spencer curls his arms around your waist where you're settled in his lap.
"Of course, angel. I had Garcia help me organize the closet. I tried to hang-" He furrows his brows, reminiscing, "-a sweater next to a dress? Or- no, I tried putting the dress by some jeans. Anyways, she said to fold the jeans and to keep the dress on the end of the rack- whatever. But she has requested a fashion show."
You bury your face into Spencer's neck to let out a girlish squeal, and he's appreciative that you don't do it into his ear this time. He loves the sound, but he wants it to not hurt, thank you very much.
"Okay- okay! Okay," You're giddy with laughter once more, eyes sparkling in excitement, "Wait here, Spence! Face time Garcia, I'll go get changed."
You're bounding up the stairs and back to your closet before Spencer can remind you that his flip phone isn't capable of Face Time.
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cupid-styles · 2 months
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late night talking 2
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here is the long awaited part two to late night talking (aka cam girl!yn and nerdrry)!!!! I v much hope you guys like this part as much as you liked the first :)))) enjoy!
read part one here
word count: 7.5k
content warnings: smut (oral - f receiving, fingering, dirty talk, riding, mentions of squirting, size kink, daddy kink, mentions of sex toys and bondage, minor edging)
patreon
masterlist | talk to me
. . .
If Harry were to describe the joy he feels when listening to Y/N discuss her day with him over the phone, he's sure he would never shut up.
At first, he'd been nervous about what they would talk about. Did she expect them to have dirty, filth-filled conversations? What if she charged him for it? Harry would undoubtedly shell out the money, too embarrassed to explain he had different expectations, but it's not what he wanted — not by a long-shot.
Admittedly, the first five or 10 minutes had been rocky. After chatting exclusively through direct messaging on Y/N's cam site, it was a little difficult to get used to transferring those conversations to the phone. She was used to relying on witty jokes with emojis, he was accustomed to having more time to thoughtfully write out responses. Talking one-on-one limited both of those things, ridding them of their comfort blankets. But once the ice melted, names were exchanged, and Y/N's breathy giggle sounded through the receiver, Harry was a goner.
"Wait, so how is it that we live in the same city?" Harry questions as he pulls at a loose thread on one of the throw pillows on his couch. "The odds of that are like... slim to none."
"Well, you'd know, you have a degree in computer science," Y/N replies teasingly. "I'm pretty sure the homepage tries to cater to your location. It's kind of weird and freaky if you think about it for too long."
"That's... kind of horrifying." 
She hums, "I know. But if I hide my feed from the homepage, I'd have to solely rely on my regulars."
Harry doesn't want to be a dick so he doesn't say anything in response, but he wishes she could. He despises the fact that there are local creeps watching her every night, even if that includes him. Quickly, he tries to shove down his possessive nature, knowing he doesn't quite have anything to be jealous of — she's her own person.
"Don't worry, I have a baseball bat by the door." she jokes, but it doesn't land the way she intends. Her mouth twists into a wince when Harry remains silent on the other side.
"Just want you to be safe, hm?" he says gently, "I know you can take care of yourself, but... you know what I mean, don't you?"
"Are you trying to say that you care about me?"
He huffs, a surprised puff of air leaving his lungs. 
"Yes," he finally forces out, anxiety beginning to claw at his insides, "Of course I do."
A beat. The nerves have grown nasty fangs and nails, but then— 
"I care about you, too."
Harry has to squeeze the pillow so a girlish squeak doesn't escape his mouth.
. . .
From: Y/N🎀
my boss made me stay late today so I don't think ill make it home for our 6 pm phone call :( can I call you later?
Harry tries not to pout as his eyes scan over Y/N's text for a second time. Ever since their initial phone call a few weeks ago, they unintentionally set up a daily schedule where they'd chat as soon as she got home from work. Usually, they spoke up until she started her stream, but she took Fridays off since there weren't as many people logging on to watch. All day, he had been looking forward to getting her for a few hours without any interruptions. 
(She often keeps him on the phone as she eats dinner or picks out a lacy set of lingerie. The latter makes him feel special, like he has some sort of behind-the-scenes look of what happens prior to her logging on. It also happens to thicken up his cock a fair amount.)
To: Y/N🎀
I'm sorry he's doing that to you on a Friday. You're right, he's a dick.
Call me whenever you're able. I'll be around.
In an ideal world, maybe Harry could pick them up some dinner and he could meet her at the office, so she could eat while she finished work. Or, he could even take her out to a nice restaurant after — but beyond the very obvious restrictions of their relationship (or maybe it was just a friendship with virtual benefits?), Harry was deeply insecure. They were both lonely people, he knew, and they were simply reaping the benefits until someone better came along for her. 
His phone buzzes, ripping him from his self-deprecating thoughts: thank you<3 you're the sweetest, staying in on a friday just so you can talk to little old me!!! x
A snort leaves him. He can't remember the last time he had actual social plans that involved leaving the house on the weekend. Friday nights were almost always reserved for playing video games with his friends, baking a new recipe he found on Pinterest, or, that one time where he tried to teach himself how to knit a little sweater for Beatrice. 
(It went terribly and Beatrice ended up having more fun with the ball of yarn anyway.)
The thing is, Harry knows he's a nerd. He's pretty much the picture of a dorky, grown-up introvert, with his thick-rimmed glasses, computer engineering job, cat, and pathetically lonely social life. How on earth could Y/N not see that?
(Maybe she does, and she's just taking advantage of him. He doesn't foresee that being a possibility, but his anxious insecurities take him there every now and then.)
He spends his time moseying around his apartment while he waits for her to get home. By the time he's done baking espresso brownies and tidying up the kitchen, making sure to place the tray high enough so Beatrice can't get into them, he hears his phone vibrating on the countertop. A jolt of energy and happiness zips through him when he sees her name splayed across his screen, immediately pressing answer and putting her on speaker.
"Hiiii," she sings into the receiver, and he can already tell she's traipsing around her own home, "You picked up fast."
"Told you I'd be around whenever you wanted to talk."
"You're too good to me," she says, though he has to lower the phone the second he hears noisy crunching on the other line, "Sorry, I literally just got in. I'm eating Cheetos for dinner."
"I thought you were gonna order in from that new stir fry place," Harry replies, thinking back to her mulling over the idea last night.
"I was, but then I had to work until 7 pm, which meant I didn't get home until... what time is it? Oh, it's already 8:15! There goes my entire Friday night!"
He smiles gently at her dramatics, though he understands. "You can still order, babe. They don't close until 10."
"But I just opened this bag of Cheetos."
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "You can use one of those handy clips to close it so they don't go stale."
"I don't have any of those."
Harry shakes his head as his eyes scan over the small bowl of them on his kitchen countertop. 
"Put the Cheetos down, Y/N. Order the stir fry. You deserve it."
A sigh passes through her lips. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. You had the longest week and you just had to work after hours on a Friday."
"Alright, fine."
He hears the light tapping of her fingers against the phone screen, which only leads him to believe that she's actually doing what he's requested of her for once. He busies himself with cozying up on the couch, throwing a blanket over his lap as Beatrice jumps up onto the cushion next to him. 
"Okay, done," she says a few moments later. "So, speaking of deserving things. I got you something."
"You got me something?" Harry asks with furrowed brows.
"Mhmm. I saw it online and wanted you to have it— well, it's for both of us, actually, but that's besides the fact. Anyway, I need your address so I can send it to you."
Harry's brain begins to glow with possibilities, completely unsure of what she could possibly have gotten him. 
"Is this just an excuse to stalk me?" he jokes, making her snort.
"No, Harry. Send me your address, please. It's a present."
He quickly removes the phone from his ear, pressing the speaker button and opening up their text thread. 
"Fine, I'm sending it to you now," he murmurs, typing out his address, "But it better not be something weird."
Y/N snorts and for a moment, it's quiet. Harry's used to silent lulls in their conversations, especially because they'll sometimes be on the phone together for hours. He occupies himself with gently petting Beatrice's coat, making a mental note to brush her orange fur out after they hang up tonight.
"Harry?"
Y/N's voice rings softly through the receiver. Focused on scratching the top of Beatrice's head, he lets out a distracted hum, assuming she's just making sure he's still there.
"We live 10 minutes from each other." 
It takes him a moment to digest what she's just told him. At first, he thinks it's a joke. There's no way the girl he's been watching every night for the past few months lives so close to him. But when she doesn't follow it up with a "just kidding!", he realizes she may be telling the truth. 
"What?" he finally chokes out, his posture straightening slightly. Could they have run into each other without evening noticing it? Passing by one another on a busy street, Y/N walking home from work while Harry stops at the grocery store? 
"Yeah," she breathes out in disbelief, "You live on Beekman, right? I'm three streets over."
"This is insane," he blurts out. "You're not messing with me?"
"I wouldn't do that."
Harry's unsure if the conversation has taken a turn of shock or tension. There's an obvious question lingering between them, but he's too scared to bring it up. He's too scared to even think about it.
Meeting in person... it seemed like something they'd never get close to doing. Harry was never positive about where their dynamic would lead, but in the back of his head, he did fret about the lack of endgame. He assumed she would get bored of him one day — why wouldn't she, when she's this gorgeous, fun, care-free person, and he's the complete opposite?
"Are you okay?"
Her question rips him from his cycling thoughts. Beatrice climbs into his lap, absorbing the anxiety radiating from his chest. He clears his throat. 
"Yeah. Sorry. I'm just... that's crazy."
"It is," she agrees. "I guess... well, if you're comfortable with it, maybe I could bring you your gift sometime. Instead of mailing it."
Harry and Y/N both know that this discussion is no longer about whatever thing she bought with him in mind. It's a proposal — a leap of faith that she's leaving in Harry's court, allowing him to call the shots. It's a terrifying place to be. 
"Would you want that?" he asks breathily, nibbling on his bottom lip.
"I would," she replies almost instantly. "But only if you want that."
She's making the jump, and she's doing it whether he's ballsy enough or not. If he says no, she'll continue living her life as the happy-go-lucky person she is. It's scary — it's so, so scary for him, because for once, he doesn't know how things will end up. He can't calculate the answer. He can't premeditate or plan it out. 
But maybe she's worth it. So he jumps, too.
"Are you free tomorrow?"
. . .
Y/N thinks she may throw up. 
She's contemplated every excuse to get out of tonight — not because she doesn't want to meet Harry, but because she's never, ever done this before. It's entirely out of her comfort zone, understandably. Was she being insane, meeting up with one of her subscribers? She doesn't think Harry gives off serial killer vibes, and he's more than just someone subscribed to her stream, but was it possible that he would put in months of work, talking to her on the phone every day and listening to her chatter on and on about her day, just to do something awful?
What if he expected... more? From her, not just physically, but as a person, too. They still haven't revealed their faces to one another, so she knows tonight is bound to be a lot. Which brings her back to her previous point: Was there an excuse she could blurt out to cancel?
She thinks about it all day, barely getting any work done. Though she and Harry typically exchange far more texts during the day, the tension and nervousness between them both is apparent. He messaged her good morning and they spoke a bit when she got to work, but neither of them seemed as talkative as usual.
Finally, when it's time to head home, she's somewhat relying on Sam to ask her to stay back and work later — but of course, the one day that she wants him to, he left early, calling an end to his day hours ago. With a grumble, Y/N begins the short trek back to her place.
Last night, when she was apparently much higher on courage, she and Harry had decided that 7 would be a good time to meet up. He offered to go to hers if it made it more comfortable, or even getting dinner or something in public. Y/N appreciated it, but she didn't find it necessary — she wanted to be able to leave at a moment's notice if she needed to, plus, on the bright side, she really wanted to meet his cat, Beatrice. 
When she gets home, she has 30 minutes before she has to be over at his. She decides to change her outfit, nitpicking at her wardrobe and figuring out what's the best way to say, "I've really enjoyed our virtual conversations over the past few months and I have a crush on you, but maybe not because we've never met before. Also, if you could just forget how we *technically* met so we could attempt to have a real shot at a relationship, maybe, that could be cool." 
Sighing, she lays back against her bed. This is crazy, right?
This has to be crazy.
. . .
Harry thinks he may have lost any and all inklings of sanity.
"Beatrice, is this crazy?" he wonders aloud to his snuggly cat. She's currently tucked into her favorite corner of the couch, nuzzling the pink sherpa blanket his mom bought him for Christmas last year. 
He logged off from work an hour early today to give him some time to clean up his apartment, wanting to make sure it was spotless for Y/N. They halfway decided that they'd eat dinner together, but he wasn't sure if she had any dietary preferences or allergies, so he figured getting take-out from the local Chinese place they both like would be the best option. (How awful would that be, if he tried to cook her a romantic meal and instead gave her an allergic reaction? Harry shudders at the mere thought of it.)
He spends far too long standing in front of his closet with a sleepy Beatrice in his arms, trying to figure out the best outfit to wear. Typically, he's in a pair of sweats or athletic shorts at this time, but that felt too casual. 
"What about these?" he asks Beatrice, grabbing a pair of his favorite mustard yellow trousers. "You're right, they're too much. We want to appear cool. Right?"
She simply meows in response.
He hands are shaking when his phone dings, signifying an incoming text from Y/N: on my way!! see you soon :). He lets out a nervous yelp, pulling at his hair as he throws himself into his closet. Based on what she told him last night about living close by, she'll be here in around 10 minutes, so he settles on a cozy sweatshirt and a pair of loose fitting jeans.
That'll be fine, right? 
God, he needs to find someone else to talk to besides himself and his cat.
He's pulling on a pair of his favorite wool socks, haphazardly jogging between the bathroom and his room to finish getting ready. He applies an extra coat of deodorant (just in case!), spritzes on some cologne (his sister got it for him a few years back, she said it seemed like 'his scent', whatever that meant), and runs a hand through his messy curls, trying to make his hair look sort of styled. To this day, he's not really sure how to style it, instead just letting it air dry every time he showers. 
His eye catches the time as he traipses back downstairs. It's 6:58. He wonders if she'll be early or late. What if she doesn't come at all? What if she just decides to stand him up, because... because this is insane. This is insane behavior. 
And then... his phone dings. 
here i think!! sorry im really bad w directions and I walked here lol
. . .
Every single part of her anxious brain is telling Y/N to turn around and go back home. This a terrible idea, she frets, picking at her nails and swallowing tightly, Turn around. Turn around, turn around, turn around—
"Y/N?"
Her head snaps up. In complete honesty, she assumed she was standing in front of the wrong townhouse — she really is bad with directions, so she's slightly shocked when the door in front of her opens, revealing a very attractive man. 
"Harry...?" Y/N asks, testing out the way it feels to call him his name in person. With a slightly bashful facial expression, he nods. 
"Do you— did you want to come in?"
She nods, suddenly feeling how cold the evening is. The later hour brought a chill to the air, one that feels like it has a promise of snow. She hopes she's wrong since she really doesn't want to walk home in freezing temperatures, but thoughts of the weather are ripped from her mind the second Harry politely guides her in.
She toes her boots off at the entryway, gently placing them next to his own pair of Adidas sneakers. She can feel him behind her, only because the front hall is too small for someone to pass by — but if she's being honest, she doesn't think she minds his hovering warmth. All she wants to do is turn around and analyze him. 
She doesn't know what to do — she's being awkward, they both are — so she turns around, not wanting to just welcome herself into his home. 
It turns out, he's far closer than she had originally anticipated. Nearly bumping into his chest, she gasps in surprise, lifting a hand to her heart like she's an actress in a bad scary movie. It makes Harry chuckle breathily, melting the ice ever so slightly.
"You alright?" he asks, "Sorry, it's a bit small in here. It's just me and Beatrice, so I don't need much room."
"Beatrice!" Y/N remembers with wide eyes. "Where is she?"
Harry hums, taking the opportunity to brush past Y/N. She swallows, inhaling his spicy vanilla scent in his wake. It sends an involuntary shiver down her spine as she follows him to the living room. 
"Here she is," he coos, scooping her up from the floor and into his arms. Y/N's heart warms at the sight of a tall, attractive man holding a sweet kitten. "She's been very lethargic all day. Think she likes the winter just 'cos she gets more snuggles out of it."
"'s cute," she mumbles, biting her lip. Her eyes flicker to Harry's face. She seems to be more enamored by his appearance than hers. She wasn't expecting him by any means to fall to his knees and praise her for her beauty, and supposes it makes sense considering he's seen far more of her than she's seen of him. She's somewhat lost in those thoughts when she accidentally blurts the words out, her eyes going wide:
"You're cute."
Harry glances up, his cheeks glowing a pink hue almost immediately. "Sorry?"
Well, can't back down now, she thinks to herself. Swallowing, she forces her mouth to form around the words again. "You're cute," she repeats. "Sorry. That just kind of came out. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, this is just.... y'know, the first time I'm seeing you."
He clears his throat and bites his bottom lip, almost as if he's trying to hide a smile creeping at the edges of his lips. 
"I think you're beautiful," he says softly, and the compliment makes her heart glow in her chest, "I didn't want to mention anything about appearances, 'cos I know maybe you were expecting someone different, but—"
"What do you mean?" she asks with furrowed brows. "I didn't have any expectations."
"Well, that's good. I guess I just wasn't sure if you were anticipating someone... else."
It takes a second for the words to click in her brain. Then, with a wrinkle between her eyebrows, she reaches out to lightly grasp at his elbow, willing his attention to shift from Beatrice to her. 
"Harry, do you not find yourself attractive?"
It's a loaded question for any other first-time-meet-up, but at this point in their relationship, they've divulged a ton of information. She doesn't necessarily feel like much is off limits anymore. 
Harry shrugs, mentally weighing his answer. "I mean, I think I'm just... fine."
"Fine?" Y/N repeats. "I'm not bullshitting you and I'm sorry if this makes you feel weird, but you're one of the most attractive men I've ever met."
He scoffs, allowing Beatrice to jump out of his arms. She leaps down to the floor, as if she's also feeling the intensity of the conversation and wants to be as far away from it as possible. With his hands now free, he sits down on the edge of his blue L-shaped couch, Y/N following suit. She sits across from him, watching as he wrings his hands together in his lap. 
"I feel like that's probably a lie, you—"
"I told you I'm not bullshitting you."
Her response makes him laugh softly. "Yeah, but your whole career is based on, like... being attractive. I mean, look at you — you've definitely met more good looking people than me."
"Do you think I often meet up with people I meet from my streams?" Y/N asks, tilting her head to the side with a mocking smile. He knows she doesn't, because they discussed this multiple times before. "I don't know anyone in real life. Not from there, at least. You're the only one."
Harry shrugs his shoulders. "I guess it's just a little surprising."
"There's nothing to be surprised about," she reassures him gently. In an act of courage, she doesn't think much before her hand lands on his knee, giving it a light squeeze. "I want to be here. With you. I care about you."
A smile curls at the edges of his lips. 
"So," she says, leaning back against the plushy cushions of his couch, "What were you thinking for dinner?"
. . .
Once the awkward tension melts between the two, it's as if they've known each other forever. 
They order food and talk about everything and anything while Friends plays quietly in the background. Secretly, Y/N is over the moon — she never could have imagined things going this well between them. 
It's only when she yawns loudly, feeling exhaustion begin to seep into her bones that she realizes how late it is. When she glances at her phone to check the time, her eyes bulge. 
"Harry! It's 1 am, you should've kicked me out ages ago!" she exclaims, sitting up. With furrowed brows and puffy, sleepy eyes, he turns to look at her. 
"Didn't even realize it was that late," he mumbles, suppressing a yawn of his own. "By the way, I would never kick you out."
She shakes her head with a small smile and rises from the couch. "C'mon, walk me out."
He nods and follows her out of the living room, back down to the hallway where she left her coat and shoes. With his arms crossed over his chest, he leans his hip against the wall, watching as she gets ready to leave. He wishes there was a way he could ask her to stay. 
"Text me when you get home, alright?" he says lowly. Once she fits her boots over her feet, she straightens, nodding her head. 
"I will," she murmurs. She can't help it when her eyes quickly flit down to his lips, a zip of anxiety firing through her chest. She so badly wants to kiss him. And, as if they're both elongating their goodbyes, he clears his throat before toeing his own shoes on.
"I'll walk you to your car." 
"Oh, I walked here," she replies, stuffing her arms into her navy puffer jacket. 
Harry furrows his eyebrows. "You walked?"
"Yeah, of course. We're only, like, 10 minutes away from each other, you know."
"Babe..." Harry sighs, the pet name nearly making her drool, "Didn't you see there's a huge snowstorm slated for tonight? They predicted a few inches by midnight."
Y/N's eyes widen. "Really?"
He laughs lightly before nodding his head. He gingerly wraps his hand around the doorknob to the front door, pulling it open just enough to where Y/N can see massive snowflakes falling from puffy clouds above. It's freezing, a cold chill making her shudder just from the quick peek outside. 
"Fuck." she mutters, pulling her jacket closer to her body. 
"Stay," he blurts out, glancing down at her shorter stature. "I... you can sleep in my bed and I'll sleep down here. I just don't want you going out in that. It's late."
The nerves are apparent in his shaky voice, but nonetheless, Y/N's nodding her head before he even finishes what he's saying. 
"Okay." she breathes. "Can I borrow some pajamas?"
"Yeah, of course."
She follows him up to his bedroom, where he pulls a pair of sweatpants and a vintage tee-shirt out from his dresser. The room is clean, unsurprisingly so — if she's learned anything about Harry tonight, it's that he takes good care of his space, which she considers to be a great trait. His bed is made, his nightstand free from dust and only donning one of those fancy sunrise alarm clocks and a reusable water bottle. 
He hands them to her, "I'll give you some privacy."
She nods with a small smile, murmuring out a thank you. Once he shuts the door behind him, she quickly sheds her own clothing and folds it neatly before pulling on his clothes. A moment or so later, he knocks politely, waiting for her to let him know if it's okay to come in. 
"You're good," she calls out. He twists the doorknob open and stands in the entryway with a spare pillow and blanket tucked beneath his arm.
"I'm gonna change and head downstairs, but let me know if you need anything."
They stand there, looking at one another as if they're waiting for the other to say what's on both of their minds. When the silence remains, he flashes her a tight smile and turns around. 
"Wait!" she exclaims, mentally cringing at the high-pitched tone of her voice. "Will you stay for a bit?"
Harry's shoulders visibly deflate. Once again, he bites his lip, as if he's trying to hide a smile. 
"Yeah. I can stay."
They move silently but it's like they've performed this dance a million times before. She watches as he peels back the blankets on his bed, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He turns the light off before smoothing over the cotton sheets, as if he's making sure they're suitable for her to lay in. 
"Lemme just throw some sweats on," he mumbles, striding over to his dresser, "Get comfortable, okay?"
He excuses himself to the bathroom, where he slowly undresses himself and pulls on a cozy pair of sweatpants. He typically sleeps naked or just in a pair of briefs, but he would never even dream of doing anything remotely like that with Y/N in his bed. 
Fuck. Y/N's in his bed.
He swallows tightly and tries to ward off the anxiety bubbling in his chest, taking time to wash his face and brush his teeth. When he's elongated the process enough, he returns to the bedroom to find her laying down and curled up in his blankets. It's almost as if she knew what side Harry typically sleeps on, opting for the one that's always empty.
"Are you comfortable?" Harry asks quietly as he moves through the dark, dumping his clothes from today in the hamper. She hums softly, a pretty sound that makes his length jump in his sweatpants. 
"Your bed is nice." she murmurs. He chuckles and gets in next to her, leaving enough space between them so he doesn't crowd her space. 
"I'm glad you think so. Want you to sleep well tonight."
Despite the exhaustion permeating from both of their bodies, Y/N finds it difficult to get completely comfortable, to the point where she could fall asleep. She can't help the excitement buzzing in her bones from being next to Harry — her fleetwoodlondon tipper. 
"Are you still awake?" she whispers. 
He doesn't answer immediately, which leads her to believe he's already fallen asleep. But then, he shifts onto his side, tucking his hands beneath his cheek to face her. "Mhm. What's wrong?"
She shrugs. "Nothing. Just not sleepy enough yet."
"Do you want me to talk to you about computer engineering? That'll knock you out in seconds."
She giggles, flipping onto her side and mimicking his position. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she assesses his features in the darkness of his bedroom — the slope of his nose, his two slightly overlapped front teeth, the dull sharpness of his cheekbones. 
"No, but you can talk to me about other stuff."
"Hmm," he says, placing his hand down against the mattress between them. Instinctively, she reaches out to intertwine their fingers together. His heart speeds up. "What was that gift you were supposed to give me tonight?"
Her cheeks redden and she's grateful he can't see the nervousness that pops up on her face. 
"It's not important." she rushes out. 
"That's not an answer," he sing-songs, giving her hand a squeeze, "C'mon, tell me."
"It's embarrassing now."
He quirks an eyebrow. "Embarrassing?"
She nods.
"How so?"
"Well... it was more so for when we didn't know we lived close to each other. Before we decided to meet in person."
"Okay...?" 
"I got us Bluetooth sex toys." she blurts out with a warm face. The heat from her shame travels down the length of her body, making her sweat beneath his gaze. "Um, I got a cock ring for you and a vibrator for me. So we could control them for each other. I bough them the day after you, um, told me what to do on my stream. It's stupid now, and I'm sorry if that's crossing a huge boundary since I know we haven't done anything like that in a month, so maybe you've changed your mind—"
"I haven't changed my mind." he cuts her off. "I still watch every one of your streams."
She swallows harshly. "Really?"
"I never miss one," he admits. "And the fact that you thought of me like that and... got us those is... it's really hot, Y/N."
Her core throbs. It's the first time she's heard him talk like this not over text or private messaging. She squeezes her thighs together as she bites on her bottom lip, attempting to slow her breathing to a normal pace. 
"You think so?" she breathes. 
"Yeah."
Even without a single light on in his bedroom, she can feel his intense gaze on her. Unhurriedly, she moves her leg closer to his, wiggling it to fit between his thighs. He welcomes her touch without a word. 
"I really liked when you dominated me that night," she whispers. Perhaps it's a confession that doesn't need to be verbalized — he knows she adored it not only because she asked for it, but because she came in record time, too. Since that evening, he hasn't stopped thinking how he watched her hole clench around her fingers because of him. She moaned his name — or rather, his honorific — over and over again. Every time he's gone to jerk off without watching her stream, it's all he's needed to think about, blurts of cum spraying his stomach not a few minutes later.
"I liked doing it." he murmurs. She begins to move her foot up and down the length of his calf, the feeling of her soft skin making him shiver. 
"What else did you like?"
The tip of his tongue peeks out to lick over his lips. What a loaded question — he likes just about everything she does, but that was a guaranteed cop-out of an answer. 
"I liked hearing you call me daddy," he confesses lowly. "Liked watching you. Thought about you bouncing on my cock and finishing that way."
She hums, closing the distance between them without even realizing it. Their chests are pressed up against each other's, her puffy nipples now stiff peaks beneath the soft fabric of his tee-shirt. He can feel himself thickening up steadily, though he's sure he would've gotten hard just by sleeping next to her. 
"I think I would let you do just about anything you want to me," she admits, nibbling on her bottom lip, "You turn me on so much... I don't even think you realize it."
He huffs in disbelief, snaking an arm around her waist to gently tug her impossibly closer. He gives her hip a small squeeze as a test — he's been thinking about throwing her around like a doll for months on end, but her comfort is his top priority, always. 
"What does 'anything' entail?" he asks. He knows he's asking for trouble now, that there's no returning from this. There's no way that this night won't end with him balls deep inside of her, thrusting his cum into her pussy until she's squealing and pushing him away from overstimulation.
"Well, for starters, you can take me however you want," she says, trailing soft fingertips down his chest. She stops at his abs and he breathes in sharply, willing her to continue her journey downwards. "From behind, me on top... wherever and whenever you want. Don't care if we're in public, either. I'd love to show you off and make sure everyone knows I cum for you."
He groans, head tilting back slightly from her possessive words. "More," he demands gruffly.
"Want you to use all my toys on me... tie me up, press a vibrator to my clit until I can't see straight anymore," her fingers meet his hips, lightly feeling over his cock underneath his sweatpants. "Have you watched the shows where I squirt?"
"Of course I have, pretty baby."
Her chest warms at the nickname. As if it's a reward, her hand dips beneath his sweatpants, gasping in mock surprise when she finds that he's not wearing underwear. Better yet, he's hard and aching for her.
"I have no doubt that I'd squirt for you." 
She punctuates her sentence by wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, giving it a cursory squeeze. A short, low groan sounds from his chest before he's grabbing her arm and giving her a sharp look. Alarmed, she quickly removes her hand. 
"I'm sorry. Was that too much? Did I misunderstand?"
"Not at all," he mutters, getting up onto his knees. His other hand finds her free wrist, raising both of her arms above her head. She gasps out in surprise. "I just think it's cute that you think after watching you get off for months, you think I wouldn't want first dibs on this pussy."
Y/N giggles, relief flushing through her chest at the knowledge that she didn't do anything wrong. Keeping her arms propped up with one of his large hands, he uses the other to tug her sweatpants down. Just like him, she's decided to go underwear-free this evening.
"You're glistening already. Dripping down to your cute little ass." 
His words make her swallow harshly. She knew from that one conversation that he was an expert at dirty talk, but hearing it in person was an entirely different game. One that she surely would never forget.
He uses two of his fingertips to spread her labia, breathing out fiercely at the sight of the strings of arousal. With his fingers in a v-shape, he watches as the pretty ribbons snap each time he moves his digits up and down, issuing a light massage to the skin between her lips and thighs. 
"You're so much prettier in person." he murmurs. "I've watched you cum so many times, but... nothing compares to the real thing. You know that, pretty baby?"
A pathetic whimper falls from her swollen lips. "Stop teasing, daddy."
His heart thuds at the name. It's a weak spot, especially hearing it come from her. Watching her hole pulsate around nothing, he decides he wants — no, needs — nothing more than to lean forward and wrap his lips around her pearled clit. Her taste is heady and delicious and he's instantly hooked, especially when she curls her leg around his shoulder, pressing her heel into his back to pull him closer. She moans loudly as he sucks messily, his eyes rolling back when he feels the swollen bundle throb in his mouth.
"So good," she whines, "'s so good daddy, fuck."
He can tell that she needs minimal prep, but his suspicion is only proven right when he pushes a finger inside, her hole immediately sucking him in. He prods at her g-spot, eliciting another mewl from her pretty mouth. He thinks he could cum just from this — from sucking at her clit and fingering her deep inside, feeling her thrash around beneath him as her orgasm builds. 
"Fuck— wait, wait," she pants out. Harry instantly stops, removing his hands and mouth from her. He looks up with concerned eyes and she smiles a hazy, gentle grin, pushing her hand through his messy hair. "Can you edge me? I wanna cum on your cock, daddy."
He thinks he may faint on the spot. 
"Whatever you want, pretty." 
She laughs breezily when he surges forward once more, nudging the tip of his tongue into her wet hole. She gasps as he thrusts it in and out, lifting his free hand to rub circles into her sensitive clit. The sensation of her pussy clenching around the width of his tongue is almost too much to handle for both of them. 
He waits for her to tell him when she's almost at the edge, but it doesn't take much more. Soon enough, she's panting and pushing him away, whimpering out that she's nearly there. 
"Can I ride you, please?" she nearly begs, her eyes widened and watery, "Please, need to feel you deep inside."
He chuckles at her desperation, sitting up on his heels to thumb at her bottom lip. He pulls it and lets snap back. 
"Only if you give me a kiss, baby."
She scrambles onto her knees, billowing forward to press her lips messily to his. It's wet and hot, especially with the heady taste of her arousal on his tongue. He groans when she begins to suck at it, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm as he gives her hip a squeeze. When he breaks their kiss, he presses a quick one to her nose before maneuvering her body so she's straddling his waist. She rolls her hips urgently, his cock spreading her labia deliciously. It's a gorgeous sight — one Harry never wants to forget.
"Put me in." he instructs, folding his hands behind his head. 
With shaky hands, she lifts up slightly, granting herself just enough room so she can lower onto his length. The second the tip pops through her tight walls, they're both moaning loudly, her eyes fluttering shut. Harry forces his to stay open so he can memorize the way she looks taking him for the first time. 
"Take your time," he murmurs, breaking his dominant persona for a moment, "Don't force yourself, pretty baby. Give yourself a second."
"I can take it," she pouts, grinding down against his pelvic bone. She whimpers, her hand flying to her stomach. "Fuck— fuck, I can feel you in here, daddy."
"Told you, silly girl," he says with a smirk, his hands finding her hips with a squeeze. "Take your time. Don't need you getting hurt."
This time, she listens to him and allows herself a few moments to adjust. Once it doesn't feel like he's punching through to her cervix, she bounces once in experimentation, just to make sure she can really, truly take it. 
"Why didn't you ever mention— oh— that you're fucking massive?" she whimpers out as she begins to bounce up and down. He laughs, though it quickly gets cut short when he begins to properly feel the tightness of her pussy.
"Guess it never came up." he mutters through gritted teeth. 
His hands remaining on her hips, he helps her maintain her rhythm. He swallows harshly as he watches her breasts jiggle in time with her dropping up and down, never once allowing his cock to shift. 
"'m gonna cum soon," she babbles out. As if on cue, Harry feels her hole pulsating around his length, making his eyes roll back.
"Show me," he demands, steadying her hips with his hands. He starts to thrust up into her, watching as her jaw falls slack from the slight but sudden switch in position. "There you go, baby. Take daddy's cock like you were made for it. Cum all over me."
He never doubted it, but god she's good at taking directions. Within a few seconds, she's clenching and coming all over his cock, whiney mewls falling from her lips as her orgasm washes over her. She moans out his honorific repeatedly, just like she did all those months ago. The sight and sound of her sopping wet pussy sucking in his length is enough to send him to his own peak, abs clenching as he fucks up into her, filling her to the brim with his warm come. 
"Fuck, take it pretty girl, there you go," he groans loudly.
When each of their orgasms eventually taper off, the only thing that fills the room is the sound of their haphazard breathing. Gently, she lifts off, her hands pressing down against his chest. She feels his mess slowly seeping out of her. 
"'m sorry," he runs his hand through his hair, realizing that he finished in her without discussing it. "I should've asked—"
"No, it's fine. I'm on birth control. I wouldn't have wanted you to finish anywhere else." she admits bashfully, her cheeks rosy in a post-orgasm flush. "It's just... uncomfortable once it's over."
"Of course. Let me grab a towel to clean you up."
She nods graciously as she gradually flips onto her back. Harry returns a moment later, wiping his length clean before nestling between her thighs to wash the evidence of their sex away.
"Thank you," Y/N mumbles sleepily. "No one's ever done this for me before."
Harry scoffs. If he wasn't so exhausted, he would have pressed for more details, insisting that this wasn't something worth thanking him for. Instead, he simply tosses the towel in the hamper and gets back underneath the blankets. 
"Can we cuddle?" she asks quietly, lifting her head to look at him. He smiles, extending his arm so she can nestle into his side. 
"C'mere, pretty."
. . .
The next morning, Harry wakes up with Y/N tucked into his chest. They're still naked, but the warmth of her soft body feels incredible. So much so, that he wonders if he's stuck in some sort of dream. 
He realizes it's not when she begins to stir in his arms. When she bats her eyelashes open, her eyes puffy with sleep, she smiles gently. 
"Morning." 
Harry matches her smile. In a leap of faith, he leans down to press a kiss to her lips. Even after last night's events, he's unsure if this is appropriate. He's not sure if it was supposed to be a one night stand type of situation, but considering she didn't get up in the middle of the night and leave, he entertains the idea that it may be a bit more than that.
"Good morning," he returns, watching as her face glows from his brief kiss. "What time do you have to be at work?"
She groans and it immediately makes him feel guilty. She leans up onto her elbows, the edge of the comforter hiding the peeks of her nipples as she glances at the time. It's already 8:10. 
"I'm supposed to be there at 9," she replies, laying back down against the pillows. It looks like the wheels are churning in her head as she mindlessly fits her fingers between his.
"What are you thinking about?" he murmurs lowly, pressing a kiss to her temple.
"Calling in sick," she admits. "Is it ridiculous that I don't want to leave?"
He chuckles, though a wave of relief washes over him. He had been thinking the same — he wanted to make her breakfast and have him in his bed all day, lean over and pepper kisses all over her face and watch as she wrinkles her nose in that cute way she does. 
"Not ridiculous. We've spent months talking to each other, think we deserve some time together," he says, "In fact... if you call out, I'll do it, too."
"Really?" she asks with raised eyebrows.
"Sure. I have weeks of paid time that I've never used."
She grins and nods her head, "Okay. Yeah, that sounds good. Could we hang out all day? Maybe watch some movies and snuggle with Beatrice?"
"That sounds perfect, pretty girl." he replies, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. He sits up and grabs his clothes from the floor, pulling his sweatpants on before he heads down to his home office. 
"Wait!" she grabs his arm, pulling gently. He quirks an eyebrow and looks at her expectedly. "Could we... do you think we can maybe use those toys I bought us?"
The warm flush that flowers over her cheeks makes his heart squeeze in his chest. 
"Anything you want, baby," he murmurs with a small smile, "Anything you want."
1K notes · View notes
ratkiddoo · 2 years
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why are my parents so against my short hair like it's been?? a good couple months?? since i chopped it all off and they'll bring up how much they want me to grow it back like :|
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mypoisonedvine · 3 months
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eddie munson with 90. "is it just me, or does your celebrity crush look a lot like me?", with fem!reader
I didn't use the exact line of dialogue just the concept, I hope you don't mind! I love this request though!!
warnings: just fluff and a wee bit of angst along the way, friends to lovers, 'unrequited' love (the love is requited they are just stupid)
100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!
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"Admit it-- you'd let him do anything he wanted to you," Robin laughed teasingly.
"Honestly? Yeah, probably," you agreed as you bit your lip.
"What if he's, like, a freak or something?" she wondered. "Like what if he's into something really fucked up?"
"It would still be hot, 'cause it's him," you decided.
"So if he came up to you right now, and said 'hey, you're cute, wanna come back to my place and take a bath with me in a tub of mayonnaise?' you would..." she prompted.
"I would ask if he knows where I can get bulk mayonnaise for a discount," you grinned.
"Ew! You hate mayonnaise!" she grimaced.
"Yes, but I love him," you explained.
Just then, Eddie hopped up to your table, straddling one of the attached benches with a smile. "Woah, who do we love?" he asked.
"Eddie, you can't just barge in to a private conversation," Robin corrected with a frown.
"Private? I can hear the girlish giggling from the theater room," he scoffed. "Besides, I wanna know the gossip. You've got it bad for somebody?"
He looked around the room as if he would figure out who it was by examining the students, but Robin shook her head. "It's not, like, a real guy. It's her celebrity crush."
"And future husband," you beamed.
"Would I know who it was if you said it?" Eddie wondered.
You thought about not telling him, but it didn't really matter, because Robin blurted it out. "Probably-- it's Kirk Hammett, from Metallica."
Eddie's eyes went wide for a second, before he grinned and leaned one arm against the table. "I guess I should take that as a compliment."
You laughed softly in confusion. "What?"
"You know-- 'cause I look like him!" he announced excitedly.
Robin tilted her head as he stared at Eddie. "Oh yeah!" she said. "You know, now that you say it--"
"No," you shook your head, "you're not like him."
"Yes I am!" he laughed, though it sounded more like a sound of bewilderment than amusement. "Come on, are you serious? People say it all the time!"
"Well, they probably just say it cause you play guitar."
"And the hair?!" he yelped, shaking his mane around for emphasis which made Robin snort.
"Lots of guys have long hair nowadays!" you rolled your eyes. "That doesn't mean anything. Robin's blonde, doesn't mean she looks like Goldie Hawn!"
"Wait, I don't?" Robin asked sarcastically, feigning offence.
"It's not just that-- you seriously don't see it?" Eddie pouted. "Look at me-- I mean, really look at me."
You did, narrowing your eyes slightly as you examined him; he held his arms out as if to show himself to you, which did give you a better view of his arms and ink, but you frowned and shook your head. "I just see Eddie," you shrugged.
He deflated a bit. "Right, well-- anyways, did we get Robin to share her celebrity crush?"
"That was the next order of business," you explained with a smirk, and you both put your attention on the girl across the table.
"Nope-- my lips are sealed," Robin assured.
"If we can guess her name, will you tell us?" Eddie asked.
"No, I'll never--" she started to insist, but the two of you were blurting out names already.
"Brooke Shields!" "Kim Basinger!" "Ooh, Annie Lennox!"
"Guys," Robin groaned, rolling her eyes, but she was starting to blush, too.
~
You and Eddie were sitting side by side on the ground, backs leaned up against the outer wall of the school; his knees were bent and his arms were draped over them, while you sat with your legs overlapping as you tied wildflowers from the lawn into a daisy chain.
"You're quiet," you noticed.
"So? There's not much to say," he replied.
"When has that ever stopped you from running your mouth?" you smirked, looking up at him, but he wasn't smiling back at you so yours sank. "You've been quiet for a while."
"Guess I'm not that peppy today," he decided, staring forward at his fingers as he mindlessly spun one of his rings around.
"Not today," you explained, "like, all week. Is everything okay?"
He shrugged a little as if to say, it doesn't matter.
"Seriously, just talk to me," you pleaded. "Whatever it is, I wanna help."
"You can't help, okay?" he snapped,
"I can't stop thinking about what you said," he admitted. "When you and Robin were talking about your celebrity crush--"
"Listen, Eddie, I'm sorry if I don't see a resemblance, but it's not that big of a deal--"
"No, no, not that," he sighed, "I meant... what you said after. That you just see Eddie."
You knit your eyebrows together, not sure what he was getting at. He finally looked back at you, and the sadness in his eyes made your breath catch.
"That's all you're ever gonna see, isn't it?"
You sighed a little, looking away for a moment. "Ed, not this again--"
"C'mon, babe, you know I'm crazy about you," he sighed, tilting his head until it leaned against the wall behind him. "And I know every excuse you've given me-- you're not ready for a relationship, you don't want to ruin what we have, you don't want to bring me into your messed up brain-- but if you're into this guy who looks like me but you don't want me then... then it must just be that I'm awful, right?"
"Eddie, no," you denied with a pout, but he scoffed and looked ahead again.
"It's okay, I get it," he sighed. "I wouldn't wanna date me either. You deserve all the fancy stuff, y'know? Getting driven to cool dates in a nice car, hanging out at his house and not, you know, a dirty old trailer--"
"I don't want all that stuff," you assured, moving in closer to him. "I want somebody sweet and fun and smart--"
"I knew it's 'cause I can't fuckin' graduate," he mumbled, but you put your hand on his arm to get his attention.
"Eddie, you're not listening to me," you scolded. "It's not you, it's me. And I know that's a cliche but it's true."
"How can it not be me?" he rolled his eyes. "I'm a freak, and a fuck-up, and a flunk-out, and you're basically perfect--"
"Oh my god, you're, like, my dream guy, okay?!" you spat out, louder than you meant to. He finally shut up, and looked at you like he could finally see it-- like he finally knew. "I always liked you," you continued, a little softer and shier than before, "but I knew if I... if we ever actually, you know, went for it, I'd just mess it all up. And you're the last person I'd ever want to hurt--"
He cut you off with a kiss: a sudden, sweet, hungry kiss that caught you off-guard for a second before you melted into it.
It wasn't that one kiss could make all your fears about a relationship go away... but it sure could make them seem a lot less important. And it definitely could help convince you that it was worth the risk.
When he pulled back, he held your face even as you tried to look away to hide it. "Sorry," he said, taking his hands away slowly, "I just had to do that."
"Oh, Ed," you hummed, "you're so cute I could die."
He got a little red in the face, which only made the cuteness more apparent. "Aw hell," he snorted, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "You think I'm cute 'cause I look like Kirk?"
"No," you smiled, "I like Kirk 'cause he looks like you."
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ne-videl · 1 month
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𝓾𝓷𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓰𝓮
yandere Poseidon x fem reader
hide your tears and smile, little goddess.
yandere, unhealthy relationships, objectification, angst, power imbalance, depressed reader, forced marriage, poor english, sfw. first half – Poseidon's pov, then yours.
a/n: hii everyone!! how have you been? I have no ideas. like, absolutely. art block I guess?? anyway, have some of my old stuff. this is my least favorite yandere trope, but I love angst, so sometimes I go for it. by the way, when I first started it, I wanted to write a super idolized fluff but... well, we have what we have, or "why you don't want to marry Poseidon". hehe big booba man hehehe
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the endless ocean is noisy outside the huge windows.
today, the sea sings a memorial service for you.
two people at the altar – the god and his bride.
Poseidon wants to smile rapaciously at her shaking figure.
she's afraid, poor thing. who wouldn't be afraid? he is, after all, the god of all gods, known for his cruel and merciless temper, the lord of the seas.
and she will become his lady very soon.
[name].
her name spreads like ambrosia across his lips.
even her name is so ordinary, so human, as, indeed, everything else about his charming wife.
she was a priestess in Poseidon's temple: in his own, so there's nothing wrong in taking what was already his. he noticed her by accident.
[name] was sitting hunched over, touching some bright flowers with her bruised palms. he liked to visit this temple sometimes: it was quiet and peaceful in the atrium, noisy humans did not flicker before his eyes.
little human girl did not even flinch when he silently stood next to her, only continued to look with big and very sad eyes at the colorful flower bed.
at their second meeting, she greeted him.
at the third time, she dared to start an idle conversation.
the fourth, and she talked about life in the temple.
at the fifth time she asked why he was coming here.
Poseidon always stood silently next to her, looming over her like a suffocating shadow. he was amused by her chattering, and, unexpectedly for himself, found her presence soothing, pleasant, unlike other humans, the mere sight of whom made the eye of the deity twitch.
life was bad for her in the temple.
[name] told him, she was sent to this place when she was still a girl, and she spent her whole life by the cold blue sea.
new head of the temple did not like her, saying that there was nothing for women to do here. that she should get married, but who needs her?
Poseidon saw the marks of beatings on her girlish body.
so he took her with him. she served in temple made in his name, spent her short life at his domain – it is quite natural that she will become his wife.
of course, it is unheard of that god marries a human – but does he really need someone's approval?
ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______
Hades advised to propose to her. it's the way humans do it.
Poseidon did not ask for her consent, for him it was just a formality: of course she would say yes, he was sure.
he will dress her in the finest silks, she will own the most beautiful jewels on all Olympus, the sea itself would be at her feet – how could a human girl want more?
smile spreads across his face as he sees her eyes widen, as she begins to shake – no doubt, from embarrassment – and his palm rests protectively on top of her head.
of course she agreed, how could it be any other way?
his fiancee is incredibly sweet. but weak and naive at the same time, like the rest of the human race. but he will protect her, give her a better life.
she must be very grateful to him.
ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______
Poseidon remembers their wedding well, how [name] looked in amazement at the beauty of Atlantis, at the greatness of his seas.
in white robes, with downcast eyes, she swore an oath binding her life forever to a cruel deity, accompanied by singing of nymphs and the sound of the ocean.
she was now a goddess herself, whether she wanted to or not. of course, she wanted to, it couldn't be any other way. she loves him.
and, as the new lady of the seas, she will spend her now eternal life by his side. Poseidon will make sure of this no matter what.
she fearfully puts her small palm into his, while he, her husband, leads her through the corridors of the palace. [name] is silent. probably still embarrassed.
from now on, she will be the most beautiful ornament of his possessions, the shining pearl of Atlantis – his precious property, belonging only to him. and the sparkling ring on her tiny finger was proof.
ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______
"wife." – [name] immediately turns around, smiles, comes closer.
his hand rests on her waist, his grip firm, possessively strong. she doesn't notice.
or pretends not to notice.
over time, [name] got used to him, cheered up, blossomed. it couldn't have been any other way, right?
songs, dances appeared, bright flowers and ringing laughter in the cold and empty corridors.
she became friends with his brothers, was able to conquer the proud Aphrodite, whom she now called her friend with visible joy.
Poseidon is pleased to consider himself a good husband.
he loves to see his wife smiling, laughing.
even if it's not just with him. it's better to be patient for a while, he thinks, than to lose her cheerful chatting for the whole evening.
though, she's cute even when she's angry.
Poseidon was gentle with her. allowed her much, much more than others, even spoiled her. [name] was his wife, after all, so he had to make sure she looked good enough.
he's a good husband.
[name] never contradicted him, never raised her adorable voice at him, never was not too selfish.
although deep down, he would like her to become more spoiled. so that, like him, she would not tolerate anyone's presence, except, of course, her husband.
to think of it, why would she need anyone besides him? she can be quite happy within the walls of the palace.
Poseidon dismissed these thoughts from himself – for some reason, his wife liked to be in society, even if without him.
well, he's willing to put up with her quirks as long as she knows who should come first for her.
ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______
the outfit given by Aphrodite was very becoming to his spouse. Poseidon loved to see her beautiful.
in luxurious clothes, undoubtedly worthy of the wife of a sea god, or in the warm candlelight in the night darkness of their shared bedroom, happy or shedding tears, [name] was equally beautiful.
the precious treasure of Atlantis.
he was never moved by her tears – even if she was crying, of course she loved him anyway. [name] is happy. so why make a big deal about it?
none of the pathetic mortals could take care of her like he did. none of them would love her the way he does.
"you are my wife. you're not going anywhere."
ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______
you didn't tell anyone about your sorrow: didn't share it with anyone – neither with Aphrodite, nor with the nymphs and mermaids, your husband's brothers remained in the dark too.
a little human girl shedding tears by the huge waves.
an unhappy goddess, forever imprisoned in an cold palace, surrounded by hypocritical deities, in the iron grip of an unloved husband, eaten alive by sadness and suffocating hopelessness of her position.
none of them saw you as an equal: you were only a curious little thing, a way to dispel eternal divine boredom, and the Olympians, of course, did not bother to hide this fact.
you didn't know what your husband found in you, and you didn't want to. sometimes you wished that back then, many, many years ago, he would have left you in that temple, or that you would run from the garden in terror, or anything. anything.
ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______
you knew your place well.
by his side, always, no matter what. from the very day when you stood at the altar and did not dare to raise your eyes to your fiance, you were no longer anything human.
from that moment, you became an ornament, a property, a beautiful doll. nothing more.
Poseidon wanted to see you happy – and you smiled, laughed, you did everything that you thought he would like.
are you satisfied? please tell me you're happy. I'm scared.
scared.
your husband allowed you the freedom he thought his property could have, and you greedily soaked up every drop of it.
you're lucky, you told yourself, you're very, very lucky. It could have been worse. any other girl would give her soul to be in your place, – repeated, looking at your own reflection in the cold glitter of jewelry.
you must be like it yourself. a thing. a thing, of course, must have an owner, and a thing cannot be sad.
Poseidon's cold hand rests on your waist, pulls you into his arms, and you do not allow yourself to resist: you exhale into his neck, placing your small palms on his broad back.
your spouse is purring contentedly.
he's happy. you can relax a little.
ʚ♡⃛ɞ ______
sea nymphs comb your hair, weave pearls into thin braids, fold strands into an intricate hairstyle.
"what's bothering you, madam?" – the lady of the seas does not bother to answer, your dead calm gaze wanders over the high ceilings, walls and huge windows of your chambers.
a common topic of idle conversation among the Olympians was Poseidon's boundless adoration for his charming wife. cruel god who fell in love with a mere mortal – what a beautiful story.
even the ocean itself seemed to dote on you. whenever the warm waves caressed your feet on the coast, your dried-up insides were filled with melancholy. your body was here, in Atlantis, which became a prison for you, and your soul, which remained to pain in your chest human, floated far away. your tired mind wandered, and you are a little girl again, and once again the bright sun warms your childishly plump cheeks, and in your hands are colorful flowers, and the kind grandpa from the temple strokes your head.
Poseidon will be coming for you soon – as always.
as always, you will talk about something, laugh, sitting on his lap in the throne room. or in one of the living rooms, or in the bedroom – you were not allowed to leave him without permission.
you flinched when you felt his strong hand on your shoulder.
Poseidon smirked.
his wife is not going anywhere. she will stay with him.
forever.
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not the best one of my works but uh well I felt like posting something
maaybe will be deleted since it doesn't look as good as I thought it would be in english
btw thinking about writing tartaglia fic soo the next one is probably gonna be genshin man again
thanks for reading!!
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maximotts · 11 months
Note
i feel like cowboy wanda would be so gentle the first few times she has sex with you bc she’s worried she’ll hurt you and scare you off but eventually she loses control a bit and manhandles you into position and when she pins you down, you moan and then the most DEVILISH smile spreads across her face
Ooo okay okay it's interesting you brought this up because I've been thinking about their first encounter a bit lately! We'll ignore that this turned into a whole fic, okay? I love them sm Also this isn't really edited because it was supposed to be a short answer and now it's uhm.. not short, so forgive any typos
18+ only please . wc: 2.7k . cw: first meeting hookup, drinking, dirty talk, oral, fingering, v light spanking, lap sits, possessiveness, Wanda being smitten, the pickup truck sex a lot of y'all have been asking me about that I said was coming, morning after with Wanda because she's as proper as she is filthy
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Basically right now I have their first time more as a hookup where bunny is new to town and goes out to a bar one night to maybe make friends and see the environment, but then she meets Wanda and her group of friends who are all more than welcoming and you're having a great time hanging out with them.
But your eyes keep drifting to Wanda. Of course Wanda notices and, being the smooth talker she is, starts flirting with the new girl. She buys you as many drinks as you want which, end up being stronger than you're used to, but your nerves keep you ordering more. When she finally slips an arm around you, cornering you in the booth you'd only just plopped yourself into, you're more than ready for Wanda to kiss you— and kiss you she does.
You're shy by nature, never having made out with anyone in a bar, much less with a girl you'd only known for a few hours, but Wanda's thumb brushing over your cheek while she bites down on your bottom lip has you forgetting everything you're used to which admittedly, isn't much. Somehow she's pulled your thighs over her own, toying with the stretchy hem of the form-fitting skirt you'd decided to wear last minute. When she touches a particularly sensitive spot, you shiver and Wanda chuckles, "You cold, darlin'? Pretty as your arms are, I'll let you borrow my jacket if it'd help."
And so the night goes on with Wanda's thick denim jacket slung over your shoulders, her arm around your waist wherever the two of you walk. Normally you'd hate the presumptive way the cowgirl was handling you, as if she owned you already, but you'd be damned if you didn't admit you wanted her to stake her claim. So, in your slightly inebriated state, you took a leap, "Wands, I'm sleepy..."
Which catches her attention immediately. "Well now," Wanda pulls you close then, fingers carefully treading the line between caressing your hip and groping your ass; it would be the first time she whispers in your ear, but it'll never stop being insanely hot. "I hope you're telling me because you're going to let me take you home. I'd be real sad leaving tonight without you."
You wish your giggle of a reply didn't sound so girlish and naïve, but in hindsight, you had no idea the sheer intensity you were in for. "Only if you promise to behave yourself."
She's driven about halfway back to her house before she has to pull over; technically it was her land, pulled over to the side of the winding road and turning her truck engine off. "I know I promised to take you home, I still will, but I can't take another second not having my hands on you."
It takes you back a little; all you'd been doing was scratching over her jeans while you stared at the woman driving, but you weren't going to argue with her. "I don't really-"
"I've wanted you on my lap since I laid eyes on you. Get over here." Thankfully she doesn't have to convince you any farther, holding back a groan as you straddled her legs, skirt riding up inch by inch. It was a tight squeeze with you between her and the steering wheel, but Wanda hardly noticed once you started kissing her. This time was impossibly hotter, Wanda's tongue taking control of the kiss before moving on to shamelessly leave marks along your jaw and neck.
And Wanda is too good at getting your clothes out of the way, leaving you topless with record speed, squeezing at your breasts roughly while you struggled just to keep up with her mouth. "What if someone sees..."
The brunette only starts toying with your nipples, relishing in the way it got you rolling your hips. "It's pitch dark, silly girl. I can barely see you out here, don't worry your pretty little head."
You lost the last bit of your restraint the moment Wanda passed her fingertips over your underwear. They were thin lace, chosen by design so as not to show under your skirt, but they drove Wanda wild. She pushed them aside to slide her fingers along where you were already warm and sensitive, hips stuttering as she stroked over your clit. "O-Oh.."
"Look at you, already wet and needy. Were you like this all night? That why I caught you squeezing your thighs together so often?" You shook your head, trying to deny it, but you weren't even fooling yourself.
Wanda's had you rocking in place for hours by this point; you thought sure you'd been subtle and being called out for your behavior found your head ducking into the crook of Wanda's shoulder to avoid her knowing gaze. "Aww, it's okay! It'll be our little secret, promise..."
Wanda discovered night one what a responsive person you were, delighting in the vice grip you held on the back of her seat while she rolled your nipple in time with her other hand on your sensitive bud. You rocked against her hands as best you could, fighting to keep pace, but hopefully not finish so easily— it'd just been so long and you needed this much more than expected.
The next morning, you'd blame the alcohol. "Wanda please, I- I need.."
"What do you need, sweetheart, wanna cum? Make a mess in my truck after I barely got started with you?" You were nodding so hard your neck hurt, moaning quietly as you felt your body reach its peak; the first of many that night. Ears ringing and thoughts so pleasantly fuzzy, you couldn't recall a time you'd felt more free, in an old pickup truck or otherwise.
"Ooh, aren't you just a masterpiece..." The brunette took her time letting you down, pointer and middle fingers wandering until they just barely pushed into you: less than an inch, but unendingly torturous. "Sounds like I was able to make you feel better, least a little bit."
Tired hips tried every which way to sink onto Wanda's long fingers, the same ones you'd felt on you over your clothes back in the bar and had lists of naughty places you wanted her to put them. But each time, your lover avoids delving anywhere past shallow. "You're being mean, just fuck me."
"Mean? After I let you cum as early as you wanted? You don't know what mean looks like on me. Don't think you want to," A succession of wet slaps echoed in the truck's cabin, the silence of everything around you both amplifying the sound of Wanda lightly hitting your sensitive cunt and your resulting whimpers.
"Told you so. Now, bend over and stay still while I get a proper look like the obedient girl I know you are," Manhandling you over the length of her seats shouldn't have been as easy as it was after the long night out, but Wanda was strong and you never fought her while she pushed your arms to the passenger car door and spread your bent knees apart.
If you were begging her to fuck you out loud, you wouldn't be surprised, wishing so hard that if Wanda still refused to give you exactly what you wanted, she'd at least use her fingers, tongue, anything to fill where you currently felt so empty. "Please- I need more-"
Your thighs shake as she licks over your puffy folds, mumbling the most depraved things about you, your taste, your warmth, leaving you with the most intoxicating combination of feeling both used and adored. "You just keep dripping into my mouth, baby, it's impossible to keep you clean..."
"Can't help it, sorry," But your words aren't matching your actions, not when you kept searching out Wanda's tongue each time she flicked at your clit, pitifully rolling over the rough surface whenever she flattened it out.
You'd long since fogged up the windows, smudging the fog as your overheated cheek met the cold glass; each time you managed to open your eyes you remember exactly where you are, woods rustling in the middle of the night. "W-Wanda! 'm close again, please please...!"
"Mean girls wouldn't let you have two orgasms back to back, no matter how pretty." Wanda likes to believe she actually thought about whether or not to give you what you wanted, but in reality she knew she would leave you wanting the second you turned bratty. Sure it was a risk, not knowing how you'd react, but it was well worth the test to see if you had a chance of handling her past a quick night's distraction. "Straighten up, we're only a few minutes from home."
"That's not fair—"
But Wanda was already pushing you upright again, haphazardly fixing your dress, going so far as to buckle your seatbelt as if it'd keep you from your uncomfortable wiggling. "My car my rules! Like I said, we're not far."
Wanda expected you to pout and huff the whole way, worried in the back of her mind you wouldn't let her lay another hand on you after her denial, but she was pleasantly surprised. Somewhere shortly after she pulled back onto the road, you'd taken her hand; first just to play with her fingers, innocent fidgeting at best, but before she knew it, her digits were engulfed in sinfully wet warmth.
Her fingers in your mouth made the pair of you dizzy, hands holding her wrist as you pumped her digits in and out, tongue swirling over the tips and grinning once Wanda's neutral expression cracked, lips parting in a low groan. "Do mean girls let the good ones suck the strap they've been feeling near them all night or do they only get to play with their hands?"
"Depends on if they show them how bad they want it." Wanda could only look your way for seconds at a time, the visual of your half-lidded gaze trained on her jeans while you so obviously used your imagination to envision some other scenario, muffling your own needy sounds as you forced her fingers to the back of your throat... she'd underestimated the new girl.
Whether it was any lingering alcohol talking or whatever boldness Wanda unlocked that night, something urged you to continue goading her, making a show of spreading your legs and slipping her wet fingers to your sex before closing them once more, slowly grinding her shaking digits to sate yourself for that last tiny stretch of road to the farmhouse. "Bad enough to turn your hand into a toy for as long as you let me."
Wanda made that final turn up her driveway, parking her truck fast as she could with only one hand, "You're lucky I didn't crash just now, you little devil, can't wait to get you inside."
"Lead the way, since we're playing by your rules and all." As soon as she got her hand back, Wanda practically dragged you from her vehicle and for as many hours as you spent awake in her home, you couldn't remember a single detail of any room she brought you through that night.
When you wake up, it's to a dimly lit bedroom, curtains drawn so only a sliver of late morning sun peeked through. Your body ached, but it wasn't from the drinking, taut muscles and lethargic thoughts bringing back bits and pieces of everything you got up to the second Wanda got you past the front door.
The same Wanda whose bed you assumed you were currently sprawled out in. Doubt crept in as you realized you're alone, fretting over if you should've fallen asleep there or not. You were deciding whether it'd be more awkward to sneak out and go back to town on foot or to search out Wanda and ask if she'd mind driving you back to your place when you heard a single knock on the door. "Can I come in?"
Your brow furrowed, "It's your room, of course you can come in." Wanda cracked the door slowly, the back of her loose flannel shirt greeting you first before she turned around, a small tray in her hands. "Sorry for crashing."
"Never said you were unwelcome, I'm sorry for letting you wake up in a strange place by yourself... and for not leaving you at least a shirt, my bad." Your arms hastily bundled the blankets to cover your chest, your nakedness pointed out to you, but Wanda laughed, setting the tray down before heading for her dresser. "Don't worry, darlin, I love the view just as much in the daylight."
"What a reassuring hostess I have," Pulling the t-shirt she tossed you over your head, the delightful scents coming from the tray down the bed now catching your attention. On it was a short stack of pancakes, bacon, orange juice, strawberries... the biggest breakfast you'd seen since you'd come to town. "Did you make that?"
Wanda nodded and slid the food closer to you before sitting on the edge of her mattress, "I don't typically make this much food, but I had to get up early to make some rounds in the barn and I figured I owed you a hearty breakfast after such a nice night."
There was something so endearing to how she explained her actions, rambling on to offset her nerves, No one had even gone to such lengths to make your morning so comfortable after a single hookup, but this set the bar high for anyone else who tried. Not that you'd ever have to worry about another first night, but neither of you knew that yet.
For now Wanda scrambled to find the right way to show genuine interest in the girl she'd brought home and fucked every which way until they passed out and you amusedly ate your special pancakes while watching Wanda try, her fumbling charming you more than she'd ever imagine.
Eventually you put her out of her misery, putting down your utensils to sit up on your knees and stretch over to plant a quick kiss on her soft lips. "I really appreciate it and I'm not even a bit mad with how I woke up, but it's very sweet of you to care, Wands."
"Oh good because I'd really like to see you again sometime, if you're up for it." It would be a rare thing to see Wanda so continuously shy, but she was uncharacteristically smitten and she wanted to get to know you before the rest of the small town came for their changes too.
You hummed as you popped a strawberry into your mouth, licking your fingers in a way that painfully reminded Wanda of the previous night, "How's today?"
"Today?" The farmgirl ran a hand through her long hair, cocking her head to the side much like a lost puppy.
"Yeah, today. If you wouldn't mind me following along." With each minute that ticked past, the less you wanted to leave, much preferring a Sunday spent with Wanda than in your flat full of moving boxes.
Her eyes lit up, smile brighter than the sun, “Can’t complain about a beautiful girl all to myself all day!" Wanda was practically buzzing with everything she wanted to show you, from the chicken coops to the haylofts, but she forced herself to keep her cool.. on the surface at least. "Finish up breakfast and I'll find you some kind of pants."
"But I'm so cozy right here without them." Maneuvering over the last bits of food on your plate meant you more fell into Wanda's lap than sat on it, but she caught you nonetheless, tugging you down for the proper kiss she'd been waiting to share with you since early morning light. "Come back to bed with me?"
After the long sleep your energy was renewed, finally able to take Wanda into all your senses again, the taste of her lips, the subtle earthy smell from the work she'd already done that day, her strong hands settling confidently on your upper thighs... getting dressed was the last thing on either of your minds. "Wouldn't be much of a hostess if I didn't let my guest do as she pleased."
In the end, the pair of you might've set the world record for longest date from Sunday morning to when Wanda finally dropped a reluctant you back into town Wednesday afternoon.
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colonelarr0w · 10 months
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Heyyy Shawty, it’s me again 😝
New topic of interest huh? Deadpool? Niceeee. How about some fluff headcannons about Deadpool and a reader who’s in the same line of work as him? I think that’s pretty interesting.
Love you toots 🥰
- 🫁
Oh my goodness me, it's the anon that I don't regularly talk to. I'm gonna kiss you on the mouth I love this request (and my babygirl).
Hehe I was called toots, not me kicking my feet.
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Wade Wilson x ! Mercenary ! Reader
Warnings - Wade (yes he deserves his own warning), sexual mentions, light smut, too many pet names, general violence, gore, mentions of death
Word Count - 1.4k
Oh when Wade finds out that you're a mercenary? He is absolutely over the moon.
"Wait wait, pump the brakes. You're a mercenary?" Wade asks, jaw practically on the floor as you simply nod at him, leaning back on the couch and throwing your arm over the back. He blinks slowly, the gears in his head turning as his brain visibly works to process the information you've just provided.
"Yes, I don't remember stuttering. I've been one for...I'm gonna say seven years now?" you reply with a raise of your eyebrow. Wade turns to you, eyes the size of saucers as he stares at you. If his jaw was on the floor before, it was now sinking beneath the floorboards of your shared apartment.
"Oh my darling baby, I'm so proud!" Wade suddenly yells out, throwing himself forward and wrapping his arms tightly around you. You let out a grunt at the impact of his body against yours, hesitantly wrapping your arms around him as he buries his face into your chest.
Almost immediately after you tell him, he'll start begging you to bring him along on your missions. Even when you tell him it's dangerous to come with you because of who you're dealing with, he'll still find a way to skip at your side and work with you.
This doesn't always go both ways though. Wade knows that he can hold his own in a one-to-one fight, and while you might be a capable mercenary, he doesn't want to run the risk of you being hurt if you joined him on one of his missions.
But once he's comfortable in knowing that you can hold your own, you bet your ass you're joining him on most (if not all) of his missions. It's more to enjoy your company than the idea of actually working together, he likes having someone to joke around with.
Sometimes while you're working, you'll hear a girlish giggle and turn to see Wade laying stomach-down on the ground with his feet in the air, chin perched on his hands as he watches you work.
"Answer the question dipshit!" you yell angrily in the face of your target, lifting your leg and pushing your foot against his chest, leaning his chair back. It wasn't enough for him to fall, but it was enough for his body to think that he was going to fall. His eyes widen and his body jolts as he glances over his shoulder, already swallowing the obvious lump in his throat.
Just as you open your mouth to yell at him again, you hear what you would think is a giggle from a high school girl. Slowly turning your head, your eyes fall on Wade, who lies on his stomach facing you. His feet kick back and forth, chin leaned forward so that it rests comfortably on his palms. Once your gaze meets his, he raises one of his hands, wiggling his fingers at you in an odd way to say hello.
"Seriously?" you ask flatly, raising your eyebrow at him. He nods in response, returning his hand to its previous position as you turn back to the man in the chair, clearly exasperated. You reach for the holster on your thigh, removing a handgun and holding it to the man's head.
When you return home from missions that Wade didn't join you on, he greets you at the door like an oversized puppy. Immediately he's grabbing at you and kissing any bit of skin that he can reach at in that moment. He's just happy to see you back, that's all.
But god forbid you're covered in blood when you walk in the door, Wade is all over you for an entirely different reason. He's grabbing at any bit of flesh he can (most likely your ass), and trying his hardest to get into your pants as quickly as he possibly can.
You never complain though, he worships you late into the night and the aftercare is immaculate.
Wade hopes that you don't have a weak stomach, mainly because when he returns home from missions he's always covered in blood. Is it always his? No. But he just hopes you wouldn't mind scrubbing it down for him while he takes a power nap.
Branching off of that idea, Wade also hopes that you know a thing or two about patching an injury. He's prone to getting hurt while he's out, so when he returns home, he hopes you don't mind spending a half hour or so simply patching him up.
"Oh honey, I'm home!" Wade announces with a flourish of his hand, practically swinging off of the doorhandle as he slides into your shared apartment. You turn your head slightly to him, eyes not leaving the opened book on your lap.
"Get the gauze on your way here, that and the hydrogen peroxide and everything else I need to stitch you back together," you respond nonchalantly, dog-earing the page in your book and turning your body to fully face Wade. The sight catches you off guard, but only for a passing moment.
You lean forward to slide your book onto the coffee table, turning again just in time to watch Wade approach you, the needed materials to patch his wounds gathered into his arms. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as Wade sits himself down on the couch beside you, already looking like a kicked puppy when his gaze flicks to meet yours.
"Thank you honey," Wade says quietly, his lips turning upward in a smile as you tend to his injuries, carefully tying gauze around the open wounds and dabbing hydrogen peroxide against them so that they don't infect. You nod quietly at him, lifting your head just enough so that your gaze meets his.
"Don't mention it," you reply softly, patching his last cut and leaning forward to peck his cheek. He all but melts at the contact, practically lunging for you and pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. A light gasp escapes you, but you lean into him nonetheless.
If the roles are switched and you're the one who returns home injured, Wade is thrown into panic mode. Mostly because he knows that you're not like him in the sense that he can regenerate any part of him and bounce back from serious injuries. You cannot.
He just doesn't want to go through that pain of losing someone he cares about. The guilt that he feels when it's him patching you up is radiating off of him, so much so that you've had to verbalize that you were okay and that you were still breathing.
"Wade, Wade stop," you say firmly, reaching out to take Wade's shaking hands into your own, squeezing lightly. He freezes, body standing rigid as his eyes flick to finally meet yours. The tears in his eyes make your chest feel tight, but you understand his worry.
"You're bleeding, let me just-" his voice trails off as his body turns from you, shaking hands fumbling to grab the needed gauze and disinfectants to treat your injuries. You follow his movements with your eyes, eyebrows furrowing together as you notice the shake in Wade's entire body.
You reach for him, arms wrapping around his neck as you bring his body closer to yours, his chest pressing flush against your own as his arms wind tightly around you. In any other circumstance, you would complain about the tightness of his hug. But as of right now, that didn't matter to you.
"I'm alright Wade, just a little scratch," you mumble to him, allowing him to pull away just enough so that his eyes meet yours. He nods, but you know that he isn't quite convinced yet. "I'm breathing, so quit it with the puppy-dog eyes."
Your teasing earns you a chuckle from Wade, and he scooches forward to lean into you again. You nod to yourself, holding him against you. Sure, it aches when he leans against certain parts of your body, but at least you made it home in one piece.
All in all, Wade is extremely proud to call you his and shows you off like there's no tomorrow. He never thought he would live to see the day where he would fall in love again, and to be honest, he's glad that he did.
You mean the world to him, and he isn't afraid to tell you that every single day, no matter how tired of it you are.
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shushbambi · 2 days
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r.c. ┆ 1:01pm.
𓏲 ෆ ˖ ˙ 𓂃 a lil self-indulgent piece.
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"you're like... really, really pretty, y'know?" rafe slurred lazily, bringing his lips to press against your jaw, inhaling the feminine, vanilla scented perfume you always wore, knowing it drove him crazy.
you couldn't help but giggle, batting your long, wispy lashes up at the oldest cameron boy, your glossy lips forming into a cute, enticing pout—just begging for rafe to kiss you, to devour you.
"nah, n-nah... c'mon baby, forreal, when you gonna let me take you out on a date, huh?" rafe questions with a light laugh, his steel blue eyes gazing down at you intensely, making you squirm in his lap from his constant attention.
"y-you... you really wanna take me out?" you squeak girlishly, doe-like eyes wide and misty from the sweet, fruity cocktails rafe had been supplying you all night long—nothing but the best for his girl.
"yeah, yea..." rafe chuckled tipsily, swinging a thick, broad arm around your shoulders, a possessive glint in his eyes, while tugging you closer to his side, practically caging you, needing to make you his—now.
"been dreamin' 'bout eating that sweet little pussy for soo long," he continues in a low, lazy drawl, showing off his confident, carefree attitude—and you cannot help the way that your little pink lace panties were dripping, flooding the fabric in anticipation with the need to have rafe's cock pounding relentlessly into you—fast, hard and full of longing until he filled you with his hot, scorching load.
instead, you let out a small, breathless little giggle, gently removing his large bicep from around your shoulder, giving him a pretty, apologetic smile.
"i.. ‘m so sorry, rafe—but i can't," you protest meekly, readying yourself to stand on your wobbly feet, your six inch heels much too high due to your less than sober state.
luckily, rafe was already two steps ahead of you, rising swiftly and cradling you against his hard, broad chest, allowing you to smell the liquor, musk, and something else that was entirely rafe that made your drunken senses need him—fuck, you needed him.
rafe gave you a lazy smirk, holding you up against him as he leaned down towards your ear, his soft lips brushing against the shell of your ear, making you shiver and paw at his hard, broad chest in a needy, whiny way which only make the oldest cameron chuckle lowly.
"another time then, princess," he promises, his mind already spiraling about how he would get you safely home—whether you knew it or not, you were already his girl.
instantly, you begin to protest weakly, a cute, glossy pout forming on your very kissable, plump lips, making rafe feel like he was losing his mind with being unable to fuck you properly—soberly.
sweetly, rafe holds you snuggly against his tall, intimidating figure, his strong arms wrapped around you possessively, needing you close for his own peace of mind.
"don't worry, baby," rafe coos sickeningly sweet into your ear as he leans down, brushing his soft lips against the skin right below your earlobe, feeling you squirm and whine in a needy, girlish voice for him, making him release another deep, breathless chuckle.
"i'll take care of ya next time, yea?" he promises with a slight mocking to his voice, giving the delicate skin of your flushed neck one last, lingering kiss, before pulling back up to his normal height to tower over you, his eyes already looking down at your flustered features, observing your helpless, needy face.
fuck, you were so pretty.
"gonna be a good girl an' wait for daddy, yea?" rafe asks with a hint of condescension, his nasally, rich-boy tone of voice making your pussy clench around nothing—and oh, you can already feel his dark eyes sparkling with amusement as your glossy lips pouted, before giving a small, reluctant nod of your pretty head.
"see?" rafe asks smugly, "always been daddy's good little girl."
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cowgurrrl · 28 days
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Sleeping on the Blacktop
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader
Author's note: guys we did it i wrote smut i actually like (ps this was edited but also not reread because I’ve been trying to write it for five hours so if you see any mistakes no you didn’t)
Summary: The Land of No Return [4.7k]
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, platonic expressions of love, the mortifying ordeal of being known, sexting, we finally get to know about reader's secret tattoos, smut, Joel the Menace makes his long awaited return with that dirty fucking mouth, mutual masturbation, phone sex (??(sure)), protected sex (no Miller babies for them) p in v stuff, June being indulgent with describing Joel Miller, anxiety, I think that's it??
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Music floods the kitchen as you and Andie work on making the best "last supper but with women" possible. The lamps glow orange on the walls and create funny shadows when you dance together, pulling each other in and out to old jazzy tunes. You laugh when she throws a string of spaghetti at your fridge to test if it's ready a little too hard, and it splatters water everywhere. You, honestly, might be a little delirious. You're both in your pajamas, and you've been watching movies all day. You exchange what you remember from New Year's Eve and cringe at what the other fills in. You drink cheap wine from plastic cups and snack on chips as the food cooks. 
It feels like high school again, with all the girlish giggling and inside jokes you trade back and forth, except this time, instead of her going back to her house ten minutes up the road, she's going back to her apartment half the world away. No matter how long you get with her, it's never enough. Thousands of miles and different schedules will do that. Keeping long-distance friendships as an adult is just as hard, if not harder, than making new ones. 
When dinner is ready, you fix your plates and sit next to each other at your messy dining room table— the IKEA one she helped you build when Henry walked out with the first one— and eat. Paint stains the wood of the table, and half-finished works are scattered around the dining room, but you barely notice them as you talk. She tells you about the things waiting for her in Vienna: work, her cat, Oslo, and piano lessons. You don't have to pretend to be envious because you are. You have to go back to school and the Real World once you drop her off at the airport in the morning. You wish you could go with her. 
"Alright, c'mon. Spill it. What's going on with you and Joel?" She asks in between bites of garlic bread. You laugh and shake your head.
"There's nothing to tell."
"Bullshit. Tommy told me he saw you guys."
"Speaking of Tommy," you pivot. "What's going on there? You two seemed pretty chummy." You raise your eyebrows at her, and a big smile takes over her face. She takes another bite of food to buy herself some time, but there's no way you're letting her off the hook, especially after all her teasing about Joel.
"Nothing. We were just… talking." She finally says, and you give her a look. 
"Talking?"
"Yes. People talk. You should try it sometime."
"Was it talking like we are now or talking like Joel and I talked?" You hum, and she kicks her feet as she leans forward.
"So you and Joel did talk." 
"Well, we probably would've if somebody didn't come barging in."
"Goddammit, I told him to wait," she groans. "Sorry, girl."
"Yeah, me too," you say, and she laughs. You bump her knee and give her a look. "Alright, your turn. What's going on with Tommy?" 
"Nothing that could actually turn into anything." 
"Aw, c'mon. Don't count yourself out so early."
"It's not counting myself out. It's being realistic. I live in Vienna. He lives here. I'm not ready to come back to the States, and he seems content, so there's nothing that can happen," she shrugs. "It was a fling. A very nice fling, but a fling nevertheless." She seems a little too sad for it to have been just a fling. They exchanged numbers, and you've caught her texting him several times. She said she did kiss him on New Year's Eve (before she threw up), but they didn't go any further besides flirting the next morning. You watched them test each other at breakfast, and he seemed just as interested in her as she was in him. They'd be cute together. She sighs and pushes her pasta around in her bowl like a dejected character from a period piece.
"Tommy is very handsome." You comment, and she grabs your arm, animating all of a sudden. 
"Dude, I've been dying to talk about it. What the fuck are they putting in the water here? It's insane." 
"It's annoying, right?" 
"So annoying." She agrees. You laugh about it together and, finally, give her the details she's been waiting so patiently for. When you finish your story, her hands are over her mouth, and her eyes are wide. "Oh, my God. You have to get him back."
"I know, I know! He's driving me up a fucking wall." You say, taking a bite of food. It will get cold if you don't stop talking, but you also don't care. 
"You could surprise him with some lingerie or something." She suggests, and you groan. 
"God, I don't even remember the last time I bought lingerie."
"All the more reason to buy some." 
"I don't know. I feel like I could just show up naked, and he'd be happy with that."
"He sounds like a keeper then."
"Yeah, I don't know," you shrug. "I like him a lot. I just… don't know if it's sustainable."
"Why?" She asks. You almost want to gesture around your messy apartment and half-put together life as if it will answer her question.
"I mean, he's a good guy, and we're having fun, but for how long? His kid's gonna be in at least one of my classes until she graduates. Not to mention, he has another daughter who is in medical school. We both work full-time. And then there's the whole having to keep it a secret thing. It could get really old really fast." You sigh. 
"What if it doesn't?"
"What?"
"What if it doesn't get old? What if it ends up working out?" She asks. You take a deep breath. "You didn't even think about that possibility. Did you?"
"I just don't wanna get hurt."
"That's a very real possibility. Things could go wrong. He could break your heart. You could lose your job. Society as we know it could come crashing down, and you know what? The sun's still gonna come up the next day. The birds will still sing, and I will still be here," she says, putting her hand over yours. You purse your lips as you process her words. "You deserve nice things, kid. Don't count yourself out so early." She echoes your earlier sentiment, and you smile.
She's right. Of course, she's right. You don't let yourself think good things could happen because you're so focused on all the bad. She's known you for so long she can read your thoughts and know your habits before you can. What a horrifying and beautiful thing it is to be known inside and out like that. 
"Maybe you should've been a writer instead of a musician," you say, and she laughs. You squeeze her hand and sigh as you look at her. "I'm really gonna miss you."
"I'm really gonna miss you, too."
"I wish you could stay."
"I know," she says. "But you need an excuse to come to Vienna, and I need an excuse to come to Austin, and if I stay, we lose that."
"I guess that's true."
"Besides, if I stop making trans-Atlantic calls, I think my phone company would be concerned." She points out, making you laugh. You know she's telling you what she's told herself this whole time. She loves Vienna, but you know she gets homesick. You know she's trying really hard to convince herself to get back on that plane. You don't push her about staying again. You just indulge in her presence. 
"I love you." You say softly, and she smiles.
"I love you, too." She says. 
It means so much more than just "I love you." It means, "I love you, and I want us both to eat well." It means, "I love you, and I can't imagine doing this life without you." It means, "I love you, and I know you have to go." Never any buts. Always ands, because love like this knows no bounds. Not borders, not time zones, not lifestyles. 
You finish the dinner you made and clean the kitchen side by side before climbing into bed and staying up as late as possible to try and get Andie back on Vienna time. In the morning, you drag yourselves out of bed and sing in the car on the way to get coffee, and when the time comes for you to get her suitcase out of your backseat and watch her disappear behind glass doors, you hug her tight and tell her you love her again. She repeats the sentiment with another squeeze and deep breath that tells you how close to tears she is. Then, she turns around and doesn't look back to prove she's strong enough to leave. She doesn't need to prove anything to you. You always knew she was strong enough to do this.
The car ride back is emotional and lonely and tinged with the bass line of Ribs by Lorde, but your phone buzzes as you pull back into your apartment complex with tears staining your cheeks. 
Thanks for letting us meet Andie. She's a really sweet person. I'm sorry she has to leave today.
You don't remember telling him what day she was leaving, but she might've told Tommy, and Tommy told Joel. You smile and text him back. 
Thanks for taking care of us. She only had good things to say about you and Tommy. We'll have to all hang out again the next time she's home. 
And then.
Thanks for checking on me. I really appreciate it. 
Of course. I'm always a wreck when I have to drop Sarah off at the airport. I'm around if you wanna talk. Ellie's hanging out with some friends, and Tommy's on-site today.
You stare at the messages and debate your options. He basically just told you he's home alone and has nothing to do for the rest of the day. And yes, he is probably being sweet and really offering to talk if you're feeling lonely, but you also know how talking usually goes for you two. You smirk as you type out a message.
Just talk?
It seems like he can't type fast enough.
What else would you wanna do?
I think you made some promises you need to follow through on, Miller.
I guess I did. 
Come over and I can do just that.
Actually, I have some work to get done :( maybe next time?
You lock your phone and bound up to your apartment, conscious of the sudden lengthening of time between messages. It's fun to imagine him trying to come up with a response that respects your boundaries but also lets you know how needy he is. He may have started this little game, but you're gonna be the one to perfect it. Thus begins the days upon days of not sexting, but not not sexting. 
At first, it's just messages about how you miss him and wish he was around. He tries to find an excuse to come over, but you effectively cockblock him at every turn. Your response times get a little slower the more worked up he gets, so he has to figure it out on his own. You never would've thought Joel Miller, a man with gray in his beard and wrinkles lining his face, could be such a fast texter, but you figure there's nothing more desperate than a horny man. 
Messages quickly escalate to pictures. They start off innocent enough: a picture of the painting you're working on, but your bare legs give away the fact that you're not wearing pants, a picture of him stepping out of a hot shower, his bare chest slightly red and glistening from the water, a picture of you wearing the burnt orange shirt he sent you home in New Year's Day with no bra on underneath. Then, you get a little bolder. After a quick trip to the mall, you pose in front of the mirror in a short delicate white night down with pretty lace details on the top, the hem barely hitting the tops of your thighs and showing off the large tattoos hiding there. You look hot, and imagining Joel's reaction to you makes you flush and rub your thighs together to get some relief.
It's true that Joel would've been happy if you showed up to his house wearing (or not wearing) anything, but when the photo pings to his phone, he's never been more grateful for Victoria's Secret in his life. His breath hitches in his throat, and he quickly tucks his phone into his chest like someone is gonna come up behind him and see what he's looking at. He's barely glanced at the photo and he's already straining in his jeans. 
Goddamn, he texts back. You're so fucking pretty, baby.
You like it?
It's a dumb question, but you really don't care.
It's perfect.
What do you like about it?
Besides the fact that you're the one wearing it? I like that it makes you look like more of an angel than you already are, and I like that I can finally see those tattoos you've been hiding from me. 
Bingo, you think to yourself. He was able to catch glimpses of the large pieces hiding on your back and shoulders at the art gallery, and when he picked up on New Year's Eve, you caught him staring at them each time. You thought he was following the inky lines up your body, but you couldn't be sure. Now, he's giving himself away, and you're practically buzzing with excitement.
You turn around in the mirror and arch your back, perfectly showing off your ass and the intricate tattoo lining your spine, and snap a picture. It's one of the largest ones you have, and it's also the easiest to hide. Besides, you definitely didn't get it for your own enjoyment. You live for moments like this. You send him the picture and smile as you type.
Like this one?
Your phone rings not even two minutes after he reads the message. You giggle when he groans into the receiver instead of greeting you.
"You're gonna fuckin' kill me, baby." He says, his voice so deep you can practically feel it rumble against your ear.
"I told you I'd get you back." You say it like it's obvious, but he just hums. There's shuffling on his end, and all you can do is wait for him to say something else.
"What else have you been hidin' underneath all those little dresses, hm?" He asks. "Tattoos. The most fuckin' perfect tits I've ever seen. Anythin' else I should know bout? 'S your pussy as pretty as the rest of ya?" You didn't mean for him to hear you gasp, but he seemed pleased that he could pull such a sound from you without even being in the same room. Just like that, any doubt or reservation you had left flies out the window. You finally cave and slip your hand down your panties to glide your fingers through your folds. "Am I makin' you wet, sweetheart?"
"Fuck," you mumble. It's absurd how turned on you are by this whole thing. Your fingers slowly circle your clit, and your head gets so fuzzy you almost forget to respond to him. "Yes, Joel." 
"Are you playin' with yourself?" He asks, and you nod even though he can't see you. "Poor thing. I wish I could be there to help ya. I'd have you spread open for me so I can touch you however I want. Figure out what you like and what makes you cry for me." You put him on speaker and throw your phone down so you can focus on gliding through your wetness, your middle finger pushing into you slowly.
"What... what would you do?" You ask, breathless. 
"I'd start by usin' my fingers just to feel you out, and I bet you'd feel so fuckin' good. I'd play with your clit until you're beggin' me to put a finger inside you, and I'd slip two in slowly while kissin' your inner thighs and watchin' you squeeze my fingers," you moan as you listen to his raspy voice and fuck yourself to his words. You try to imagine what his fingers would feel like inside of you. How different compared to yours, how much better they'd feel. Goddammit. "Then, I'd use my mouth on you while my fingers move in and out. I'd lick you all over and feel you soakin' me when I suck on your clit." He says, and you return to rubbing said bundle of nerves, faster this time, as you become acutely aware of his labored breathing over the phone. 
Is he touching himself? The idea of him holding the phone with one hand and fisting his cock with the other sends a wave of heat down your spine, and you keen into your own hand. A shaky breath and muttered curse leave his lips, and then you know for sure what he's doing. Your head spins, and you'd be embarrassed by how close you are just from his voice if you weren't entirely focused on the pleasure clouding your brain. 
"Fuck, Joel-"
"I know, baby, I know," he coos sympathetically. Another lewd moan leaves you as you get closer and closer to the edge, stars threatening the corners of your vision. "Are you gonna come for me like this?" He asks, and you hum in the affirmative, not trusting yourself to form words. "Come on. Let me hear you. I wanna hear what you sound like when you fall apart." His voice is coming faster and breathier, a light growl at the end of his words. How are you to deny him that? 
The speed of your fingers on your clit increases, but it's his own broken whimpers that finally do it. Your back arches as the waves wash over you, and noises you didn't even know you could make escape your lips. You can vaguely hear a broken sigh accentuated by a particularly hot whine from Joel's end. Henry was never as vocal or talkative as Joel is. None of your past partners have been. In the aftershocks of your orgasm, you have a quick passing thought that he might ruin dating for you. You might never want to see anyone else who doesn't treat you like this. You might be fucked.
"Joel," you say when you have control over your thoughts again. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat.
"Yeah?"
"Get the fuck over here now."
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Joel's house is on the other side of Austin. With traffic, getting to your apartment can take anywhere from twenty to forty-five minutes, depending on how fast you're willing to go and how many red lights you can pass under. Joel gets there in fifteen. You're still in the flouncy dress you bought specifically to torture him, but by the time you open the door for him, you're much less interested in making his life any more miserable than you already have over the past week. 
He doesn't hesitate to charge into your apartment, grab your face, and kiss you like his life depends on it. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open to him, clinging to him as his hands move from your face to the backs of your thighs to pick you up. You squeal in surprise and lock your legs around his waist to bring him closer and keep yourself from falling. Even though he obviously came over the phone at the same time you did, he's hard again and pressing against your bare pussy. He hisses when you grind against him, and his jaw clenches as he pulls away like he's in pain.
"Where's your bedroom?" He asks, wide eyes searching the hallway behind you.
"First door on the left." You say as you duck your head to kiss his neck. He sighs and indulges in the feeling of your tongue against his skin before he finally finds his feet and stumbles into your bedroom. You're halfway through marking him before he lays you down and immediately rucks his hands up your thighs, spreading them apart and making you whine. 
"You okay?" He asks, stopping all movement to scan over your face for any signs of discomfort. You nod and reach for the buttons of his jeans.
"Yes. Just need you." You say. 
"Are you sure?" 
"Joel, I just came from the sound of your voice. Yes, I'm fucking sure." You say, a little frenzied as you pull at the hem of his shirt. He laughs as he pulls it over his head and quickly unzips his jeans. 
"Feisty." 
"Can you blame me?" You ask, and he shakes his head. He tugs his jeans and his briefs down at the same time and unveils all of him to you in one go. He's beautiful. You knew he would be, but seeing the graying chest hairs and the pretty happy trail leading down to his hard cock in between his strong, tan thighs is an entirely different thing. You reach for him, desperate to feel the weight of him in your hands, but he stops you by slipping the tiny straps of your night gown down your arms. 
He carefully pulls the fabric down your body until it's pooled next to his clothes on the floor. His eyes fall to the black lines wrapping around your shoulders, and he draws his eyes to your collarbones and sternum, his breathing stuttering at the sight of you laid out under him. 
"So much prettier than I imagined." He murmurs as he ducks his head to kiss the valley between your breasts. You smile and run your hands through his curls as he mouths at your chest, leaving red marks in his wake and making you press him closer.
"How many times have you thought about this?" You ask. Has he always wanted you in the way you've wanted him? You're almost positive he has. There's no other way to explain the reverence with which he's looking at you. He's so wrapped up in you it's almost suffocating. Every time you glance at his face, he's staring at you with soft eyes and blown pupils. 
"Lost count." There it is. The confirmation. You grab at his ribs to bring him closer, pulling him over you to kiss him slow and deep. Despite the heat of him against you and the ache between your thighs, you both take the time to savor it. That is until his overthinking takes over. "I didn't bring a condom. Fuck, I was in a rush. I didn't think." He says quickly, like he's waiting for you to back out or push him away. You bring your thumb up to the worried wrinkle between his eyebrows and smooth it away, kissing his jaw.
"You think I would get you all worked up to not be prepared? C'mon, baby," you turn the nickname around on him, and he leans into your hand like a cat. "Top drawer." You say. He scrambles to your bedside table and grabs the first one he can find as you move onto all fours while he's distracted. You listen for the foil ripping and the subtle sound of the latex fitting over him. You can't stop the smirk from forming when he looks up and sees the sight in front of him.
"Fuckin' Hell," he mutters. Your back is arched perfectly, your hair gathered over your shoulder, and the tattoo you got done so many years ago is on display for him. "You are so goddamn perfect." He says as he presses his chest into your back and kisses your shoulder. He plants a few more kisses across your neck and back, making you wait longer than you already have, and just when you think you're going crazy, he slowly pushes into you and punches all the air from your lungs. 
He's big. Bigger than anyone you've been with before, and he seems to know that. He rolls his hips, and you moan, gripping at the sheets under you for stability as you adjust. His breathing is ragged behind you, and he groans when you involuntarily clench around him. "You okay?" He asks, his voice straining. His patience and self-control should be fucking studied. 
"Yeah, I'm okay." You assure him, and he nods. He starts to move slowly at first, but when you start whining and shaking under him, he snaps. You're both impatient. Months of following the rules and caring about what other people could think or say tumble out of your heads as he sets a rough pace. You've been dreaming about this and pushing it away since he walked into your classroom that day, and now that it's happening, you can't hide how desperate you are for him. You cry his name as he fucks into you deeply, no part of your bodies not touching, but it's still not close enough.
"You're so fuckin' good for me, baby. Jesus fuck," he moans into your ear, his uneven breaths echoing into your skull. "You feel so good." 
He sits back and brings you with him, changing the angle and forcing him deeper inside of you as his hand snakes around your waist and dips to play with your clit. You curse loudly and dig your nails into his forearm as bright pleasure courses through your veins. "'M gonna come if you keep doing that," you warn, your voice high and strained as he adds a little more pressure. 
"C'mon, honey, come on my cock for me. Please, I want it." It could be the slight whine in his voice or the fact that he's begging you for it, or the fact that the tight circles he's rubbing into your clit are making you see stars, but you come hard. You rely on him to hold you upright as he fucks you through your high, the slick between your thighs growing as his own orgasm washes over him, and he moans directly in your ear, an unexpected but not unpleasant gift. You think you could get off again just to the sounds he makes when he's coming. 
You stay like that for a second, wrapped up in each other and breathing hard with him still inside you, before he finally finds the courage to slip out of you with only a tiny pained moan. He carefully guides you onto your back, your bones jelly, and kisses your cheek before he pads off to the bathroom to throw away the used condom. 
It's quiet again in the apartment, but it's not lonely anymore. He makes himself at home in your space, asking if he can get water and snacks from your kitchen and walking around naked as the day he was born. "I wanna make sure you've got enough energy for round two." He says, making you laugh.
"Are you finally gonna make good on your promise to take your time with me?" 
"Fuck yeah." He says, coming back to kiss your lips one more time before walking to the kitchen. It's like if he goes a few minutes without tasting you, he can't function, or at least, that's what he makes it seem like. You're more than receptive to the attention and can only watch as he walks around. Your trust in your legs is not strong enough to get up just yet. 
In the domestic silence, it would be easy for your mind to run rampant with rogue thoughts and anxieties, but when Joel returns to the bedroom with snacks, bottles of water, and those stupidly sweet eyes, they get pushed to the back burner. He gets under the covers and pulls you into him, his warm body grounding you to this moment and not letting your thoughts stray. He presses kisses to your hair and your face every so often as you talk about everything and nothing. 
Somehow, it feels natural, like you've been doing this the whole time or like everything was leading up to this. Maybe it was. Still, you'll need to talk about this. You know you will.
Just... not yet.
TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @maried01
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utterlyotterlyx · 22 days
Note
Hi!!! I can request a modern!azriel x reader in which he likes her, but all his attempts to get close to her have been thwarted because they got off on the wrong foot. Then someone tells him that she's part of a book club and he starts joining just to get closer to her and the rest is up to you :)
Ooooooo I love this! x
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New Pages
Modern!Az x Reader
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Warnings - swearing, angst, pining, fluff, cutie Az
I have not proof read this so I apologise in advance for any mistakes x
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And in that moment, I swear we were infinite.
The background of your phone screen harmonised with the words inscribed on the flesh of your arm. You were bundled under blankets, pillows cushioning your back, and your eyes scanned the plethora of words in front of you, your tea long forgotten on the window ledge.
Your sorority house was teaming with girlish laughter, the quick padding down the hallways and the dull melodic thump of Nesta's bass told you one thing, the house party Mor had insisted on throwing for Feyre's birthday was going to start soon, and you hadn't even thought about getting ready.
Would they realise if you didn't go? It was completely possible to throw your earbuds in and lock your bedroom door...
That train of thought was interrupted when the said birthday girl sprang through your door, "You're not ready?!" Feyre squeaked, large rollers were pinned in her hair and she stood at the foot of your bed with fake eyelashes in one hand and a small vial of glue in the other.
"I lost track of time," you told her, curling your legs underneath you and laying your book down open on the bed so that you could pick up right where you left off, "Also, have you ever heard of knocking?"
"We don't knock," she quipped, throwing herself down on the bed and sighing, "This doesn't have anything to do with him does it?"
"With who?"
"Oh, come on, Y/N. You know who," she prodded your side and you groaned, folding your arms over your chest whilst Feyre applied glue to the thin onyx lash line, "If it helps, I really don't think he knew you were behind that door," she blew lightly on the lash, party drying the glue and used your mirror to fix it to her right eye.
You winced at the memory, your fingers ghosting over the bridge of your nose that had only days before returned to its normal hue, "I've only just gotten rid of that bruise, all the concealer in the world couldn't hide that mess."
"Still," she blinked, "I really don't think he did it on purpose. Rhys said he felt really bad."
"Like he felt bad after the time he ran over my foot on that stupid motorcycle? I missed the Van Gogh exhibit because of that bullshit."
"Y/N..." Feyre drawled, exasperated with you and your excuses, "Please just get dressed," she had applied the other eyelash to her left eye and pushed them into place before turning to you with a smirk, "Before I let Mor in here."
"Okay, I'm up."
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All of the entangled grinding bodies did little to soothe your anxiety.
You'd never been much of a party girl, and you had only joined the sorority because Mor and Feyre had insisted upon it. Lights strobed against the pale pink glittery banners and balloons that Elain had spent all day carefully throwing up whilst Nesta enlisted Cassian to get all of the booze.
The seating area in the centre of the room was brimming with all of the faces that you knew, Rhys with Feyre sat on his lap adorning a pathetic plastic tiara on the crown of her head, Mor wedged next to them with her legs strung over Emerie's thighs, Amren chatting away to Elain and Lucien on the far sofa, Nesta making sex eyes at Cassian, and then there was him.
Azriel.
The lights reflected off his smooth skin, tussled onyx short hair that looked somewhat windswept, hazel eyes and his strong jaw ticking as he searched the room before his eyes landed on you, finding you in the ocean of bodies surrounding where they all sat.
"Y/N!" A voice shouted to you over the crowd, red wine hair and amber eyes, she held her hand out to you and you clutched onto it, allowing her to pull you through into a small clearing by the stairs.
"Thanks, Bryce," she smirked over her shoulder at you, plucking two drinks from Hunt's hands and placing one in your grip.
Bryce was one of Nesta's friends that you had met when she had joined your art history class after a timetable mix up, you'd been pretty close since, you studied with Bryce in the library and Hunt occasionally joined as did Bryce's brother, Ruhn.
"Don't mention it," she clinked her glass against yours and you both downed half of the liquid, clearly you had some catching up to do from taking as long as possible to get ready, only joining the party when Nesta had sent you a snappy text about kicking your ass down the stairs if you didn't show your face in the next five minutes.
"Hey Athalar," he grinned at you, muttering a hello as he gave you a side hug. Hunt liked you a lot, you were good for Bryce, you were gentle and timid, but had a thunderous passion for the things you loved. Bryce was one of those things.
Bryce gave you a once over. A sleek white dress clung to your figure, every curve accentuated perfectly by the clean cut fabric that reached just below you ass, giving a perfect view of your legs. Black heeled boots were laced onto your feet, hair styled into effortless waves, and your makeup was simple and natural, highlighting your cheekbones and lips. Bryce approved.
Bryce smirked, noticing the pair of violet eyes that crept up behind you, they wrapped their arms around your waist and hoisted you in the air, placing you over their shoulder and twirling you around, chuckling as you squeaked in surprise, "Put me down, Ruhn!" With a light tap on your ass, Ruhn obliged and put you back on your feet.
Ruhn always looked good, long hair pulled back into a low messy bun, the sides always shaved, tattoos flowing up and down his arms, tan skin, taut muscle, tank top and cargo jeans. So good.
"Can't help myself," he slid an arm around your shoulder and pressed a kiss to your temple, "You look beautiful."
The elder sibling had always pined after you, he would wait in the courtyard outside of the art building to walk you back to the house, he'd bring you breakfast on a Sunday, he'd even taken you to your first football game.
"Thank you, Ruhn," you leaned into him and smiled, tuning back into the conversation between Bryce and Hunt, and the newly arrived Tristan Flynn, paying little attention to the burning hot hazel gaze that branded into your back.
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There had been too many times where Az had fucked up.
Running over your foot was an accident that led to the spiralling mess that was your relationship, and every time he had tried to make up for it, it just kept on getting worse. Chocolates? Turns out you were allergic to nuts and blew up like a balloon. Coffee? He'd spilt the oat chai latte all over your brand new summer dress and ruined it. The movies? He had miscounted the group and forgot to get yours, and by then there were no tickets left. And then the door. That stupid fucking door. Azriel was so busy talking to Feyre about you that he didn't see you on the other side and smashed it right into your face.
Every time Azriel tried to talk to you, to voice how sorry he was and how stupidly in love with you he was, he fucked it up.
So yeah, he didn't blame you for hating him.
"Wanna stare a little harder, Az?"
Azriel turned his head slightly, forcing himself to look away from Ruhn's arm around you and his lips by your ear, whispering who knows what to you. At least the bruises under your eyes and around your nose had cleared, enough that you no longer winced when you smiled.
"She seems a little off today," he said to no one in particular, letting his words float into the air in hope someone would tell him why.
Azriel had spent a good amount of time studying you and your little quips, the face you'd make when you were concentrating, how many cups of tea you'd make after leaving them somewhere and forgetting about them, even your morning routines on your way to class.
Mor threw herself down beside him, the sofa cushion hissing out under her weight, "She missed book club tonight, she loves book club," Mor's eyes were glazed over, a sloppy smirk pulled at her lips.
"Book club?" Azriel asked, he knew you loved reading, but he never knew that you went to an actual book club.
"Yeah, you know, a place where people talk about the books they've been reading?," Nesta scoffed when Azriel flipped her off, she continued, "This week was meant to be the first session about The Perks of Being a Wallflower, it's her favourite," Nesta stirred her drink with her straw, "Just in case you wanted to make a gesture."
Azriel nodded, his eyes finding you again, "Thanks, Nes."
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Azriel was fiddling idly with his fingers as people began to file into the room clutching copies of the book you loved so much, the same book that he had rushed out to get the morning after Feyre's party so that he could read it in time to talk to you about it.
Walls of books lined the room, dainty oak tables and arm chairs scattered around in a circle with blankets folded neatly over the arms. Warm fairy lights lit the ceiling, and Azriel understood why you must have been sad to have missed the last session.
He heard your laugh before he saw you, he saw the edges of your skirt that kissed the floorboards and allowed his sight to roam upward until he found your eyes wide and full of surprise, stuck in the doorway. You soon shook off the surprise and took a seat at the other side of the circle, looking to him occasionally with confusion.
"What quote resonated with you the most, Azriel? There are a lot to choose from."
You had looked to him then, really looked at him, not with hatred or any form of disgust, but with pure curiosity, bright shiny curiosity.
"It's much easier to not know things sometimes. Things change and friends leave. And life doesn't stop for anybody. I wanted to laugh. Or maybe get mad. Or maybe shrug at how strange everybody was, especially me. I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life and then make the choice to share it with other people. You can't just sit their and put everybody's lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can't. You have to do things. I'm going to do what I want to do. I'm going to be who I really am. And I'm going to figure out what that is. And we could all sit around and wonder and feel bad about each other and blame a lot of people for what they did or didn't do or what they didn't know. I don't know. I guess there could always be someone to blame. It's just different. Maybe it's good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there. Because it's okay to feel things. I was really there. And that was enough to make me feel infinite. I feel infinite."
Azriel had recited the passage perfectly, he didn't even need to open the book and turn to the page. He just knew it. His voice was so deep and spoke emotion into every word, like he was in a trance.
The session had wrapped up and you had kept your distance during the breaks, seemingly lost in a world of thought, so Azriel thought it would be best to leave you alone. If the baby step in your relationship simply was having you look at him with anything but hatred, then he'd take it, he didn't want to push it.
"Azriel, wait!" Your voice called to him and he froze on the grass outside of the art building, turning slowly to face you as you jogged across the plain toward him, your skirt flowing in the wind behind you.
You looked pretty, you always did, but in the moonlight, with your hair tied back and loose threads falling over your face, with the two sizes too big jumper drowning your figure, he thought you looked ethereal.
"I didn't know you liked reading," you had said once you stopped in front of him, holding your favourite book to your chest.
"I don't talk about it."
"Right, it's just Feyre never mentioned it," you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and smiled up at him with a tilted head, examining him.
Azriel took a step toward you, one hand in his pocket and another holding onto his own copy, "Why would Feyre mention it?"
"I, I don't know actually," you mumbled, slightly flustered, you were adorable when you were flustered, "Is that your first time reading it?"
"Yeah, it was great. I see why it's your favourite."
"How do you know that?" A smirk tugged at your lips, ones that he wished he could taste, just once, so that he could tell the devil he had been to heaven without ever stepping foot there.
"Nesta may have said something."
"Ah," you kicked the air, shivering at the cold breeze that brushed past you, "Would you like to borrow my copy? I left notes in the margins that you might like."
Azriel glanced at your outstretched hand, he looked at the book with the dented spine from the countless times it had been explored, the frayed edges and the faint hue of blue ink that peeked out from one of the pages. He took it from you with a smile, "Can I, uh, walk you back?"
A moment of silence beat its heart and you hummed, "I think I'd like that."
"Right, great," he told you as you began to walk off, quickening his pace to fall in line with you.
You smelt of summer rain of freshly cut grass, of jasmine and orchid, a mind altering scent, "You know that I never meant to run over your foot last year right?"
"Or spill coffee over my dress? Or smack my face with that door?"
"Yeah, I haven't been very smooth," you laughed, actually laughed at him, with him, and it was an intoxicating sound, one of pure joy and happiness, "I never meant to hurt you."
"I believe you," the stars shone in the sky and you looked up at them, a smile ghosting at your lips, "I'm ready to turn a new page if you are?"
"I'm all about turning new pages."
You leaned into him, nudging him softly with your elbow, "Let's see what you've got then, Shadowsinger."
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Authors Note
I really hope this is what you were wanting!
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saturnsorbits · 8 months
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Don't Ask, Don't Get
Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Talk of Losing Virginity, Virgin!Reader, FuckBoy!Kirishima-ish, Suggestive, Teasing, Word Count: 1.1k.
Summary: Kirishima has a reputation. You still have your virginity. How about that, huh?
A/N: Did I finally write something after all this time? Yes. Is it also mostly unfinished and very short? Also, yes. Will there be a part two? Maybe.
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The clock on the wall ticks. It's an ugly thing, gimmicky, with thick, oddly carved arms poking out from either side. For a moment you just watch it, listening to the rhythmic beat of its arms as they shift counting down one minute, then two. You squint. It's ten minutes early, like someone has deliberately set the time to induce a constant state of minor panic.
Which is, from where you're sitting, pretty damn unneeded.
Perched on the edge of the bed, you feel pretty out of place amongst the scattered dumbbell weights and hanging medals. It's to be expected, of course. After all, this isn't your room and it's certainly not your bed.
No.
It's the bed of a boy.
And, not just any boy...
Kirishima Eijirou leaves the bathroom encased in a thick layer of steam. His hair is wet, having just showered, and down, it's ends tickling the tanned skin of his shoulders. The towel around his waist is tied poorly, dipping so low on his hips that the start of his dense thicket of pubic hair is clearly visible. He rakes a hand through his hair causing the muscle of his bicep to tense and the meat of his pec to stretch and jiggle.
It makes your stomach feel funny.
'So...' Flashing his signature bright smile, he digs a hand into the curve of his hip drawing your eye to the defined dips there. 'What did you want to talk about?'
I…’ You clear the dryness from your throat. ‘I was talking to Mina.’
‘Oh no.’ Kirishima grins. His eyebrows arc playfully on his forehead.
His mood is infectious and you find yourself sharing his smile; you’re not sure you’d be able to resist it if you tried. There’s something about him that makes you feel at ease, allowing you to sink deeper into his mattress as a girlish chuckle slips from your lips. ‘She…’ You swallow. ‘Well, we were talking and -.’
Kirishima rolls his shoulders, causing his still wet skin to shine softly in the light.
The motion steals your thoughts and ruins your confidence. ‘She said she knew you in middle school…’ You cringe. It’s not a lie. That was how the conversation had started after all. How it had ended, however and the reason you’d found yourself in Kirishima’s room at almost midnight on a Tuesday in your only pair of fancy, matching underwear… Was a different matter entirely.
If he notices the sudden, awkward detour in the conversation, he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he laughs. A full bodied rumble vibrates through his chest, eliciting a chuckle that is half-kitten, half-avalanche. ‘Yeah. I was - uh - I was pretty different back then.’
You know. You’ve seen pictures on Mina’s phone. Back then, Kirishima had been small, with a mop of black hair and a smile that never saw the light. It’s a far cry from who he is now… Big, bright and boisterous. 'Yeah...'
'Did you and Mina talk about anything else?' He cocks an eyebrow, his large palms digging into the flesh of his hips.
'Yeah, we... We -.' You can feel his gaze on you, gentle and piercing all at once, but he doesn't force you to talk. Instead, he waits, patient, with that smile on his face that makes you want to know what it would be like to sit on it.
There's a sparkle in his eyes when he licks over his lower lip and rumbles. 'C'mon, you know you can just ask, right?'
All of the embarrassment in your body flames in your face. You can feel it bubbling there, threatening to make you do something stupid as you look up at the boy with a too bright smile and a cock that you've been promised will ruin you. 'I -.'
Taking a measured step forward, Kirishima leaves barely an inch between your knees. His smile is still blinding, but now, there's something new wedged in-between his teeth. 'You know...' Nudging at your knee with his, he encourages open your legs and steps between them. 'Mina and I have known each other forever.' Reaching down, he hooks a finger underneath your chin and presses his thumb to the bump of your lower lip. 'We talk too.'
A shiver breaks out down your spine making you feel too hot and too cold all at once. The hold he has on your face, although gentle, feels like a choke hold. The pads of his fingers calloused, keeping you easily at his mercy. 'I -.'
'So, just ask.'
His new proximity makes you dizzy as one million and on thoughts are sent speeding through your head at once. It's hard to think, hard to comprehend anything that isn't the rough of Kirishima's hand and the purr of his voice as he looks down on you sweetly, waiting with a patience you'd thought impossible. Swallowing, you loosen your tongue, but what leaps from your mouth is far from the question you'd wanted to ask. 'I'm a virgin.'
'Yeah?'
The bright sparkling you'd mistaken for curiosity has returned to his eyes, but now, there's something else laced within their red seas. It makes your chest tight and your pulse sink, migrating lower than you've ever felt it before. Instead of answering, you nod.
'Do you think that bothers me, sweetheart?' He coos. The hand curled under your chin tips, forcing your face further up. From this position, there's no avoiding his eye, forcing you to gaze right at him as he smirks.
A whine breaks through the seam of your lips, surprising even you as you feel yourself beginning to slip. You've never felt like this, both helpless and secure at the same time, but the way his eyes seem to glow when he looks at you has you treading air. He hasn't even touched you yet.
His eyes burn dark, hungry, as he lets his gaze slip down your body. A cool smirk itches at the side of his mouth, pulling his lip just enough to expose the ends of sharp teeth. As if reading your thoughts, Kirishima taps his thumb against your lip. Leaning down, he closes in until he can feel the soft pants of your breath fan against his cheeks.
'Because it doesn't.'
You squeak. His cheeks have warmed, giving his boyish charm an added highlight as the vulgarity slips easily from his tongue. It contrasts with the sweetness still lingering in his smile, promising so much more than his boyish charm.
'Use your words... C'mon, tell me what you want.'
'I...' You swallow. Between the heat already building in your stomach and the embarrassment coiled low, you're tongue tied, but you know you're not going to get what you want without asking for it – he's made that more than clear. 'I... I - want you to fuck me...'
He chuckles, tilting his head. 'Yeah?..'
You fidget in the space he leaves. 'Please?'
'Oh.' Kirishima's eyes blow wide, a wicked smile pulling at the edge of his lip. 'Look at you using your manners...' He licks at his teeth. 'I think we're going to have a lot of fun, Sweetheart.'
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-> Masterlist
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wisteria-blooms · 8 months
Text
*NSFW* strawberry wonderland (ii) (bill weasley & reader)
*MINORS DNI!*
PAIRING: Bill Weasley/You SUMMARY: Unbeknownst to you, you have more of an effect on Bill than you could ever imagine. And he can't stop thinking about all the things he wants to do to you in Nice. WARNINGS: sex, fingering, oral, masturbation, unprotected sex
A/N: To get me out of a writer's block, I present you this. I've only read it over it once so I'll fix any mistakes as I go. I hope this doesn't ruin long hair & tattoos for you... it doesn't need to be part of the original series if you don't want it to be. It's set after Bill and Reader arrive in Nice.
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STRAWBERRY WONDERLAND (II)
Strawberries.
That’s what you smelt like to Bill Weasley. And very much overwhelmingly so as you nestled into his arm, preparing to disembark the ship that had just docked the nauseatingly rocky French shores. He attributed it to all the fresh strawberries you crushed up at the bar. 
“What kind of liquor do you reckon goes well with this?” you asked, holding up the bleeding purée to his face. 
‘Anything that would get you to kiss me,’ a voice in his head willed him to say. He swatted that thought away and instead replied, “Rum.” All his family recipes and all his female cousins’ favourite girlish drinks came to mind.
“Hm.” You turned away from him and perused the shelf for the highest of top-shelf rum. “And what else?”
“Maybe some simple syrup, a dash of lime and—,”
You slammed a bottle of rum on the table and twisted it open. Bill closed his mouth and let you speak. “Keep rambling and one might think you’re an expert at cocktails or something of that sort.”
“You asked me!” Bill said in defense, a chuckle erupting from his lips. A lush haze was concentrating in your eyes from the wine you’d inhaled the moment you boarded the ship. Bill figured his taller and heavier figure was better in diffusing the alcohol than your smaller one. 
“Whatever,”—you slid the cup of strawberry puree towards him—“let’s just drink.”
And now the scent of fresh strawberries, lime, and wine lingered on your person, stuck to it like summer honey. It was the most heavenly of scents. He imagined it would be most concentrated on your lips and tongue, and he would risk everything—a lot—to test that hypothesis. And what if that old saying were true? ‘You are what you eat.’
Would you taste like strawberries elsewhere, dare he dream, on another pair of lips?
“Do you think we had too much?” you asked him, snapping him out of his dirty reverie where he was in between your legs. “I might be sick.”
“I’m sure the sea made it worse,” he reassured you, letting you grip him tightly. He looked back at the relentless waves. Merlin, if you kept touching and squeezing his arm, he wasn’t going to make it until after you left. “And you best recover before your dinner tonight.”
“Right—ooh.” You drew the last vowel, lips rounding, which sent a chill up Bill’s spine.
Then when you let out a deep sigh into the crook of his arm, he found himself at war with himself. He looked down at your eyelashes, fluttering down to cover your eyes and traced your pouty pink lips. You were the sweetest, most innocent thing at twenty-three years old. And he didn’t realize how much desire had stirred up inside him in the past few months that he now really wanted to kiss you—Oh, what was he sugarcoating his own private thoughts for? He wanted nothing more than to fuck you.
He just wanted to know what your innocence would feel on him and his experience. But he couldn’t. He was much too old, much too tainted compared to the likes of you. What he wanted was above any voice of reason. 
Fuck it, he was tempted by the thought of ruining you. 
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Bill Weasley had to wonder how he got himself in this tricky predicament as he settled into a bed miles away from home. With age came maturity and emotional growth, right? At thirty-one, he had years to leap over and meet his milestones. Clearly, he missed a couple landmarks because he felt as if he was trapped in the body of a fourteen-old boy who’d discovered pornography à la Wicked Witches Weekly for the first time.
Everything in his mind was just wrong, wrong, wrong. 
After the whole debacle with you walking in on him mid-shower complaining that your own room had flooded and him checking that it really had, you’d insisted on taking the couch in his own room. He pulled off his shirt and shut the lamp off. Then, he laid on his left side and tried to make out your figure on the couch.
He shouldn’t be thinking about having sex with you as you were peacefully asleep a few metres from him. He was supposed to be the epitome of your older, more mature (pretend) boyfriend who could will away an inopportune erection at any time. But what was consuming his mind right now was, well, the fictitious scenario where you did agree to share a bed with him tonight. There wouldn’t be a cold and empty space beside him. You’d be right up against him, unknowingly grinding up against his aching nether region as you combed through a bad dream, and teased out his erection further as a result. The fantasy echoed in his mind again and again until sleep finally caught up with him.
“Ngh, Bill,” you whined, your voice thick with sleep. 
You nestled into the cove of pillows, trying to chase away your bad dream. Your body followed suit. Your ass was turned towards him, giving him full permission and the ability to grind against you. He meant to be gentle, but his thrusts—like his breathing—were growing more rapid and frantic.
His hands weaved their way past your loose cotton top and landed atop your naked breasts. He was grateful that your shirt was cut so loose and short. His hands latched onto your breasts tightly, mainly out of lust and secondarily to find an anchor for his writing body. His calloused fingers began their usual routine of teasing your nipples. He pinched them occasionally as he continued to rub his stiff cock on your behind. You were responsive, both in the soft moans that left your lips only to be subdued by the pillows, and the wetness collecting in your cunt.
Your panties were fucking soaked. Bill could detail your folds through the slickness, and feel your spilling entrance through the thin fabric. And that thin fabric was the only thing preventing him from thrusting his full length into you. You writhed harshly when he pinched your left nipple again. The nub was standing at full attention for him. 
“What do you think?” asked Bill, voice husky as he asked in your ear. “Can you take my cock or will I have to stretch that tight pussy out?”
You responded with nothing more than shaky breath. You grinded against him, trying to shove your panties aside. “....want… your big cock inside me, Bill.”
That was all the confirmation he needed. 
One of his hands hastily left your breasts in pursuit of your panties. He shoved one side to join the other which gave him freedom to trail the head of cock against your cunt. How much better you felt without a fabric barrier was indescribable. The precum leaking from the tip of his cock met your own wetness. He felt like he was being enveloped in silk. And your opening swelled as if inviting him in, begging him to fill you up with his endless cum and impregnate you.
He dove two fingers straight into you, just to really confirm you were ready. He immediately began curling his fingers inside you, feeling the engorged, sensitive area inside that drove you wild.
“Your cock, Bill,” you whined.
His hand was drenched when he pulled his fingers out. Immediately, he replaced the emptiness with his cock. With one thrust, he entered you. You let out a sharp gasp. He knew his size was hard to take, and it always took you a minute or two to adjust to him. But he knew how much you wanted him to ruin you, begging him to fill you up to the hilt. And he could only oblige in those moments, watching as your eyes rolled back every time your orgasm washed over you. 
“Please,” you begged through gasps. “I need… need all of you inside me.”
Bill flipped you over so your face was pressed against the pillows. His hands spread your ass cheeks apart. He could see the tight ring of muscle that was clenched around his thick cock. He was really stretching you out. And as much as it hurt him to do, he pulled out.
“No,” you whined, your hand flying back to find and guide him back into you. 
“Patience,” he commanded. 
He ran the tip of his cock up and down your folds, gathering enough lubrication to meet your increasing demands. And when he felt it was sufficient, he slid himself back into you, pushing past the drier spot that was cutting him off halfway.
“Yes, that’s it, ah—,” you moaned, meeting him halfway for the last couple inches. Your ass raised in the air, desperate for more of him. You held yourself up with your elbows, using them to anchor yourself as you pushed back on him. You worked through the part of him that was thicker than the rest. It was always tricky, but how fast you got there depended on how horny you were, and tonight, you were insatiable.
“Fuck,” he whispered, feeling himself being enveloped by more of your sweet cunt. You were so helpless and needy for him. When he looked down again, he realized he was completely sheathed inside you. He began thrusting, the first couple of seconds working at a steady pace. He earned a few moans. Then, he pulled himself all the way out only to fill you completely again. 
“Bill!” you screamed. Your legs trembled as you clenched around him. He did it again, and again, so hard and fast, aching to hear those delicious screams. Wetness dribbled down your thighs and onto the sheets as you lost yourself in the pleasure. 
“Stop, Bill, I’m going to cum—”
Bill woke up with a jolt. His chest heaved up and down and his breathing was significantly laboured. When he grew accustomed to where he was—the Malfoy summer house in Nice—he looked over to you. You were buried under your covers, blissfully unaware of the lewd positions he held you in in his dreams. He hoped you didn’t hear his breathing, or that he hadn’t said anything weird in his sleep. 
He felt a severe ache between his legs. He had feeling this was the most intense erection he’d had in ages. He already knew he was intensely red and swollen. 
Maybe he needed to have sex with someone, anything that wasn’t his own damn hand, but he wasn’t fond of an anonymous hookup.
Curiously, he reached past the waistband of his briefs, looking for some sense of relief. He was pulsating hard and it was barely what, seven in the morning? He gave himself a stroke, gripping hard at the base and letting go near his wet tip. He suppressed a moan. An image of you, edging him with your tongue, came to mind. 
No, he couldn’t do this with you in the room. It would be most improper and he had to hold himself to a higher standard. Instead, he grabbed a newspaper on his nightstand. It was two days out-of-date, but he figured he should get up to speed with what was going on in Egypt. He was certain that reading about excavations and pyramids and uprisings would take his mind off things. 
Not more than a few minutes later, he heard some ruffling and kicking about on the couch.
“Morning,” Bill greeted.
“Good morning,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “How’d you sleep?”
“Very well,” he responded. A fucking bold-faced lie. “You?”
“I slept well, too.”
You were all bed-headed, doe-eyed innocence in the white sheets and he was corrupt was hell.  
You got on your feet and pushed open the curtains, letting the sun fully stream in. Bill gulped silently, watching your legs sway around the room. Fortunately for his sanity, you had on some white shorts. Unfortunately, they were so short that any unplanned movement could reveal your panties, and he wouldn’t be able to stop there. 
“We usually eat breakfast together downstairs," you yawned, covering your mouth, “but maybe some caffeine is in order first. I’m still waking up.”
“A morning swim is the best way to do that,” Bill suggested. He was really treading a fine line with that suggestion; he was adding fuel to his own wildfires. He really loved the idea of a morning swim, he really did. But there was the bonus aspect of you having to be properly suited for the occasion, and you weren’t going to do it in those itty-bitty shorts and a tank top.  
“It’s one of the things I miss about Egypt that we don’t have back home. And it helps quell the heat, too.” He, honest to Merlin, did do this in Egypt. But not for any underlying reasons. 
“That’s a good idea,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do that.”
When you arrived at the private stretch of beach, Bill watched as you slowly unwrapped yourself from the shawl you had on. When you found the will to submerge yourself, even if it was just a toe, he approached from behind you.
“Gently grazing the water isn’t the definition of a swim, you know,” he said, lightly tapping the inward curve of your bare hip.
“I know,” you mumbled back, a tinge of pink on your cheeks. 
He jumped in without thinking and you soon followed suit. He submerged his whole body into the pristine waters of the French Riviera. When he resurfaced, he was treated to a view he was sure he didn’t deserve. 
The wet, white material of your bikini clung onto the skin of your breasts like it was a matter of life or death. Drops of water dotted down your cleavage, slowly, tantalizingly so. The weight of the water dragged your bikini straps down, giving him an expansive view of your breasts. And was that an erect nipple poking through? The cold water must’ve teased it out. 
Yeah, the swim was a bloody awful idea. 
“You’ll never catch me, (Y/N),” he teased. He sent another wave of water towards you to stall you, laughing as you squeezed your eyes shut and sputtered.
“This means war, Bill!” you cried. You outstretched your arms to pull him back towards you. You were aided by a little current that carried you closer and your fingers finally made contact with his strong shoulders
“Ha!” you exclaimed, your fingertips getting a grip on him. “You’ll be sorry!”
He held his breath as he fell back into the water with you on top of him. When he felt sand and little pebbles dig into his back, he knew you’d both arrived on shore. Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw you directly on top of him. Your wet hair grazed his cheeks and—
It wouldn’t be technically wrong to say you were grinding on him, not with the way your legs were splayed on both sides of him and the pressure you were putting on him. Your breasts were planted on his chest, and he could appreciate the clothed erect nipple on his skin. And as he looked down, there was more to see of your breasts than before. One wrong move and he would have a full view of the girls. It would be such a shame if your top came undone. But never mind that, he had to resist to urge to plant his hands on your hips and—
“Bill, it’s too deep,” you whined.
Bill’s hands were planted firmly on your hip bones, holding you down, forcing you grind on him with his cock deeply planted in you. You’d enveloped him to the hilt before, but you’ve never had him like this before, not in this position, and it was becoming too much.
“I think you like it, (Y/N),” he said with a chuckle. You looked down, embarrassed at the sudden spurt of wetness that ran down your thigh from your sex. As he began thrusting, you lost any sense of speech besides the ability to give a silent moan. When one of Bill’s hands loosened their grip on your hip to tease your engorged clitoris instead, you threw your head back.
The moment you’d realized how you’d fallen, you yelped immediately and apologized. 
“Time for breakfast?” you offered impassively, carefully looping your other leg over and rolling yourself off him. Sand stuck to the side of your wet legs. You offered him a hand.
“About time for it,” Bill responded as you pulled him up. 
“That was fun,” you commented, wrapping the beach towel over yourself and slipping into your sandals. “Better than my usual idea of a swim.”
Bill hummed in agreement, saying, “your idea of a swim isn’t much of a swim,” and followed you back into the house.
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When you were back in your room, you’d dried off hastily, saying you were going to be late to breakfast.
“Is there a set time for breakfast?” he asked, eyeing as you flew around the bathroom looking for a comb.
“Not really, but it’s always at eight, and I was already chastised for being late yesterday.”
He had suppressed a comment about how beautifully haphazard you looked. Your hair was half-tamed, your cheeks flushed. You looked like you’d just had a good long romp in the sheets. 
“Then I’ll join you in a second,” he promised. “I’d like to look a little more presentable for your parents.”
“You look fine,” you commented. “But that’s alright, I’ll let them know.”
When you’d left the room, Bill headed straight to the bathroom. He turned on the shower and removed his clothes. As he felt his hardening cock spring loose, his frustration grew tenfold. He shouldn’t have suggested the swim; he was going to lose circulation to his brain if you kept turning him on like this. He stepped in the shower and placed his left forearm on the wall. His right hand reached out to stroke his uncomfortable erection. 
“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. Drops of cold water ran down his back as he leaned over. He was so close already and thinking about your body atop of his, your wet cunt pushing down on him, begging to be fucked, was really expediting the process. “Shit.”
In no time, he felt the intense pressure break. He bit down on his lip to keep from making too much noise. Ropes of cums spurted out of his cock, falling into the shallow water that’d accumulated in the shower base. He heaved, his heartbeat rapid, as his strokes slowed.
When he looked down at the mess he’d made, he could only think: ‘what a waste.’ It should’ve gone into some orifice of yours instead. Maybe your mouth, where his hold on your head would be iron-clad, and he’d make sure you swallowed every single drop. Or even better, your cunt, where it would all spill out on the sheets the moment he pulled out because it was just too much for you.
When Bill felt himself harden again, he cursed the higher deities. He’d never recovered this quickly before. Again, not since he was a teenage boy. And there was what, another two weeks of you frolicking in bathing suits and sun dresses? 
You were slowly and surely going to be the death of him.
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sprout-fics · 9 months
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Okay wait I need to know. What would Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla/Boba Fett’s reactions to riduur in lingerie be 👀
A Mandalorian being soft and horny for their S/O in lingerie is something that can be so personal
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Boba Fett
Green
It's fucking green, of course
Strappy too, little bands criss-crossing over your curves, hugging your hips, your tits, your thighs
You call to him from your bathroom together in the palace, the one attached to his suite, pausing coquettishly in the doorway as he looks up and stares
He doesn't speak, not at first, but he does blink a few times as a pleased, knowing smile spreads over his lips
"Come closer, little one." He beckons, putting aside the armor he had been tending to, spreading his thighs and inviting you to stand between them
You pace over, feigning shyness, swaying your hips in a canting little walk that has him chuckle before you pause between his legs
His hands cup your ass, and you stand on your toes a little with a gasp, smirking knowingly down at him, hands resting on his shoulders
"and where did you get the funds for this, hmm?" He asks, and snaps one of the bands against your flesh, making you stifle a grinning little yelp
"I...may have borrowed some cash from your account." You tell him cheekily, and Boba raises an eyebrow up at you, his pleased eyes betraying him as he attempts to glower in disapproval
"So it belongs to me, then." He muses, and you do gasp this time when his hands squeeze on your ass, imprinting his fingers there.
"So I shall be the one taking it off."
You don't have time to protest, because he secures his arms around you, topples with you back against silk sheets
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Paz Vizsla
He's dumbfounded
You can tell, even with his helmet on. The way Paz freezes when he sees you without your armor, dressed in floaty, gauzy teal underwear tells you everything to know about the expression on his face
It's quickly pushed aside, however, as he stands, uses three long strides to cross the room to where you stand. Your warrior stalks towards you like you perhaps might duck under his grasp, might try and flee
You don't, of course. There's no way you would. Your Paz is safety, warmth, shelter, a bastion of protection that you lay your affections into ceaselessly.
His hands outstretch to you, take the silky, draped fabric between his gloved fingers and holds it aloft as if to examine it. Entirely foreign, unexpected for a man of his resolve and brutal efficiency. Yet endearingly gentle with you as he asks:
"All this...for me?"
You beam up at him, hearing the touch of tenderness, of want in his voice, shifting on your feet so you splay your bare hand flat against his chest plate
"Just for you, Riduur." You purr, balancing on your toes as you stretch up to bestow a chaste little kiss on his Ka'rta, the iron heart where his soul lays.
When he growls, the sound is warm but possessive, shivering through your exposed skin as his hand drops, curls suggestively against the roundness of your hip.
"I think I like you better out of armor" He rumbles, and your eyes dance as you stare up through his visor.
"I think I like you that way too"
The hand at your hip flexes, drags you closer to him so you're pressed flush against his form
"The come and take it off, Riduur."
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Din Djarin
It hadn't been the color you originally hoped for, but the options in the Nevarro market had been sparse, so you had to make do
You frown in front of the mirror, fingering the white, delicate, lacy material of the chemise. It's too girlish, you think. Too...virginal. Maybe he'll think it looks silly
You yelp when he knocks on the door of the bathroom behind you, surprise ringing out before you can stop it. Worry instantly colors his voice when he calls out for you, and in your rush to reassure him you knock over a clatter of items from the sink
He opens the door before you an stop him, as you lean back and look up at him nervously
Din freezes, halfway inside, one hand still on the door control.
"What-" He tries, voice tight, strained. "What are you wearing?"
He doesn't like it, you think, and your chin falls to your chest
"I thought...I'd surprise you." You tell him lamely, and for a moment he doesn't move, doesn't breathe.
He moves forward at last, crowds you back into the sink, wedges a beskar clad thigh between yours, lifts your chin to his stare
"You look...really nice." Din manages at last, and for some reason your fearsome bounty hunter sounds shy.
"Really?" You mumble, and Din gives you a tight, quick nod as he swallows.
"Can you take it off?" He asks then. "I want to see you."
You shiver at that, at the clear indication in his voice, but retain enough wherewithal to pout at him.
"I literally just got it on." You whine, and something changes in Din's gaze at that, a subtle shift of his head so the lights of the room don't dance across his visor, darkening his stare. His body shifts, presses closer to you, cold radiating from his armor as his voice dips low in your ear.
"Take it off. Or I will."
(tagging @zwiiicnziiix)
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starfishoverdrive · 6 months
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🖤 Enmu [NSFW] Headcanons 🖤
🌟 except these are my new ones!! i feel like this is better and specific lol, and fem ♀️ reader btw!!
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I have a very interesting way of how I think of Enmu, I feel like I should share it with you all ..⭐️
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now that i have your attention look at his freaky ass hand??.. that i end up mentioning in the hea—
🖤 He is bisexual, enjoys being more dominant with women and submissive with men
🖤 This isn't even a head canon it's just canon but he has a fat ass that fits his equally thick thighs 😻 Loves when you grab them both and generally likes attention towards them. He enjoys squeezing you between his thighs, too. Never went wrong with a little breath play. I think...
🖤 His dick is thick and big, like 6-8 inches :3 it's not too big to where you struggle to fit it in your mouth, but it makes it feel really full, and it easily hits your cervix. He loves to pound you deep so he can feel himself slam into that barrier, and his favorite position to do that is mating press.
🖤 When hes not snapping trains he loves taking erotic pictures of you, himself, or together. Gets off to the ones of you a lot. He likes showing his ass the most in solo pictures.
🖤 Biting and scent kink. Loves the smell of your pussy and arousal, and he loves "claiming" and marking you with his bites. You love the sweet mix of pain and pleasure they bring so there's rarely a moment where he's not biting you. And for your scent—it makes him salivate, and the fact his sense of smell is enhanced makes hiding how he makes you feel impossible.
🖤 Nearly nothing brings him as much joy as sticking his face between your legs, inhaling your sweet scent, and indulging in the addicting taste of your pussy. It's sort of a blessing and a curse that demons don't get tired because he'll be there for as long as he can. Oral fixation. He enjoys trying to fit as much as he can in his mouth and sucking like it's a little treat for him. But he also loves receiving, and his favorite thing to do is 69. He's very fun to suck.
🖤 Likes feminine clothing. Would wear your panties, cum in them, and have you wear them. :3
🖤 Praise kink. He loves saying "good girl" and he also loves being called a good boy.
🖤 LOVES public sex like... He has to. Whether it's you sitting on his dick under your skirt or him straight up pounding you in front of everyone, he loves it. Enjoys train sex a ton.
🖤 Likes having his hair pulled. Especially the blue parts. You can use them to pull him further into you.
🖤 Breeding kink... He likes breeding demon slayers in particular.
🖤 He's very keen on using his detachable hand whenever your pussy's unoccupied. So if you're sucking his cock, between his soft pillowy thighs, or really anything, he'd want to be fingering you to give you an even better experience.
🖤 He can sharpen his claws at will so it's only natural he uses them to shred apart your clothing. It's smart to bring extra clothes or else you're going to look like you just got attacked. ...Apart from the cum rolling down your legs.
🖤 He may enjoy being dominant, but being submissive to you turns him on. To have someone much weaker than him use him to get off... He loves it. He'll worship you, let you use all the toys you please on him, and reduce him to nothing but a lowly demon fuck toy. It's arousing to him. But when he's not in the mood for being completely submissive, he can simply be bratty. And he loves teasing. When he's submissive, he enjoys the amazon position (its interesting...)
🖤 He's so perfect for tentacle sex... OF COURSE he does it. Will fuck you with them, hold you down with them, and fuck himself with them while he's fucking you. Fuses with trains for this one purpose most of the time.
🖤 Gives you sexy dreams so your pussy is ready for him when you're asleep. :3 You enjoy waking up to a hot and sticky surprise in the morning.
🖤 Extremely vocal!! Whimpers, cries, fucking growls, and sometimes he even makes girlish moans. He mainly starts gasping when it's barely been a minute, then he starts panting and it all goes downhill for your neighbors from there.
🖤 Adores it when you kiss him or get really handsy. Sometimes he just wants you to touch him and hold him close while you're doing it, and that's all he needs. If you tell him you love him he'll get flustered and speechless, but just know he says it back in his head. He's just too busy pounding you. ❤️
🖤 As a human he pretended to be a doctor so I think the idea of him using that to fuck patients is amazing. Like they'll tell him they have a sore throat and he explains that it's a common illness and he has just the remedy, then he starts pulling his pants down
🖤 Has no pubes. Doesn't care if you have them. At all.
🖤 He enjoys the parts of your body that has fat on it. Whether it's your tummy, thighs, anywhere, he'd leave loving bite marks there and squeeze often. But bonus points if it's your thighs, he'd be constantly grabbing them and I can only imagine how loud it is to slam down on his thighs when you're riding him.
🖤 Stuck it in you and said "Choo choo" once. You cried hysterically
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...aaand that's all I can think of right now! In general I think he's just a big horny tease who would love a human to play with. Very cute and thick demon boyfriend who holds you tight and makes sure your pussy is nice and full. 🌟
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